#hawks x back!reader

[romiantic]

YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME !

NOW PLAYING…circus by summer walker

YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME, you love him but does he love you like you do?

INCLUDING hawks, pro-basketball player!aomine, singer!eren

READING: black!fem!reader

GENRE + WARNINGS: angst + suggestive, toxic nigga behavior from all characters

A/N: this was a very old wip I found which I gained a lot of motivation to write :). also eren is supposed to mirror drake in his part, I feel like fanon eren is drake in a different font 💀

HAWKS, the #2 pro-hero, the man who sends away smiles at fellow citizens and takes pictures with cheery children. The man who had girls squealing and wishing to be in his “entourage”. Just one night with the handsome man and they’ll be satisfied with life, maybe some money as well. Though, they don’t know that it’s the same man who had your head spinning like a damn wheel, wondering day in and day out why you are still trying to put effort into something that you don’t even know will work. But…he convinced you otherwise; giving you bouquets of flowers when he comes home, good morning texts, sweet loves by the night. If all this he does/gives to you, why aren’t you together? What’s stopping you two from an official label?

He pushes it off, he keeps saying he’s not ready. He doesn’t think he can juggle being a pro-hero with a girlfriend. Such a ridiculous and stupid reason but when you tried to talk yourself out of it, you were convinced by sweet talks that he needs you and you know your heart yearns for him. You couldn’t break his heart by leaving, could you?

AOMINE isn’t the best at displaying his love for you but he tries, rarely. He has stated himself that he isn’t really a lover boy but in his heart, he knows that you both belong together. He just can’t find it in himself to show you. Especially with the glitz and glamor of being an all star basketball player, love for him may not be suitable. Well, publicly being in love, to be exact. The blogs, the allegations, the scandals, it would all be too “out there” and Aomine has a very private life to abide by. Being famous and having people invested in his life is one thing but allowing his lover in the spotlight? Nah, he wouldn’t do that to her.

But then again, the gifts he buys you remind you that he still thinks about you and loves you dearly. The dainty bracelet from Chanel, the bouquet of roses he leaves on your nightstand, the occasional messages he sends, they all mean some sort of value. Even if the man who sends them isn’t ready to push his love further like you want it to be.

EREN, everyone’s favorite certified lover boy with the voice as comforting as the blues but the lyricism of an aching heart. Quite odd considering that the amount of love he displays to the world, mostly his fans, you don’t tend to see it? A questionable trait for a man whose songs are about girls who have treated his love like a used rag, but yet he has the similar traits to said girls. He sings constantly about wanting to be loved in a way that makes him feel unstoppable, safe, and comfortable but he rarely shows that with you. To make matters worse than they are, he would say that what y’all have is nothing too serious so why take it serious?

Though, the male singer will always remind you of how much he loves you when it’s just the two of you. You’ll always remember after his shows when the room is hot and full of his “love” with steamy kisses and bodies tangled up in this so-called “love” he wants to claim.

⭑ shoutout to tia for proofreading, thank you twinnnn 🫶🏽

⭑ *gasp* mia doesn’t write something spiderman for once 😱

⭑ lemme know which was y’all fave to read !

���𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: Ephesians 2:4-5

MAIN MASTERLIST

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟥 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[finsplurtz]

hawks — keigo.takami

— dom ! male.reader x sub ! Keigo Takami

— contents : hawks with a daddy kink , use of “daddy” and “birdy” , some degrading , really short

warnings : just hardcore fuckin i think

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮

it was just the way you treated him really got him bad.. so bad no other person can fuck him and make him feel as good as you do.

your hand was pressing down on his back as he arched and let out long whines, you guys had been going at it for a bit now..

“ha…tired, birdy..?” you cooed in his ear. He huffed and moaned.

“n..no….fuuuck me har— AGH” you wrapped your big hands around his wings and used them to fuck him stupid. He spewed a bunch of curse words and your name but they were all slurred and barely understandable.

“aww…you’re taking me so well..~ such a good baby..” his dick twitched leaking precum onto the small pool of cum under him.

you grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled on it, you began sucking and biting on his neck earning more whimpers from the blonde.

“yn I- c..com..ing..”

“yeah..?~ go ahead then baby.. I’ll stuff my cum deep in your tight little hole…I’ll breed you..~” you lightly laugh in his ear feeling him tighten around you at your filthy words.

“you’d like that, hm? getting bred by your daddy’s cock…”

his eyes widened and his back arched feeling his cum rip out of his cock. He moaned into his pillow as his legs gave out and he collapsed on the bed.

you pulled out and watch cum drip out of his pink hole.

you flipped him over on his back and put his legs over your shoulder re-entering him. “noo…s..stop..~” he could barely keep his eyes open he just flailed his arms around.

you suddenly grab his jaw getting a squeak out of him and leaning down to his lips.

“…..you’re too cute keigo…~” he flushed red and grabbed at your wrist.

“let daddy go one more round…okay..?” he shuddered under you and nodded his head. you tilted your head.

“you’re such a dirty boy…” you fucked into him roughly, he gasped and bit onto your hand.

“f-fuck—! I l..love you daaddy—“ he choked feeling your fingers shove into his mouth but smiled looking at you with hearts in his eyes.

a/n; writers block fucking me in the ass HEYYY

[hollowtakami]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ keigo understands how difficult depression can be. no matter how many symptoms you show, any mood swings or crying spells; he will always be there for you.

sending his feathers to grab a soft blanket, some water and light foods - crackers, pre-chopped fruit, anything he could try and help you eat. his bird instincts tend to kick in when you feel low, he wants to care for you, provide for his mate. he's so loving and gentle. it makes you wonder what he had to go through to be so soft.

he keeps a few feathers around the house when he's out on patrols or any missions, he leaves his jacket at home no matter how cold it is so you can keep it with you. he'd thank the world for biting his skin with the wind if it meant his baby bird was happy.

[moodyvoid]

Your boyfriend, Hawks, walks up and grabs a handful of your ass and you playfully shoo his hand away like, “Keep your hands to yourself.”

He nods, slaps your ass with one of his wings, and then flies out of reach when you try to slap his ass back.

[joonipertree]

Which Anime characters would let you win in a physical play fight

Yes, flirtatiously. They look up at you with big eyes full of mirth and love. Sometimes they pull you on top of them and give you kisses all over.

"my baby is so strong~"

You don't believe that for a second.

-Mitsuya, Ran, Shinichiro, Gojo!, Nanamin, itadori, Midoriya, Hawks!! Chifuyu, Yuuta, Mitsuya

Yes, because they're lazy. To be fair, sometimes you do attack them when they're sleepy so get ready for the stinkiest glare they've ever given you. But sometimes you're on top and they're....just too tired to move. Might ask you to ride them lmao.

-Ran (in both cases, yes), Wakasa, Geto, Aizawa, Dabi! Kenma, Megumi

No, competitively. Yeah it might be part fight reflex, part inner fire. they might not consciously mean it but they'd just pin you down because their brain is like no!!! Don't get them wrong...they'd never hurt you...just sort of.....restrain you.

-Mikey, Bakugo, Sukuna, Baji, Todoroki, Hinata

No, flirtatiously. Yeah, he's 100% taking this chance to have you under him with droopy dark eyes and a smirk. He might whine at you mockingly like "oh noo :( my baby's caught. What're they gonna do now huh? They're stuck :(" And ruin you so thoroughly like plEASE want them to spread my legs with their hips and make me whiny and weak.

-Ran (am i obsessed w him or what?) Rindou, Mean! Hawks because i love Mean Hawks, Hanma, Geto, Shigaraki, Dabi, Mean! Midoriya because Im also obsessed w him (i have a pattern)

[star-spirit-mayhem]

Keigo who had a sex doll before he met you and after you find it you make him fuck it in front of you to humiliate himself.

[takami-takami]

Yandere!Keigo handles you moving on after breaking up with him quite well. Quite well, he'd grit through gnashed teeth, his veins running cold.

"I'm seeing someone again, Kei." You still call him that godforsaken nickname you gave to him. It's the only name that he ever felt fit his person, and now the word feels like a spit in his stoic face. He never let anyone else call him that after you, you know.

"Just thought I should tell you first. I-I'm not–" you sigh and drop your hands, averting your look from his piercing gaze. Another spit, this time in his eye. "I know we're not together anymore, but I thought it would bother you to hear from someone else, so. Here I am."

Here you are.

"It's fine, chickadee," he assures you with a golden smile, throwing his arm around you like you're old friends. Like nothing happened.

You should know better than to let the relief settle in your bones. Those very bones may as well snap with his next words spoken, slurred with a hint of something you can't quite put a pin on, something you can't quite see when you frantically try and meet his eyes. This time, his won't meet yours.

"What's his fucking name."

[ameliaenya707]

I feel like as non violent yan!keigo is we genuinely give him far to much credit. This man is still fucking terrifying. The emotional manipulation and abuse is real. The emotions are blurred and hard to read, upseting him only causes him to look happier. A smirk that doesn't belong as he mentaly tortures you. Leaning more into psychological punishments than physical ones. At the end he might just have you BEGGING him to hurt you, that's how much he can fuck up your mind.

[chainelunaire]

body confidence

shigaraki

he's deadass horrified of the idea of you touching him, but you can never tell, since he hides it really well. no, contrary to popular opinion, not because of his quirk, since he’s very confident he mastered it to a perfection. he doesn’t like to be touched at all - at least that’s what he himself thinks - so he personally is fine, but he knows it might be important for you. and since he cares about you a lot, he’ll eventually be able to tolerate your affection towards him. he’s actually one of the most socialized characters here, but in a very subconscious way. yes, he did not get the socialization he needed, but through games he kind of got the idea how the world works. and even though he does not show it, society and it’s standarts already made their way in his brain. he knows he’s not conventionally beautiful, and he truly did not care all this time. but the more he thinks of it now, the more of a dread he feels. it sits in his mind, that with time you’ll understand, you’ll see him, and that’s not what you’d want. he can’t even explain this fear to himself, let alone you. he’s partly in denial that he lacks confidence to some extent, especially in something this stupid. but, unlike others, he lets people inside quite easily, especially in comparison. and since he let them inside, he trusts their judgement. he has very hard time saying ‘no’ to those he loves. so, with enough care and some persuasion, he’ll gain that confidence he needed. it’s surprisingly easy tbh. he still won’t be the most touchy person to be around, but he’ll hold your hand on occasion and even let you lean on him on public. in private - whole other story. he’ll be much more relaxed and affectionate. he likes that how touching other person feels, he just genuinely enjoys it. so he’ll let you almost throw him around, like he’s fine don’t worry he’s having a time of his life. and it’s also very peaceful, lying on him under a blanket, while he plays some game, and just listen to his heartbeat.

hawks

you see, he’s pretty confident, and it’s kind of obvious. he was trained since he was a kid, he’s widely loved and popular and he is undeniably good-looking. however, none of it makes him feel appreciated. he doesn’t care about his body or his looks, sometimes he even has a hard time recognising himself in a mirror. he often has that feeling that his mind does not belong to his body, that his body could look different and it’s not him in a reflection. don’t get me wrong, he fully recognises his attractiveness and if needed he’ll use it without hesitation. but this is more of a learnt thing than his own feelings, you know? he was told he’s beautiful, so that’s what he grew up believing, it was never one of his concerns. he himself does not care, as long as he’s healthy and alive, he’s fine. in fact, unlike shigaraki, he really, really, dislikes touching. like, he genuinely doesn’t like others even standing close to him. he’s annoyed if someone breathes too loud for his liking. maybe it’s because everyone used to touch him without his consent, especially at the beginning of his carreer, when he didn’t know how to escape this very unwanted attention. so you’ll never tell, because he’s great at hiding his feelings and he doesn’t want to offend anyone, since it’s more of a him problem. if he’s handsy with you, too close for a comfort, hands down he needs something from you, it’s just straight up a lie. the real hawks is very reserved and introverted. his trust issues are not something to joke about. he needs a lot to truly warm up to a person, especially to an extent of letting that person touch him, especially to an extent when it’s him who initiates physical affection. so when you feel how calm and serious he became and suddenly not always friendly and funny, it’s actually a good sign. he trusts you enough to show who he really is. be patient, though he doesn’t need reassurance about his looks, he’s not so confident that he’ll be able to give you what you want and you’ll leave, disappointed. so he’ll ignore that elephant in the room for as long as he can. you need to be the one who’ll make him face his fears. only like that he can become more open and chill version of himself.

dabi

dear god, a lot to unpack here. to say that he’s walking contradiction is to say nothing. he is very confident in himself, all the while being perfectly aware of his horrifying appearance and rather weak social skills. see, his confidence comes from the fact that he knows that he looks the way he looks for a reason. those horrors his body witnessed, all the torture and abuse, they’ve changed him. all of this made him who he is today. he sort of sees his body in a very interesting perspective, as if it’s an exposition of sorts and he himself is a narrator. he very much enjoys scaring people with the stories of his life. god forbid you actually listen to even some of these (and he sadly has a lot), you’ll get why he has so much hatred in his heart. it’s you who’ll get sad hearing what he’s been through, when he lived when his family and later when he tried to survive on streets. you better not overthink it. and while it looks like he doesn’t give a damn, well, he actually does care about his looks a lot, and that’s where contradictions come from. even though he despises those societal standarts and restraints, he still in some way wants to fit in. he's a monster, but he’s a cool edgy looking monster, yfm? he’s fine with blood oozing out of the seams, but he’ll literally get dizzy hearing his own scent, and it’s burning flesh. you also won’t get too touchy with him, because those staples are here not only for the looks, they serve a purpose. he views his body as a tool, he’s not attached to it at all. that’s the result of the years of abuse and constant reminders that he’s weak. it’s still sitting in his brain, eating him alive. truly sky is the limit, he’ll never be satisfied with his powers, because that’s not what he wants. he wants recognition, for someone to say that he is strong, enough. and you see, he still won’t believe it, because his body in itself is a proof that he is weak and therefore his body has no value. he had sold it in a hundred different ways, devoting it fully to revenge is only one of them. it’s really weird how he’s very confident but has low self-esteem? you can touch him, you can hug him, you can kiss him. do whatever, he doesn’t really care. it was even worse when he was younger, because he didn’t know what to do with himself. but now he has a goal, so he’s more careful with his body. he needs it to fullfill his purpose. he doesn’t care about anything or anyone, and it’s rather sad, because it hurts him too. he can’t allow himself this, because this will mean he and his weak body mean something, and it was enough, and things that he did to himself were not okay at all. but that’s just how he’d learnt to survive, you can’t do anything about it, it might actually kill him mentally. deep inside, in some better world he would touch some grass be finally heard. he’ll learn that he’s in fact very strong, since not a lot of people would’ve be able to survive what he’s been through.

[hollowtakami]

HEYOOO

so I read your keigo fics and I really loved them! What do you think about Keigo waking up from a nightmare and he can't find you, so he starts to panic, and when you come back from the toilet (or wherever you were), he immediately latches onto you panicking and crying

Man he is so sweet

hi anon! ^_^ tysm for your ask, it rlly made me smile hehe. here’s a small drabble as thanks:)

(apologies if its rusty, the only thing i have written as of late is uni essays-)

keigo gasped for air as though he’d been reborn, feathers pricked out like needles.

he clutched at his shirt like a vice, daring to tear through his skin and stress grip his dying heart. he panted, delirious amidst his fear.

the suns of his eyes bounced across every corner of the room, his free hand scratching away the duvet in search of you. nothing, not even his feathers could sense you, clouded by fright.

what the avian didn’t know was that you hadn’t left him like his father, you’d only gotten to get a glass of water after the drought in your throat had woken you up, not nearly as violently as the way your boyfriend’s body treated him.

what you didn’t know was that your boyfriend was unfurling faster than the might of his wings ever could.

pattering through the hallway of your apartment with a glass and a plenished throat, you gently broke your way into your shared bedroom with a tired hand.

your eyes retreated behind their lids at the light you swore you hadn’t put on, lest you disturb keigo in his sleep.

no, an instinctual feather did so.

you stop, feet planting into the carpet as your brain tries to process the scene in front of you, whirring through its fatigue.

there was keigo, plumage fluffed up in fear, eyes wild and pinned on you, your bedsheets in tatters.

“kei?” words clawed up your throat as you slowly made your way to the bedside table and placed the glass. keigo grabbed your wrist the moment you’d set it down, you managed to get a better look at him.

sunny bedhead and a dark sky lining his eyes, his chest heaved along with the heavy burdens that laced his blood, what was his own that didn’t stain his hands.

no matter how much he scrubbed his skin, keigo would never be clean. it had trickled into his brain, and he couldn’t even escape it in his sleep.

“stay,“ he silently barked, his words scratchy.

keigo’s stress grip on your wrist wouldn’t let up, the avian latched onto you for dear life.

your face fell, eyebrows furrowed as you saw his glassy eyes, glossed over with fear.

“bad dream, baby?” you whispered, slowly raising your wrist to run a hand through keigo’s hair, massaging his scalp with gentle nails.

keigo only choked on a sob, his vulnerabilities racing down his cheeks to their end. if only this would end, he begged to a god he wasn’t sure existed.

you brought your wrist down, eyes trained on the dots of his.

“‘m not going anywhere, baby boy,” you soothed, gentle reassurance hanging in the air until keigo was ready to pluck it down and hold it close to him.

he tried to not, more words contesting in his throat.

keigo looked down at himself, feathers shaking more than his tired body.

“bad..” he gestured to himself.

“you aren’t him, birdie,” your words were soft, sun against his skin. his heart swelled amidst the silent rage of his head.

soon, you felt keigo’s grip starting to soften too.

you grabbed the glass of water with a free hand, using the other to usher strands of gold out of his eyes, tucking them behind his ear as you helped him sip some water.

kissing his forehead, you cooed, “that’s my boy,”

keigo chirped, too frightened to speak. he would only chirp or coo when this regressed into his fear, not that you minded. you knew that his bird qualities were something he was forced to bury, much like other innocents.

but, there wasn’t any blood on keigo’s hands.

the only thing in his hands was the silk of your skin, fingers intertwined as you spoke to him with the song of your voice, an angel he would tell himself he didn’t deserve.

your wings were pure, his stained red. he was born like this, conceived by a monster of a man. so, that must mean that he was born the same.

it took an angel like you to help him realise he had never fallen, it was someone else who had clipped his wings.

[ftmfandomfics]

Dirty little bitch

Top Cis Hawks x Bottom FtM dogboy! Reader

——————

Warnings: rough sex, angry sex, “revenge”(?) sex, Hawks is in that headspace because of a slightly stupid reason, kinda training kinda not, handcuffs/restraints, spitting, name calling/aggressive language, language that may cause dysphoria*, orgasm denial, happy ending with some joking.

*Readers genitals are not described in detail, traditionally male pronouns used, names such as “bitch” “whore” “slut” are used.

If I missed any warnings please let me know!

18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT!

—————

“Well, are you going to be a good boy for me then?”

“Yes!” You wailed, tugging at the cuffs holding your wrists to the headboard.

He hummed “I don’t believe you,” giving another harsh thrust.

“I’m sorry!” You cried out, whimpering and squirming under him.

“And why” thrust “should I” thrust “believe” thrust “that” three more rapid thrusts, gripping your neck and looming above you with fiery eyes. He looks conflicted, a slight doubt that what you did actually deserves this.

See, you and him were at a meeting together earlier this evening. The press questioning you both on the most recent mission, when the conversation quickly turned a lot more personal. You two were public about the relationship but Hawks preferred to leave some things a secret, so when a reporter made a joke about a picture captured by paparazzi of you sitting on a villian’s chest while subdoing them, then stated that you “do look really good on top” Hawks had no idea how to react to your quick “I do” other than to change the topic entirely while you giggled.

Thinking about it again reignited his fire, the confliction leaving his eyes as he gripped your shoulders and pounded into you.

“WHO FUCKING LOOKS BETTER ON TOP?!” He yelled

You cried under him, overwhelmed by his pace “yo-u” you gasp, panting heavily, mouth agape.

He sneers down at you, cocking a brow and spitting into your mouth.

When your only reaction is to swallow it he gives you another harsh thrust and leans down to your ear

“Dirty little bitch”

You whine and nod, eyes squeezed tight as his tongue drags behind your ear

“We both know you love this” he groans, you nod again more vigorously

“Use your FUCKING WORDS!” He grips your chin and forces you to look at him

“I -love it” you choke out, searching his face for any reaction

He smirks, “Good, you little fucking whore.”

He roughly moves his hand away and plants them both at either side of your head, glancing at the cuffs and then back at you with a dark chuckle.

“Poor little mutt, chained up and helpless” he drags a nail along your side, moving to run up the tender skin of your lower arm “bet you’d love me to take these off, huh?” He asks, gripping the cuff and making intense eye contact.

You look away, a whispered “no” leaving your lips.

He grabs your chin again and forces your attention “what was that?” He asks, with very little patience behind those words.

“No” you squeak “I -I like them” you whisper the last part.

Hawks smirks again, “good.”

He starts thrusting again, one hand gripping your shoulder the other on your hip, his hand snaked behind to wrap around your waist and slightly lift you off the bed.

Stuttered moans leave you, gasping with each thrust as you feel your climax starting to build. The tone of your moans change to a higher pitch and he focuses on keeping the same pace. Letting it build until you start to cry “please let me cum-fuck fuck- oh please -please let me cum!” He laughs.

“Now do you really think you deserve it?” He chastises. “You don’t even deserve to be this close to it.”

“Please!”

“No.”

You almost protest but decide not to, knowing that definitely won’t get you anywhere.

He slows his thrusts to make sure you won’t cum, ignoring the whines he knows are instinctional, and pulls out.

“Only good boys get to cum. When you prove you’ll be good for me, like accepting this and learning to keep your mouth shut when you should, I’ll think about letting you cum again.”

You nod, defeated, looking away from him in shame.

“Hey” he whispers, moving closer to your face. You look at him

“I love you.” He kisses you “I love you more than anything.” You blush and look away again, this time with a small smile.

“And if I ever go too far-“ “I know” you giggle. “I know.”

He smiles and gently scratches behind your ear, you lean into his touch for a second then look at him

“Now please take these cuffs off of me.”

“Fine. If you insist” he laughs and moves to take them off.

“Well you can’t just leave me here all day” you giggle

“You have no idea how tempted I am to run out of the room for the bit but I know you would kill me”

“Smart bird”

[crowborn666-writes]

Red

(A long legs spider crawled on me when I was in the middle of writing abt Hawks catching you 😐 gee thanks for ruining the mood you fckn spider)

Hawks x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Platonic/Romantic

Summary: The No. 2 hero changes your views on a rather painful color.

CW/TW: falling from a great height, injuries (reader gets cut from glass),

(Listened to Suzume (feat Toaka) by RADWIMPS way too much while writing this. The vibe just FIT)

~~~~~~

Red.

You’d almost grown to hate such a color. It showed whenever you got a cut, in the eyes of so many villains, and far too much of it showed on the news, too often on live broadcasts where they couldn’t blur it out for the weak-minded.

For a long time for you, red meant pain.

Then it happened, you were at your doctors office, the building scaling several floors. As you were walking down a hall, your gaze naturally sliding to the wide, floor-length windows, you almost didn’t see the monstrous form of a Nomu barreling towards the window at Mach level speeds.

Screams erupted at the window shattered, and like the wild wind pushing and pulling on a door, you found yourself sucked right out of the building.

Hundreds of feet below you, your eyes locked on the burning blue sky, eyes stinging from both fright and the sun’s harsh rays.

Freefall.

You were falling. The sky above you and ground too far away.

Your eyes shut, the only sound being wind in your ears, the feeling of being slapped by your own hair. Then an impact against your back had them open once again, gaze locking onto the red that surrounded you.

But this red was different. It wasn’t horrific, it wasn’t blood, and it certainly wasn’t the red of a villain.

This red was softer, and as it moved you realized it was a pair of wings, and two strong arms held you snugly against a broad chest.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha!”

Your head turned as his gaze shifted, Pro Hero Hawks being the one to save you from your deadly fall.

You felt his hand wrap around one of your forearms, his other pressing into your side. Your watering gaze turned to find your hands clutching one of his arms, and from beneath his hands red dripped upward, caught in the wind.

Red was bad…

But then you turned to the softer red around you, wings beating against the air, feathers leaving and returning as Hawks went about pulling people to safety.

Hawks’ red was good.

“Hang on, okay?” You heard in your ear, finding yourself somehow tucked even closer to him, like you were being cradled, “You’re hurt pretty badly from all that glass, but I’ll have you to the paramedics in no time!”

You could only offer a nod, you hadn’t even felt the glass pierce you, didn’t even feel the pain.

Your eyes remained on the red wings until they closed, the stress suddenly too much for you to stay awake.

You awoke to beeping, seeing a heart monitor with a simple turn of your head. You felt an IV in your arm, most likely helping you against the pain. Bandages were wrapped snuggly against your side and arm.

In your peripheral, you saw red, splattered in your hair. Your gaze snapped to it, hand grasped at it. And felt softness.

Tension melting, you tugged the soft object from your hair, and saw it was a red feather.

You stared down at the little red feather in your palm, taking note of the bent barb that made up the base structure of the feather. It wasn’t moving or flying off back to the No. 2 hero. Maybe it had lost connection to him due to the break?

You thought of how your quirk, while relatively weak, could heal up small scratches or hairline bone fractures. Maybe it could work for this too…?

Holding the feather a bit closer, you ran your thumb down the middle of it, soothing out the bend.

Good as new.

It remained in your palm however, and a defeated, small sigh left you. You wondered if the feather had been discarded, lost to winds or simply replaced by a new feather grown in. You felt bad about simply tossing it, given the hero that it came from had saved your life, so you turned to your satchel bag on the nearby table, carefully moving to tuck the feather away in its own special pocket.

You had recovered in record time, allowed to leave the hospital you were in. You were taking a stroll in the coming days after, satchel bag resting against your hip.

Maybe you would find a nice, quiet cafe to end your day, perhaps work on your writing or art while you were there.

A flash of red in your peripheral, your gaze snapping to the red feather that seemed to have suddenly gained life. A sharp gasp left you, finding your feet to rush after as it took off.

Thankful the streets weren’t to busy or crowded, your kept your eyes locked onto the feather, taking note of how it paused at every stoplight, staying just out of reach, only moving when it was safe for you to move.

As you crested over a slight hill your eyes landed on a bigger red. The feather returned to its rightful place, its owner raising an arm in a friendly wave, your own hand lifting to shakily return the gesture.

You were frozen in place, left to watch as the red that saved you disappear into the sky.

[hiyuna]

golden! ☀️ keigo takami | hawks x reader

On one end of your apartment’s hall, there is you: a down-on-your-luck photographer with a penchant for bottling everything up. On the other end, there is Keigo Takami: an incredibly chill physical therapist that you once bet your sister wouldn’t look twice in your general direction. You lost the bet the very next day. Thankfully, the friendship that you’ve cultivated with him is worth much more than that.

— rating: t | word count: 5.3k | AO3 link!! — tags: modern!au  / no quirks!au / gn!reader / fluff and humor / slice of life / a lil’ angst but there’s some comfort too / i did a deep dive into photography in japan for this whole thing / this first part is set around thanksgiving so i mention it a few times

one.  ↪ the shared spoon.

"Pretentious artist notes... thirty-sixth edition? Or is it the thirty-fifth edition? Hmm. Let’s say the thirty-sixth edition for shits and giggles. Today is November 21st, 2022. It’s currently—roughly, I should say—ten in the morning. It’s freezing outside, but there’s no snow—thank god or whoever else is responsible for that.”

Your eyes drift from the phone on the round table beside your bed to the ceiling fan just ten feet above you. It lazily circles, set to the lowest speed despite the chill outside just to clear the stuffiness of your room.

“First order of business is the obvious failure from earlier this month. I don’t think I need to go over the whole thing again after the last two recordings. It’s time to move on.”

Biting your lip, you take a minute to go over the beginning of the month for what feels like the millionth time. There’s so much that’s happened in between then and now—a disproportionate amount of it more harm than good for your career, your mental health, and just... you in general. Coming to this realization in the timeframe hurt, but all of a sudden it’s hitting you here and now two days from a holiday while you’re sprawled over your comforter, tears welling easily in the corners of your eyes.

The next thing you say is whispered under the breeze of the fan as if it’s a secret you can’t even trust yourself to keep.

“How the fuck do I move on?”

What a question, a riddle for the ages.

Sniffling hard in a way that your mom would tease you over, you stretch the edge of your sweater over your fist and brutally wipe at your eyes. Your notes are no place for tears, and they sure as shit aren’t any place for wasting time, either. 

“Second order of business is moving on: where do I go from here?” You pause in your questioning to sniff again. “Touko says that all great photographers—really, all great creatives—are molded and made by the breakthroughs they have after a slew of failures, but I don’t agree. Neither does Kamihara... Granted, I’ve only ever seen the guy’s works and read his one single interview over and over so I could be talking out of my ass here, but I would confidently bet he doesn’t agree with that.”

You take a few moments to think, then let your eyes drift to the ceiling again.

“Okay, fuck it, surprise third thing. What’s the deal with ceiling fans? There’s something kinda... I dunno. Nice, I guess, in the way it moves. It’s not like a roll of the tide or the sway of a pendulum, it’s this ever-repeating circle. Which is pretty cool, because it’s only that way because I made it that way. I gave it perpetual motion when I turned it on, and it’ll go until something else stops it. That could be a good metaphor for one of the prints in the next gallery, right?”

You watch the fan above for a few moments more, then slap your hand over your face with a muttered curse. “What the hell am I even talking about? ‘Perpetual motion’ of a ceiling fan. This shit is too out there even for these notes.”

Thankfully, your ringtone begins to blare right then, saving your notes from another rant. You aren’t safe, however, as the sound causes you to violently jerk out of your moment of reflection and pop your neck in a way you weren’t expecting.

From a cursory glance that is accompanied by another curse, you can see that it’s your sister calling, and you immediately know that the call is presumably to accomplish what both of your parents could not. With an exaggerated groan, you tilt your head back between your flexed shoulders and close your eyes. You know what time of year it is and what holiday lurks right around the corner. You know it’s a time for family to gather and fellowship together. You know that it’s worrisome to everyone in your family that you aren’t making the flight halfway across the world to the States after missing Christmas. And New Year’s. And every other holiday that came before now.

Unfortunately... after a myriad of recent events, you really just can’t find it in you to care even an iota more.

Rolling over to your side to grab your phone and stop it from recording your voice notes, you say, “Bear is calling, gotta jet. See you next time, pretentious artist notes.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Putting on a smile that you desperately hope will assist you in getting through another one of these phone calls, you answer your phone and put it on speaker.

“Bear, my darling and beloved little sister,” you chirp, “if this is about what I think it’s about, you can stop before you even start.”

"So your mind’s really made up then? There’s nothing I can do to convince you to come home?”

“Nope! I’m fine staying back here this time. I’ll see you all in a few weeks anyway!”

Your younger sister sighs deeply, the exhale sounding equal parts exasperated at and forgiving of your stubbornness. The thought of her standing in the hall of your parents’ home on her phone with a hip popped out as she rolls her eyes at your answer is enough to make your lips quirk. As predictable as she believes you to be, she should take a good long look in the mirror.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” you playfully scold, “you did the same thing last year.”

“That was different! I was a broke freshman in college!”

“And I’m a broke photographer trying to live off of the money from my last gallery and an almost full-time job at the art museum. Think I’m justified in wanting to hang back for now.”

“Sure, sure. Just know that mom sicced me on you because she wholeheartedly believed that I could convince you. Dad was gonna get the other one, but he demanded not to partake in our quote-unquote ‘unhealthy family politics’.”

“Oh, god,” you chuckle as you press your fingers to the bridge of your nose, “who let frog get a sociology degree, again?”

She snorts along with you, “The real question is who the fuck let mom have him first? He totally fits into the whole ‘pretentious oldest sibling’ stereotype now, always going on and on about social bullshit. I’m so not ready for him to mansplain my relationship with Rina to her face in less than three days.”

“Ha! I’m getting plane tickets as we speak; I have to be there for that.”

“Ha, ha, fuck you.” She doesn’t mean it, of course, especially considering the way she’s clearly holding back laughter as she says it. The two of you let your laughter live its course before settling down, a warm sort of fondness that comes from a family like yours settling in the pit of your stomach. You’d almost like to let yourself pretend that you weren’t avoiding seeing them for a plethora of reasons, let yourself say to your sister that she convinced you to come back home and that you are actually buying a last-minute flight out of Fukuoka and back to the states.

You can’t do that, unfortunately, because a large part of yourself won’t let you.

It’s comfortably quiet for a moment on both of your ends before you hear a snap. “Hey, how was that last gallery of yours, anyway? I saw your post on instagram when you were starting it, but you didn’t post your normal wrap-up pic afterward. How many pieces did you sell? I bet they can’t get enough of you over there, huh?”

How easily that fondness can be ripped away and replaced with a pit of anxiety. You have to remind yourself to breathe again. “Uh, I honestly can’t remember how many pieces I sold, bear. I was really busy leading up to it and I had a shift at the museum like an hour later so...”

“Oh, uh! Sucks that you were busy! But I’m sure it was fun, and I know your pieces sold well. You’re a really great photographer, bug.”

You want to cry again. If only she knew that you only managed to part with two prints for a combined total of a little under a hundred dollars. If only she knew that you had a good crowd, but it seemed like everyone was only interested in moving to the next photo and not analyzing the themes in your works that you saw from behind your lens. If only she knew that your hours at the art museum went up because one of your colleagues moved to Tokyo just two days after the gallery.

You could tell her, but it would just add to the stress of everything everyone around you is going through. Your brother just had a kid. Your sister’s apartment caught fire a few months ago and she’s still trying to recover. Your mom lost her own brother at the beginning of the year, and while your dad has it relatively easy, you know he’s trying to be the strongest he can be for your little family. You don’t want to add to that just because of a few road bumps. And you won’t.

“Bug? Are you there?”

“Y-yeah, I just... Thank you for the compliment. I wish you could’ve been here to see it.”

“Aw, me too! Ooh, you should facetime me when you do! That way I can walk through it with the exclusive artist commentary like a dumbass billionaire with nothing else to do.”

That gets a watery laugh out of you. “You’ll have to text me and remind me, but I’ll try. Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay,” she softly agrees. “Before you go though... You know you can talk to me about whatever, right? I know there are fifteen hours between us and that messes with a lot of scheduling and stuff, but I promise to call whenever you need me. Just thought you should know.”

“I know, I know. And I’ll promise to do that if you can promise me the same, alright?”

“Of course, I promise! Alright, I think frog and company just rang the front door, so I gotta go too. Take care, bug!”

“You too, bear. See you soon.” And with that, the line drops, leaving you to stare at your phone.

One day, you will call your sister and tell her everything that’s been troubling you. You’ll tell her, then your parents, then your brother. And then, you’ll plan to take as long of a vacation as you can just to see them all. One day you will.

Just maybe not today.

The day passes you by after you get off the phone with your sister. You spend most of it curled into a tight ball on your couch with a positively gigantic fleece blanket draped over your shoulders like a wise ruler presiding over their kingdom...only your “kingdom” was your tv playing that one restaurant show that stressed everyone out this past summer. Another man’s treasure, right?

Around six, however, you decide to stretch your legs by taking a walk downstairs to get your mail and maybe see a neighbor or two. You could most likely benefit more from that than watching another episode in the dark of your apartment. So, you press your feet into a pair of canvas shoes, slip into your favorite jacket, offhandedly comb your fingers through your hair, and head out the door with just your keys and phone.

The elevator ride down is uneventful—one of the older kids living on your floor is on his way to get the mail for his parents and thoroughly ignores you by playing with his switch instead. Not like you’d have much to say, anyway. He’s courteous though, because he motions for you to get your mail first when the two of you make it down. You keep your voice to a murmur as you thank him, hastily grab your mail, then apologize as you scoot out of his way.

You don’t have much, thankfully. There’s a letter from the art museum’s director saying that you’re welcome to schedule another gallery for your works a few weeks into the new year that you sigh at, a paper bill that reminds you to sign up for paperless versions, and a thick yellow envelope from your mom. You stop in your tracks to rip the envelope open and find a card in the shape of a goofy cartoon turkey inside.

“Just because you aren’t coming doesn’t mean you can’t eat like we will. I’ll have your brother send you some money from me through those weird money-transfer apps you kids use these days. Treat yourself to some turkey on me!”

Oh, mom. You’ll have to call her the second you get back to your apartment. You don’t need money to buy a turkey—and you’re not even really a fan of turkey to begin with... The thought is very kind and very mom of her, and yet another show of love you needed from your family at this moment in time. With a slight pep in your step, you begin to walk back to the elevator while giving the goofy turkey another fond glance.

The second you do, however, you run into a giant and very solid... thing. 

Luckily, while you do stumble over your feet in order to regain your balance, you don’t fall flat on your ass in front of a lobby of your neighbors. Unluckily, you recognize the person you ran into, and he’s picking up the plastic bags you made him drop with a friendly smirk that makes you want to simultaneously want to hide and roll your eyes at him.

“Ah, Kei—oh, I mean Takami! I didn’t see you there, I’m so sorry! You alright?”

Takami Keigo, your neighbor from the opposite end of the hall, laughs with a practiced poise. “It’s fine, I swear! Though I do have to wonder why you continue to call me Takami...”

“How many times—it’s polite to call you by your last name,” you grumble as you hastily squat down and yank the last plastic bag off of the ground before he could attempt to with your free hand. “I’m being polite.”

“You are very polite to me! I can’t say the same about the eggs in that bag, unfortunately.”

You stiffen automatically in shock, immediately (but carefully) peering into the bag to inspect its contents... and this time, you do roll your eyes. No dice. This is a bag full of food from KFC.

Keigo laughs again at the utterly unimpressed look you give him, the bastard. You have half a mind to whack him with the bag in retaliation, but it’s ultimately nothing more than a thought. Not only would that be incredibly rude of you, but it’d also instantly contradict your earlier point about being polite. Instead, you gesture to the elevator with the hand holding the bag, and when he confirms that is his ultimate destination, you go and press the button to go up.

“So, Keigo,” you emphasize just to be a little shit, grinning when he wiggles his eyebrows in response. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How are things on your side of the hall?”

With an amused sigh, he tells you, “Same old, same old. Yuri’s as cranky as ever, Masaki and his baby girl are as adorable as ever, and Michiko is as man-crazy as ever.”

“Oh? What number is she on this month?”

“Three! And you know, she told me just the other day that I should be ashamed of forcing her to keep busy with other men while she waits on me. I was almost going to stop by just to tell you that when it happened.”

“I wish you did! How many times have you told her that you aren’t interested?”

“With that incident added? Six times.”

You grimace, though you know you’re doing a terrible job at keeping the amusement off of your face. “Well, if you ever need to get her off of your back, you can always call me. Can’t say I’ll know exactly what to do, but I’ll do my best to help.”

The elevator arrives then, a couple from a different floor stepping out first before the two of you go in. Since you have a free hand, you push the button for the fourth floor and then take your spot opposite Keigo in one of the back corners.

“Anywho, how’s your side—“

“—Hold the elevator, please!”

Without thinking you shoot your arm out to stop the doors from closing. A cloud of perfume and cologne engulfs you moments later as a small group of people squeeze in with you and Keigo, the highly incompatible scents almost enough to give you an instant headache. You shuffle backward a bit to try and minimize your contact with it, but thanks to the way these people have shoved their way in—and the fact that Keigo is now behind you—you have little room to work with.

“Look who it is!”

Jesus. Speak of the devil—it’s almost as if you and Keigo talking about Michiko somehow summoned her and her posse. You’d laugh if you weren’t dreading getting whatever they drenched themselves in stuck as a taste in your mouth.

Closer behind you than you’re expecting, Keigo mumbles a curse you hope only you hear before raising his voice to say, “hey there, Michiko! Throwin’ a party or something?”

“We’re just having a little get-together! You know you’re always invited to come around, Keigo. It’d be so much fun with you there.” 

“Aw, I’d love to, but we’re having our own dinner party for two tonight!” As he lies explains this, a hand falls onto your left shoulder in a friendly gesture. You try your damned hardest not to freeze at the unfamiliar touch, even as Keigo says your name. “Isn’t that right?”

“Totally—”

“—That’s just too bad,” Michiko cuts you off with a pout. “If it gets cut short for any reason you can always stop by!”

“We’ll be fine.” Oh, god, sometimes you can even surprise yourself. There are five sets of eyes on you the immediate moment after your curt reply, and you really don’t even want to imagine the look on Keigo’s face right now. Hate, hate, hate.

The rest of the ride to your floor—which is blessedly short—is spent in awkward silence on your and Keigo’s end. Michiko and her group converse about what they’ll do at their “get-together” in a way you presume is to entice Keigo to attend, but he keeps to himself. When the doors open up to your floor, they all step out without bothering to even feign letting the two of you leave first. You roll your eyes at their backs as you wait to follow, idling outside of the doors with Keigo.

“Ugh, they probably smelled good one-on-one but together? I think that could’ve been used as a torture tactic,” you (somewhat) over-dramatically cough the second they’re all in Michiko’s apartment with the door shut.

Keigo snickers at that, eyeing you carefully. “Yeah, that was a lot. Are you okay?”

You raise an eyebrow, following after him when he starts toward his side of the hall. “I mean, I guess; it was just another typical conversation with Michiko. Why do you ask?”

“We kinda summoned her back there. She also tried to walk right over you and it was rude, which I didn’t point out.”

“It’s okay, I promise! It was uncomfortable as hell, but if it weren’t for you it could’ve been way worse. Thankfully we’re out of it now.”

He stops in front of his apartment door to look back and give you a lopsided, yet genuine smile, his normally sharp eyes softening into something almost as sweet as honey. Right then and there you feel like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. 

Fuck, he’s gorgeous, and it is so unfair in so many ways.

“So, are we having dinner together or what?”

You can’t help yourself. “What?”

“Wow. I didn’t think people actually still made that joke.”

“A joke—I’m not making a joke here,” you hastily explain, “I’m genuinely confused. Was that not just a trick to get Michiko off of your back?”

“Sure it was, and I’m making it into a genuine invitation right now! We were catching up and Michiko interrupted, so why not just eat together and finish our conversation?” At this, Keigo turns back to his door and unlocks it, striding in without waiting to hear your answer.

With a slightly exasperated huff at his nonchalance, you follow him inside and close the door behind you while asking, “Did you even get enough food to feed two people?”

“Of course! I always get more just in case I’m feeling extra peckish. And if we run out of this, I guess I could make a salad on the fly. Anyway, welcome to my humble abode!”

The gravity of the situation hits you the second you turn on your heels to face him and his living space—the place he calls his own and has carved out as a natural extension and expression of himself.

You’ve never been in his apartment before, not like this. And on second thought, he’s never been in yours like this either. This is completely uncharted territory. In the eight-ish months you’ve been living in Fukuoka, in this apartment building, Keigo’s been nothing more than a friendly, utterly handsome face from the other side of the hall, one you’d occasionally see when heading out for work around the same time each morning, or checking your mail, or in one of the corner stores nearby. You just barely know that he’s a studying physical therapist with a job at a local gym and that his birthday falls sometime in the winter. His number is saved in your phone, but you can count the number of conversations over text you’ve had on maybe two hands. 

You barely know him, and now you’re waltzing into his apartment like you two have been doing this since you moved in.

Deciding to break the tension you’re suddenly feeling with something easy—maybe a compliment on his decorating—you glance around the space to take it all in. All of his furniture—from the couch and loveseat to the chairs rounding the square glass table—is pristinely spotless, a fact almost comically exaggerated by the fact that they’re all a shade of white that’s startlingly bright under the fluorescent lights above. There’s a plush-looking light gray rug on the floor and a deep red throw blanket on the couch with matching pillows that are seemingly the only splashes of differing colors out in the open. When you look to the kitchen, you see that it matches the color scheme, and your heart drops a little.

There are no pictures decorating the counters in the kitchen, no reminders stuck to the fridge by magnets, no half-burnt candles on the coffee table in the living room or the console with a giant tv. You expected a bit more from him on this front, even with the small number of his eccentricities you’ve witnessed firsthand thus far.

There are, however, two things by the sink: a single succulent with slightly browned leaves rounding its base, and a photo of Keigo beaming widely and waving at the camera with a serious-looking, dark-haired young boy at his side. This makes you smile a bit to yourself. At least he has that.

When you turn back to him, his face mirrors yours as he asks what you think of his place. If you’re being honest with yourself, it disappoints you that he seemingly only uses it as a space to sleep at night, but you’ll keep that to yourself. You could just be assuming—not everyone can fill every corner of their home like you strive to. So you tell him that it’s cool.

“Probably not as cool as yours,” he returns, motioning to the table full of food boxes. “You gonna just stand there or are you gonna leave all this chicken to me?”

Walking over, you ungracefully plop down into the chair across from his and smirk at him. “Since you’re being so generous, I guess I might as well join you for dinner!”

“I knew you’d come around eventually.”

Keigo takes his seat after grabbing two plates from the kitchen and you both get to work divvying the food. He wasn’t lying when he said he usually gets extra whenever he eats fast food—there’s more than enough left over even when your plates are close to being full. As you dig in, you continue your conversation from the elevator and tell him that you haven’t been up to much other than working and taking time for impromptu mini-shoots when you can. He’s more attentive to you talking about almost nothing than you’re expecting, and it almost makes you choke on a chicken tender. Your recovery by asking how his studying is going is a little clumsy, but it nevertheless works. He’s been busy, he informs you in a neutral tone, and he wishes he could spend more time working at the gym due to the soccer season coming to a close.

His voice is tender and affectionate as he tells you, “There’s a youth league at the gym I work at. I was coaching the fifteen-year-olds before my course load got a bit too wild, and it was a lot of fun watching those boys interact with each other.”

That warmth of his is infectious, as you’re feeling it when you chuckle, “Must remind you of your high school days, huh?”

“...Guess so.”

Oh. Ouch. Wrong thing to say, for sure. Just a swift glance at him slowly pulling away from eating to place his elbow on the table and his head in his palm is enough to confirm it, never mind the faraway look he has as he stares into the kitchen. For the second time in an hour, your inner monologue is kicking you in the metaphorical balls for your slip-up.

“What is that, by the way?” Keigo juts his chin out at the mail you set on the chair beside you, clearly asking about the cartoon turkey at the top of the pile.

You snort, “A Thanksgiving day card from my mom. She’s going to have my brother send me money to get a turkey and thought that a card would be the best way to let me know.”

After you say this, you think for a second. Then, “You know? It’s funny. My younger sister called me earlier asking if I was coming home for Thanksgiving, and now we’re having dinner together.”

Keigo looks back at you with a slightly more lucid expression. “I’m sure they’re looking forward to having you back in the states again.”

“I think so too... it’s been a long time since they’ve seen me in person and not through a phone screen. You know, I’m pretty sure the last time I was in the states was early last summer for my dad’s birthday.”

“That’s not so bad considering the last couple of years. If you don’t mind me asking, why not go back for Thanksgiving?”

Million dollar question, that one.

With a sigh, you explain, “I’m in the middle of a rough time currently. Do you remember the gallery I had earlier this month? Only a couple pieces sold, and as much as I love working at the art museum, I’d love it even more if I could cut my hours back and focus more on photography.”

Keigo studies you for a moment, golden-hued eyes giving you a brief moment to peer deeper beneath the practiced mask he constantly wears. Normally you’d be a bit more bashful at openly staring at him like this, but at this moment he’s less of the neighbor who genuinely invited you to dinner with a lie to someone else and more of someone you’d willingly spend hundreds of hours studying just to come within an iota close to capturing him perfectly on film.

You weren’t wrong when you thought him gorgeous earlier, not even close to it. He might intentionally play himself off as carefree and casual to a fault, but you can see the tension that defines the hard edges of his jaw, the keen vigilance in the glint of his eyes.

Then the moment ends, because Keigo slides his gaze to the window without moving, and says, “That’s not all, though, is it?”

It’s not. And you really don’t feel like rehashing it a second time today.

He must gather this from your silence because it’s in the moment that you start debating whether you want to tell him outright that you’d rather not explain it to him or tell him as much through hints that he stands to clean the table. He takes your plate after confirming that you’re finished, placing both in the sink and washing them. Your conversation lulls in the space and quiet between you. At least until,

“I admire that about you, you know?”

For a brief second, you wonder if his goal tonight is to utterly confuse you. “You admire what?”

“You moving to Fukuoka from Chicago, of course!”

“Keigo...” you draw out the second syllable of his name in slight disbelief as you glance over your shoulder at him. “I packed up all of my life just to move to a city halfway across the world that I’ve only ever fantasized about only to actively be faced with the reality of doing that, and you admire that about me?”

Keigo’s smile is a little bit sad now. “What else? That takes courage, ingenuity, and resilience. You knew nothing about Fukuoka, yet you still sought to live here. You knew there would be a language barrier between you and an overwhelming majority of the population, yet you were working on your Japanese back in college if I remember right. You moved with a plan, you had a job with the art museum by mid-April, and you’ve made friends with a local photographer and that intern at the museum. So what if your first gallery here failed? You’re just getting started. Why rush it?”

That gets you to fall silent as he walks from the kitchen back to the table, a carton of ice cream and two spoons in his hand. He sets the carton—peach and mango is the flavor—down in the center of the table after taking the cap off, and sticks his utensil in it to take a bite. You absorb his words of encouragement in the meantime, pinning his words on a mental corkboard alongside your sister’s call and your mom’s card. When you consider yourself finished in letting all of the sentiments and affection warm you like your blanket from earlier, you find that he’s staring at you with a concerned furrow of his eyebrows.

“Thanks, Keigo,” you sigh, feeling soft-hearted. “Between my sister this morning, my mom’s card, and now this get-together, I think I’m feeling a lot better about everything.”

His once cloudy expression clears, and the bright, kindhearted look he gives you in return is all you need. “No problem, friend. Now, no more worrying! I thought this ice cream might be something you’d like and you haven’t even tried it yet. You’re making me look bad here!”

You scoff as he grabs your spoon and scoops up a hearty chunk of ice cream with it, looking all too pleased with himself as he waves it in front of your face with a smirk. Giving him a stink-eye, you snatch it from him and he guffaws, nearly dropping his own scoop in the process.

Why rush it indeed.

You stick the shared spoon into your mouth with a large grin and not a single worry in the world.

hi!! i’m yuna and this was written by me for me and i really needed to get this out of my system so here we are ✌🏾i don’t know how long this series will be—i have a handful of ideas but who knows what will get turned into a chapter—but i hope to be back soon, and i hope you enjoyed!! 💕

[takami-takami]

TW: Trauma implied, trauma reaction. hurt/comfort.

Keigo has the patience of a saint, and you try to remind yourself of that fact as you hiccup yet another hitched breath into the cotton of his pillowcase. You sit up, knees bunched to your chest. How many times have you done this, you chastise yourself?

How many times have you winced away from his familiar gaze? No one you've ever known has had golden eyes, you remind yourself. No one else you've known has his bone structure, has the same voicebox to produce that smooth and, as you thank god for, unique voice of his. You remind yourself over and over; but sometimes when he opens himself up to you, you flinch back like he's the walking skeleton of a person buried deep within your muscle memory.

You know he would never hurt you. He's not them, he's not fucking them.

But when love has always looked like a threat, has always tasted of foul and bitter taboo, it's difficult not to see him with that very same mask over his gentle features.

The way he blinks at you, his eyes practically trembling with the weight of his empathy; it doesn't assuage your guilt one bit. His hand lifts for a second, aching to soothe you, before ultimately dropping back down and gripping the sheets.

"I'm sorry," you blubber.

"Dove, don't be. It's okay," he says like the whisper of a lullaby. "It's okay."

He watches you, tilting his head and wearing that damn wobbly smile of his.

"No, it's not. None of this is," you explain, a familiar indignation stemming from instincts of self-preservation welling up in your throat. A single hand waves in frustration as you stare at some corner of the room.

"You don't deserve this. You don't deserve to be looked at like you're a monster just because I can't get a grip on my–"

"On your trauma," he finishes, before you have the chance to demean your experiences. Times like these, you're eternally grateful for his tendency to speak the unspoken.

"Baby, what you're feeling is natural. Of course you'd be wary. I'm not upset. I'm not upset," he assures you. "Look at me?"

You meet his eyes instantly. He softens further, if that were possible.

"We'll take this at your own pace. There's no need to rush." He notices the way you pull at the cotton with anxiety, and a feather makes its way to your hand as an offering. You gratefully accept it, pinching at the soft bristles to ground yourself.

"Can you hold me?" You look up at him through your lashes as you ask, and Keigo doesn't bother to hide his sigh of relief. His wings have been twitching at the sight of you in need, and the itch finally stops as he nods and you crawl into his lap. He grips you softly, like a teddy bear, and silently thanks you for allowing him to take care of you with his very own love language.

"Thank you, Kei," you whisper.

"Always, angel. Always."

[circledotdestroy]

The strange irony of me having an idea for a Hawks x Prohero-Reader multichapter fic despite being seasons behind on MHA and going off of fics, spoilers, clips on YouTube, and character analysis videos

Like should I bite the bullet or wait until I (re)watch the whole show???

[hartxstarr]

to that one anon who said my old chucker fics are good: thank you.