unperceivable-future

[unperceivable-future]

Alley Cat.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. hurt/comfort.

warnings— ptsd. trauma. panic. abuse. breathing exercises. genuinely be careful.

Cats are never offered the benefit of the fucking doubt.

Selfish, standoffish, distrustful; all labels from those who's hand the cat rejects. But strays wander the gutters of society, and they see man for all it tries to hide amongst itself. You show your true colors around an animal, they say.

When you claw at the cotton of his shirt, desperate for the touch of a human you miraculously deemed safe, Keigo cannot help but be reminded of a stray cat left clawing for safety.

"I can't fucking take this anymore," you sob and wrack your breaths, clutching the fabric of his shirt. He lets you for a moment, lets you wet his clothes with tears, evidence of the pain he aches to take away. "I can't do this– everyone, Kei'. It hurts– you have to believe me, please believe me–"

He hushes you, walking you backwards with his thumbs rubbing soothing circles at the crest of your cheeks, until the back of your knees hits the soft of the mattress below. He crouches down, sharp yet gentle eyes demanding your current attention. Your eyes are wide, sitting stiff and pupils blown. He holds up a single finger for you to focus on, speaking with calm authority.

"Baby. Baby, look at me. Just like that," he visibly softens when you eye his movement, the hand in front of you swaying like the simplest foliage in a breeze. Careful and attentive, you place your trust in him; in its entirety, its sacred entirety. He'll never take that for granted.

All the riches in the world at his disposal never mattered to him. It can't, never could compete when held to the light of what you offer.

Your trust. You trust him with the crumbling heart you shield from the world. Everyone but him gets bared jaws and wild, gnashed teeth.

To you, your defensive snarls are an ugly sound; but to him, it can't be. Not when the mere sight of him, and only him, could get the stray cat of your heart to calm its raised hairs and cease to hiss.

"Thank you, baby. Still with me?" You shudder. You can't nod right now, but that's fine. "You're safe with me. We're going to breathe, okay?"

He asks it like a guiding question, but with the undercurrent of an order.

Stable. Perfect.

Breathing... Breathing is easy, right? You muse to yourself through gulping breaths. Keigo knows how to breathe. Keigo is good at breathing. He'll teach you.

"With me, okay?" He smells like oak. Warm, sunny oak. "In through your nose, fill your belly first. Deep. Then your chest. Count to five with me," he instructs, breathing along like the gentlest visual guide. "Hold for five. Perfect. Now exhale, get the air out your chest first. Then the belly, push out firm, get all the air out. Do that with me for five seconds."

He smiles approvingly, eyes twinkling at the firm furrow of your brow. His perfect sweetheart, trying so good for him. "There we are. Hold for five again before you inhale. And repeat."

You follow his footsteps, like the clumsiest dance. As the clock ticks by, your lightheadedness calls your attention.

You clutch at the fuzzy sleeves of his hero costume's coat. "Feels a bit dizzy."

"Good," he beams. "That means it's working."

"K-Kei'," you stutter still. Calmer, but stuttering still. "S-Sor– I'm s-sorry."

You feel a gentle kiss at the corner of each eye. The saltiness of your tears doesn't deter him one bit. "Nothin' to be sorry for, dove. I've got you."

What feels like eons of comfortable silence drapes the room, covers your shoulders like the thickest shield of feathers. You don't even notice the tangible, real ones, the ones from his wings, surrounding you for the longest time; like they're meant to be there. Meant to shield you away from the ghastly realities and pinpricks that crawl up your spine.

Distantly, it occurs to him that perhaps he was always meant to protect you. Nothing else in his life has ever felt so natural. He was never asked to do this, never made to. His soul beckons him to you, to be the shade of your resting tree.

Sturdy and firm and earthy, you think. You can nestle by the roots, press against the grounding bark for stability. The leaves of his feathers will shade you here, the branches of his wings swaying with a gentleness that masks the power of a great oak.

Even stray cats don't belong in gutters. Even if they can survive, scrape out alive, that isn't where they're meant to be. Before man built cities from scaffolds, the cat was free to roam nature as its own. It was free to rest.

"I don't understand," you start with an enraged quiver lacing your throat. "Why it has to be this way. Why people hurt people. Why everyone around me is dangerous."

Keigo knows. He's seen too much with his own eyes to doubt what you say. Wordlessly, he lifts you into his lap, scooting toward the corner of the bed that faces the wall. You'll feel safer by something sturdy.

In the barely there light dripping from the open window, you feel the breeze drifting inside. You want to close it. You know Keigo wouldn't let you. Fresh air is good for you.

"Why? Why do we accept it? I don't understand what is wrong with people."

He hums, interlacing your fingers with his. He watches the downturn of your eyes, marvels at how they sit in the shade of your lashes; those same lashes that are beaded with far too old tears.

"I can't promise answers, dove." He swallows thick; it's a contemplative action before he steels his voice, firmer and more resolved than you've ever heard. "But I can promise I'll protect you."

The furrow of his brow, the righteous rage on your behalf lacing his tone, is all you need to know how serious he is. He speaks with the finality you could only expect from a man as dedicated to his mission as Keigo himself.

"As long as you'll let me protect you, no one will touch a hair on your head. That's a promise."

[unperceivable-future]

OH.! The post from Twitter got me 🥹 then I saw the freedom comment and went ☹️ which is why I wanted to point it out 😔 I'm sorry

Illustration confirming how Keigo gets his shirts on- two buttoned segments on the back of his shirt, over each wing

[unperceivable-future]

:')

Illustration confirming how Keigo gets his shirts on- two buttoned segments on the back of his shirt, over each wing

[unperceivable-future]

I hate this. This is very distracting. Cover up, whore. I almost rammed my car into a fire hydrant I do not drive but this image is a true risk to my life what if I fall from the stairs because I keep looking at this??

help I can't stop looking oooh boy there's no good thoughts in my head. I need to lay down and become one with the bog right now. Becoming a bog man. Head in my hands. Stressing out. Why is he not real

I tend to sketch ppl w/o clothes first so I can get the anatomy right and i'm tryna doodle hawks in a tuxedo but. His tits here...... what if I just left him with his tits out would you still support me?

[unperceivable-future]

Hopefully Hori will be kind to them in 2024

[unperceivable-future]

oh, you're abominable socially; you're just a little bit too much like me

Hawks/Takami Keigo x AFAB!Reader

Content warning: English is not my best language and this was not really proof-read. Foul language. Sexual content. Heavy mentions of sexism and inappropriate sexist/powerplay behaviour. Reader is sleazy (but it is part of the play). AFAB!Reader. Mommy kink. Oral sex (both F and M receiving). Slight cock and ball torture?. Keigo is domesticated like a dog lol. Keigo has foot fetish (I refuse to apologise). BDSM and powerplay. Overstimulation. Mentions of safe-wording or tapping out. Possibility of sub-droppping.

Synopsis: Is this how men feel when they have this amount of power over women? If so, you couldn't possibly blame them for the way they act.

Notes: @takami-takami needs to stop enabling my bad behaviour. They fr need to stop putting ideas in my head. Also I was listening to Hermit the Frog by MARINA on repeat. OH and!!! This is my first ever smut posted iirc. If I catch any minors or ageless blogs interacting with my blog, it is an automatic block. I've been there and unrestricted internet access as a minor is fucking damaging so please, do not interact with my post.

There has to be something wrong with the two of you.

Actually, screw that. There is definitely something wrong with the two of you.

There is absolutely nothing normal with how you'd slap Keigo's ass in the sleaziest way possible while the pretty little bird himself flinches in embarrassment. It's degrading, really. And a normal person would throw hands if somebody lands such disrespectful gesture on them.

But there is nothing normal with the way Keigo flinches sluttily, his hips rocking slightly to hump the air with his weeping hard dick.

The squeaky moan he lets out brings delight to your brain, dragging you both to hell.

"You're just gonna take that, sweetheart?" You sneer. And instead of squaring up, he shrinks in humiliation---refusing to speak up.

"Aww, don't tell me you're embarrassed?"

"Mommy...you're being too mean to me." Keigo whines pitifully. His pitch high, voice cracked from the strain.

"Shut the fuck up or I'll show you mean real soon, Keigo." You snap back.

"S-sorry mommy!"

Is this how men feel when they have this amount of power over women? If so, you couldn't possibly blame them for the way they act.

You leave Keigo be for now, letting him finish up his chore of washing up. You pour yourself another glass of your drink and make your way back to the couch, eyeing him like he's nothing but a piece of meat.

But that's what he is, isn't he? He should've covered up more if he didn't want you to stare. But his skimpy ass maid outfit says that he definitely loves the attention. The lingerie lacy and it barely covers his ass. It can't even cover his hard dick, not even his heavy balls that escape the thongs he's wearing.

You toy the little remote in your hand and watch your babyboy shiver from where he's standing. His pretty vermillion wings keeping still, his pouty pink lips bitten down so he doesn't moan like a little bitch.

After all, he wasn't allowed to talk or make movements outside your command. And Keigo is just so fucking obedient you want to test him further, torment him as he finishes washing up the dishes.

He stops himself from trying to hump against the counter, his arms shaky as he furrows his brows and concentrate at the chore at hand.

"You know, maybe we should do this more often. Makes my life easier." You taunt him.

You wouldn't need to ruin your soft and manicured hands with dishsoap and warm water if Keigo is the one scrubbing down the pots and pans.

The sight of Keigo working hard and keeping his composure makes you cross your legs. The sight of his suffering gets you soaking. You squeeze your thighs tighter.

Keigo finishes the dishes, drying his hands stiffly. He looks at you with uncertainty, unsure what to do next but cannot voice himself to ask.

"Come here, baby." You beckon his sweetly, kind enough to entice him and he wobbles to your direction unused to the black heels he wears and the medium vibration up his prostate doesn't help.

He settles himself on the fluffy rug, by your foot because he's just a dog and that's his place: obediently below you.

You uncross your legs, a foot landing on his crotch and you internally commend on how Keigo managed to stop himself from rutting against you. He looks up to you with wide doe eyes. His golden orbs are glossy, cheeks flushed.

"I've had a long day." You drag your pedicured toes up his chest, a prompt for him to get to work.

"Of course, mommy." Keigo eagerly nods and his clammy hands start rubbing circles on your soles.

Is this what men see from their eyes? Subservient women on their knees rubbing their feet from all the hard work of maintaining patriarchy? It makes a lot more sense why men are so against this whole equality thing, otherwise how else will they be able to keep their wives at their rightful place?

You turn up the vibration, opting to take out your frustration and delight on Keigo instead. He flinches.

"Mommy, please can I---" Keigo lowers your foot with his hands, trying to be discreet with how his weeping cock rubs against you. You pull your foot away and slightly kick his balls.

"No. Get back to work." Keigo nods shakily, letting out the world's cutest whimper.

"'m sorry mommy." He sounds meek, sounds so unlike his pro-hero persona.

The problem here is that Keigo is too obedient, too good at what he's doing. His thumbs knead on your foot and your calf hard as if he's subconsciously taking out his frustration on you and that makes him an effective masseur. It makes you sigh in pleasure.

You weren't really lying that you had a long day. Breaking down patriarchy is hard work after all.

Keigo huffs out a whine when you pull your leg away from his tender hold, looking at you with a pout and scrunched brows.

You lean back the couch, spreading your legs the way you've seen Keigo did on regular days.

"You wanna ea---"

"YES!" If it weren't for how enthusiastic Keigo is, you would have berated him for interrupting your kind offer.

"Go on then." And he dives in, trying his best not to overpower and manhandle you with the way his large arms curl around your thighs and pulling you towards his mouth.

For someone who has such good control over his body and his actions you'd think that Keigo would have more finesse and poise when eating you out. But he doesn't. He eats like an animal starved and he whimpers at every tug of his wheat blond hair, growls and groans whenever your toes sink and curl into his red plumage. You feel your body jolt at his flinch, his grip on your legs tighter as he pulls away for a deep breath. You catch the way he hazily licks his lips before helping himself another serving of you.

Any insults you thought of throwing his way dies down in your throat in exchange for a moan.

"Ohh, g-good boy. What a, ugh, good fucking boy." And for someone who acts like a dog, this man goddamn purrs instead.

It's not fair. It's not fucking fair that you're losing your own composure because Keigo is just too good for his own good. So you retaliate and set the setting to its highest vibration.

"M-mommy, oh, mhm---" Keigo gasps and presses his tongue and lips against your cunt. He breathes heavily through his nose as his body jolts in a rhythmic manner.

He squeals against you and you're too lost in the feeling to be pissed that he came without your permission.

And when you ride out your own orgasm, you pull him away from your throbbing cunt. Staring him down while Keigo licks his lips, the pink appendage trying to reach for his own cheeks and chin like a slobbering dog. He is so out of it he wouldn't even see it coming.

You catch your breath.

"I think, it's time for your reward." You announce and Keigo looks up at you in a panic.

"Wait, no, mommy I-I don't, don't deserve it." Of course he doesn't. He already came. But you know why he vehemently insists on saying he doesn't deserve a reward. You stand up from your seat and motion him the couch.

"No, no, I insist. Sit down, my sweets." And Keigo has no choice but shakily nod along and move to your liking. The black of his maid skirt already stained.

He tries to close his legs and although you may be weaker in strength, your nails dig deep enough to his thighs that he opens up anyway.

You run your tongue against his messy cock. Maintaining eye contact with his teary ones. You feel his legs shake.

"P-please, too much..." Keigo whines painfully. You lean back and grab the remote.

"Just medium then. You can tap out anytime." You compromise before getting back at punishing him.

"O-oh, I---I wouldn't, wouldn't want to." He sighs.

You didn't fully anticipate for you two to go off script but you'll let it pass for now. You're not too concerned about the sudden change of position, never worried about how you're now kneeling on the floor while your Keigo sits on the throne while manspreading.

There's no worry of him getting ideas about overpowering you, not when he can't see the view of being above you.

Considering that his golden eyes are too busy rolling at the back of his skull.

"Fuuuck, mommy, too much! Can't, I can't anymore!" Keigo whines when you deepthroat him, you squeeze his balls hard to remind him that indeed he can definitely give more.

"Mhm, sen---ah, cumming, fuck, c-cumming mommy!" You flinched from how hard Keigo smacks his hands against the couch, gripping them like the furniture is his only anchor in this world. That if he lets go, he might float away to the afterlife.

You try to relax your jaw, around his dick and angling yourself so his spunk doesn't shoot at the back of your throat but rather smoothly goes down as you swallow.

"O-ohhh," Keigo whines breathlessly when you continue to swallow whatever might come out before finally slowing to a halt. You pull away from his dick, finally giving it a break. As well as his prostrate when you turned off the vibrator. You take a deep breath before looking up at his pretty fucked out face.

"Such a good boy." You coo him a praise but he looks distraught and his own shortcomings.

"B-but I---" You interrupt him, leaning upwards to hold his face and ground him.

"No, no, I was being unfair. It happens." You ease him from his worries.

"I came without you telling me." He pouts as you stand up and lean further towards his sweaty face.

"That vibrator did a number on you, I wasn't being nice at all." You reiterate, kissing his forehead then his nose.

"You are my good boy and you did amazing." You rub your noses together and you relish how he beams in pride. He pulls you to sit on his lap, you happily oblige.

You rest your head against his neck, rubbing his bicep with your arm while Keigo holds you tight like his personal teddy bear.

"Thank you for washing up the dishes." You sigh out once you feel that he's finally come down from the height of his emotions.

"Thanks for making dinner, mommy." He replies, humourously using your title. You snort in amusement.

"Right, let's take a bath?" You prompt and you feel him nod in agreement.

[unperceivable-future]

Gonna ask my fellow writers to cut back on this in x reader stuff:

Blushing red, going red in the face, etc. Not all skin tones go red when blushing. A good alternative is "skin was hot to the touch" or describing them as heating up, blushing with physical movements like covering the face, looking away, etc.

Characters running their fingers through the reader's hair. Sounds like a NIGHTMARE for kinky/curly/etc hair types. Every time I read this in a fic I wince and go "no he ain't".

Character always being taller than reader. (Especially with Hawks because he is a short king. He's like, 5'8 and a half. Lots of people will be taller than him. I personally am taller than him if I wear heels).

I do this sometimes too, which I'm trying to cut back on; but reader wearing a character's clothes and it being described as "baggy" on them. Different body types exist!

This one I see much more rarely but it still isn't cool: flat out describing reader as "tiny" or their "thin body." Not cool! Don't do this! If you want to make it self insert character, that's fine. Just don't tag it as x reader.

I can't think of any more off the top of my head, but feel free to add them if you want!

[unperceivable-future]

𝐒𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋

DAY 12: SOUNDING

With: Keigo Takami (Hawks)

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Sub! Hawks, gn! reader, sounding, HEAVY sub/dom spaces, hints of sado/masochism, mentions of anal fingering, keigo crying and twitching, cursing, pee/urine mentioned throughout

A/N: This is one of those smut fics that are heavily unrealistic (which i LOVEEEE), keigo says some cringe things at some points tho. LOL

Keigo has such a pretty face. People stop and stare at him on the street, he has been recruited by multiple modeling companies and is lusted over by teenage girls all over the world. Born to be nicknamed, “Pretty Boy”. It was cute, really, and he seemed to love the name.

But to you, he doesn't look his best when he is photographed in lewd poses, or when the media catches the way he looks at you, or even with his candid hero photos that are unbearably hot.

No, to you, Keigo looks his absolute best when he cried. Of course, not from sadness, from pleasure and pain. When his face is flushed, his eyes are hazy, and tears coat his cheeks. When he looks up at you in pure adoration, and trembles under your hold.

But that was the sadistic side of you talking. The side of you who wants to completely ruin the man. It's hard not to when he looks so pretty during it.

So, slowly you've been finding new ways to wreck him and with each one, he reacts perfectly. You've gotten addicted to it. Him, really.

Tonight you are going to try sounding. You stare at the small metal rod, and then back to your lover, who is leaning against the headboard, and trying to act like he is not completely terrified. He gulps when you peer at him, straightening his back, and trying to uphold his cocky grin.

“You're scared, aren't ya?”

He scoffs, looking away. “No. I'm the one who asked for this, why would I be scared?”

As much as you like ruining Keigo, Keigo loves being ruined. You have to keep a close eye on him because he swears he has no limits and has not used his safeword so far. Everything is on the table for him, and that sometimes worries you. You've held down your desires but he voices them and is the one to beg you for more and more.

Urethra play was not something he has tried. “Mhmm. It will be fine, we will go slow,” You reassure him despite his words. You place a comforting hand on his thigh and he sighs, smiling at you softly.

“Yeah. It'll be fine. You're right.”

Horrifying is the best word to describe what's in front of him right now. The “thin” rod is now lodged halfway into his urethra and he's panting out, thighs trembling. It doesn't exactly feel bad, but it's foreign, and the sight in front of him makes him uneasy. Nothing is supposed to go in that hole.

He's gripping onto your hand for comfort, eyes wide as saucers. “We aren't even all the way in yet, Keigo.”

He whines out at the words, resting his head on your shoulder. Sweat beads at his forehead and his face is flushed. “F-Feels so full.”

You teasingly tap on the rod, and his back arches, wings fluttering out at the strange feeling. He grips your hand and stares at you, silently pleading. “Sorry. Forgot. Let's put it all in, yeah?”

“Dont–Dont know if I can.”

You stroke the bottom of his shaft and smile at him. “Got plenty of room still. It's supposed to touch your prostate, y'know.”

Yeah, he definitely knew that. For the last couple of days, he researched the ins and outs of this. But still, he doesn't know how the hell it could go any deeper. He feels overwhelmingly stuffed even from half of it being inserted. He gulps and glances at you, but nods.

“Take a deep breath for me, Keigo. Promise it'll feel good in a bit.” You're right, and he knows it. Just like when you fingered him for the first time, it feels weird in the beginning, but now he's addicted to it. This could be a new thing to drive him mad. He sure hopes so.

He takes a deep breath, and you slowly continue to inch it in, letting gravity do the most part. The road is slippery from the lube and it goes in without much difficulty.

Keigo on the other hand is going insane. He is moaning and whining, gripping onto the sheets with such force that you are afraid he is going to rip it. You watch his arm muscles clench and unclench, and he throws his head back. “Oh. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He cries with every second it goes deeper.

You hush him, using your other hand to stroke him gently, hoping to coax it in. His squirming makes it harder, and you don't want to hurt him, so you try your best to pin his hips down beneath you so they won't jump up.

And at last, it reaches the bottom. You pull away and look up at him. Keigo is trembling, back arched pornographically, and staring at the ceiling with an open mouth. Tears drip down his cheeks, and his legs are trembling, bent, and spread wide. “All done, it's all the way in now. Shhh, just gotta get adjusted to it.”

He shakes his head and lets out a cry, “Fuck. It's weird. Feels so weird! Full–I cant–”

You lean forward to press your lips to his, cutting his frantic rambling off. “Keigo, do you want to use your safeword?” You ask, just for reassurance.

He shakes his head frantically. “No! Wait! I-I never said I didn't like it!” He pleads desperately to you, even if you haven't tried to make an effort to remove it. His mind seems to be scattered, but this is how he is when he usually tries new things in bed. Today, just a little bit more extreme, considering you haven't tried anything even close to this.

“What does it feel like, Birdie?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Feels full. D-Different type of full. It's weird. And it also feels like I gotta pee a little bit. But in a good way? It's all so weird and overwhelming, Y/N!”

You gulp, watching the way his eyes move around frantically. The way his body is bright red, and he's staring at you with desperate eyes. His mouth is glossy, and his eyes are wet. This is your favorite face of Keigos. This is what you have been wanting to see.

The urges get the better of you. “I'm going to move it now Keigo.”

His eyes widen, and before he can even protest, you move it upward, slightly. His back arches again and he gasps for air. “O-Oh–Its–Fuckkkkk.”

You push it back in completely and he keens, gripping onto your hand with wide eyes. A loud, desperate whine is let out, and more tears stream down his face. He's withering under you, and you can't help but stare at his pretty physique. “Are you oka–”

“Again!” He sobs, legs moving sporadically against the sheets.

His words make you gulp. He's falling into that state again. The one where his only task is to get himself completely fucked dumb. He doesn't want to think about anything except his pleasure, and frankly, his adorable facial expression is pulling you into your very own state with him.

You lift the rod up, farther than last time, until more than half of it sticks out. He stares at it, panting loudly and waiting for you to push it back in. It makes his adrenal pulse, and his mouth begins to water.

You don't tease him too long, and abide by his wishes, pressing the full thing in until it reaches the very bottom of his cock. He moans this time, enjoying it more with every second. Tears continue to fall, but he can't pay attention to them, instead focused on the feeling of being so full. If he had a toy in the other end, he surely would have lost his mind. Next time, for sure.

You continue to bring it up and down and he gets louder and louder with each stroke, not caring for whoever hears him. He is feeling such intense pleasure, everyone should hear his cries. Or at least that is what he believes.

“So cute. We found another hole for me to abuse, yeah Keigo?” You purr, eyes traveling up his shaking body with hunger.

He nods his head frantically. “Yes. Yes! Please fuck it more, I'm begging!”

You stop for a moment, a teasing gleam in your eyes. “Want me to fuck your pee hole? How lewd, Birdie.”

But to your dismay, he isn't responding to the teasing as you hoped. Instead, just agreeing with every word, too lost in the subspace to really care for how dirty your words are. “Yes! F-Fuck my pee hole. Need it. S-So full!”

You don't mind your failed attempt, now staring fondly at the pretty boy in front of you, who is completely out of it by now. It usually takes him longer to get to this state, and it was intriguing that this little rod had such a huge effect on him.

Your pace is quicker, and you use your other hand to stroke him off. His mouth hangs open, and drool begins to bead at the corner of his mouth. Every breath is a high-pitched, airy moan. It's adorable, really.

You watch his thighs start to clench and you raise your eyebrows, knowing that he's going to cum sometime soon. When you glance back up at his face, he's staring back at you, sniffling gently, but his eyes are full of adoration.

“C-Cum? Please?” He is struggling to speak, and you can't help but take mercy on him. He was so cute not to.

“Sure, baby. You can cum,” You coo, leaning forward to kiss his abdomen. He lets out a whine in thanks and nods his head.

A couple seconds go by and his breaths become quicker, louder too. His toes begin to curl, and he grips onto the bedsheets. “N-Now!” He begs, and you quickly take out the rod for him to cum.

White liquid flies out and falls onto his stomach, and you continue to use one hand to stroke him through it all. He takes loud gasps and lets out a loud shaky moan, and then another equally loud and high in pitch. His body constricts in odd, but cute ways, and he clenches his eyes shut, causing more tears to fall down his face.

You sit and admire him, only stopping your hand movements when he lets out a broken sob at the feeling of overstimulation.

A couple seconds go by, and you hum quietly, waiting for him to talk. Depending on what he says will determine if he wants to keep going or rest. The ball is in his court.

It doesn't take him too long to decide, obviously still in the subspace, but willing to communicate.

“Wanna. I wanna. H-Hey, why did you stop?” He complains, whiny and dramatic. You raise your eyebrows at him and bark a short laugh.

You aren't even surprised at this point. So, you pick up the rod again, and he stares at it, like a dog to a bone. He grins, the smile fucked out, and lazy. “Feels, so empty. Put it back, pleaseeeee!”

When you plunge it back in, he almost cums again on the spot.

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[unperceivable-future]

kiss me hard before you go

Hawks/Keigo Takami x Reader

Content warning: Messy writing. English is not my best language and this was not proof-read. Foul language. Angst. Character deaths. Description of trauma. Spoilers. CANON DIVERGENT. Ambiguous ending? THIS IS ACTUALLY ANGST PLEASE, PLEASE STAY SAFE!!!

Synopsis: You really should have kissed Keigo.

Notes: I was listening to Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Rey. Writing this made me dizzy. And I need a new screen protector, this one makes typing difficult.

===============

It is only human to feel regret. It is an emotion that is a trademark to humans.

You suppose it is natural for you to feel this way, to feel the crushing weight of regret and self-anger as you watch yet another sunset of reds and golds from your hospital window.

You should have kissed Keigo before you parted ways.

Fuck, you should have told him everything before you both parted. How much he truly meant to you.

"After the War, we will talk." The memories of his weakened, wincing hug shortly after waking up from his fight with Dabi feels like a suffocating and heavy vice against your throat. And you feel so, so cold.

And so, so angry. For the first time ever since the two of you became friends, Keigo did not keep his promise. He has never let you down, always promising to catch you when you fall.

You should have told him that it has always been him.

Maybe he would have slowed down and listened. Unlike now how you rush to get out of this sterile room, ansty and blocking out the worried yet clinical voice of your physician as he listed out the extent of your injuries.

You mute out words of fractures, punctured organs and whatever else the team of surgeons and Recovery Girl worked hard on to keep you alive. Vacant eyes zeroing into the pathetic vase of yellow and purple chrysanthemums left by one of the sidekicks or fellow pro-heroes. The most relevant note to your care plan is that you can walk again, albeit not so well.

"Get well soon."

"I am so, so sorry."

Harmless little blooms that scream to your face, they bring nothing but discomfort. Taunting, even.

You want to get rid off it.

The moment the physician leaves you to your false sense of peace, you try to close your eyes and sink into the delusions that all is fine. But that sense of calm is gone when the doctor went and told you how broken you were, are.

And the vase of flowery insults do nothing but add salt to the wounds. You look at the source of your misery, your bandage hand reaching out and slapping the pottery off your bedside table allowing the chrysanthemums to fall and scatter on the now unsterile floor along the broken pieces of porcelain.

Now the vase is as broken as you. Good. You never intend to get well anytime soon.

The War may be over and the heroes have won. You see it in the news before throwing the remote to the television, straining your messed up arm.

You feel defeated despite the emotional grin of the newscaster.

The same vultures that picked heroes apart, further dragging down the morale and maintaining the civilian restlessness are now cheering and sobbing silly little "thank yous" and "you did its" to those who actually fought. As if they never jeered you in the first place.

Despite the cracked screen of the television, it keeps on fucking going. The list keeps on going. The supposed broken little thing keeps on yapping. Much like your forecasted recovery, the list of the fallen comrades took ages to end.

Recovery takes so long and you desperately rushed it. It is akin to his service, it was agonisingly slow yet suffocatingly fast. You hated being there yet you wished it could last forever for it was the last time you get to see him. Or, what is supposed to be him.

Keigo's quirk granted him hollow bones, it made him light and agile yet fragile like porcelain. And like porcelain, he was so broken in the end you never got to witness him whole for the last time.

The most you can do was to kiss his grave, uncaring of the way his mother emptily looks at you.

A part of your anger is directed to her. Maybe if she had a spine, maybe if her skull was connected to it---maybe Keigo would not have been forced to be quick. He would not have to rushed to become a hero.

He would not have found it necessary to grow up so quickly, to lift the weight of the world on his shoulders when he has to account for his grand vermilion wings and hollow bones.

But perhaps it is also your own regrets talking. Your father always said that regrets never ever come first.

Regret does not come before you when you enter Keigo's apartment to clean and pick up the mess he left behind. It comes after you pick up one of his discarded shirts that has not been put in the wash months ago, before the war against the Paranormal Liberation Front. It comes after picking up the crumpled pieces of paper, scribbled with drafted apologies to the public for not disclosing his past and for killing Twice.

Regret comes after picking up one of the pieces of paper and reading lines and lines of "I'm sorrys" never intended for the public but for the man he wished he could have been friends with.

Perhaps now Jin and Keigo can be friends.

Regret comes after never kissing Keigo and never telling him how much you actually loved him.

It comes after you in forms of purple and yellow chrysanthemums, of broken bodies, blood and screams and smokes and shattered porcelains and lit incense and dead villains and bloody battlefields and lost wings and broken bones and crying children and crying heroes and crying lovers and crying best friends and broken All Might statues and charred bodies and jeering public and suffocating newscaster microphones and Gigantomachia and decay and fire and blood and purple and yellow chrysanthemums in your dreams. Or when you close your eyes. In the darkness, in the silence.

Regret never comes before you, it haunts you right behind your eyes and inside your ears and heart. But it never goes before you.

Perhaps that is why you do not feel it when you twirl in your favourite red dress that matches Keigo's non-existent wings. The dress he wanted you to wear for his birthday, the hair and shoes styled like that very special day. Perhaps that is why you do not feel regret when you make your way to the top of the abandoned building that was once Keigo's hero agency.

Perhaps that is why you do not feel any regret and only curiosity what it feels like to be as fast as your best friend, the man who will always be.

If you are fast, going 99, perhaps regret can not catch up. Neither does fear.

Maybe Keigo won't break his promise this time.

[unperceivable-future]

This tickles my brain in the right places

Cut To The Chase.

kinktober day 2: knife play

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut.

warnings— afab!reader. heavy knife play. discussions of piercing, but no actual cuts. still, this is a knife play fic. be warned. gags. bullying/kinkshaming. praise kink. aftercare.

"You're shaking, dove," Keigo whispers above you. "Relax a little for me, yeah?" 

The rhythmic beat of your heart pounds in your ears. The heady bass of it hammers behind your ribs. A single drop of perspiration crawls its way down your neck like a snake might slither down a tree, hissing sharp against the searing heat of your skin. It bobs with the swallow in your throat. It glistens with your tremors as you writhe so subtly against the silken sheets.

And there’s something about the way your life rests in your partner’s steady hand that surges the adrenaline screaming within your veins. It sings a chorus through your chilling blood.

The quirk of his lips is practically audible when he speaks— infuriating, even; but his appraisal of the situation is undeniably on point.

Of course you’re staring. Twisting and gliding along the edge of your skin, just the lightest squirm away from piercing through your flesh, is the tip of something sharp, icy, and unfathomably lethal— had Keigo been in a more dangerous mood and blindfolded you, the object would feel indiscernible from the steel of a curved dagger, the crescent point pressing the slightest divot into the skin of your navel. 

Even the light reflects with a glint off his feather as if it were metal when it’s sharpened like this.

“You actually like this sort of thing?” Keigo interrogates you, raising his brows. A scoff of disbelief follows quickly behind the inquiry, the heat of his breath fogging against your neck when he noses your jaw. Achingly slow, the scarlet weapon drags up your core, crawling its way toward your utterly exposed chest. 

He could pierce you at any moment. One flick and the skin could burst, one breath and your body would become a canvas to his liking. It's a dance of trust, of control, when he plucks that velvet red feather between his thumb and forefinger as if it were merely a pen to be dipped into ink.

“Your heart rate's pickin' up. It's gonna give you away, dove,” he observes, skimming the skin at the exact spot where he can sense the beat. He drags the feather in circles, a melody in his voice when he sings, low, taunting, and dangerous: "You like this."

“Don’t even care that I could just slip it a little deeper, do you," he realizes, increasing the pressure of the feather against your hammering chest. He can barely hold the click of disappointment from his tongue when you whimper in response. 

"Nah. That’d just get you wet, wouldn’t it?”

You see the flash of reflected light under your chin before you can feel the feather against your neck— the metallic sound of the blade cutting through the air rings in your ears, louder than the hitch of your breath from the whirlwind speed of his actions.

“Oh, you like that?” 

He doesn't bother to suppress the laughter that builds and erupts. Why would he? He'd place a hefty bet that someone like you would hear a condescending sound like that and feel it like electricity instead, jolting down to crackle between your poor, trembling legs.

You're so fucking predictable. You like a bit of danger, and Keigo is more than willing to indulge your little fantasies in the only way he knows how: famished, unreserved, and entirely committed to every intricacy of his role.

Besides, he'd be lying if he said this little image of you wasn't absolutely gorgeous; you, the picture of prey spread beneath him under the shadow cast by his wings, blubbering and unsure if you want to beg to be pierced by his feather or his cock.

When he slips two slicked fingers inside to scissor them, it's entirely unsurprising that your body opens easily to accept them; so unsurprising, in fact, that his eyes roll almost as immediately as yours do, though he wears a smirk rather than a slack jaw. 

The heel of his palm graciously grinds against you each time he bottoms out, the motion made with each rocking thrust expertly positioning his curled fingers upwards. Ever intentional, the heel presses firm against your throbbing core.

When he speaks, you get the impression he's moreso musing to himself than addressing you. 

"And what if I fucked you like this, huh? A cock in your pussy and a knife at your throat… Sounds like your own personal heaven, doesn't it, angel?" He punctuates the last word with a mocking lilt, pouting in bastardized sympathy to match your wobbling bottom lip.

"Aww, not gonna bother answering that?" He smiles and pulls at the fabric stuffing your drooling mouth. "C'mon, speak. Wanna hear you when you break for me, 'kay?"

You swallow dry before you attempt to catch your voice, gasping in a bit of air as you arch your chest and whine some garbled words Keigo can only assume are supposed to resemble a beg. 

"Oh you're close to close," he posits through a smile, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of his drenched fingers that pump knuckle deep and curl up. "It's okay, baby. Let it out. I've got you. Cum on my fingers, c'mon baby, cum f'me, you're such a good—"

Your back bows when your world shatters. His sweet words never cease, pouring praises over your body like the heat that envelops you, over and over in trembling waves.

The first thing you feel when you float down from your high, catching you like a feather landing slowly in his palm, is a methodical barrage of kisses against your cheeks. Feather discarded, Keigo holds your face in place with cradling palms, crooning at the far-gone smile that remains etched in your expression.

"Hi, baby," he whispers, lopsided smile wide as he pulls back and thumbs the apples of your cheeks, smooshing them in little clockwise circles. "Still with me?"

"Hi, Kei'," you simply mumble, words as sluggish and limp as you are; and just like that, your partner is solid and stable once more above you. 

When words elude you, your body begins to speak instead. Your fingers crawl down his biceps and up his neck, nestling in the thickets of his hair and clutching at the scalp as if to settle your own roots there for stability; and on the inside, Keigo's heart trips over itself. Your very center is open to him, pawing at his body and swallowing everything he gives you— and he'll give it all.

Clear eyes attempt to catch your bleary ones, searching for signs of discomfort as you continue to cling to the haziness that envelops your mind. Once he's thoroughly checked for any nicks or scratches, your body is laid back against the sheets.

"C'mon, pretty bird," Keigo whispers, rubbing the highest points of your cheekbones. "Gimme a smile, yeah?" 

When you do, it's with a glaze in your eyes, gazing up at him like he's a newfound city of gold.

"That good, huh," he teases, and you yawn. There's a rich, golden butter in his voice when he speaks. It's warm like the sheets he rolls you both up in, hot like his bare chest against your back when he lays you down to cuddle. 

"I wasn't too mean, was I?" 

"You were perfect for me," you sigh.

The plush of his feathers shudders once in the corner of your vision. He rests his chin along your bare shoulder, clutching your body as close to his chest as it can go.

"You're perfect for me, too."

[unperceivable-future]

today i am thinking about helping hawks with those hard-to-reach pinfeathers 

it’s the ones closest to the base of his wings that get him; that tricky place where flesh meets feather, and his very human rotator cuffs can only twist so far. so despite the itchy discomfort, he can only wait for the protective sheath around the new feathers to chip away on its own, aided by the obscenely high water pressure in his penthouse shower. but that was before you. 

you, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed and eyebrows raised as you take in the sight of him —  still dripping from his shower, arm contorted awkwardly behind him, reaching up from beneath his left wing, falling mere centimeters short of the spot that was bothering him. as he turns to look at you, his frustrated grimace shifts into a bashful smile.  

your smile, meanwhile, is imbued with amusement. “need some help?” 

unsurprisingly, you’d never heard the term pinfeather in your life, but listen raptly as he explains that the white needles are new feathers, coated in a shell of keratin until they’re done growing. you catch on quick, gently pinching one between your thumb and forefinger, gasping a little when the sheath turns to dust with the slightest bit of friction and reveals a vibrant crimson feather. 

a task that had seemed so insurmountable to keigo takes you only a few minutes. he rolls his shoulders and ruffles his wings with a sigh of relief before turning around to thank you. that’s when he sees it, that melancholic look in your eye you get when he knows you’re thinking about him — his stolen youth and solitary existence. he also knows that no amount of it’s not that big of a deals or i’m fine now, reallys will ease your mind, so he opts for diversion instead. 

“you know,” he starts in a drawl, “in the wild, preening is a way birds bond with their mates.” 

it kind of works. at the very least, it gets you smiling again, “is that so?” 

“yeah. it’s a…” he trails off, suddenly shy. and he knows he’s trying too hard to sound casual when he continues, “it’s a show of trust.” 

you roll your eyes with affection, taking his aversion to vulnerability in stride and leaning in to kiss him. “i love you too, keigo.”

[unperceivable-future]

A Dog Unfed.

includes— hawks x reader. angst. hurt/comfort.

warnings— animal abuse analogy. discussion of drugs and cravings. be warned and avoid this if you need. sorry for spoiling the subtext lol, but it needs a tw. though, i encourage you to apply this however you feel it apply.

perhaps we all have a dog.

Did you ever tell him?

The fullest extent of it all, the thorny vines that adorn your past— more bondage than decoration, a dragging weight against your throat and up your nasal cavity. A growth, an infestation, a plague on your subconscious.

It is a dog you unwittingly adopted— a drooling rottweiler that smacks its jaws and begs and paws at your thighs, pleading to you each night: "I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry. Please feed me, I'm hungry."

Everyone who has ever seen your dog has mistaken you for it.

Everyone who has seen your dog has peered down their pudgy little noses, muttered "mutt", spit it and clinked their heels away; or perhaps they simply looked on in sneers of smiling horror, down past their clutching pearls.

"This is you? By god, my goodness! An animal, an animal!"

You used to hate your dog.

You used to lock it in chains outside, let its fleshy paws burn and blister against the cement in the heat of the blaring sun. You grew tired of feeding it, of crushing up its kibble, of leaving it out to dry then quenching its bottomless thirst.

Now you just sit with it.

You sit by its side with your knees to your chest, listening to the cicadas chirp their prayers. Some days, you even let your back burn against the molten floor, a grounding heat while you lie down flat; but every day, every position, your eyes always remain locked on it.

You stare as it rests on its side, fusing to the glistening cement. You listen to its keening whines and dying breaths with a familiar pity and an unbearable disgust.

You blink, unfeeling again now.

You're sure it will never die, no matter how many hours it spends dying.

You never wanted to show Keigo your dog; even though a part of you is screaming and begging to present it to him, a gift from your innards, dirty in the palms of your blistering hands.

Keigo is just like everyone else, you assume. He is kind, he is gentle, he is an angel among men and he is the exact same as everyone else.

You've come to realize a person's good qualities— openmindedness, kindness, empathy— mean nothing in the face of what one is taught. No one is immune to propaganda, and there is no shortage of that nowadays against people with dogs.

The part that makes you doubt your assumptions is this: Keigo has honey in his eyes; flicks of gold specks dusted along the amber of his irises, a sticky kind of love swimming in them that drips down to his lopsided and infuriatingly safe smile.

You could never fathom his nose upturned, as he has been on the ground too many times to do that to another; nor could you picture a sneer from a mouth as sweet as his, honeysuckle and gentle, bright yellow.

So one night, you allow it to spill, hoping for him to soak up your blue one last time.

It's not uncommon for you to spend the dim of your nights at Keigo's home— his real home, the one the commission has never barged themselves in, the one he keeps hidden from every soul in this world but one.

It is uncommon for him to listen to the water of his shower run for several hours.

If you had feathers as sharply perceptive as his, you'd detect the nervous pacing of his leather boots against the carpet of his bedroom floor, even through the sheetrock that separates the two of you. The patter of the showerhead is far too consistent for his liking, very little movement being detected at all and his mind is bouncing off countless possibilities while sticking to none.

Those worries overflow from the cup of his bleating heart, bleeding when he turns sharply toward the bathoom door, resolute.

With a barely audible thud, his forehead traps golden strands between it and the wooden door it rests against.

He doesn't ask you if you're okay. Keigo never bothers with questions he already knows the answer to.

"Baby, open the door. Please," he begs. "I promise, it's okay— just need to be with you. Please."

The song of your sobs muffled through the door causes his feathers to sting an unbearable itch.

How his heart is just as red as those wings. It begins to drip, the string connecting him to you pulled too far for him to take. It— he needs to be with you right now.

A palm slides up the plane, resting firm by his cheek. The air of his breath hits the wood, fogging back against his lips.

"Please, let me in?"

His hopes blossom in the heavy pause that follows.

"...The door's unlocked."

Keigo knows. He could have pried it open in a heartbeat with a single feather even if it was locked, but trust and respect are precious commodities. They are irreplaceable, yet entirely and easily breakable.

Slowly, the knob creaks open, the careful movement still startling your spine stiff. The heels of your feet gently propel you backwards, firmer against the icy wall at the furthermost corner of the shower. The expanse is wide enough to accomodate fierce wings, wide enough to swallow your comparitively puny body in its open jaws.

Curled in on yourself, soaked, and trembling; this is what Keigo sees when he enters the room. This is what he sees when he dashes over, mumbling words you don't quite catch— some are familiar. "Dove", "sweetheart", "oh, my baby."

Down, he kneels by your side under the pour of the synthetic rain. The fabric of his shirt clings to his skin now, hair soaked just like yours; a wet dog all the same.

And with your tears plopping down against the flat tile, scratched knees held to your chest, you allow it to spill.

It spills through the hiccups, it spills through the wet of your cheeks; and above all, it finally spills through your confession, nose upturned to look up at his shaky gaze.

"Oh, angel..."

You can hear the palpable crack of his beating heart in that voice; but even if you didn't, the rustle of scarlet feathers that puff out in protection give his wounds away.

Keigo busies himself with a racing thought: how could he not notice the signs? He knew there were secrets nestled in the cavity of your ribcage, tandrils of some sort of ivy even he couldn't quite recognize.

You have a weight, shackles chaining you to be left out in the midday sun.

He could tell— it's not the same as his; it's another flavor, another disease, another beast of its own, but in the most abstract of ways, he could see it: you're just like him.

"Why didn't you tell me," he rasps, cupping your cheeks with shaky palms. They tap and squish like they're searching for signs— distress, hurt, anything.

You smile a mimicry of his, pulled from your most precious memories, and silently beg for that wobbly smile back; but it does not come. Instead, his eyes begin to shine, glassy and wet.

You've never seen him cry before.

You've never felt as desperate for his yellow as you do now, but you have felt this pathetic and small, once. You have felt like an animal, desperate to be domesticated— a synonym for loved.

"Y-You don't need to worry! I'm good, I'm still clean, see? See?"

As if that's the only thing that matters, you tip your chin towards him to offer your pupils as proof.

Such a gesture may shatter hearts, and Keigo is but a man. Despite it all, he is but a man.

He declines the offer, your words more than enough for him— his body opts to tackle you in an embrace instead, clutching your skull close to his hammering chest.

With each wide-eyed blink, the droplets resting on your lashes flick onto his chest. The soaked strands of your hair cling to him, both bodies drenched now by the roaring downpour above.

Water cascades in heaps onto the floor below. It never stops.

With your cheek pressed against his sternum, his scent invades your senses. He smells like cedarwood cologne and thickets of the forest, a warm signature. It matches his labored breaths: sturdy and weighty and masculine.

"I thought you wouldn't see me as a person anymore," you confess.

He hushes your worries as your eyes flutter shut, kissing the crown of your head with unwavering pride.

"Dove... You're my person."

Keigo thumbs away your tears and pulls back to offer you a wobbly smile.

You offer your own in return— a real one, too, this time.

---

The greatest advice you've ever been told was "don't start". The words felt feeble at the time, like a joke passed down through unproductive seminars in high school out the mouths of stuffy men in suits, men who spoke of the boogeyman and jumped out behind chairs.

It meant nothing at the time.

It means everything now.

It helps you explain a little better to people who've never had a dog.

The words "don't start" are a language they do not speak; and yet, it helps to say it to their mirrored face, to imagine the breadth of your world could be pressed compact into those two tidy little words.

Talking to yourself helps you pretend you're understood.

Even though it is not necessary to be understood before you can be loved:

Don't start.

[unperceivable-future]

Narcissus [Chapter 1/?]

Hawks/Keigo Takami x Reader

Content warning: My own take on the Hanahaki Disease. English is not my best language. Foul language. Angst. May not feel like a Reader-insert considering that Reader has a given quirk and other parameters (except for appearances) [I'll be updating the list as I go]

Synopsis: In a world where humans have further evolved into having redundant traits, you are simply trying to survive life while assisting the Winged Hero.

Note: I did not expect comments and got a bit jumpscared lmao 💀 I absolutely have no clue how this story pans out. I'm just here to write a bit of angst and geek out. A part of me does feel bad that the MC has a bit of a character and backstory and not a super blank slate but I also enjoy having a certain dynamic between Hawks and MC. There is a bit of a projection here unfortunately.

0 1...

===============

You bite back a snort when Hawks' eyes widen at the statistics in front of him.

"Oh shit, that's actually quite a lot." He mumbles under his breath as he reads through the financial report.

"Are you...are you sure these are all for me?" He turns to you, baffled at the numbers. 

"Seems like it, they're all your fans." You shrug in amusement.

"Sucks to be popular huh." One of Hawks' veteran sidekicks chimes in.

The last Thursday of the month is often when the revenue comes in. When Hawks' agency is paid for all the hero work Hawks and his sidekicks have pulled through. Next day is when salary is distributed amongst the staff and...

Monday, first Monday of the new month is when a portion of the revenue is put through a charity system that helps people get their surgery to remove any traces of Hanahaki illness that's caused by Hawks' pretty existence.

The system is rather intricate, involving psych doctors that quite literally use their quirks in determining who is the cause of such a flowery mess of a disease to approve such financial aid.

"I told you to not drink your ass off this weekend." You taunt your boss who cradles his head in his palms.

This always happens. Hawks does something big, makes a grand appearance in the public doing cool heroic villain take downs then do a bit of fan service and celebrate the big victory with his office staff and sidekicks on the weekend then get a bit wasted and regret it by Monday morning as his popularity comes biting him back on his ass.

Normally he gets away from financial punches such as these by rapidly taking down villains without a lot of the public spectating him, his sidekicks barraging in the scene for clean up as he moves to the next villain. That also means less people seeing him and getting the idea that wow, this man is GREAT! Let me just fall in love with him real quick!

But as of late, he has been making a lot of appearances as more daring villains show up and take up his time, attracting viewers and all the shebang. Then added by a little bit of misfortune where he gets invited into interviews he could not turn down since...well, they produce revenues and good public image and that money goes to bettering the agency and of course, goes to helping his unfortunate fans that catch feelings like it's the flu in winter seasons.

It is a balance, really, Hawks is a big believer that a hero's presence itself should be able to put citizens at ease but it does come with a price and in this case, a fairly hefty one.

"Pidge?" Hawks calls you out and you can already guess what he's about to ask of you.

"Yes?"

"Two shots of espresso, please."

"Right on it." You turn to his sidekicks who are fighting back their snickers as they look at the PowerPoint presentation of last month's damages caused by your boss' presence.

"You guys want anything while I'm at it?" You ask them, knowing damn well that they are also fighting a hangover from the weekend's shenanigans.

"Water."

"Coffee."

"More alcohol?" Everybody turns their heads to the youngest and newest sidekick.

"Take it from us, kid, more alcohol doesn't actually get rid of hangovers. It just delays the inevitable." Hawks advises, finally lifting his face from his hands.

"I think it's also worth pointing out that you're on the clock...?" You point flabbergasted at the rather ballsy request.

"Okay, wow, geez I guess I'll just have orange juice then. Damn." The newest recruit mumbles sarcastically, his youthful humour finally coming out of his shy shell.

"Good. Now let's discuss about this month's patrol route." Hawks sighs and clicks for the next slide to continue the monthly briefing and you make your way to the cafeteria to grab the heroes' beverages.

Working with Hawks, after proving yourself by sorting out the administrative side of his business and in turn saving his then crumbling sanity, is not actually that bad. He is chill when the day is chill, he keeps his cool even when the day goes wrong and he learned to stop micromanaging everything and learned to trust that his employees will be able to keep up and keep the system up and running. Over the years, he found the perfect momentum along with his team and knows when a mishap is a mishap and when to actually let go of someone because they are ruining the equilibrium.

He always claims that it was all you, that how you helped set up his office and all the admin side of things is what eased his mind. You personally think that he simply matured and let go of his overly-independent personality.

It made an unlikely partnership between the two of you where there is mutual respect but not in a way that you respect Hawks because he is your boss then he treats you with bare minimum kind of respect because you did things for him through beck and call. It was mutual respect where you both actually work in tandem and you get the perks of calling him out when needed and him being able to actually have someone who does not put him up a pedestal and inflate his head, something like a friend even.

"How was patrol?" You ask, munching on your lunch. Hawks and his sidekicks have just come back from their afternoon patrol just in time while you're on your lunch break, his sidekicks heading to the cafeteria to get something to eat.

"It was hot outside." Hawks yawns and stretches his wings. You hum in response when your phone vibrates.

"Who?" He leans curiously when he notices you tapping on your device singlehandedly.

"Some dude I matched with." You respond nonchalantly, typing up a response as to why you were not in a rush in meeting this man you have been chatting with for the past three days.

"Don't you think you're rebounding too quickly?" Hawks asks.

It was an embarrassing ordeal, having gone through a cordial break up with your partner of one year only to call in sick as you sneeze and cough up petals of lilies. The painful realisation that your ex-partner has moved on quicker than you could when they started to discuss about healthily distancing and setting up boundaries in order to salvage some semblance of friendship. Embarrassing and a punch to the ego, you suppose even when they claimed that they occasionally cough up petals that look eerily similar to the first ever flower they have given to you.

"If I drown myself with men, there's nothing deep to feel." You try to make yourself sound poetic which earns you a snort from the winged hero.

"Yeah and you're probably causing these men to throw up flowers because you've been turning down the second dates." He points out.

"They don't know me well enough to cough up anything." You retort, setting your phone down.

Despite the gruesome and useless trait of coughing up flowers whenever you feel some semblance of unrequited love or care (or when the parameters dwindle and become unresolved), it is quite merciful that such illness only manifests when you feel strongly about it. Maybe it is the self-limiting nature of evolution, that no matter how crazy the body can behave it will always loop back to the baseline so that a petty crush does not decimate your lungs. Biology sure does work in mysterious ways but you would like to thank whoever is out there for making the Hanahaki Disease to follow a negative feedback loop rather than a positive one.

You let out a sneeze, covering your nose and mouth when you feel something lodged in your throat. You get up and leave the lounging area in a hurry, Hawks shooting you a concerned look knowing for a fact that you have not yet gotten over your ex.

It happens, people fall in love and when it goes both ways they do not fall sick. Sometimes people start getting sick even when they are in a relationship, a symptom that their union is tilting to its end. Other times when people feel so unhappy about the circumstances of their dynamic with their partner, they cough up petals as if a warning sign that the couple better start sorting themselves out.

Scientists believe that the social nature of humans is what caused such an evolutionary trait, that with a good and stable union leads to good offsprings eventually. This makes sense, really, because better offsprings are produced from compatible parents. You could imagine how much less generational trauma there should be if your parents got along well.

Others believe that someone or something out there is playing matchmaker, theists and those who believe in fate and destiny. But regardless, the truth remains that the illness seems to exist to supposedly benefit the social personality of Homo sapiens. The tribe is stronger in numbers and when there is less conflict, after all.

Though the whole ordeal is a little bit dramatic, you won't lie. It's not like people are stupid enough with their emotions that they need to cough up a whole ass lily just to remind them hey! You got an unsorted out feelings for this person! Get your shit together, dude! But you digress, sighing as you hack out yet another petal of lily---a sore reminder that a cordial break up will always leave lingering and unresolved feelings at first.

[unperceivable-future]

Narcissus [Pilot]

Hawks/Keigo Takami x Reader

Content warning: My own take on the Hanahaki Disease. English is not my best language. Foul language. Angst. May not feel like a Reader-insert considering that Reader has a given quirk and other parameters (except appearance) [I'll be updating the list as I go]

Synopsis: In a world where humans have further evolved into having redundant traits, you are simply trying to survive life while assisting the Winged Hero.

Note: This story concept smacked me on the head when I was having a sad girl moment.

0 1...

===============

"Don't forget your meeting with the chairwoman at 2 PM." You remind Hawks as you hand him a stack of papers for him to go through and sign.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course." Your boss grumbles as he goes through a casefile.

In a world where humans have further evolved into gaining superhuman abilities, meta abilities as they have first been coined, comes in a rather redundant trait.

You personally think that quirks are an interesting evolutionary trait. They vary and therefore cannot be pinpointed to selective pressures in nature. It is not akin to peppered moths darkening due to the soot that comes with the Industrial Revolution, quirks were random and have no basis.

So did the abilities of humans coughing up petals after petals when they feel strongly for another person.

You have worked with Hawks three months since he started his hero agency. Fresh out of college and simply through nepotism, maybe a little bit of genetic luck. Your quirk and your family ties were what links you to the Wing Hero.

"I'd appreciate it if you actually read through the reports since, you know, Madame Witch herself would like to know how your last mission went. In full detail." You add in annoyance.

You watched him start as a new hero, a new agency and simply a company you joined through the recommendations by your mother. A mysterious boy that came out of nowhere much like you did if anybody were to take tabs.

"When have I actually not?" Hawks retorts, he looks up to you with such a charmingly playful smile.

"Would you actually like me to list that out for you?" You huff out. It took a while for your relationship with your boss to stabilise.

You joined Hawks' hero agency a few months after the agency itself started. Hawks was anal at first, absolutely all over the place after just firing his fifth assistant in the three-month period his company was set up. He grilled you, put you through so many tasks with mind numbing filings and organising paperwork as his previous assitants simply could not keep up. He was intimidating and a bit pissy, already forecasted for you to fail and to be tossed away but you managed. In fact, you exceeded his expectations, having been able to be a step behind him and sometimes a step before.

When you hit your second month in the company, he actually became a bit nicer and more relaxed. Perhaps it is the fact that you were able to clean up the administrative mess that was caused by the start-up of his business plus the fact that you're coping quite well under the pressure of his ever growing popularity and high demands. And that you memorised his personal likes and dislikes.

And now four years later, your dynamic with your boss is much like you being the nagging mother, constantly reminding him of the mundane tasks of hero work while also picking up after him.

"What does next week look like?" He asks, still reading through whatever casefile the Hero Public Safety Commission handed him some time ago.

"No meetings but your new sidekicks are joining in so you're---"

"Training them, yeah, got it." He sighs, snapping the folder shut and shoots you a tired smile.

It is admirable how Hawks can withstand the pressure of being the number 3 hero despite his young age. He breaks records of being the youngest and fastest while looking so cool and effortless that spectators are under the assumption that he is an under challenged prodigy.

But he is not. He is simply human running on constant adrenaline and stress.

"I'll go grab you some coffee. You might wanna look alive for when the chairwoman shows up." You offer, turning your heels and making your way out of his office.

"Have I mentioned that you're such an angel?" He calls out and you can hear the grin in his voice.

"Many times." You retort like clockwork.

He always tries to make himself look like he has got his shit together despite his age. And honestly? That's definitely why a lot of the people in this country cough up sunflowers when they think of him.

[unperceivable-future]

Repetitions and Branching Off

Hawks/Keigo Takami x Reader.

Content warning: ANGST? references of mental illness including symptoms of psychosis, self-mutilation. Usage of AFAB pronouns. Usage of "angel" as petname. Not proof-read (and English is not really my first language) and more on waffling to cope.

Synopsis: Keigo trying to be a kind (ex)boyfriend.

Note: I don't know, I mentally checked out and came back to this. This made more sense in my head.

===============

Perhaps this was a mistake. There has to be a turning point in Keigo's life where he should have been smarter, wiser and chose the better option.

His phone buzzes yet again. Another message, another rambling that makes sense to nobody but her. Well, it sort of makes sense to Keigo. He's heard her ramble about it, ranting and throwing her hands around in frustration, sometimes in excitement but mostly in worry too. He glances at the notification banner on his lockscreen.

"They are parko..." parkouring by the closet, in my room. Keigo does not need to unlock his phone to read the whole message. The sentence tends to end one way or the other: the cats are parkouring by the closet or the cats are parkouring in my room.

She often thinks the cats are cute. Spooky but all cats are cute.

He continues to fly in the direction of her home, her little rotting pod as she calls it nowadays. He takes his time, both mentally preparing himself on what to say and how to compose himself. It never gets easier and he wishes he made the right choice during that one moment where the story branched off.

Keigo was never a caregiver. He can only fend for himself, he could not even save his own parents. He wished he could though.

He wishes that he is mentally sound, mentally safe and mentally sane. Maybe he could help his drowning loved ones instead of being passive, instead of letting them slip through the cracks of his fingers like rainwater when he would cup his hands out when he stands under the storm.

He sees the roof of her house and makes a touchdown, preparing himself for the worst case scenario. First he truly wishes that she hasn't snapped and skedaddled to the afterlife, second he sincerely wishes to turn back time---before the story branched off.

Before he agreed that they were better off as friends and not lovers. It made it easier for him to keep track of her because she felt more obliged to open up. Now she runs rampant like the cats that plague her home, no longer find it necessary to give him an update of her life.

"Angel?" Keigo does not knock, he simply sends a feather through the mail slot of his ex-girlfriend's front door and unlocks it to let himself in.

"I used a feather to let myself in!" He calls out from the landing, he hopes that the sentence is long enough to not fuck with her head, that his sentence was not a figment of her imagination.

"Keigo...?" His best friend's voice quietly inquires, it comes from her bedroom. The ground zero of it all.

Keigo makes his way inside and no matter how many times, the sight never gets easier.

"Angel..." There goes his angel, sitting in the middle of her room swallowed in her thick duvet with her forehead slumped against her desk chair. Keigo does not waste time, he pulls her duvet off her as if ripping off bandages. He needs to assess the damages.

"I think I did good." She mumbles, her voice flat and nonchalant. Keigo gently pulls her arms, pushing her pyjama shorts up inspecting her usual sites.

Words scribbled in markers. Some were intelligible, others were repetitions and others were smudged and scratched out by her inked-stained nails. Her arms and thighs look like those paper notes you'd sneakily pass between you and your friends in class.

'no'

'spooked'

'uh oh'

'no'

'clean'

'stop'

':('

'okay'

'go away'

'ok'

'no'

'scary'

'scry'

'clean'

'theyre clean'

Keigo is not necessarily a massive guy, though his hands make people feel as if he is. He wrap his warm hands around her ink-stained arms, he makes note of how her non-dominant arm is throbbing. The wave isn't over yet.

He wants to quickly pull her into a warm embrace, a part of him wanting to just smother her with his love and pray it cures her but it is never that easy. So he pulls her slowly and gently, trying to swallow down the flinch from how empty her eyes look and how much she stank of hair grease and musk.

"You should have called me sooner." Keigo chides her quietly as he grounds her back to Earth.

"I thought he had me bugged." She retorts and Keigo wants to remind her that the prime minister of Japan is too busy to be personally stalking her and that there is no reason for the prime minister to have a vendetta against her but it is futile but he knows that on clearer days she knows this. But right now it is not that day.

She flinches, her eyes darting to the crevice under her bed.

"There's nothing there." Keigo reminds her that there are no black cats. There are no white cats either. No garden gnomes, no dogs and no children running around her home.

"I'm sorry Keigo." She apologises for taking his precious time, for putting more onto his plate. She wants to cry but there are no tears. In her head she is grief-stricken that she dragged him down with her but her body has nothing to give only flat-voiced mumblings that makes her sound like a careless asshole who is simply apologising for the sake of getting it over with. But Keigo has learned to understand, he gets it. The whole emotionally shutting down response that the body can put you through.

"You can't be sorry over something you can't control." At some point gets her to sit down on her bed, taking over her aggressive scrubbing on her skin with a damp towel in favour of gentler rubbing to remove the scribbles on her flesh.

"The doctor keeps, the doctor keeps saying that I cannot be manic. Otherwise I wouldn't have known that I was manic." She explains to Keigo. She explains this to him many times why she seems to be stuck in this cycle.

"Well your doctor is a dickhead and you need to change to a better one." He replies as his brow twitches in irritation.

"Do you want me to call you a new doctor?" He asks. It's the same conversation every few weeks, the same doctor she sticks around with despite how unheard she felt, despite how her concerns with her medicine is shrugged off.

"I...I'll do it, I promise. I'll call them this time." She vows but Keigo knows this will unlikely happen. He holds her now damped arms, her non-dominant arm still throbbing. Sometimes he wonders if psychiatrists actually acknowledged the physiological effects of wanting to damage your own body. He knows hers doesn't.

"Sleep first." Keigo suggests. It does not matter if she has not slept for more than three hours or if she has slept for sixteen hours.

He likes to think that sleeping can help her reset somehow, that she will wake up feeling a little bit better and a little bit more present. Besides, she tends to always be exhausted after...an episode.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" She asks as Keigo helps her get tucked into bed. He joins her to her bed like he used to, holding her close after turning off the nightstand lamp and ignoring how she does not feel or smell like his pretty ex-girlfriend that was so well taken care of.

"Tomorrow, we'll get you a better doctor. Tonight, we sleep." He reassures her in the darkness of her room, in the ground zero of it all.