#wonder★wings | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kateschi · 3 months ago

Text

ᯓ★୭˚. ENEMIES OR MORE?

જ⁀➴ “what are we?” event masterlist

synopsis: he's a symbol of everything you oppose. loyalties drawn, paths set—still, there's an unspoken understanding, a reminder of what you might share.

pairing: hawks x f!reader

the city hums beneath you, the distant sound of sirens and hurried footsteps filling the air as night slowly creeps in.

you stand atop a rooftop, the cool breeze lifting your hair, your gaze scanning the streets below. tonight, you're here on business, but there’s always something more when it comes to him—hawks.

it’s been a while since you last crossed paths.

each time you do, it's like a game of cat and mouse. he thinks he has you cornered, but you always manage to slip away.

not out of fear, but because you know how to play the game better than anyone. after all, you’ve spent your life outsmarting heroes like him.

and yet, tonight, something feels different.

you can feel the shift in the air before you see him. the familiar flutter of feathers, the sharp sound of wings cutting through the night.

he’s here, and he's getting closer. the irony of it all isn't lost on you—the fastest hero in the nation, always chasing you, yet never quite able to catch you. he’s good, no doubt about that.

but you know his moves, his habits, better than anyone.

he lands gracefully on the rooftop opposite yours, his wings folding behind him.

you look over your shoulder, eyes narrowing, sensing the tension in the air. there’s something about this encounter that doesn’t feel like all the others.

“still running, huh?” hawks’ voice breaks through the quiet, a smirk evident in his tone as he takes a few steps forward.

his wings twitch slightly, as though itching to launch himself toward you.

you can’t help the smirk that tugs at your lips.

“running?” you say, stepping out of the shadows, your gaze locking onto his. “I’m not the one chasing after someone who’s always a step ahead, am I?”

his eyes glint, and there's a flicker in his expression. you wonder if it’s because of the way you’ve been evading him, or if it’s something more.

but you push the thought away. you’re not here for introspection. you’re here to keep him on his toes.

“you make it too easy,” he says, his voice holding a mix of annoyance and amusement.

“you know, most villains would’ve been caught by now, but you…you’ve got this annoying habit of being unpredictable.”

you tilt your head slightly, taking a step closer to him.

the moonlight casts a soft glow on his face, and for a brief moment, you find yourself distracted by the sharpness of his features, damn him for being this good looking.

“you think I’m a villain?” you ask softly, your tone almost teasing.

“maybe I’m just someone who understands the world a little better than you do. someone who’s not afraid to take risks while you hide behind your hero facade.”

he falters for just a moment, the flicker of doubt in his eyes quickly hidden. “maybe. or maybe you’re just scared. hiding behind all that power because you know the truth deep down.”

you scoff, crossing your arms. “you really think you have me figured out, don’t you?”

“I know I do,” he replies smoothly, stepping closer. “it’s not hard to figure out someone who’s always one step ahead of the law.

but what I don’t get…is why you never just accept what’s coming to you. why run? why keep fighting when you could stop? you could make things easier on yourself.”

the question lingers between you, pulling at something inside. it’s the same question he’s asked every time you’ve faced off—why do you keep fighting, when you could just give in?

the truth is, it’s never been about winning or losing. it’s always been about the chase.

about the thrill of outsmarting him and playing this game, where both of you know the stakes are high but neither of you wants to stop.

for a moment, you’re quiet.

the only sound is the wind rustling through the night air. you glance at him, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that almost makes you second-guess yourself.

“you want to know why?” you ask softly, your voice barely a whisper. he leans in, curiosity in his eyes.

“because,” you continue, taking a slow step closer to him, “you’re always so sure of yourself, so confident. and I’ve always wanted to see just how far that confidence will get you when it comes to me.”

hawks smirks, the challenge in your words clearly not lost on him. “you know, that’s not a bad answer,” he says, his voice suddenly softer. almost…warmer.

“but, for the record, I’m not going to stop coming after you. no matter how many times you think you’ve outsmarted me.”

you laugh, the sound light and almost melodic. “maybe that’s what makes it fun.”

as you disappear into the shadows, leaving hawks standing in the middle of the empty alley, he can’t stop the small grin from tugging at his lips.

he adjusts his feathers, his eyes lingering on where you’ve vanished for a moment too long.

“fun, huh?” he mutters to himself, shaking his head as he launches into the air.

the wind whips against his face, but it doesn’t do much to clear the warmth lingering in his chest—or the ghost of your laughter still echoing in his ears.

by the time he makes it back to his apartment, hawks is still replaying the interaction in his mind.

he tosses his jacket over the back of the couch and paces the room, trying to shake the nagging feeling that’s taken root.

something about you always lingers—like the faintest melody that refuses to leave his head.

slumping onto the couch, he runs a hand through his messy hair, staring at the ceiling. “what is it with her?” he mutters, the question more to himself than anyone else.

his thoughts drift unbidden to your teasing smile, the glint in your eyes whenever you throw a challenge his way. he’s met plenty of people who are clever, who enjoy the game, but you?

you aren’t just playing the game—you’re rewriting the rules every time he thinks he’s got you figured out.

he groans, covering his face with his hands. “nope, nope. this is bad. really bad.”

it isn’t just your sharp wit or the way you keep him on his toes. it’s how, even in the midst of a chase, you feel like something more.

like a spark that makes him forget—for just a moment—that you’re supposed to be on opposing sides.

his hands drop from his face, and he leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the answers.

“she’s gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, his voice half exasperation, half awe.

hawks isn’t used to being thrown off his game—he thrives on control, on always being one step ahead. but with you? he feels like he’s chasing more than a target. and it terrifies him.

because the truth is finally starting to settle in, whether he likes it or not.

he doesn’t just enjoy the chase. he doesn’t just admire your wit, your skill, or the way you always manage to slip through his fingers at the last second.

he likes you. really likes you.

“damn it,” hawks mutters, rubbing the back of his neck as heat creeps up to his cheeks.

the realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and for the first time in what feels like forever, keigo takami—pro hero hawks—feels completely out of his depth.

the thought of seeing you again, of hearing your laugh, sends a wave of excitement and dread through him.

because liking you isn’t just risky—it’s downright reckless. but even as he tries to rationalize it, to remind himself of the impossibility of it all, he can’t stop the smile tugging at his lips.

“guess I’m really in trouble now,” he murmurs, leaning back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling.

the days that follow the encounter feel different.

it isn’t just the heat of that moment between you and hawks lingering like smoke in the air; it’s the unspoken tension that still hums beneath your skin.

there are still barbed exchanges, the usual teasing and back-and-forth, but something has shifted.

you notice the way he looks at you when he thinks you aren’t watching—softened, almost as if he’s studying you.

and when you lock eyes, the challenges are still there, but now there’s something else. something delicate.

you try to tell yourself that it’s nothing. that this is just another phase in your endless battle, another game between the villain and the hero.

but it’s harder to believe that now.

there are even times when he shows up when you least expect it—just to talk, to exchange words that aren’t about missions or plans or orders. small things—like him telling you to be careful, or when he asks if you’re okay.

you scoff, of course, but the warmth in his voice, the underlying sincerity, is something you can’t deny.

you aren’t sure how you got here, where you find yourself questioning the motives of the person who, up until recently, has been your enemy.

maybe it’s because you start seeing him as something more than just a hero—a perfect, untouchable figure of righteousness. or maybe it’s because he isn’t what you thought he was.

you try to keep your distance, you truly do, but every time you see him, every time you hear his voice, it’s like he’s chipping away at the walls you’ve built around yourself.

and it isn’t just the things he says. it’s the way he says them. it’s the look in his eyes when he thinks you can’t see it.

the way he hesitates before leaving, like he’s waiting for something…waiting for you to say something, anything. but you can’t say what you need to say. you can’t even admit it to yourself.

weeks pass, and the line between enemy and ally grows thinner.

there are moments when you find yourself sitting in the same room as him—no fighting, no tension, just silence hanging between you like a fragile thread.

you can hear his breathing, steady and calm, and you force yourself to focus on anything but the heat rising in your chest.

still, you fight it.

but then, one night, everything changes.

it’s supposed to be just another mission.

but the battlefield is charged with an unfamiliar tension, thicker than the usual chaos. and hawks is there, too. and this time, he isn’t just another target. he’s in the way.

more specifically, one of his allies—the one you’re assigned to hurt—is standing directly in the line of fire. they’re a crucial part of the mission, and it isn’t something you can afford to back out of.

the moment your eyes meet hawks’, you know this won’t go as planned. his gaze is sharp, unwavering, and brimming with something you can’t quite place—determination, yes, but there’s something else buried beneath it.

he sees through you, understands the weight of your mission—hurt, not just steal or take—and it’s clear he isn’t going to let you succeed.

not this time. the ally you’re supposed to harm stands behind him, and you can see it in hawks’ stance:

if you want to get to them, you’ll have to go through him.

the fight is a dance—a deadly one that the ally exploits to escape.

your body moves on instinct, dodging, attacking, countering, each movement honed by months of training, and yet each blow you land against him is softer than it should be.

your heart is racing, but not from the fight. no, it’s the connection—the undeniable pull you feel whenever your eyes meet.

you can’t explain it, but you feel it in the way his every movement seems to hesitate just a moment too long, in the way his eyes follow you just a second longer than they should.

and then, suddenly, it happens.

in a flash, you find yourself on the ground. his wings, the great feathers that could easily crush any enemy, are now spread wide above you like a barrier, trapping you.

your chest heaves with each breath, but you can’t move. his feather is aimed directly at your throat. the cold steel of it presses against your skin, and for a moment, time seems to stop.

you can feel the heat of him so close—his breath warm on your face, his eyes dark, intense, full of conflict. this isn’t the man you’ve faced in battle before.

no. this is different. this is a hero. and you...you are still the villain. the one he is supposed to end. the one he has every right to kill.

your heart thunders in your chest, not with fear, but with an aching sorrow. a desire for something you’ve long buried.

for a fleeting moment, your guard is down, and you let the raw truth of your emotions flood your mind. you are at his mercy. and, maybe, for the first time, you don’t want him to kill you.

“do it,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. your voice cracks, the edge of vulnerability cutting through the usual strength you wear like armor.

you don’t recognize it at first. how weak you sound. how resigned. but there is a quiet hope in it too. you are giving him an out, a chance to end this.

but hawks doesn’t do it.

instead, his hand wavers, trembling slightly as it hovers above you. the feather, once so steady and deadly, wavers—its tip brushing against your skin, but not with the force of death.

no, there is something else in that touch. the hesitation. the uncertainty. his eyes, usually so determined, are clouded.

you lock eyes with him. in that moment, there is no mission. no sides. no enemies. only the two of you. and everything that has been building for months comes crashing to the surface.

the connection you tried to deny, the feelings you buried deep down, they all come rushing forward.

the world around you spins, a cyclone of emotions, of truths unspoken, of desires too dangerous to voice. and then, finally, he speaks.

“I can’t…” his voice breaks like glass, and you can hear the agony in it. it shatters the silence, the weight of his words settling heavily between you.

the feather above your throat drops. his grip on it loosens, and the sharp tip that had once been poised to kill now quivers in the air.

his wings fold, the powerful appendages that could level cities now hanging limply at his sides.

and in that moment—just when you think the world is going to end, just when you think he is going to end you—hawks collapses.

he falls into you, his chest heaving with emotion, his face burying itself against your shoulder.

you don’t know how to respond. don’t know what to say. but you feel the tremors in his body, the weight of everything he is carrying.

it isn’t just exhaustion.

it isn’t just the fight.

it’s something that has been growing inside of him since the moment you first crossed paths. something that both of you have tried to bury but can no longer deny.

you hold him close, your own body shaking now, from the quiet, painful realization that neither of you can keep pretending anymore. neither of you can keep hiding from what you have become.

hawks’ arms tighten around you as if he could shield you from everything—your choices, his duty, the impossible chasm between the two of you.

his breath is ragged against your shoulder, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on both of you.

“this…” his voice is hoarse, cracking under the strain of everything he isn’t saying. “this doesn’t change anything, does it?”

you close your eyes, a helpless laugh escaping before you can stop it. “no. it doesn’t.”

the reality of it hangs heavy in the air. no matter what has passed between you, no matter how tightly he holds you now, the world outside won’t care.

you are still on opposing sides, trapped in a war that doesn’t allow for feelings like this.

“then what are we doing?” he asks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

his golden eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of frustration, confusion, and something that looks dangerously close to hope.

you hesitate, the answer caught in your throat. “surviving,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended. “even if it’s just for this moment.”

his lips press into a thin line. “you know we can’t keep this up. sooner or later, one of us will have to make a choice.”

the truth of his words stings, but you refuse to look away. “I know,” you admit. “but I’m not ready to make that choice yet.”

silence falls between you, heavy with everything you can’t say. the warmth of his touch jars with the cold reality of your situation, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world has faded away.

but it hasn’t. it never will.

“I won’t stop trying to bring you in,” hawks says eventually. “I can’t just ignore everything you’ve done, everything you might still do. but…”

he swallows hard, his voice softening. “that doesn’t mean I want to lose you.”

you let out a shaky breath, your hands tightening in the fabric of his jacket. “and I won’t stop doing what I have to. but that doesn’t mean I want to fight you, keigo. I never have.”

his name on your lips seems to cause a light blush to cover his cheeks, before he coughs. “so, what does that make us? enemies with...feelings?”

a small smile tugs at your lips. “something like that.”

— you've got a new message!

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

314 notes · View notes

grimmweepers-archive · 7 months ago

Text

— ★ 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a year after your bitter divorce, you crossed paths with your ex-husband again, forcing you to confront your unresolved past.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Ex-Husband Toji x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k | masterlist | byf/dni | ao3

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: smut MDNI, light angst, hurt/comfort, the comfort is sex, yearning, arguing, swearing, soft and maybe ooc!toji but rough sex, couch sex, unprotected, oral (fem! receiving), fingering, missionary, make-outs, dirty talk, mild hair-pulling, mild choking, creampie, he calls you ‘little birdie’ and ‘baby’, late-twenties reader in mind

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The thing about ex-husband Toji is that no matter how much he tries to drown his sorrows in booze or waste his hard-earned money on gambling, he can’t escape the fact that he’s still so painfully— maddeningly in love with you.

He was no stranger to flirting with random women at the bar, hoping to mask his woes, but it was always a punch to the gut whenever he found himself searching for a piece of you in them.

Toji, from the very beginning, never believed in marriages, much less divorces— so enduring it for this long had changed him in ways he never expected.

As the first anniversary of the divorce approached, you remembered when he asked you to be official. Those naive, argument-free days felt like a lifetime ago, and you almost wished you could go back, even for a breath of a second.

It just made you wonder— when did it all go wrong?

You were the one who filed, but it didn’t make it any easier— he didn’t make it easier. The last time you saw him was when he signed the papers for the final time, dropped off some keys, and bid you farewell with a stinging “See ya” before closing the door behind him for good. For longer than you wanted to admit, any time somebody had knocked on the door unexpectedly, you had wished it was him.

Your love for him never left but you were good enough at concealing it to keep the pitying comments at bay. Although, having the anniversary so close felt like reopening a wound and it fucking sucked.

The place you became official wasn’t far from home. Toji was never big on flashy things so he had asked you at a quaint, little park with his arm slung around your shoulders as you both sat on the worn-out bench.

“Toji, would you put that duckling down? It’s trying to get back in the pond.”

“Yeah, in a minute,” he replied, squeezing you. There was a hint of wonder in his eyes as he watched the duckling flap its flightless wings before he set it on the ground. Then he turned to you, a grin playing on his lips.

“Wanna be my little birdie?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said. But you remember your heart pounding out of your chest. His straightforwardness was exactly what you loved about him.

Back then, he watched you with a different kind of intensity and that’s what made you realise he wasn’t fooling around. Finally, you gave him a small nod, “Alright, I’ll be your little birdie.”

A quiet, satisfied huff escaped him and he pulled you closer. His lips brushed your temple in a brief, possessive kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. For a while you both sat in silence, listening to the rustling trees and soft quacking of ducklings as they reunited with their mother. It was more comforting than Toji would ever admit out loud.

Eventually, he spoke, his voice low and gravelly, “I don’t got a lot to offer and I sure as hell ain’t good with words. But I’ll take care of you. You’ll never have to worry about that.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his solid shoulder, “That’s all I need.”

That was when your journey truly began and it wasn’t long before Toji proposed… So again you asked yourself, when did it all go wrong?

When the anniversary of your divorce finally came around, your friends decided to treat you to dinner to get your mind off your troubles. But on the drive home, you found yourself taking a detour and then another, your mind drifted as your hand steered the wheel almost on its own.

Before you knew it, you had arrived at the park that started it all. You sat there for a minute, staring at the familiar scenery, unsure of what you were expecting to find— perhaps some ghosts of the past. It was definitely quiet and eerily so.

You stepped out of the car and walked slowly to that same bench, it had aged even more since you saw it last. Sitting down, you closed your eyes and let the memories from that day wash over you— the warmth of Toji’s arm and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

But those were just memories now.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there but the cold was beginning to bite through your clothes. So with a deep sigh, you decided it was time to leave. Whatever you were searching for, it wasn’t going to be here.

The sound of footsteps made your heart skip a beat, and you snapped your head towards the sound. You weren’t expecting anyone to be here at this hour.

And then you saw him.

You had to blink once, twice— thrice to make sure you weren’t imagining his broad silhouette against the fading light. Neither of you moved and you hoped that maybe you could escape before he saw you too. But you knew that was impossible.

“Toji…”

He didn’t answer right away but he took a step closer with his hands still in his pocket. “Shit… Didn’t expect to see you here,” his voice rough, as if cutting through the silence like a blade.

“I-I didn’t think…” You pinched the bridge of your nose, praying that when you took your hand away, he’d be gone.

Toji eyed the bench and you saw a flicker of something on his face that made your chest tighten. “This place…” He began as his gaze fell on the empty spot beside you, “It’s somethin’, huh?”

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The park that felt so empty just moments ago was now humming with tension between the both of you— the weight of a year without each other hanging in the air.

He didn’t mean to sit next to you but he had to do something to make up for the silence.

“So, how’ve you been?” your question came out more awkwardly than intended. You swallowed hard as you tried to compose yourself.

Toji shrugged, “Been gettin’ by.”

He was still the same— gruff, unreadable, with an air of indifference that used to drive you crazy in more ways than one.

The small talk felt like a waste of time and you wanted to jump into everything left unsaid. You knew he wasn’t the type to have the patience for it either.

“I didn’t expect to end up here,” you admitted, more to yourself than to him. “I just… I don’t know. I felt like I needed to see it again.”

His expression darkened, “It brings back a lot, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer, you just nodded. This park was a place of new beginnings and now it felt like a graveyard of what could have been. The silence was starting to stretch and grow thicker with each passing second.

“Why didn’t you fight for us, Toji?” The question slipped out before you could stop and it was laced with pain that had been simmering for too long.

Toji turned to you, his eyes narrowed slightly, “What good would it have done?” And then he stood up— you almost thought he was going to leave again. “You made up your mind.”

“You could have tried!” You snapped. “You just let it fall apart like it didn’t mean a damn thing to you.”

His jaw clenched as he stepped closer. “You’re the one who filed for the divorce,” he growled. “You’re the one who walked away.”

“Because you wouldn’t fight for us!” You shot back, now standing up in his face.

His eyes flashed with anger as he closed the distance between you, looming over you with that presence that used to make you feel so safe. Now it made your heart race for different reasons. “You think it was easy to watch you leave? To sign those damn papers?” His voice was louder than before. “I didn’t fight because I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“That’s bullshit, Toji,” you hissed, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “You never even tried. You let me walk out of your life like I was nothing.”

He took another step forward and you could almost feel the heat radiating off his body. “Don’t you dare say you were nothing,” he snarled. “You were everything to me.”

The intensity of his words hit you like a physical blow so before you knew it, you were shoving him. “Then why did it feel like I didn’t matter?” Your voice trembled as it came out in a rush and you hated yourself for breaking this fast. “Why did you make it seem like it was so damn easy?”

Toji caught your wrists, his grip was firm but not painful. “You think it was easy for me?” his breath was fanning your face. “You didn’t think I was kickin’ myself every day since? Tell me why you think I came back here,” he shook you. “It’s because I missed the hell out of you!”

You struggled against his hold but he didn’t let go, and something raw and desperate came over his glare. The air was thick with anger, hurt, and another thing that you didn’t want to admit.

Your breath hitched in your throat, “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk back into—”

Before you could continue, his lips crashed against yours, cutting off whatever protest you had. The kiss was rough and hungry, fuelled by the emotions he had been burying for the past year. You tried to resist, to push him away but your body worked against you.

“Let… me… go…” You said between gasps, though you lacked the conviction.

“No,” he whispered, “Not until you understand that you mattered, that you still matter.”

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer before catching you in another ferocious kiss. You couldn’t help but melt into him. The hurt began to dissolve into something more primal and you were responding to him with a need that had never really gone away. You could feel his longing and frustration too. All the pent-up emotions came crashing down and it wasn’t just about the kiss anymore; it was about everything left unresolved between you.

He slid his hands up your back and held you until there was no space left. As he brushed his tongue against your lips— as you allowed him in— the familiar scent of his cologne flooded your senses. You didn’t want to think anymore, didn’t want to dwell on the pain or the past. Not yet. Right now, you just wanted to feel.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathless. Your hands hadn’t left his chest and your fingers trembled, the mixed emotions were written on both of your faces.

“Toji…”

He looked at your lips, and then your eyes. You understood the conflict writhing in him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he finally said.

You knew what he was suggesting— it was a terrible idea. It would only complicate things but the larger part of you didn’t care. You needed this and you needed him, undeniably.

The walk back to the car was a blur.

When you reached the car, you expected him to ask where to go, but instead, he pushed you against the car door and began trailing kisses down your neck. God, it had been so long since anybody touched you like this so when he started sucking the sensitive spots he knew so well, it was enough for you to forget your own name.

You moaned softly as his hands moved to your breasts, massaging them through your clothes. Hearing you like this after all this time had him grind against your thigh, his already half-hard bulge pressing into you.

“Fuck—” he muttered, his breath hot and heavy. “The things you do to me…” he paused, brushing his lips against your ear. “Think you’re gonna make it home, baby?”

No. The honest answer was that you weren’t sure. Every touch was so deliberate and the way he called you ‘baby’ after all these rotten months was so intoxicating, that you were almost offended he remained the same since you last slept together. You probably dragged out the divorce just to hold onto the sex for a little longer.

Without an answer, he took it as a sign to squeeze your thigh, ready to hoist you around his waist but—

“Toji,” you interrupted, trying not to sound like it was out of pleasure even though it was ready to overtake you. If you were going to fuck your ex-husband, it was going to be on your terms, in the comfort of your own home,

“My place. Now.”

“Come inside…”

When the front door closed behind you, Toji was on you again, lips crashing into yours with a force that took your breath away.

He backed you into the living room, restraint now completely gone. His hands were everywhere— exploring, claiming— slipping under your shirt, and tracing the contours of your body with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You didn’t hold back either, your fingers tugging at his jacket, eager to feel his skin. He pinned you against the wall, nipping love bites below your collarbone. You fumbled with his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders as your own clothes began to disappear piece by piece.

“God, you’re still so perfect,” he murmured as he kissed down your stomach. You were left in only your panties and Toji didn’t hesitate to show his gratitude by pressing his lips against the thin, lacey fabric. “Every damn night… You were always in my head,” he confessed while looking up at you with those sinful eyes. He lapped you through the fabric, once, twice, and your body responded instantly, his name began rolling off your tongue.

This was taking you right back.

“Don’t know how I let you slip away,” he said, his voice rough with regret, as he yanked your panties to the side and sank his mouth directly into your folds. He swirled circles around your clit and you couldn’t help but rock your hips towards his face.

“Toji… don’t… stop…” you pleaded, biting your lip while your hands were tangled in his hair. He groaned in response, one hand palming his cock through his trousers, the other gripping your thigh to keep you steady. The thought of your ex-husband on his knees, groaning and telling you how much he regretted losing you while his face was buried in your pussy, sent a rush of heat through you.

“I’m not… going anywhere,” he muttered as he unbuttoned his pants. “Not this time,” he freed his cock, stroking it slowly as his tongue sloppily dragged up and down your sweet spot, making you clench around him.

The room was quiet aside from the sound of him devouring you. His movements became faster and more greedy, and you could feel yourself shaking and squirming on him. Every time you moaned his name, he fucked his fist with more desperation, spurred on by the way you tightened around his tongue.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy,” he said through grunts. He slid a finger inside you, and then another, stretching you just enough before pumping you with relentless vigor. His impatience was palpable; he never bothered with a slow build-up, and the intensity had you arching against the wall and pushing his head deeper into your cunt.

Shit.

You were close— so close— and he wasn’t going to stop until you were cumming all over his mouth.

The way he moved, the way he touched— it was sensory overload. As he flattened his tongue and rubbed it over your clit, again and again, he glanced up at you, his eyes dark with hunger. When he let go of his length to play with your nipples, you were instantly spiraling over the edge.

“Oh, fuck!” You cried out, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Don’t stop!”

And of course, he didn’t.

Your vision went white as wave after wave of sensation rolled through you, your body convulsing as you came, and your juices coating his chin and fingers. When he finally pulled away, he looked no better than a hound who had just feasted and a small pool of precum sat below his cock, which was now twitching eagerly against his stomach.

Limp and spent, you almost slid down the wall, but Toji quickly caught you by the chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Ah ah ah—” he taunted you, “You’re forgettin’ something.”

You mustered enough energy to roll your eyes, retorting, “You’re in no position to expect anything from me,” but out of the kindness of your heart (not), you did it anyway.

It was almost a custom to kiss him after he’d been between your legs. He loved the filthiness of it, how it riled him up in ways nothing else could. Still catching your breath, you pressed your lips on his, tasting yourself on his tongue as he deepened it.

“Tastes good, huh?” he whispered against your lips, a grin spreading across his face.

Annoyed by the brief pause in his touch, you replied, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You impatiently pulled him back, continuing the heated kiss.

The hint of sass in your voice made his cock twitch, a reminder that there was still unfinished business. Between gasps and sighs, you snaked your hand across the hard lines of his body, heading straight to his length. But as you wrapped your fingers around his throbbing shaft, he grabbed your wrist.

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“Nah,” he gruffed, “You ain’t doing nothin’ tonight, baby.”

Before anything else, Toji moved. In a swift motion, he led you to your couch— pushing you down onto the cushions as they sank beneath your weight. Your heart raced when he positioned himself above you.

“Toji–” you breathed, your hands ran to his chest, feeling the hard muscle flex under your touch.

“I’m takin’ care of you tonight,” he settled between your thighs, “Just relax for me.”

He rubbed his fat tip at your entrance, teasing just enough to make you whine, but that was the last of his patience. Gripping your hip with his free hand, he buried himself inside you with one deep thrust. It strangled a helpless moan out of you. The stretch was as delicious as you remembered, filling you in a way that was both familiar and overwhelmingly new.

“F-Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he grunted low in his throat. Resting his forehead on yours, his breath was staggered as he gave you a moment to adjust. You couldn’t form a coherent response, too caught up by the way he was splitting you apart. Instead, you wrapped your legs around his waist and he needed no more encouragement than that.

He started moving and his pace was unforgiving from the start. It was hard and deep, each thrust pushing you into the cushions. The couch creaked beneath you but you barely noticed.

“Yes-Yes, Toji—” you gasped, nails digging into the bare skin of his back as he pounded into you. You could feel him everywhere, his hands on your waist, his chest pressed against yours, the thick length of him sliding in and out with a rhythm that had you seeing stars. The way he took you— it was almost like the first time all over again.

But Toji wasn’t having any of it. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back, making you look up at him while he was fucking you,

“You’re mine.”

His voice was possessive and it sent a jolt straight to your core. If it was even possible, he picked up his pace and became erratic. Each movement drew a cry from you as your back arched off the couch.

“More… Please— don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he cooed, “I’m right here, baby. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

Your moans grew louder as he continuously hit the sweet spot that had your walls tightening around him. The room mingled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your breathless cries, and his ragged grunts.

When your nails sunk even deeper into his skin, you could have sworn the bastard threw his head back, with that infamous smirk tugging at his mouth.

But you could feel it coming, your body was tensing and ready to snap.

“Toji… I think I’m gonna—”

“Do it, baby,” he urged. He released your hair, his hand sliding down to your throat, holding you there as he fucked you even harder. “Let me feel you.”

That was all it took.

Your orgasm crashed over you but he didn’t slow down. He fucked you right through your climax as you cried out his name.

Toji wasn’t far behind. As you gripped him, he shuddered, thrusting a few more times before spilling his thick white cum into you, pulsing as he filled you with his warmth. His loudest groan followed right after.

For a moment, neither of you moved as you caught your breath.

You could feel his heartbeat slowly calming and his grip on you tightened as if to hold you closer. Remaining tangled together was not a choice, you told yourself. It was just the outcome of exhaustion.

But a part of you knew better.

You wondered how long it was going to take for him to pull out but he stayed inside you. His softening length kept his seed from spilling out entirely.

Then, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a stark difference from what had just happened.

In the darkness of your home, you saw it— the same look he gave you on the day he asked you to be his. There was a glimpse of sadness too.

Maybe, just maybe, he cared after all.

As he looked down at you, chest still heaving from the intensity, Toji was struck by the fear that had haunted him for months. The fear he had truly lost you— that no amount of sex, no confessions, could fix the damage that had been done. But something allowed him to hope.

“I know that didn’t mean shit as an apology,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’ll earn you back if you’d let me.”

His words hung heavy in the air.

As you searched for an answer, a thought crept in: whatever this was, it was far from over.

And maybe, just maybe, that was okay— at least for now.

a/n: this is the first jjk fic i’ve written in two years. i was so scared to post this. i’m not kidding, my heart was gonna fall out of my ass. i’ve been a sukuna girl through and through but toji can take the spotlight i guesssss

divider and line break by @/chachachannah

mdni banner template from @/kithsune

#☾ grimmweepers #jjk smut #anime smut #toji smut #toji x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji jjk #jjk toji #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #jjk fanfic #cw sex mention #jjk drabbles #toji drabbles #toji fanfic #cw angst #ex husband toji

527 notes · View notes

danisdistant · 2 months ago

Note

sunday x emanator of voracity reader? perchance

chat... am i cooking...

sunday - uncontrollable desire

a/n: as far as i know, oroboros is some hungry and desperate aeon who went missing eating the swarm. so as an emanator of voracity, you carry some of the hunger too. i love the interesting idea though, i wanna see some characters that follow missing aeons like argenti with the goddess of beauty…

[intro blog] | [taglist] | [masterlist]

»» ──────ஓ๑ ★ ๑ஓ ────── ««

not much is known about oroboros, much less about any existing followers or even emanators. but when the express stumbled across you in an unknown area of the universe, the first impression you left on everyone was your insatiable hunger.

as far as you could remember, you’ve always been hungry for your whole existence. no food, person, thing, or even planet could fully quench your hunger. however, you couldn't remember when you've become the emanator of voracity. the aeon of oroboros has long been missing, but you don't even remember a voice from THEM.

oh well. when the astral express first encountered you, they immediately considered you as a threat. what if you ate one of the crew members?? what if you ate several?? hell, the entire express?? despite your increasing appetite, you didn't feel a need to indulge yourself in a full course meal in front of you. after all, the express is the first couple of people you've seen after being stuck on this planet for how long?

they were hesitant letting you on the express. pom-pom especially was concerned about letting an emanator on their train. welt, himeko, dan heng, and even sunday were wary about your presence. march 7th and stelle felt like you gave off a weird aura. you were the outcast of the nameless, but you didn't really care that much.

maybe you joined the astral express after the boring and excruciating time you’ve spent hungry (almost starving) on that desolate planet. after all, you’ve been devouring rocks to fulfill the desire for just a brief moment. or maybe you joined because you wish to resume your devouring spree, using the express to travel to different worlds to completely ingulf them. or maybe you’ve joined for the hell of it.

after some time of not trying to eat your fellow crewmates, some started to become fascinated with you, since they haven’t seen a follower of THEM ever. on the other hand you’ve become more interested in a fellow bird boy.

you’ve been noticing that on some late nights on the express when everyone is supposed to be asleep, piano melodies have been echoing in the halls for minutes to hours before stopping.

when you asked sunday who he thought it came from, it surprised you to hear that it was actually him to played the melody. though, he was somewhat embarrassed given his attempt to subtly hide his face with his wings. he plays the piano at night to not disturb anyone after all.

but what interests you isn’t just his skill with the piano, or the way his fingers press each key with passion, no. for some reason, the melody eases your hunger and desire to indulge in anything you see. almost as if you were eating the music that actually filled you up.

so, you sometimes join sunday late at night to watch him play the piano, listening to his stories about each song he’s played for his sister. penacony, land of dreams, you wondered if you’d still be hungry when you go there.

but right now, you’re content with staying on the express and helping pom-pom around with cleaning (you basically just eat the trash to pom-pom’s horror). and as a bonus, you’re spending time with sunday at late nights, easing your own hunger as you devour his melodies and stories with a single bite.

#honkai star rail #hsr #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sunday hc #hsr sunday #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #request #asks open #idk about this aeon lol

131 notes · View notes

thebunnednun · 10 days ago

Text

Birds and Fish

★Pairing:

Pro Hero! And soon to be ex Husband!Keigo Takami x Pro Hero!Still legal Wife!Reader

Synopsis: It's Valentines Day and your estranged husband shows up to your apartment to... take you out?

Warning: Extreme angst and fluff, suggestive themes, drinking, heartbreak, mutual pinning, touching and kissing, bad mental health, broken vases, broken dishes, preditor and prey, teasing, not really unfrequented love, heartbreak, hoping, depression, intimacy.

Wc: long, No ageless blogs! MDNI!!!

More info at the end. Use song: Of Monsters And Men - Little Talks

Slight spoiler: I wrote the flashback two different ways to represent how our brains twist painful memories.

This is the 3rd installment of my Valentines day series.

(Check my mha master list for more characters.)

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, @icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz, @1chaerry,

@valscodblog, @willnetries

The morning is cold, but Keigo barely feels it as he stands outside your condo, wings tucked tight against his back, fingers flexing at his sides. He’s been here for ten minutes already, gathering his courage, trying to find the right words, the right tone. Something easy, something smooth, something that won’t make you him out of your head.

He raps his knuckles against the door, but it isn’t you who answers.

"Sorry birdie," Rumi drawls, leaning against the frame like she’s been expecting him all day. Her ears flick lazily before she leans aside just enough to let him see inside.

"Kitty cat doesn’t want to play today."

Keigo opens his mouth to argue, but the twitch of her ears is all the warning he gets before she sidesteps, and a vase comes flying straight for his face.

Glass explodes against the doorframe as he dodges, shards embedding themselves in the wood and skittering across the ground. He exhales slowly, resisting the urge to shake out his wings, and instead, he just tilts his head toward the room beyond.

"That any way to treat an old friend, sweetheart?"

His voice is light, teasing, but there’s something beneath it—

Something raw, something desperate.

He sees the flick of your tail's shadow before he sees you, a lazy sway from where you’re perched on the arm of your couch, one leg crossed over the other. You’ve got your claws out, the tips of your nails clicking idly against the glass of another— intact —vase on the side table.

Your pupils are blown, slitted eyes reflecting the light in that eerily beautiful way that always makes his breath catch. Smoke curls from your lips, disappearing into the dim lighting.

Rumi huffs, stepping back inside. "I’m not cleaning that up."

"Don’t have to," you reply smoothly, voice like silk dragged over velvet. Your lashes flutter as you finally, finally turn your gaze to him.

"Keigo will do it, won’t you, baby?"

That shouldn’t do as much to him as it does. He knows you’re being cruel—playing with him the way you always have, even before everything went to hell. But his fingers still twitch at his sides, still aching to reach for you.

"Anything for you, dove."

His voice is softer now, almost a whisper.

Rumi looks between the two of you and groans. "Alright, I’m out. But if you kill him, I’m not helping you hide the body." She grabs her purse and coat before leaving out the door, white trainers making crunchy noises against the floor.

Rude , she’d have helped you hide any other body.

You hum noncommittally as she heads for the elevator. The second it shuts, the air between you thickens.

Keigo takes a step forward, and you don’t move—don’t stiffen, don’t react, just keep watching him with those unblinking, inhumanly sharp eyes. He has to remind himself to breathe.

"Can we talk?"

A beat of silence. Then, you lift your chin slightly, lashes lowering.

"Inside."

He barely hears the words over the sound of his own heartbeat. But he follows you in without hesitation.

Your condo is nothing like the home you once shared with Keigo. It’s clinical, sleek, too neat. There’s no clutter, no misplaced shoes by the door, no feathers caught between couch cushions.

No warmth.

The air inside is still, save for the faint scent of something citrusy and sharp—one of the only things that covers the trace of venom in your breath. The furniture is modern, leather and glass, not a single soft edge in sight.

Even the throw pillows on the couch are pristine, arranged just so. Keigo’s eyes flick to the sink, the pipes lined with that special metal finish to prevent your venom from eating through them, the custom silverware drying in a dish rack, a reminder of all the precautions you have to take just to exist in the same space as other people.

But there aren’t any other people here. Just you. Just him.

You saunter toward the bar cart in the corner, tail flicking as you reach for a bottle, pouring yourself a drink with slow, deliberate movements. You don’t offer him one.

Keigo watches, silent for once. He’s been in too many rooms like this. He knows the signs. You haven’t made this place a home—you’ve made it a hideout. A place to exist, not to live. And that realization makes something inside him twist so violently he has to clench his fists to keep from reaching for you.

"You gonna speak, or just stand there lookin' pretty?"

Your voice is a purr, lazy, amused. But he knows you too well. That’s just how you hide the venom.

He swallows, stepping further inside, ignoring the broken glass from your little greeting still scattered near the door.

"What happened to us?"

You sigh dramatically, swirling the liquid in your glass.

"We got divorced, birdie. Try to keep up."

"That’s not an answer."

"Sure it is."

You finally turn to face him fully, your tail curling loosely around your leg, those slit pupils of yours narrowing as they catch the light. Your gaze flicks to the faint cuts on his hands from the glass, and Keigo thinks—hopes—for a second that you might care. But then you take another slow sip, and whatever softness he thought he saw disappears.

"You think I don’t know what you’re doing?" His voice is quieter now, rougher. Your lips curl slightly.

"Enlighten me."

"You’re trying to make me hate you."

You don’t react. Not at first. But he sees the way your fingers tighten around the glass, the way your ears twitch, betraying you.

"Is it working?" you murmur.

Keigo exhales sharply, shaking his head.

"No."

You click your tongue, setting your drink down on the bar cart with a little more force than necessary.

"Shame."

There’s a long pause, tension stretched between you so tight it might snap at any second. Then, finally, you lean back against the cart, crossing your arms over your chest, nails tapping idly against the fabric of your sleeve.

"Why are you here, Keigo?"

"You know why."

"You should be getting ready for your fancy gala, smiling for the cameras, being Japan’s golden boy."

"Not in the mood."

You hum, tilting your head. "They’ll notice you’re gone."

"Let them."

That catches you off guard. He sees it in the flicker of surprise that crosses your face, quick as a heartbeat before it’s buried under something unreadable. You exhale, reaching up to push your hair back.

"You make everything so difficult."

Keigo steps closer.

"And you make everything so damn lonely."

That—finally—makes you falter. Just a little.

But it’s enough.

"Why, love?" His voice is softer now, breaking at the edges.

"Why’d you really leave?"

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Because he deserves the truth, doesn’t he? After everything, after all the years spent in each other’s arms, in each other’s shadows.

But the truth is ugly. And you’ve never been the type to hand Keigo something he can’t handle. Even now, after everything, after you left.

So instead, you force a smirk, stepping forward to slide your fingers under the knot of his tie, tugging him just close enough to feel the heat of your breath against his lips.

"I left," you whisper, "Because I knew you’d chase me."

Keigo’s breath stutters. His hands twitch.

And then you let go, stepping back, putting a wall between you again.

"Now," you sigh, picking up your drink, "If you’re done being sentimental, you can see yourself out."

But Keigo doesn’t move.

Doesn’t turn, doesn’t back away.

Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small. Something velvet. Something with your name on it.

Your breath catches.

His voice is barely a whisper.

"Not without an answer."

The morning light filters through the sheer curtains as you pull them back, casting a pale glow across the pristine walls of your condo. The city hums softly beyond the glass, an orchestra of distant sirens and traffic, a constant reminder that the world moves on regardless of your choices.

You lift your glass to your lips, savoring the last bitter sip before setting it down with a deliberate click. Behind you, Keigo still stands in the center of the room, that damn velvet box in his hands.

Your fingers twitch, but you don’t reach for it. Not yet.

Instead, you exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders as you stare out over the skyline. Being a Pro Hero should mean something, but for you, it’s always been more of a balancing act.

The media has never truly trusted you—not with the kind of power you wield, not with a quirk as inherently dangerous as yours. You’ve spent your career fighting for a place at the table, only to be met with suspicion. The public adores their heroes, but they only ever tolerate you.

And now, post-separation, they don’t even do that.

The headlines were merciless when the news first broke.

Pro Heroes Hawks and Nightfang’s scandalous divorce.

'Nightfang’s betrayal.'

Every news outlet framed you as the villain, the gold digger, the attention seeker. They spewed theories, spun tales of infidelity or deceit, but none of them knew the truth. Not a single one of them understood the slow unraveling of something that once felt indestructible.

And Keigo—damn him—never defended himself.

Only you.

He stood in front of cameras and brushed off questions with a shrug, a lazy smile, a tilt of his head. He called you an incredible woman. He said he would always support you. He told the world that love is complicated, but that you weren’t the villain in this story.

But when the cameras were off, when the interviews ended, when he came home to an empty penthouse that still carried the ghost of your laughter, Keigo had to face the truth.

You weren’t coming back.

Legally, the two of you are still married. You filed for divorce, but he never signed the papers. He refuses. You’ve been separated for a year now, and once the two-year mark hits, you’ll be dragging him back to court to finalize it whether he likes it or not. That’s the plan. But Keigo—stubborn, maddening, infuriating Keigo—isn’t going to let you go so easily.

He tried. At first.

But then Endeavor and Touya got involved. And when two of the most emotionally constipated men in Japan actually agreed on something for once, Keigo started listening.

“You’re insane if you think you’ll ever find something like that again,” Touya had scoffed, tossing a cigarette off the balcony of Keigo’s penthouse. “You’ve had the real thing, and you’re just gonna let her walk? That’s weak.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Endeavor had muttered, arms crossed.

“You’re a hero, but you’re still a man. Fight for her.”

So Keigo fought.

He scared off every court-mandated counselor assigned to help mediate the separation. He dodged meetings, refused legal summons, and ensured that nothing about his life changed.

Your clothes were still in the closet. Your favorite mug is still sitting by the coffee machine. Hell, your toothbrush—your damn toothbrush—remains untouched in the holder beside his.

And yet, the scent of you is gone.

Late at night, when sleep refused to come, he would reach for your pillow, hoping for something— anything —that still carried your warmth. But it was just fabric. Cold. Empty. The absence of you felt like a weight in his chest, like hunger gnawing at his ribs, an ache that wouldn’t fade.

It terrified him, that feeling.

Because it wasn’t just loneliness.

It was abandonment.

Keigo swallows hard, shaking himself from his thoughts as you finally turn, your gaze landing on the small velvet box in his hands. Your expression remains unreadable, but he catches the flicker of something in your eyes—recognition, hesitation, something softer before it’s buried beneath layers of indifference.

"You kept them." Your voice is quiet, but not surprised.

"Of course I did." His grip tightens slightly. "What did you think? That I’d toss them like some old trinket?"

You say nothing.

He steps closer, the distance between you shrinking.

"Open it."

You don’t move.

Keigo exhales sharply, bringing the box to his own hands, flicking it open with his thumb. Inside, nestled against the plush lining, are the rings—your rings. Your wedding band, sleek and elegant, gleams under the morning light. And beside it, his own.

Unworn, untouched. Still yours.

"Tell me," his voice drops, rough and raw,

"Do you still want this to be over?"

You look at him—the man you came to love so deeply, so wholly, that it still aches in places you thought had long gone numb. Keigo Takami. Hawks. The man who once had nothing, just a lonely kid with clipped wings, and somehow, against all odds, became your everything.

Your fingers tighten around the wine glass in your hands, not from anger, but from the weight of the memories pressing against your chest.

You remember it all so vividly—your wedding, if you could even call it that.

No grand venue, no media coverage, no designer gowns or custom tuxedos. Just you, in a t-shirt and jeans at first, standing beside him in the city hall courthouse. Your closest friends, your grandfather, and a love so real it felt like the very foundation of the life you were building together.

Back before the multimillion-dollar contracts, before either of you were B-list celebrities—hell, even before you were D-list heroes.

People had called you foolish. They’d whispered that it wouldn’t last, that Keigo would leave you someday.

Find someone younger, someone prettier, someone who wasn’t…

you.

But Keigo never strayed. Never looked at another woman the way he looked at you.

Not once.

You knew the kind of childhood he had survived, the scars buried beneath his charm, the silent desperation in the way he clung to you when nightmares crept in. You were his family. And he was yours.

Maybe that’s why this hurts so much.

Because when the rest of the world turned its back on you, when the media vilified you, when complete strangers condemned you, Keigo had always been your safe place.

And now?

Now you were each other’s greatest source of pain.

At least there were no kids to get lost in this mess. No innocent lives tangled in the wreckage of what the two of you had built and lost.

Just two people, bound by love and tragedy, trying to navigate the wreckage without losing themselves in the process.

And yet, even now, late at night, you still hear him.

That warm hum, soft as a whisper, waking you from the edge of sleep. It takes a moment before you recognize it—his voice, murmuring wedding vows in the quiet. The same ones he spoke to you five years ago in that tiny courthouse, when the only thing you had to your names was each other.

"I don’t have much, but everything I am, everything I have, it’s yours. It always will be."

Keigo has offered a vow renewal more times than you can count. And every time, you refuse. He doesn’t understand.

He thinks you deserve more, that he didn’t do right by you back then. That now, with money, status, and power, he can finally give you something extravagant—something worthy of you. But that courthouse wedding? That day, five years ago? It was perfect.

You’ve told him that before.

And Keigo, with that quiet, unreadable stare, had only shaken his head and whispered, “That was the bare minimum.”

He doesn’t get it.

And moments like this—when he stands in front of you, ring box in hand, eyes pleading even when he doesn’t say a word—it’s so damn hard to be mad at him.

Because Keigo Takami, for all his recklessness, for all his stubbornness, has never once stopped loving you.

The rings clink softly against the table, the weight of them heavier than it should be. Your sigh feels like it’s been building in your chest for years, clawing its way up your throat, but when it finally escapes, it doesn’t bring relief. It just leaves you empty.

You rub your face, fingertips pressing into your temples, before retreating into the corner like you always do when you’re overwhelmed. The space feels too small, too tight, but the pressure grounds you. Keigo shifts in your periphery, body tensing like he’s about to reach for you, and you know that if he gets too close, you’ll break.

Your mouth fills with saliva, hot and acrid, your body rejecting the wine and venom swirling in your stomach. Before Keigo can take another step, you bolt, vaulting over the table, sprinting to the kitchen sink just in time.

Everything comes up in sharp, burning waves—wine, acid, poison—and you grip the edges of the sink, gasping between shuddering breaths. You don’t even realize you’re crying until Keigo is there, gathering your hair into his hands, his fingers gentle against your scalp.

The silk press you got last week—because you didn’t have the energy to deal with your hair, because life has felt so heavy—slides smooth between his fingers. He holds it back carefully, rubbing your back in slow, familiar circles, keeping his touch light like he knows any more might send you over the edge.

He doesn’t say anything when you try to push him away, just turns on the water and helps you rinse your mouth. The sink is steaming, curling around your face like fog, and when you spit again, the heat clings to your skin. Your body feels drained, exhausted down to your bones, but Keigo stays close, watching you carefully.

You can see the concern in the way his eyes flicker over your frame, the way his jaw clenches. You know you look bad. You feel worse. The dark circles under your eyes are deeper than usual, your limbs too thin, your clothes hanging looser than they should.

And then his gaze shifts—past you, past the sink—to the countertop.

To the empty bottles.

You don’t even like wine like that.

Keigo’s expression doesn’t change, but you can feel something inside him shift.

He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to. He just hands you a cup of water, watching like a hawk as you take small sips, as you swallow down the Tylenol he places in your palm. Then, without a word, he starts emptying the bottles. One by one, he pours them down the drain, his movements sharp, controlled. You don’t try to stop him.

You just watch.

When he’s done, he tosses the bottles into the trash with finality, dusting his hands off before turning to you. His shoulders drop, just slightly, before he nods to the kitchen table.

“Sit,” he murmurs.

You hesitate, but your body is too tired to fight him.

The smell hits you first—warm, savory, familiar. A bowl of noodles, steam curling from the surface, two soft-boiled eggs nestled in the broth. Light spice, mild enough for your stomach. Next to it, a glass of green tea.

Your favorite.

Keigo slides into the chair across from you, setting his own bowl down. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push—just eats with you, slow and steady, letting the weight of his presence do all the talking.

The food smells too good to ignore. And you don’t want to be alone right now.

So you eat.

He watches, not too obviously, but you can feel it. The tension in his shoulders eases when you take another bite, and by the time your bowl is empty, your eyelids are heavier, your body slumping against the chair.

You don’t protest when he leads you to the couch, wrapping you in soft blankets from God knows where. He pulls you against his chest, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself sink into the warmth of him.

Your couch is too hard, because you never bothered making this place comfortable. Most nights, you sleep on the hardwood floor because it’s easier than trying to rest in a bed that doesn’t have him in it.

Maybe you got married too young. Your frontal lobes weren’t even fully developed yet.

Or maybe this was always bound to happen.

You already know how this will go.

Keigo will stay until you make him leave. He’ll linger for a few days, maybe a few weeks, before finally stepping back. Then the gifts will start showing up at your door—never at your agency anymore, at least he learned that much.

And then, eventually, he’ll come back.

And when he does, you’ll scream as you push him away. Because his feathers will be scattered across your apartment, lingering on the floor, stuck to your clothes, hidden in the creases of your couch.

And no matter how much you tell yourself to, you won’t have the heart to throw them out.

Because you still love him.

“Hm.”

Your laugh is barely more than a breath, but it still surprises you. It rumbles against Keigo’s chest, and you feel the way he tenses beneath you, like he’s trying to commit the sound to memory.

When he glances down at you, you tell him it’s because noodles and green tea were all you guys could afford back then, before the fame, before the headlines, before everything got so complicated.

Keigo nods, his lips pressing into a firm line, but there’s something in his eyes—something distant, something almost mournful. “The food act you started is doing really well,” he says after a moment, his voice steady. “Lots of donations are coming in. People are getting at least two hot meals a day.”

You smile, a small, fleeting thing.

Of course, Keigo made sure of it. Whatever you wanted to do, he always fronted the money, always stepped in as the face of it. Not because he wanted credit, but because people were more willing to listen to him than a woman who looked like you.

You don’t even need to say it out loud. He already knows.

A snake.

That’s what they called you.

Strange, considering the soft curve of your cat-like ears atop your head, the way your tail flicks when you’re irritated, the sharp, clawed nails you keep polished and neat. Maybe it’s your eyes, slitted and gold lined, too predatory for their liking.

Maybe it’s your teeth, sharp enough to tear through flesh, or the venom you can spit through the gaps between them, burning hot as it hisses against the air.

Or maybe it’s just because they needed an easy way to hate you.

Whatever. You don’t care anymore.

You’re just so tired.

Waking up has been hard. Brushing your teeth feels like a chore. Standing too fast makes your head spin.

Maybe it’s just too many bad days, piled on top of each other, weighing you down.

Or maybe it’s something else.

It’s weird—the way you’ve started signing Keigo’s last name again without thinking. You mean to use your maiden name when handling business, but the moment the pen touches paper, it’s his that spills out in ink.

Because it doesn’t feel like your name anymore.

Not after the media found out about your marriage.

Not after they twisted it, stripped you of any identity outside of him.

It became his name. And you?

You weren’t even a partial owner.

You sigh, pressing your forehead against his collarbone, letting yourself drift for just a moment. You and Keigo go way back—back before the tabloids, back before the industry swallowed him whole, back when you had braids and he hadn’t yet fallen into the machine that chewed him up and spit him out as Hawks.

Back when it was just you and him, sitting on the floor of your first apartment, no furniture, barely making rent, sharing instant noodles and laughing like the world wasn’t out to break you.

Keigo sits up a little, his arms still around you but tense now, his golden eyes locked onto your face, searching for something.

Anything.

“Can I ask you something?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your gaze is fixed on the silver screen, but you’re not really watching anymore. The cartoon you grew up on plays like white noise in the background, a relic of a simpler time—back when the only thing you had to worry about was making ends meet, back when it was just you and him against the world.

Back before the lights got too bright. Before the whispers got too loud.

Before loving each other started to hurt.

You understand why he doesn’t want to go back to that apartment, why he hates the memories in those old walls. You do, but at the same time, you don’t. Because back then, you had each other. More than you do now, more than when you both became names with too much weight to carry.

Before the cameras, before the meetings and hushed conversations about his image with you. Before your interviews turned sharp-edged, laced with bitterness neither of you knew how to swallow.

Before there were meetings about your marriage. Before your image turned sour.

You know why he works so hard to give you a soft life, but you refuse his money, refuse to go half on anything. You both got married without a prenup, so as far as you’re concerned, he can keep his things, and you’ll keep yours.

But Keigo is a selfish man.

He wants everything.

Not the house, not the cars—those are just things, and he’s never cared much for things.

He wants you .

Not as a trophy wife, not as a possession, but as the one person who’s ever really seen him in a room full of people. The one who showed him what his heart was worth. And even though yours is torn to shreds, even though you’ve spent so long pushing him away, he wants to be there with a sewing kit and new fabric, trying to stitch you back together, piece by piece.

"Would you run away with me?"

Your head turns slowly, eyes meeting his. "Run away to where? America? Some place where they don’t know my face or name?" Your voice is flat, tired. "You’d never be able to leave, Keigo. You have a duty here."

Keigo takes a deep, almost steady breath, eyes flickering with something unreadable before he clarifies.

"Run away with me for today. For Valentine’s Day. "

Your playful smile vanishes. You frown, turning back toward the screen.

"I hate when you joke like that."

"It’s not a joke."

The way he spits it—low, urgent—makes something in your chest ache.

He isn’t talking about some grand escape. He isn’t asking you to drop everything, to disappear with him to some foreign country, to run from the weight of your names.

He’s asking for today.

One day where there are no cameras, no expectations, no headlines.

Just you and him, like it used to be.

"It’s not a joke," he repeats, softer this time.

"You can't breathe air into my lungs if I don't want it, Keigo."

"Then I'll be a vacuum cleaner and press reverse."

"There you go again—forcing me into what you think is best for me."

"Please, just come home."

"I'd rather be in hell than alone."

You haven't been back since the night you left. You packed a suitcase with the same clothes you arrived with, taking nothing more than your hero costume.

And now you were gone.

It killed Keigo to come home and see the place torn apart, to live in the wreckage of everything you left behind. For a while, he did. That’s why he moved into the penthouse—because the house, as beautiful as it was, hurt too much.

Acres of land, a guarded estate, a quiet escape in the countryside—it was supposed to be a dream. Now, it’s just a memory.

But that night stays with him. The night you begged— fucking begged —him, his wife, who should never have had to beg for anything in her life. And yet, you did. Standing there in your designer black dress, glittering under the dim lights, mascara running like an unchecked faucet, pooling at the base of your throat as if your own tears were branding you, drowning out your voice.

Begging him to stay. To choose you over the public. Because you needed him.

And he didn’t.

—————

Keigo doesn’t notice the way your hands start to shake as the commotion around you grows louder. He doesn’t notice how the weight of the room feels like it’s pressing into your skull, the voices, the shuffling, the endless chatter about the schedule and the press and the fucking charity event drowning you like a tidal wave.

He doesn’t notice the way you break.

Not at first.

You're already on your knees, sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor in your black designer gown, the shimmer of it making the streaks of makeup down your cheeks look even darker. Your chest is rising and falling too quickly, your breathing uneven, like the oxygen in the room is running out. Your nails are digging into the fabric around your arms, and you’re begging him, voice hoarse from holding everything in for years.

"Please."

That’s all you can manage at first. You don’t know what else to say, how else to convince him, how else to make him see you.

"Please don’t go."

Keigo exhales slowly, standing tall in his gilded tux, his hands adjusting the cuffs like he’s getting ready for war, and in a way, he is. The hero industry is a battlefield, and he’s always been a soldier. Always been good at following orders, at knowing when and where to strike, when to play the game.

You’re not part of the game.

You never were.

"You know I can’t just not go," he says, like he’s trying to be reasonable, like this is an explanation instead of an excuse. "This event is important."

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

Important.

"What about me ?" you whisper, gripping your dress tighter.

His jaw tightens. "Don’t do that."

"Do what , Keigo?"

He sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck, his wings fluttering once in irritation. The movement sends a loose feather drifting to the floor between you, and you hate how that simple sight makes something in your chest ache .

" This ," he gestures at you vaguely. "Acting like I don’t—"

"Like you don’t what ?" You cut him off, eyes locking onto his. "See me? Hear me? Like you haven’t left me behind over and over again?"

He stiffens at that.

"You always have somewhere else to be, Keigo," you whisper, your hands releasing your dress to clutch at your chest instead, like you can physically hold yourself together.

"Always someone else to be with. Always something more important than me."

"That's not fair," he snaps. "You know that’s not true."

"Do I?" Your voice cracks, and you shake your head, laughing wetly, eyes burning. " Tell me , Keigo—when was the last time you chose me ?" He looks at you, but he doesn’t say anything. Not even one word.

Because he knows.

He fucking knows .

And for not the first time tonight, you feel empty.

Because what’s the point of screaming at a wall? What’s the point of pouring your heart out into hands that are too full to hold it?

Your voice is quieter now. Depleted.

"I’m done."

That makes his entire body tense, golden eyes snapping to yours, lips parting slightly in disbelief.

"What?"

"I don’t wanna fight anymore." You sniff hard, wiping your eyes, smearing the mess on your face further.

"I just wanted love and comfort. That’s it."

Keigo moves forward, like he’s about to kneel in front of you, but before he can, there’s a loud knock on the door, followed by frantic voices calling his name.

They need him.

You don’t say anything. You don’t move. He hesitates, but only for a second. Then he sighs, leans down, and presses a quick kiss to your ruined cheek.

"We’ll talk about this when I get home, okay?"

Your breath catches in your throat.

And just like that, he’s gone.

The door closes behind him, and the noise follows, his footsteps fading down the hall as the staff and managers rush after him.

You don’t move.

You just sit there, staring at the empty space he left behind, blinking slowly as another hot tear slips past your lashes, burning as it carves a path down your cheek. It drips from your chin, landing against the fabric of your dress. And in the silence of the house you once called home , you whisper,

"I need you."

But he’s already gone.

You don’t move at first when you hear all the cars drive away.

Because your mental state was just that bad —so bad that the thought of standing under a thousand flashing lights, surrounded by cameras and whispers, made your stomach turn. Because you knew how it would go. You’d smile, pose, play the part, and by morning, they’d have spun some new evil story about you. As if you craved attention so desperately that you needed everyone’s eyes on you—even at a charity ball.

And Keigo stood there, dressed in gold, the picture of perfection, while the staff bustled around you, stepping over your crumpled form on the floor of your own home. As if you weren’t there. As if you were just a nuisance, inconveniencing a man who had far better things to do.

Honestly, what did he ever see in you?

The rumors never stopped. That he must have been tricked, roped into this marriage. That Hawks, the patron saint of the hero world, hadn’t just cleaned up the streets—he’d done an act of charity by taking in a disaster of a woman like you.

And maybe, tonight, he believed it.

He dismissed the staff. His managers. But it was too late.

The damage was already done.

He tried to explain earlier. Tried to tell you why he couldn’t just not go. That you needed to pull yourself together. And that’s when something inside you snapped.

"I’ve been pulling myself together for you for seven years, Keigo. Seven."

From the very beginning, people told you that you’d never measure up. That you needed to hold on tight to him before he came to his senses. And now, standing in the middle of this too big, too cold house, you finally hit your breaking point.

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. The world spun too fast, too violently, and he—he couldn’t even take a moment to comfort you?

Really?

He’d rather stand there and watch you unravel?

The two of you were screaming now, voices ricocheting off the high ceilings. But you weren’t even angry anymore. Not really.

"I don’t want to fight, Keigo. I just wanted love. I just wanted comfort."

His phone wouldn’t stop ringing. People were banging on the door, reminding him that he needed to go. And you—you just stood there. Silent. Watching.

"We’ll talk about this when I get home," he told you, pressing a kiss to your tear-streaked cheek before walking out the bedroom door.

And you let him go.

The moment the door clicked shut, a single, burning tear slipped down your cheek, curving along your jaw as you whispered, "I need you."

But there was no one left to hear it.

The house was empty. Silent.

No one called. No one checked in—except Rumi and Taishiro, asking where you were, saying Keigo mentioned you weren’t feeling well.

Oh.

So that’s what he told them?

The ring on your finger feels heavier than it ever has.

The same ring he slipped onto your finger with that cocky, love-drunk grin, promising you forever. The same ring he kissed every morning before slipping out the door, murmuring, see you later, babe . The same ring that sat between your fingers as you traced the grooves absentmindedly, convincing yourself that he was worth waiting for.

Now, all you can think about is how much you regret ever putting it on.

Because what did it mean ?

Nothing.

It was just another thing in your life that Keigo Takami had made you believe was sacred—only for him to turn around and treat it like an afterthought.

Defends you to the death one moment but can’t even put the world on hold for you the next.

Talk about mixed fucking signals.

Even the lights in your bedroom feel too bright, burning into your retinas as if the whole house is mocking you, exposing you, watching you break apart piece by piece. You stumble toward the bathroom, desperate for a moment to breathe, to clear your face, to wipe away the evidence of how thoroughly you’ve lost .

But then you make the mistake of looking into the mirror.

And you don’t even recognize yourself.

The woman staring back at you is a ghost, her makeup smeared down her cheeks like war paint, her lips trembling with unshed rage and despair. The whites of her eyes are bloodshot, her cheeks raw from the heat of her tears.

Smoke curls from her lips with every breath.

You open your mouth, and your venom pools there, thick and acrid, sliding over your tongue like a warning. You could spit it into the sink, watch it swirl down the drain like all the other things you’ve had to swallow in this marriage.

But why should you?

What’s the point of restraint? What’s the point of trying to be good ?

Keigo abandoned you tonight. Just like he always does.

So instead of spitting into the sink, you turn and head straight for the bed.

One spit-take is all it takes to watch the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets dissolve into nothing.

Oh.

That feels good.

Something clicks into place inside you, something sharp and reckless and angry.

Your fingers curl into tight fists as you storm through your walk-in closet, scanning the racks and shelves until your eyes land on something perfect.

An old baseball bat.

The weight of it feels right in your hands, the smooth grip grounding you.

And then you swing.

The bedroom window shatters on impact, the sound ringing through the house, glass raining onto the floor like diamonds. You turn on your heel and move to the next target—the kitchen cabinets, the overpriced mahogany that Keigo’s designer picked out. You slam the bat into them again and again, the wood splintering, the doors hanging off their hinges.

Then it’s the TVs.

Every. Single. One.

Because why the fuck does every room need a television ?

You swing at the first one, watching the screen crack and flicker, glass shards scattering across the hardwood floor. Then the next, and the next, until there’s nothing left but broken plastic and shattered screens.

But that’s still not enough.

The sinks.

You crank the faucets on full blast, watching the water spill over before you spit into them, the pipes sizzling and corroding instantly.

Keigo’s favorite car sits in the driveway, gleaming under the moonlight, freshly purchased, still smelling like new leather and money.

Too bad about the broken windshield.

Your bat swings once, then twice, then three times for good measure, before you shove the damn thing into neutral and push it over the edge of the property’s cliffside driveway.

It tumbles down the rocky slope, scraping against jagged edges, until it lands with a loud splash in the saltwater below.

Huh.

Guess he’ll find it there later.

You step back, shoulders rising and falling with each breath, but you’re not done. Not yet.

The wedding china.

The plates, the dishes, the goddamn gravy boat.

You hurl them at the wall, watching them shatter into pieces, and for the first time, your hands shake —because that hurt. That was a gift from your grandfather. That was yours .

You swallow hard, eyes burning, but you don’t stop.

Your wedding dress is in the attic, stuffed away in a box that smells like dust and memories. It was a short thing, gifted by Nemuri from her first failed attempt down the aisle, something borrowed, something meant to be special.

Keigo’s tux is there too. An old rental, something he nearly threw away.

You whisper a quiet, sorry, to the dress before setting it ablaze.

Better for it to burn than to live in that dingy old box forever.

But Keigo’s tux? That, you take downstairs.

You nail it to the front steps.

For when he gets married again.

And then, finally, you slide the ring off your finger. It’s lighter now.

You don’t look at it as you place it on the nightstand, as you go back upstairs and pull out an old suitcase. You pack only what you came into this house with. The clothes from your old life. And your hero costume.

For good measure, you slice up Keigo’s expensive jackets, the ones he always threw over your shoulders in public when people were watching, but never when you actually needed them. All this money can’t buy you the arms that you wish would hold you more than just at night when you’re falling apart and can’t feel anything. Then you flood the bathtub with them.

And spit.

The fire crackles, eating through the fabric, the flames licking up the ruined cloth, filling the air with the acrid scent of burnt leather and regret.

Do you feel better?

No.

But it helps .

And then you leave.

You step out of the house barefoot, your pretty dress stained with smoke and dust, your expensive heels clicking against the pavement as you walk . And you don’t stop. Not until you reach your grandfather’s old house. The porch steps creak under your weight as you sink down, too exhausted to even push open the door.

Your body is spent. Your soul is empty.

So you just curl up on the steps, resting your head against the worn wood. And for the first time that night—

You close your eyes in peace.

—————

Keigo watches you from across the room, his golden eyes tracing every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. He sees it all. The hurt. The betrayal. The night he can never take back.

And the worst part?

He knows—knows deep down in his bones—that there’s nothing he can do to fix it.

No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he rewinds the memory in his head, searching for the moment where he could have done anything differently.

Because he did come home that night.

Heart pounding. Mind racing.

At first, he thought someone had attacked you, that some villain had stormed the house, tearing it apart, leaving nothing but chaos and destruction in their wake. But then he saw it.

The tux.

Nailed to the front steps like a goddamn headstone.

And then he stepped inside.

The walkway, the living room— empty.

Not in the way that an unfinished house is empty, but in the way that something once full of life had been stripped bare, gutted from the inside out. The only things left were the shards of glass scattered across the floor, catching the moonlight like cruel little stars.

His stomach had twisted at the sight, his fingers tightening around the doorframe as he forced himself to move forward, to climb the broken staircase, to look .

And when he did—When he stepped into your bedroom—His knees nearly buckled beneath him.

Black stains marred the pristine white carpet. It took him a second to understand what they were.

And then it hit him like a freight train.

Your tears.

You had knelt there, crying so hard and so long that the venom from your mouth had dripped onto the floor, burning into the fibers. His gaze had swept the room, taking in the smoldering remains of your shared mattress, the burned sheets, the shattered windows. His jackets—shredded beyond recognition.

And there—on the bedside table—

The ring.

The one thing he never thought he’d see off your finger.

And then he checked the closet. Your clothes—all the ones he had ever bought you—were still there. Neatly folded, untouched. The only things missing were the clothes you brought with you the day he gave you the keys and you moved in together.

The same keys he now kept locked in a safety deposit box. Along with the keys to your first apartment. Because some part of him had always held onto the hope that maybe—just maybe —you’d come home.

But that hope had been a fool’s dream, hadn’t it?

He hates the person he was then. Because even if people needed him, he took vows to you.

And he broke them.

Maybe there was no adultery, no scandal, nothing that would make the tabloids scream betrayal. But what does that even matter?

He still failed you.

And he doesn’t blame you for wanting out. For wanting away from him.

But fuck —he’d been an idiot.

An idiot to not try harder. To not fight tooth and nail until his last dying breath to make it right. To not chase after you, to not choose you the way he should have from the very beginning.

And now, standing here, watching you—

He wonders if maybe the right thing to do is to finally let you go.

To stop being selfish.

To give you the space you deserve to heal , to move on, to find someone who truly understands you. Someone who isn’t afraid to tell the world no for you, who will always put you first.

Someone who will love you better than he ever did.

And God—

He hopes that whoever it is, they love you more than anyone in the world.

Because you deserve it.

You always did.

"Okay."

Keigo blinks at you, his golden eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. Okay? That’s it?

"Okay?" he echoes, like he needs confirmation, like he hadn’t just spent the past few minutes bracing himself for another argument, another rejection, another reminder of how much he fucked up.

" Yes, okay," you say with a yawn, stretching your arms over your head as your hair flattens slightly against the pillow. "That's what I just said, right?"

He doesn’t respond right away. Just watches you, still half-buried in sleep, your voice groggy, your body warm beside his. He doesn’t know what he was expecting— screaming? A shattered vase? —but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

"I don't see the point in wasting a beautiful day," you add, voice softer now, as if admitting something you’re not sure you should. "But I'm tired. I need a nap."

And so you do.

Just like that.

You turn over, curl up under the blanket, and drift off. Keigo watches you for a moment longer before finally settling in beside you. His wings fold close, the weight of everything still lingering heavy on his chest, but for the first time in a long time, he lets it be. He lets you be.

And maybe it’s not forgiveness. Maybe it’s not even healing.

But it’s something.

The sun is well into the afternoon sky by the time he stirs, rousing you gently with a touch to your arm, murmuring your name in that low, familiar voice.

You wake slowly, stretching again before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

"Five more minutes," you grumble. Keigo chuckles.

"That’s what you said an hour ago."

You throw a weak punch at his arm before shuffling to your bedroom. At first, you tug on a plain tee and jeans, running a brush through your hair before stopping. Your eyes flick to the back of the closet, to something you haven’t worn in a long time.

A soft pink dress. Short and flowing. One you used to wear on dates before you got married.

You hesitate for only a second before pulling it out. It feels almost foreign in your hands, but when you slip it on, it fits just the same. A little piece of the past, like muscle memory. Your hands move on their own—pulling your hair into a high ponytail, swiping on a light cat eye, painting your lips a deep maroon before adding a slick gloss over it.

Your eyes flicker to your feet next. Heels? No, too much. Sandals? Maybe.

Instead, you grab a pair of flat tennis shoes, white, and slip them on over your hot chili pepper socks. A tiny smirk tugs at your lips. You used to wear them all the time, and Keigo always teased you for it.

When you finally step outside, the sunlight kisses your skin, and Keigo—

Keigo is already waiting.

He stands there, casual as ever, golden eyes sweeping over you in quiet admiration before his hand disappears behind his back and reemerges holding a large bouquet of flowers.

You stop short, eyes flicking between him and the bouquet.

"Where did you get those?"

He grins, his classic, cocky smirk making its first real return in what feels like ages. "I have my ways."

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. You take the bouquet from him, inhaling the soft, floral scent before carefully opening the sliding glass door and placing them in a vase with fresh water. But before you turn away, you pluck a single sweet pink rose, tucking it between your fingers.

When you step back toward him, his arms are already open, waiting—

And without hesitation, you wrap yourself around him.

His arms tighten around your waist, lifting you with ease like he used to, like it’s routine , like it’s muscle memory .

And for a moment—just a moment—everything feels familiar again.

Keigo lifts you into the air with ease, the wind rushing past as you hold onto him, your heart steady against his. His wings beat strong and sure, carrying you higher, away from everything—the city, the noise, the expectations.

For once, there is no mission. No duty. No answering to anyone.

Just this. Just you.

The sun is warm against your skin, golden and high, as he finally descends upon a quiet field nestled between rolling hills. A place untouched by the rush of the world. He lands effortlessly, his boots meeting the soft earth with a quiet thud before setting you gently down beside him.

There’s a small rental station tucked under the shade of a willow tree, and Keigo pulls out his wallet before handing over a few crisp bills. In return, he’s given two sleek bicycles, their frames shining in the midday sun.

"Hope you still like bike rides," he muses, smirking as he swings a leg over his.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your own smirk as you do the same.

And then you’re off—pedaling down winding dirt paths, the wind catching your hair, the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers filling your lungs.

The river beside you glistens, its waters clear and cool, flowing endlessly along the curves of the land. Keigo rides ahead at times, turning back to call out teasing remarks, daring you to keep up, but other times he slows just enough to let you ride beside him, your hands brushing every so often as your laughter fills the air.

At a small wooden stand along the path, an old mountain man greets you with a weathered smile, his hands rough but steady as he hands you fresh fruit and skewers of grilled meat. Keigo pays him generously, thanking him before leading you to a shaded spot where you both eat, savoring the simple flavors.

Then, with a sly grin, Keigo wipes a stray drop of juice from the corner of your lips with his thumb. His touch lingers, eyes golden and soft, and for a moment, he swears you both are younger again—two reckless souls, dressing up for each other just for fun, holding hands simply because you wanted to, not caring if anyone else saw, because you see each other, and that was all that ever mattered.

He never thought he’d get to have this again.

After the meal, he takes your hand and leads you somewhere even more breathtaking—a secluded stretch of Japan’s most beautiful flower fields. Endless waves of color spread before you, vibrant reds, soft lilacs, golden yellows, and blushing pinks painting the earth in an explosion of life.

"A private tour," he murmurs, nudging your side as he watches your expression, drinking in the way your eyes widen with wonder. "Just for you."

And it is just for you.

No cameras. No reporters. No agency calls.

He left his phone at home on purpose—no tracking, no interruptions.

Just this.

Just you.

As the day winds down, the sky begins to shift, trading its bright blues for something softer, richer—deep oranges and soft pinks flood the heavens, painting the clouds in their warm embrace.

You both lay stretched out on a picnic blanket, the fabric worn but comfortable against the cool grass. The scent of flowers drifts through the air, mingling with the fading heat of the sun. Your head rests in his lap, your body relaxed, skin kissed by the sun, glowing beneath its last golden rays. His fingers move gently, threading delicate stems together, weaving a flower crown with practiced ease.

You hum quietly, running your fingers through the soft grass, feeling the earth beneath your touch, the moment settling deep into your bones.

"Hold still," Keigo murmurs, placing the finished crown atop your head. You glance up at him, catching the way his golden eyes soften, the way his lips twitch into a barely-there smile.

"Perfect," he whispers.

And for the first time in a long time, he truly believes that this moment —just this —is all he’s ever needed.

You move suddenly, shifting up in his lap so quickly that his wings ruffle in surprise.

"Hey, dove, what are you—"

"Shut up, birb brain," you mutter, licking your lips before grabbing his face.

Keigo lets you, just like he always does. It’s something that used to unnerve him when you first met, when you started dating, but he’s long since grown used to it—the way you inspect him like a cat, your sharp eyes scanning every inch of him as if you’re searching for something out of place.

Your fingers thread through his hair, combing through the strands, checking for anything you don’t approve of. He doesn’t move, barely even breathes, just lets you do what you need to.

Your pupils dilate, then shrink, then dilate again as you stare into his golden eyes. He’s watched this before, felt it before, how your scrutiny is never cruel, never careless—it’s careful, meticulous. Like you’re cataloging him, making sure he’s still here, still whole.

Then, without a word, you turn him slightly, brushing your fingers over his back, plucking loose pin feathers and laying them out in your lap like little trophies. Keigo exhales through his nose, resigned, watching as you note each one with silent judgment.

"You need to moisturize," you murmur, rubbing one of the smaller feathers between your fingers. "And let Touya help you if you're gonna be a bitch about it." Keigo gawks at you, wings twitching.

"I haven’t seen him in forever—"

"Don't lie to me." Your nose wrinkles, and he knows there’s no fooling you. "Tell him a man who's died twice doesn’t need to kick the bucket to a cigarette addiction." He groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, yeah, I’ll pass it along."

You let him go suddenly, like you’re done with your little assessment, and flop back onto the blanket without another word. Keigo blinks down at you, rubbing at his jaw where your fingers had gripped him, before shaking his head with a huff.

"Y’know, sometimes I think you might love my feathers more than you love me," he teases. You smirk, closing your eyes.

"Hate to break it to you, birdie, but they were my first love."

Keigo snorts, leaning over you, his shadow stretching over your sun-kissed skin. "Guess that makes me your side piece then, huh?" You hum, cracking one eye open.

"Mm. Keep up the good behavior, and I might just promote you."

He grins.

"Guess I better work hard then."

You burst into laughter, the sound spilling out of you uncontrollably, catching you both off guard. It startles Keigo for a second before he starts laughing too, that boyish, unrestrained laugh you used to hear all the time—before everything.

And it keeps going, your laughter feeding off each other, bubbling over until your stomach aches and your cheeks are warm.

You can't help but smile when you see him like this. Keigo—he feels ten feet off the ground, weightless in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

Your hands find his, holding onto them from where you’re lying between his legs, your head resting in his lap. The flower crown in your hair fights to stay in place, petals shifting gently as the wind plays with the strands of your hair.

It’s such a perfect moment—the flowers around you, the sky melting into brilliant hues, the way your skin glows, alive and healthy.

The setting sun casts a golden glow over Keigo’s face, catching in his windswept hair and making his eyes burn with a warmth that melts straight into you. The wind hums through the open land, rustling the flowers around you, making them bow gently as if nature itself recognizes the weight of this moment. But none of it matters—not the sky, not the wind, not the fading light.

Right now, it’s just you and him, existing in a perfect kind of stillness.

Your laughter lingers in the air, soft and unrestrained, a sound Keigo would bottle up and keep forever if he could. He watches you, completely enthralled, because he’s seeing something sacred, something only he has the privilege of knowing.

And when you smile at him—genuine and unguarded—his heart stirs, light as air, as if it’s grown wings of its own.

Being with Keigo feels almost like freedom, like the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future can't touch you here. Like for once, you are both untethered, just two souls caught in each other’s orbit, unburdened by the world beyond.

His hand finds yours, his thumb grazing the back of your knuckles in a quiet kind of devotion, and you squeeze back, grounding yourself in him.

The wind carries the scent of wildflowers, the last of the sun’s rays spilling over the horizon, but you don’t care.

You only care about this—him, you, together.

And in this fleeting, fragile moment, it feels like nothing could ever take that away.

Then you wipe a tear from your eye, and Keigo watches the way your little teeth poke out from behind your soft lips, a detail he never stopped loving.

"It’s moments like this," you say, voice quiet, almost hesitant,

"When I believe I can fall in love with you again."

Keigo swallows hard, his throat working against the lump forming there. He tries not to blink, not to close his eyes, terrified you’ll disappear in the fraction of a second he does. Instead, he leans down, his hands tightening around yours.

"Would you?"

The laughter dies.

The warmth in your face fades, your expression sobering as you hold his hands back. Silence stretches between you both, heavy and aching. Keigo feels it settle in his bones, a sharp contrast to the golden, fleeting happiness you’d just shared.

And then you finally answer.

"I could…" you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"But I won’t."

Keigo tries not to react, tries not to let it show. But there’s too much history between you, too much weight in the air. You both know each other too well for him to pretend.

"Keigo, I’m—"

"Don't."

You pause, mouth slightly open, but you let him speak.

"Don't," he repeats, softer this time. "You have every right. I just…"

His eyes flick over your face like he’s memorizing it all over again. Then, slowly, his hands rise, cupping your cheeks, his touch impossibly gentle. His thumbs glide beneath your eyes, collecting the tears that had started to gather, his warmth sinking into your skin.

The breeze whispers through the field, making the flowers sway, bending in reverence to the moment passing between you both.

"You just wish things were different, right?"

He nods, dipping his head closer, his throat betraying him when he swallows hard.

"I do."

"Me too."

Keigo opens his eyes again, and for a second—just a second—he sees you. The real you. The earnest girl he fell in love with, the girl he thought he’d grow old with, the one he’d everything for.

And you see him. The boy who made his dreams come true, the only man you could ever love like this.

There will be no others. Not for you. Not for him.

"A bird cannot love a fish," you murmur, your voice barely carried by the wind.

Keigo flinches. His wings shudder, and a soft, wounded noise escapes the back of his throat.

"Please, don’t…" he whispers. "Not that saying again."

So you don’t.

You just stare into his golden eyes, and he stares into yours—where he finds himself lost, and where you find yourself found.

The sky above is vast and endless.

And you know you shouldn’t.

You both know you shouldn’t.

There’s too much pain here. Too much time lost.

But Keigo leans in anyway, until your noses touch, your foreheads press together, and you stay like that, frozen in something between longing and regret.

Your hands move slowly, framing his face, nails skimming his skin just enough to make him shiver. He breathes you in, your scent hitting him like a memory too vivid to be anything but real. His favorite drug. You feel his warmth seep into you, melting the cold hollowness that has lived inside your chest for too long. You both feel it.

How could something so right feel so wrong?

As promised here is more info:

You and Keigo were once the hottest couple of the hero world—until, without warning, you filed for divorce.

The media spun the story every way they could, branding you as an opportunist, a traitor, a villain who played the long game. But Keigo? He never once spoke against you. If anything, all he’s done is defend you—both in the public eye and from it.

Now, months later, he’s supposed to be at a high-profile Valentine’s Day event, flashing that easy smile for the cameras.

Instead, he’s at your doorstep, dodging vases and sharp words from Rumi, who seems more than happy to keep him from getting too close. But Keigo’s never been one to back down. No matter how many times you evade him—setting fire to his car, disappearing behind locked doors—he keeps showing up, keeps reminding you of what once was. Because no matter how much you try to push him away, there’s one thing neither of you can deny:

You still love each other.

Your history is tangled, your wounds are still fresh and raw, but fate has a cruel sense of humor. You may no longer wear his ring, but in the eyes of the public, you’re still bound together. Keigo is still holding out hope that you don’t actually want to let him go.

And maybe you don't really want to...

I do NOT own the images!!

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more fic's and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too. I haven't posted the story yet because I need to Finish my Katsuki one first at least, but all the support and comments I receive help give me the motivation to finish!

You can also tip me a coffee if you want.

Remember: Comments and likes, really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

Stay tuned for the rest!! If you wanna be tagged, lemme know.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!! <33

-Angie (✿^‿^)

I do not own My Hero Academia or its characters. However, the original plot, storylines, and any original characters in this work are my own creation. Please do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own. Respect the effort and creativity that went into this story—thank you!

154 notes · View notes

ryuyukawa · 2 months ago

Text

A Night to Remember

★ CHARACTER ─ Malleus Draconia

✦ GENRE ─ fluff

★ WARNING ─ none

✦ SUMMARY ─ In the ballroom of NBC, glancing amongst the crowd, you noticed him. This was your chance.

Note: I think this takes place after they sang "Make a Wish"? I don't really know... Im probably not the only one who got this idea, but I just really wanted to write this one. It came to me while I was listening to "Ma Meilleure Ennemie" on loop

The ballroom of Noble Bell College glimmered under the soft light of the chandeliers. The elegance of the surroundings seemed to amplify the elegance of every guest present. Gowns swirled like blooming flowers and tuxedos glided across the polished floors, all accompanied by the hum of music and laughter. You stepped into the room, your attire fitting perfectly for the occasion—a vision of grace amidst the crowd.

Your eyes scanned the room, drawn instinctively to him. Malleus Draconia stood near the edge of the ballroom, his striking masquerade attire radiating an air of majesty that left onlookers hesitant to approach. Sebek stood honorably by his side, his intense gaze warding off any who might muster the courage to engage the heir of Briar Valley.

But not you.

You wove your way through the crowd, your heart racing with anticipation as Malleus’s gaze found yours. His eyes seemed to soften, the imposing presence he carried melting into something more gentle. With a small, almost unnoticeable smile, he stepped away from Sebek and began moving towards you.

The music shifted, signaling the start of a dance. The crowd parted slightly, as if the world itself made space for the moment between you and him. You reached him just as the first notes echoed through the hall, and he offered you his gloved hand.

"May I have this dance?" his voice, calm and smooth, a gentle smile that just warms your heart.

"Of course," you replied, placing your hand in his.

The dance began. He moved with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly, his steps perfectly measured and graceful. You, however, let the music guide you, your style freer and more expressive. At first, it felt like a mismatch, but then you noticed something extraordinary—Malleus was slowly mimicking your movements, his usually precise steps loosening to mirror your fluidity.

A laugh bubbled from your lips, and he smiled—a genuine, delighted expression that lit up his face. Together, you danced, your contrasting styles blending into something uniquely yours. The crowd around you blurred, the music your only anchor to reality.

He twirled you around, his grip steady yet gentle, and you couldn’t help but laugh again, the sound light and free as it mingled with the melody. As you spun back into his arms, the world seemed to pause for a heartbeat; eyes locking onto yours.

Later, you found yourselves on the balcony, the cool night air brushing against your skin. The stars above stretched endlessly, their light casting a faint glow over the gardens below. The muffled sounds of the ballroom drifted through the open doors, but out here, it felt as though you were in an entirely different world.

Laughter bubbled up from your chest, and Malleus gave you a look of amused curiosity, his emerald eyes alight with a rare glimmer of playfulness.

"How’d you know how to dance like that?" you teased, referencing his loose, carefree movements that had mirrored your own.

"I didn’t," he replied smoothly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You blinked. “You’re saying you were just winging it?”

“Of course,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “I followed your lead. If it seemed otherwise, perhaps you’re a better guide than you realize.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache in the best way. "Well," you said softly, "I think you’re a natural. But next time, maybe don’t outshine me at my own style.."

...

"I never imagined I would enjoy myself so much tonight," he admitted, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "You’ve shown me something new—something wonderful."

You leaned against the balcony rail, looking at him. "I enjoyed every moment, too..."

He turned toward you fully, his gaze unwavering. "I’ve often been surrounded by people yet felt entirely alone. But with you, I’ve felt… seen." His words touched something deep within you, and before you could respond, his smile widened—a genuine, heartfelt expression that seemed almost out of place on someone so regal.

"I'm grateful," he said simply, his voice filled with warmth. You smiled back, feeling a sense of connection you hadn’t thought possible. In that moment, under the starlit sky, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of you and the quiet, unspoken promise of something more.

I haven't been writing since I was busy with school, and also been kinda focused on drawing more... so I feel like im not as good? but so far I like this Idea more than the rest..

Soo... how was it? GOOD? BAD? It feels rushed.. OH NOO!

I feel like it didn't really turned out on how I wanted it to, but I barely even remember it

I think im gonna try to focus on twst more :•)

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst fluff #twst x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #diasomnia #diasomnia x reader #twst yuu #writers on tumblr #twst fanfic #gender neutral reader

127 notes · View notes

hashekyu · 11 months ago

Text

──★˙ENAMORED ̟

ARTIST: @TRANSLUCENTJADE ON X

" KAZUHA IS ENAMORED OF YOU. "

NOTES: why is my coochiepookiebookieboo so adorable .. hes so umnumnum .. i just wanna kiss him over and over again ..

kazuha is enamored of you. he is oh, so terribly smitten. he usually knows how to describe the feeling, but when his mind drifts to you, he can't think.

kazuha usually speaks his mind, but he finds there something about you that robs him of words. perhaps its that smile of yours, that could melt any cold, or your sweet humming, which could lull anyone to sleep.

"this tree is really beautiful," you said softly, breaking his train of thought. he nodded in agreement. "indeed, it truly is. its enchanting, im simply struck by its vivacity. i question sometimes, how can one being hold such charm? but then again, nature works in its most mysterious, and wonderous ways." he's unaware of the way his eyes shift towards you rather than the tree.

the wind carries autumn leaves to the ground, careful not to rush their fall as one sways back and forth, landing right on kazuha's head. a snicker falls upon your lips, lifting the corners up. he blinks owlishly at you, confused, oblivious. "what?"

"there's a leaf on your head."

He gives you an embarassed smile of his own, and reaches to dust it away, but you catch his wrist, leaning in. "let me."

and his breath hitches. his heart throbs faster than ever as you come closer. butterflies flutter their wings violently, thrashing around his stomach, and he doesn't have the words to tell them to calm down. he studies every part of your face, until his view is nothing more than a pinpoint, gazing right at your lips.

"got'cha," you grin, fiddling with the leaf you took from the top his head, rolling the stem in between your index finger and your thumb. Your look of glee quickly falls into a worried one. "kazuha? are you alright?"

no, in fact, he is really not. nonetheless, he shakes himself out of his trance. "yes, why do you ask?" his voice accidentally comes in one breath, as if hurrying. he feels feverish, looking anywhere but you. oh, the way your fingers rested on his wrist was overwhelming, dizzying.

You looked unconvinced. "you're all red in the face. are you sick?"

he bites down on his lower lip, trying not to look at you, but how could he not? the thought of you worrying for him was bringing him to an edge.

You let go of the leaf in your hand and pressed it against his sweaty forehead. "...so you are." you mused. you stood up and dusted your lap, reaching out to him. "come on, i'll get you checked-"

before you could finish, he got to his feet and pulled you closer, arms snaking around your waist and closing any space in between. his lips crashed into yours, breaths mashing together. when he pulled away you gazed at him with wide eyes, astonished. he was panting, heart beating out of his chest. he looked surprised when he realized what he had done as well, quickly letting go of you. "i- i know that was quite sudden, but i-"

you huffed, slinging your arms around his neck and drawing him close. "enough talk," you laughed, and your lips met for the second time (but certainly not the last).

kazuha is enamored of you.

#ashrodisiac #𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ashrodisiac #kazuha #kaedahara kazuha #kaedahara kazuha x reader #i luv kazuzu !#kazuha x reader #kazuha genshin #kazuha genshin impact #genshin kazuha #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kazuha fluff #kaedahara kazuha fluff #genshin impact kazuha #genshin impact kazuha fluff

380 notes · View notes

staridust · 6 months ago

Text

Sunny Day Jack ★ Stari’s Versions

—

★ DO NOT USE/REPOST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. NO MINORS.

—

Apologies for the tumblr inactivity, space crew! I’m much more active over on Twitter!

Here’s a simple lineup of Jack designs that I’ll be personally using for myself! I love when artists take a character and add their own personal twists on them, so I’ve done the same to my favorite technicolor clown.

I’ve also seen a few people be interested in two other designs that I’ve done, so I’ve added them to the lineup as well for others to use or to see their full outfits!

—

Here’s a explanation of each design element if you all are interested in that:

Sunnyverse Jack(Left):

Sunnyverse!Jack is my personal interpretation, artistic recolor, and story with him. He is basically a spin-off of the Sunny Time Town AU by JambeeBot.

I wanted his jacket to reflect looking up at a vibrant summer sky, with clouds, rainbow pockets, swirls, and stickers to add to the childlike wonder. His different color suspenders replaces the stripes on his shirt, which is now a sun on the collar!

I’ve personally always liked the idea of Jack’s hair cascading into purple tips, it’s been referenced in many other drawings of mine. Considering Papa Rise also has purple-ish hair, I think it fits!

This design went through a couple sketch phases and some reworks with the most recent showcase being the birthday drawing of Artemis, where this design can be seen in now outdated-concept!

Alternate Outfit (Middle):

Over a year ago, I made a drawing about Jack and bowties, spreading my bowtie propaganda…. And I still am HAHA. Listen, Jack with a bowtie is so cute, So I’m bringing that design back as well as a full ref!

I’d like to say that this is his work or side outfit, but this is not the teacher AU. I did not create that AU, so don’t refer to this design as the teacher AU!

Even though I don’t consider Jack as a rodeo clown, I gave him clown cowboy boots to reference [Redacted] and his southern residence somewhere.

Rainbow Factory Jack(Right):

RainbowFactory!Jack or RF!Jack is an AU I made last year as well, and finally got around to giving you all a full standing ref for him!

He got more attention than I thought, I know a couple of you like delusional men. I get it.

For his hair, aside from the primary highlights, I also changed the coloring to be a bit more muddled and darker on the teal spectrum, as I like to do that when I draw Jack in a not so-friendly manner. His hair is also more spiked, compared to the others who have more of a fluffy round curl.

His coat is very simple, red and yellow stripes down to a cloud border, and the inside of the coat shows a giant sun on the underside. He also has different color rainbow splotches in different places on him!

His eyes can vary in size or be consistent, and the colors of them can change or spiral too! Usually though, the right eye is lighter than the other. His colors are more saturated and darker than the other designs.

Cotton Candy Cupid Jack:

Finally, the last design I have in the lineup is Cupid!Jack!

This is the first custom design I’ve made of Jack. Shared in this post, this was meant to be the Valentine’s Day design I had for him! Though this drawings is extremely old and outdated now for both my MC and art, I decided to carry it on to a proper Cupid AU design for everyone!

He was originally labeled as Cotton Candy Jack in a wip post that keeps getting shared around from time to time, but I’m unsure if I should keep that name for this lover boy now! There was a community cotton candy Jack trend a month or two ago, so maybe I should change the name? What do you all think?

Design wise he parallels the classic Incubus Jack, which I believe was originally a Halloween costume. His design shares similarities on purpose, being the extended body paint gradient and the sheer fabric overlay on the pants.

Almost like an angel/devil duo, Cupid Jack is more pastel, softer/brighter primary hues, has fluffy wings! My goal was to have them be similar enough side by side, but also different enough to tell that they are different themes/holidays.

He has a motif of hearts, ribbons, and sun swirls. His hair gradient is also the most vibrant one, going from cyan to a vibrant pink at the tips.

He has sandals because I thought it fit the whole Cupid vibe, but drawing his dogs out every-time might actually be the end of me.

—

While I will use these personal redesigns, I want to make it clearly stated and obvious that Jack is not my original character, nor are these redesigns an attempt to change his character or completely detach him from his media. There are simply my fun artistic portrayals of him, as I admire his original design, media, and game as well.

The Rainbow Factory and Cupid AUs are technically my AUs. Ship art, written stories, headcanons, etc. of RF or Cupid Jack are completely okay to create! I just ask that you tag me so that I can see what you all do with him!

However, I ask that if Sunnyverse Jack is used, please ask for permission before using his custom design, as it is my own design of him that I use personally.

…and also, I wanna see more MV Jacks! Artists! Show me how you would draw him in your trademark! I love creative expression!

#sunny day jack #swwsdj #sunny day jack au #sdjsunnyverse #sunny time town #sdj #rainbowfactoryjack #cupidjack #cotton candy jack #Sunny Day Jack but in my eyes #colorful clown man gets more colorful

135 notes · View notes

click4rainy · 2 months ago

Text

Yeah, whatever.

👽: He’s a cutie patootie FR. Had the BIGGEST crush on him when Ultra Sun came out. Have the biggest crush on him now. TEEHEE 🤭

✅:Proof Read

🖇️:Guzma x Reader (ROM Fic)

⚠️:(SFW), Fluffy, love hate relationship, he’s a big dumb bully that “totally” hates you. Slow slow burn. Rivals to lovers? Or enemies to lovers? Something like thatt

★ The sun hung lazily in the sky over Route 11, casting soft rays across the tall, waving grass. You were crouched low, gently coaxing a Cutiefly so you could add it to your Pokedex entry. The buzzing pokemon flitted about, wings shimmering in the light, but eventually settled on a large rock nearby, holding still just long enough for you to get a proper shot of it.

★ “Gotcha,” you whispered, standing up to brush the dirt from your knees.

★ “Ahww, look at you. Real impressive,” a familiar, grating voice drawled behind you.

★ You sighed, already knowing who it was without needing to turn around.

★ “Guzma,” you greet him flatly, as if his sudden appearance was just as normal as a Pidgey flying overhead…

★ Nothing better than the self proclaimed “Gang leader” of Team Skull approaching you. He had a knack for that it seemed. What a thorn in your side.

★ He stepped out from behind a tree, leaning casually against the trunk as he folded his arms over his chest. His white dyed hair sticking out wildly, matching perfectly with that fuck all attitude he always carried.

★ “You really got nothin’ better to do than babysit bugs out here?” He smirked, tilting his head to watch the Cutiefly dart away. “What, you tryna be a professor now? Fillin’ that Pokédex all proper?”

★Glancing up at him, almost chronically unimpressed with him at this point. “Yeah, some of us like helping out, you know. Not everything’s about causing trouble.”

★ “Tch—Sounds boring.” He kicked a pebble across the path, eyes flicking toward you in a way he hoped you didn’t notice.

★ But…you noticed. It was hard not to, considering how used to his antics you were. The sneering, the teasing. But something about the way he kept showing up around you, especially when you were obviously out by yourself. It made you wonder…

★ “Uh huh,” you replied dryly, stepping further down the route as if to leave him behind. “If it’s so boring, why are you here?”

★ “Pfft—i ain’t here for you,” he retorted quickly, catching up with you in three strides. “I’m just—ya know—scouting. This place’s on Skull’s uh, radar.”

★ You couldn’t control the lift in your brows, amusement coloring your features. “Really? Hm. Last i checked, Cutiefly weren’t exactly rare treasures for your big schemes.”

★ Guzma frowned, clicking his tongue. “Maybe I just like walkin’ around. Got a problem with that?”

★ You snort softly at his stupid, almost charming, defensiveness. Shaking your head, “No, no problem here. I just think its kinda funny how you always ‘happen’ to be wherever I am.”

★ His steps faltered for half a second before he regained his composure, shoving his hands into his pockets with a scowl. “You think too much, ya know that?”

•••

★ The two of you kept walking, the silence stretching out, broken only by the occasional rustling of wild Pokémon in the grass. It wasn’t uncomfortably awkward, though. Guzma, despite his reputation, had this strange way of being tolerable when he wasn’t actively trying to irk you.

★ As you crouched to inspect another little Pokémon, Guzma shifted from foot to foot behind you. Clearly restless.

★ “So…what, you really enjoy all this?” He asked suddenly, nodding at the Pokédex in your hand.

★ “I do.” You simply replied with a small shrug. “I like learning about Pokemon, helping them when i can…guess its just the way i am, i dunno.” You nonchalantly say.

★ Guzma scoffed, but his usual venom wasn’t there. “Figures. Bet youre the type to give a Potion to a wild Rattata or somethin’.”

★ “Maybe,” you replied with a small smile.

★ He stayed quiet after that, watching as you worked. After a while, you stood up and stretched your arms above your head.

•••

★ “Alright, I think i’m done for today.”

★ “Bout time,” Guzma grumbled, though he made no move to leave. “You headin’ back?”

★ “Yeah. You…wanna walk with me?”

★ His eyes narrowed suspiciously, like you asked him to confess his deepest secret or something. “And why, would i do that?”

★ “Because you clearly have nothing better to do.” You sigh, rolling your eyes at him.

★ Guzma opened his mouth for a snarky comeback but shut it just as quickly. Staring at you for a long second, his brows furrowing before shrugging dramatically.

★ “Fine, but don’t get any ideas. I ain’t bein’ nice or nothin’. Just…bored”

★ “Sure, sure.” You bite back a grin as you side glance him.

★ The two of you walked down the path, the heat of the afternoon sun easing into a cooler breeze. A flock of wingull circled overhead, their caws blending into the soft hum of the route. Guzma kicked at the dirt, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.

★ “So,” you began, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “how long are you gonna keep pretending you don’t like hanging out with me?”

★ His head snapped towards you, his eyes widened before slanting at you. “Hah?! You kiddin’ me? I don’t—“

★ “Relax,” You laughed, matching his steps. “I’m messing with you. Mostly.”

★ Guzma huffed loudly, but there was a tiny smile playing at hush lips while dragging a hand through his hair.

•••

★ Guzma’s eyes drifted to the side, stealing glances at you whenever he thought you weren’t paying attention. Something about the way you smiled at wild Pokémon, or how gently encouraged a Metapod out of the path, made his chest feel weird—tight almost. He hated it.

★ “Hey,” he said suddenly, his chin nudging, pointing toward your Pokédex, “that thing tell you how strong a Pokémon is?”

★ “Kinda…? it’s more for cataloging, though…”

★ He snorts. “Bet it can’t ‘catalog’ my Golisopod.” He arrogantly points at you with a stupid smirk.

★ You grinned, ignoring his dumb jab and instead find interest in his ace. “You’re really proud of that thing, huh?”

★ “Damn right I am. Golisopod’s a beast.” He crossed his arms, chin lifting slightly.

★ “Well…” you teased, “if i ever catch one, maybe i’ll let you know how it compares.”

★ “Tch, good luck with that. You’d need me to show you the best spots.”

★ “Mmh, sounds like an excuse to hang out again,” you quipped, nudging his shoulder lightly.

★ Guzma looked away sharply, hiding the pink dusting his cheeks. “You wish…”

•••

★ The path eventually led to a small clearing. The sun finally dipping and painting the sky is soft oranges and pinks. The sound and smell of the nearby ocean faintly lingering in the air. Guzma slowed his steps, almost reluctantly. Like he was about to say something…

★ “What? are you scared of the dark?” You playfully ask, looking over tour shoulder to see him already catching back up.

★ “You’re so annoyin’ sometimes” he simply mutters, not bothering to pull away from you as your shoulders brush against each other.

★ Eventually, the sky had melted into deeper shades of purple and orange when you reached the edge of the route. The last bit of sunlight lingered on the horizon, but it wouldn’t be much longer until nightfall. Kricketot settled into their chirping, the evening proving its presence when the breeze nipped at tour akin, making it prickle.

★ Your eyes slid to the side, catching Guzma stealing yet another glance your way. He shoved his hands further into his hoodie pockets and looked away quickly, pretending to focus on a distant tree, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

★ “You know,” you drawled out, breaking the silence. “I can get home just fine from here. You don’t have to stick around…”

★He scoffed at that, waving off your words. “Yeah, right. Like i’m gonna let you wander off alone when it’s gettin’ dark.”

★ He saw you tilt your head, and tried to correct himself clumsily. “Wild Pokémon come out more at night…ya know?” he added, like you didn’t already know that.

★ “Ahh, that’s why you’re still here.” You press, but not too much.

★ “Exactly,” he said a little too quickly. “I mean…what kinda person would I be if i just let ya get jumped by Spinarak or somethin’?”

★ “Right…” you smirk, and he grumbled under his breath, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “Don’t make it weird.”

•••

★ The two of you continued walking, the atmosphere quieter but of course for you, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Guzma’s usual snark had dulled, replaced by something that was definitely akin to awkwardness. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

★By the time you reached the path leading to your house, the stars had begun to scatter across the sky, twinkling against the almost pitch black canvas. The faint glow from your porch light illuminated the small, yet pretty front yard, beckoning you into the warmth.

★ “Well,” you said, stopping just short of the front steps. “Home sweet home.”

★ Guzma lingered a few feet behind, shifting on his heels. “Yeah…guess so.”

★ You tilted your head a notch, catching the way he seemed hesitant to leave. His gaze drifted over the house, as if he were searching for an excuse to stick around just a little longer.

★ “Thanks for walking with me,” you said softly, stepping up onto the first step

★ “Tch, I wasn’t walkin’ with you, punk.” He muttered, staring down at his sneakers. “I was just headin’ the same way. Pure coincidence.”

★ “Right, of course—pure coincidence.” You echo, rolling your eyes at him.

★ His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, and you could see the faintest crease of hesitation in his brow. He stayed rooted to the spot, looking like he wanted to say something but couldnt quite get it out.

★ Without thinking too hard about it, you leaned in, pressing a quick peck to his cheek.

★ It was light—barely there—but the second you pulled away, Guzma froze like you had just taken his picture with the flash on. His eyes widened, hand instinctively shooting up to where your lips had been, fingertips brushing against his cheek, as if needing proof that had actually just happened.

★ “Goodnight, Guzma,” you said softly, turning back toward your door.

★ Before you could fully step inside, his hand shot out, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist.

★ “Hey,” he muttered, voice lower than usual.

★ You glanced back around him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?” For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his grip on your wrist wasn’t firm, but it was enough to stop you. There was something uncharacteristically soft in the way he looked at you. Something rare for the Leader of team skull.

★ “C’mere,” he said, tugging slightly, making you stumble toward him. His other hand hovered uncertainly by your waist, and his gaze flickered between your face and the ground like he was trying to work out if this was a terrible idea or not.

★ Before you could question it, Guzma leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. It wasnt rushed or over the top. It was a simple, soft kiss thag lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary. His hand stayed loosely around your wrist, thumb brushing gently over your skin.

★ When he finally pulled back, he didn’t move far. His forehead rested lightly against yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off his face, even as he tried to play it cool.

★ “Guess i’ll walk ya home more often,” he muttered.

★ “Oh yeah?”

★ He huffed, finally releasing your wrist, though his hand trailed down as if reluctant to let go. “I mean, yeah. You’re kinda alright, it’s not a thing though.” He smirks.

★ “So now i’m ‘kinda alright?’ Ha.” You teased, leaning against the doorframe.

★ “Yeahh, well. Don’t push it, short stack.” He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets for the umpteenth time tonight, rocking on his heels with a small grin.

★ You couldn’t resist asking, double checking maybe? “so…are we just gonna pretend this didn’t happen or…?” You cock a brow.

★ Guzma shrugged, the grin turning slightly smug. “I dunno. Maybe i’ll letcha call me your boyfriend if ya catch up with me tomorrow.”

★ “Oh, let me?”

★ “uh, yeah? I got standards.”

★ You scoffed at his obvious joke, his tone weirdly softer than usual. As you opened the door, Guzma stood there, watching you step inside.

★ “Get some sleep, loser.” You say before shutting the door behind you.

★ He stood there for a moment, before turning around to make his own way home, his mind swirling with too many thoughts of you already. “Did i just officially, unofficially cuff them or…?”

👽: not me getting back into my pokémon era?!?! (This collected dust in my drafts.) Might continue this idkkkk tehe. Guzma let me fix you baby boy. Let me FIX you.

140 notes · View notes