Do You Love Me..?

i think shouto figures out he’s a bottom as soon as he starts masturbating and when he starts dating his sex drive gets so intense he ends up fucking himself in the ass while thinking about you all the time

012. CARNATIONS

Friday morning came all the same—and the pending sadness you believed to come with the sunrise never did. Yes, it was your last day here at the Todoroki household. But knowing you and Touya would be going back to the hospital together was reassuring enough to soothe all your nerves.

The majority of breakfast was filled with secret smiles passed between you and Touya. His eyes were always wandering—always trailing back to you. And the sensation of his heated gaze alone made your head feel like it had been stuffed to the brim with cotton.

The Todorokis didn't notice anything off between you and Touya—he was always close by when you were near, but he seemed to be a little more clinger than usual.

But you were Touya's anchor. You grounded him. You made him feel safe, wanted, loved—so many emotions he wasn't used to having. It was overwhelming, all these new emotions. But he welcomed the tidal wave of feelings in with open arms. He would drown in this emotion if he could. He's not sure if there's a name for it, but Touya had become entirely dependent on you.

You didn't notice this—but every chance Touya got, he kept some part of his body touching yours. It could just be his shoulder bumping gently against yours, or his pinky grazing your knee under the table—any little touch would work to that keep that insatiable craving of his fed.

Touya ability to feel was... odd. He either felt something with every fiber of his being, or he felt nothing at all. His love was fierce, a forest fire all in its own. It was consuming, it was something that spread until it dominated everything.

Touya loved like he hated, with a burning passion.

Just hearing your name was enough to make Touya raise his head and tune into whatever conversation was going on. Actually hearing your voice had an entirely different effect on him—because suddenly, his pupils are dilating and he can't hear a single sound besides the words leaving your lips—and Touya has to physically fight the urge to press his fingers against the column of your throat just so he can feel the vibrations of your voice box as you speak

His family's goodbye was bittersweet. But even though Touya was leaving—this was not goodbye forever.

Touya was getting better day by day. His physical and mental wounds were being healed by your sparkling eyes and doting hands, and he's surrendering all he was and ever will be to you.

This past week had been heaven on earth for Touya. As he got into the backseat of the van with you, he was already looking forward to working more on writing his letters to Shoto back at the hospital. You'd help him like always—because you're the best. You're the best doctor, friend, and companion he could ask for—you're the best everything.

The drive back is peaceful. Most of the roads are empty due to how early in the day it is, but Touya doesn't mind it at all. It gives him a greater view of Japan's scenery outside. The rolling green hills and the snow coated branches of trees creates a whimsical view for him to quietly appreciate and admire.

You're asleep with your head resting on Touya's shoulder, and he has his cheek smushed against the side of your head. He keeps one hand intertwined with yours, and he uses his other hand to keep his fingertips pressed against your pulse point—the reassuring beating of your heart is a calming melody.

The drive is a little over an hour, but he's back within the familiar hospital walls soon enough.

While walking down the hallway with you, Touya was practically glued to your side. The pristine walls and floors of the hospital made him a little uneasy sometimes, but he was looking forward to returning to his little room soon enough.

You're telling Touya about how there's going to be a storm tomorrow, and how you'd just gotten a statewide notification on your phone. He's nodding his head along to your words—before his eyes catch on another patient’s door that's been left ajar.

Every patient had identical rooms. They all had the tall wooden doors and silver handles for their entrance and bathroom. Each room had a hospital bed, a side table, a TV, a small coffee table with two chairs, and a pull out bed.

But as Touya's eyes looked over to take in this patient's room, he couldn't help but notice how much more different it was from his own.

There were no paper snowflakes hanging from the windows. There were no colorful pens scattered over tables and pages of unfinished letters strewn across the room. There were no board games, no uno cards scattered all over the bed. There wasn't a single sign of life in there besides the half empty coffee mug sitting on the edge of the patient's bedside table.

There was no you, he decided.

Touya's quiet the rest of the way to his room.

Touya didn't believe in luck or fate, those invisible forces didn't feel like they applied to someone like him. They were saved for ordinary people—people like you who deserved good things.

But what else could explain your presence in his life? He certainly didn't deserve you, Touya was sure of that. He didn't deserve anything after the war. He nearly lost his family, but he didn't. He nearly lost an arm, but he didn't. He nearly lost his life, but he didn't.

But you weren't a product of fate or luck—no, meeting you was some sort of a divine intervention.

Touya, you deserve to be happy too.

He remembers when you had uttered those words to him one night when his thoughts had trailed too far again, and he had scoffed at you then. He snapped at you, telling you to go away because you clearly don't see how he doesn't deserve shit.

He winces at the unwanted memory. Those were the earlier days when he was still warming up to you, and he'll forever regret taking his misdirected hurt out on you, of all people. But even after he acted out and behaved like a total brat, you still loved him. You had seen the ugliest parts of Touya, seen him at his worst, seen him at his absolute lowest—and you were still here. Right by his side, just like you'd promised.

Maybe he does deserve you. And for once, he doesn't feel selfish for the thought. Touya can love too—he can be kind and he can be gentle. He knows his depraved sense of humor somehow manages to make you laugh, he knows the spot right under your ear is weak and ticklish for his kisses, and he knows you love him.

Touya doesn't even notice the two of you have finally reached his room until he accidentally walks right into your back. A small sound of surprise leaves your lips before you smile. He blinks himself out of his daze before stretching his lips into that handsome smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

Wordlessly, Touya tugs you through the door. He never thought this hospital room would become something he'd miss—but he recognizes the space he had grown into and come to love. Yes, this was a room filled with memories he never wanted to forget. Countless nights he'd spent laughing till his stomach hurt with you, and even more nights where he spilled his heart's darkest secrets to you.

And suddenly, Touya realizes it was a room that felt more like home than the Todoroki household ever did.

Touya's hug is unusually tight. He bundles you up in his arms and cradles the back of your head to his chest, his arms wound tight around your form. You can sense he's overwhelmed by something he can't voice—so you do what you're best at.

Your hands move up and down the length of his back, rubbing big and comforting circles. His lips are slow as they meet yours, and his blunt fingertips dip gentle crescent moons into your skin as he holds your face

"I love you," He whispers, his voice hoarse and cracking with emotion. You're cooing softly as you help him into bed, whispering affirmations into his ear that have him practically collapsing in your arms. He's being babied—Touya knows he is.

But God, it felt good to finally feel like he was worth something.

You didn't leave Touya's room until you could absolutely confirm he had drifted into dreamland. Touya fell asleep smiling, and the sight was so precious that you almost didn't want to leave.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip gently, chewing on it as you board the elevator towards the end of the hall. You hit the down button, fingers curling around the strap of your bag as you tap your foot against the ground idly.

The metals doors slide open with ease after a few moments, the gentle ding! sounding through the small space, indicating you had arrived onto the ground floor.

But the sight you're met with on the other side of the door makes you want to drag the metal doors close with your bare hands and slam the up button as hard as you can—

And suddenly, your hands feel clammy and your mouth goes dry as your supervisor tugs you along with clouded eyes—her mouth is set into a firm line, and your colleagues flutter around you nervously. All of their faces are twisted with an emotion you don't understand—and your heart positively drops to the floor when you're pulled into a meeting room with Enji Todoroki sitting at the front.

Enji's shoulders are squared, and he's hunched forward just the slightest bit as his gaze narrows in on you. Someone's telling you to sit down—but you can't breathe. Your chest physically hurts as your supervisor leads you to a chair as gently as she can manage—her usual hard gaze is broken, completely shattered and revealing the unspoken sadness beneath

And you finally realize. They know—because Enji is suddenly tossing a handful of blurry photographs onto the table. He's yelling loudly at someone, his tone rough and demanding attention. But you can't meet his gaze, and your eyes are burning like he's lit them on fire himself.

Because those are pictures of you and Touya kissing. Those are pictures of you and Touya holding hands. Those are pictures of you and Touya murmuring lowly to each other with your foreheads pressed together.

The photographs are grainy—they were obviously taken at night, and it looked like they were taken through a God damn window. It sounds like someone is yelling at Enji for spying, but you can't find the strength to try and organize the chaos around you

This wasn't supposed to happen. You promised yourself nothing like this would happen.

"She clearly isn't suitable enough to decide when I can visit my son. The nerve this woman has to say she may never allow me to see him again is ridiculous. He is my son, and she clearly isn't a good doctor if she has relations like this with him."

He grills you down with that forever present scowl, and the tears brimming in your eyes are traitorous as they roll down your cheeks silently

Enji did all of this because he wanted to see Touya sooner. He spied on you to find something to use against you. And he had just unknowingly ruined your entire career.

People who can swim in their money and power are careless when it comes to people who are nowhere near as privileged. They don't understand how delicate some situations are—and how power and money can't solve every problem. A muscle in Enji's jaw ticks when your supervisor's trembling voice speaks up—telling him that you'll be removed immediately from Touya's care.

"Fired? No, no that's not what I need. What I need is for another doctor to reevaluate Touya's condition and understand that he is ready to see me. I know I was an unexpected visitor the last time I came, but—"

Your supervisor cuts him off sharply

"You have presented us with photo evidence of Y/n breaking company policy. It doesn't matter what your goal was from all of this, because now we have no choice but to fire her. You blew up and sent these to the hospital's board and all the higher ups before speaking to us about the situation directly. They're erasing all of her files as we speak."

Something in Enji's hard gaze falters at her words

"In your email to the board, you described the situation as if Y/n took advantage of Touya's mental state. You made her look like—like a monster. And she was the best thing to happen to your son." She spat, words calculated and cruel as she glares at Enji with nothing but hatred simmering in her gaze

The cries you had been trying so desperately to hold back finally escape, and a strangled sob leaves your lips. The broken sound tears through the air like a knife. Enji blinks as if he doesn't understand a single word that leaves your supervisor's lips before his eyes harden again

"I don't want her fired—"

"But that's what's going to happen! What else could you expect?" She explodes, tears of frustration in her eyes as she grips the back of your chair with trembling fingers

You've worked under this woman for years. She was a constant in your work life–and she'd helped you become a wonderful doctor over time. But this one slip up—one that could've been controlled if Enji hadn't intervened—would mean the end of your time here.

And Enji knows you were the only doctor Touya was willing to cooperate with. The only one he would even listen to.

"Did you know we had to add another month to Touya's rehabilitation plan when Y/n took one sick day? He behaved absolutely terribly in those few hours. He went backwards in terms of progress. And now, Y/n will not be allowed to treat him ever again. Do you understand what you've done?"

And reality finally slaps Enji in the face. Hard. Because his entire demeanor deflates in a second as his face falls

He finally glances at you, and you're an absolute wreck.

You're tugging at your hair, your lips are quivering as you struggle to stay quiet and keep your emotions in check. Even though it didn't matter if you started wailing at the top of your lungs—you had already lost your job, there was no need to try and compose yourself now. But you remain ever professional, stifling your cries as much as you can as your chin wobbles.

Someone's rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you, and Enji takes a step away from you like he's been physically struck

You had just failed Touya. You failed him.

He was sleeping blissfuly unaware a few floors up, oblivious to the fact that your carelessness was going to destroy everything you had worked so hard on building

Touya's heart is fragile. He was going to break.

Touya needs you like an artist needs their muse. Touya needs you like a dancer needs their music. Being separated from you would be like tearing a flower out of the ground—he would just wilt and waste away until there was nothing left.

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

a/n; i know a lot of people talk about touya's eyes but wow...they really are so beautiful. like, they are other worldly. i'm rewatching clips of him and oh my goshh he is my muse forever and ever idfc how many new interests i get over the years. no one can come close to the place he has in my heart. 🥺

tags-

@kawaiidemoneart @porusuniverse @starrmage @lilbeatlebear @bokukenmakuroo

@summercreolefanfictioner @dija200 @phtmmsqrde @sunaraii

@c-lunette @gh0stgirl333 @skullkittens @gurl-pls-evn-the-sharks-fear-me

@hawkwithsocks @suresnips @sugurusmoon @matchablossomsss @moonlitmorganite

@redr0sewrites @muimuiwisteria @sukunaspillow @starsryi

@eidolonwriter @dabislittlemouse @rueclfer @kelin-is-writing

@shugs1801 @imaginationmess

@lasa27 @sophiathefrog @etaerealboy @kooromin @sourbbyxo

@hvnares @ephmeraloblivion @lost-seraphiim @quokka-ina @jesuschrist2006

@stoned-anime-babe @qatiee @shadowsingers-redhood @alycat171

@21-princess

@xileonaaaa @rylerboi @blurryperrtymoonlight @mrcleans4headwrinkle @accidentpronedork

@exquisitenesss @miniatureempathknightpony @afterlife11

💛Gingerbreeding at its Spiciest💙

My contribution to the Dabihawks Secret Santa project! This was an amusingly cute prompt 😄

free falling is a taste of freedom

feat: keigo takami / hawks

warnings: language, heaviness, implications of reader and keigo being groomed by the commission, violence (if u squint), bittersweet

cache notes: i crashed out during this so many times omfg. but anyways heavily inspired by circles by pierce the veil and monsters by all time low (once we figure out why spotify links aren't working i'll link the songs heh)

m.list

the first day you met hawks, he was in the training gym working on some stupid trick of his– something about flipping forward and bringing his blades out at the same time and landing some stupid comic book hero– and you had to hide a laugh when he tripped over his own feet. he challenged you to a sparring match later that day, after the weekly commission meeting where you were properly introduced to one another; where he promptly kicked your ass with his fast reflexes and sharp wit. 

the two of you became fast friends after that. 

the first day you met keigo, he had found you on the roof, crying to yourself. that mask of indifference cracked almost instantly the second he saw you turn towards him with tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. he doesn’t remember why you were crying, only the fact that the sight made his heart clench in a way that foreign and uncomfortable and he needed to do something about it. 

more times than not here recently, you receive hawks more than keigo. it hurts in a way that’s more nostalgic than anything, like remembering an old childhood friend that drifted away or a home-cooked meal whose recipe you can’t remember because the originator died years ago. 

a lot of people say that young heroes are very mature for their age. you don’t know if that’s just true for the females, or if it qualifies for any of the kids raised in the commission. in yours and hawks’ case; maturity was something learned far too young and quickly. death was a subject brought up before you even got to think about how the summer would feel spent on the side of the lake with a bottle of booze and grilled food. 

the two of you take turns every thursday at each other’s agencies to visit and spend some time with each other. you usually bring paperwork to thumb through, hawks brings coffee and distractions. this thursday, hawks is at yours. he’s got his wings spread so they cover a small portion of your office floor– which scatters feathers everywhere, but you’d scold and make him clean them up later– laying upside down on the small couch to the side of the room. 

he kicks his feet lazily as they hang over the back of the couch, humming as he scrolls through his phone. when he speaks, the sentence is so casual it causes you to choke on your own tongue. “we should run away one of these days.”

when you’ve managed to compose yourself, hawks is not looking at you. his eyes are still locked on the screen, the same look of relaxed concentration that you’ve seen all through childhood on his expression. 

your eyes narrow. “don’t be stupid,” you’re careful about how tight your voice sounds. your fingers pause their actions from typing on your keyboard, your gaze split from the document on your computer to his figure draped over your office sofa. “they’d never let both of us go at the same time.”

hawks barks out a laugh, though the corners of his mouth never fully lift to his natural smile. your tongue is pressed between your lips, biting back a snarky remark. it’s hard to tell if he’s being serious, or just yanking your chain. 

“you’re always so serious, [y/n],” he’s chuckling, still looking at the screen in front of his face. “just indulge me for once?”

your back meets the arch of your office chair as a sigh racks through your body. the blinking cursor stares back at you, taunting you to just continue working instead of diving into the silly hypothetical he’s proposed. but part of you wants to dabble in it– to hear him out. see just how far he’s actually thought into it, if he’s actually planned anything out or just talking casual shit just to have something to talk about like usual when he’s over visiting you. 

“say we did run. where would we go?”

you can see him pause for a moment in his scrolling. “leave the country, obviously. south america maybe?”

a snort leaves your lips, your grin is purely sarcastic. “south america?”

“hypothetical,” he replies, his eyes finally leave his phone and meet yours, flashing that signature grin of his. in the back of your mind you’re wondering if all the blood has rushed to his head yet. he’s been sitting upside-down for a while now, his face is still a normal color. 

“so we’re flying, i suppose?” 

hawks shrugs. he pulls his phone away from his face and lets his arms fall gently to the floor beside his head. “we can,” he starts, his bottom lip juts to the side like it always does when he says something he doesn’t exactly agree with. “or take another mode of transportation.”

a single eyebrow raises to that, and you let out a chuckle. “yeah, i can see you on a public bus very vividly.”

you don’t miss how his eyes narrow, his eyebrows knitting together as he glares at you for that response. he knows he sticks out like a sore thumb, he’s painfully aware of that. at eighteen he should be worrying about going to college or something, getting his driving license or other normal things teenagers worry about. 

“could always split it up though,” he offers, his eyes rolling the slightest bit as he adjusts himself. he slides a bit further– his shoulders now meet the floor. instead of looking at you, he traces imaginary shapes on the ceiling. “i could fly us part of the way and we hitchhike some of the way.”

“not hitchhiking,” you disagree almost instantaneously. your fingers find miscellaneous paper, fiddling with the corner as you swing back and forth in your office chair. “i’ve heard too many horror stories about that kind of shit.”

there’s a noise from the other side of the room. hawks slides the rest of the way off the couch, now moving onto his knees before righting himself– stopping once his eyes meet yours. “you act like i wouldn’t be there to protect you,” there’s a flash– almost as quick as his skills in the sky, he tries to cover it; but you see it. for just a moment, hawks lets keigo out, evident in his tone and vague possessiveness in his words. 

the corner of your mouth lifts, but it’s to alleviate tension. the small smile is not genuine and hawks can’t tell if it hurts more than it pisses him off. 

the next time running away is brought up, it’s not by his mouth. it’s by yours. 

you’re agitated. pissed off, pacing back and forth and walking with purpose towards his office like your life depends on it. you know he’s not on patrol at the moment– he’s been online posting so you know he’s in his office with his feet propped on his desk like he has nothing better to do. 

it’s not a thursday. he’s surprised to see you storm into his office, but he doesn’t comment on how hard you slam his door shut or how you look like you’re practically steaming. his feet merely drop from his desk to the floor and his eyebrow raises. he knows better than to open his mouth– something stupid would come out anyways. 

“let’s run away.” 

keigo reels back like he’s been slapped. he takes a good look at you– frazzled, eyes bloodshot from either stress crying or strained from overuse, hair mussed and not in the attractive way he’s come to find extremely endearing– he can’t tell if you’re of sound mind at the moment. but your voice– your tone– how you sound so sure of yourself, so firm and demanding–

it’s been years since he brought up the idea. the two of you were eighteen and fresh into the hero scene, keigo was a popular favorite and immediately in the top ten and since then he’s been steadily climbing through the ranks. you’ve been pushing the burning feeling of being left behind and stuck in his shadow to the back of your mind for a while now. 

“are you okay?” his tone is gentle, but it’s artificially sincere. you know this subject is a sore spot. there’s a reason it hasn’t been brought up since that day. it’s clear in the way his shoulders are tense, the muscles in his jaw taut and teetering over the edge of pulling the fight or flight card. 

there’s a distraught sigh that leaves your lips. “no, i’m not okay,” your tone is tight. your hands are clenched so hard that they ache and your knuckles are white. you’re pacing in short strides– back and forth, back and forth– your eyes wild as they pick out small objects on shelves. small objects. throwable objects. 

“we could hit the gym if you want–”

“i can’t fucking do this anymore, keigo!” 

you can feel the tears trailing down the apples of your cheeks and your tear ducts burn. the last thing your tear clouded vision sees is keigo surging towards you before your hands clap over your face, shielding your actively crumbling expression. 

“i’m stressed, there’s so much pressure,” you feel the sob rack through your body. “they want me on back to back patrols and then this mission in another city and then training the new hires at the agency–”

suddenly, the two of you are fourteen again. the way his hands cradle your jaw– bare fingertips because he knows how much you hate the fabric of his gloves against your skin– you didn’t even see him remove his gloves. the touch clearly rattles you, causing you to stiffen against his palms. 

keigo doesn’t allow you to move away. even as your hands slide down and off of your face, even as your forehead meets his own in such a tender form of comfort. suddenly, the two of you are fourteen again, out on the rooftop of the HPSC, comforting each other in the only way the two of you can when you’ve been abandoned by the people who had gifted you life. 

keigo’s nose bumps against your own, an intimate gesture that you’ve seen only reserved for yourself. the two of you had never talked about dating, or love or anything romantic revolving whatever kind of relationship you shared– you never had the time, nor the privilege to– but you knew what was there. he held you as if you were priceless, a treasure that he would fight tooth and nail before handing over. 

his lips part to speak, breath warm as it ghosted over your own; but the abruptness of his office door swinging open causes both of you to flinch and separate. it’s not like the two of you were doing anything lewd– but the wide eyed intern in the doorway couldn’t tell that. all she saw was the two of pull apart, a look of embarrassment and a flush on each of your faces before keigo clears his throat and addresses her. 

and as quickly as the moment is interrupted, it is forgotten. 

in the next years that follow, keigo rises to number two, you stay locked in the upper twenties of the rankings. the threat of a war sends your agency into a frenzy, more employees being sent out, more sidekicks on missions and more patrols passed around and shared. every hero is on high alert, not just yourself. 

you still catch glimpses of him, but its scarce. thursdays are practically empty now without the once welcomed noisy distractions in your office. your thursdays are now spent on patrol well into the night, stationed just on the outskirts of town where the league was spotted before. 

they never show up, you never get any action; but you don’t complain. it’s nice to have silence to yourself. 

this particular thursday, you catch a familiar flash of red and tan slip past your peripheral. whether he wanted you to catch him or not, you’ll never know. the surprise on his expression was hard to decipher once you finally did catch up to him. 

although you were elated to see him after so long, the first words out of your mouth were not praise nor sweet. “the fuck happened to your wings, keigo?”

you watch as his form pauses, stiffening at his given name before he turns– wide eyed and guilty– like you caught him doing something shady. and you hated how immediately your walls shot up, your muscles on guard and tense. this was keigo. he was not a threat. why was your body reacting the way it was?

“they’re fine, they just need some time to heal,” his voice is low– sheepish. the corner of his mouth lifts to create that boy-ish grin that wins screeches and squeals from crowds of women– but to you, it’s only manufactured. 

his hair, once long and shaggy with those few stupid curls that you always found annoyingly endearing; was now trimmed short and cropped closer to his head. it’s a jarring look, compared to how you’ve always known him– but you can’t help but think it looks better on him. 

the scar is also new. and granted, you’ve seen him on the news and during his press conference; you’ve seen his appearance change. 

but it’s earth-shattering, to say the least, to see it in the flesh. you want to reach out to the small appendages hanging from his back. to touch and feel them– see if they still react how they’ve always done to your touch and presence. 

keigo steps back from you, seeing your outstretched hand. the motion causes your hand to drop slowly, a ringing can be heard in the outer part of your ears. “what are you doing out here?” 

he knows what you mean. and yet he deflects it, “patrolling. our routes overlap, y’know?”

they don’t, and he knows that. you take a step towards him once again. “keigo.”

he takes another step back, forcing you into some kind of twisted dance. “[y/n].”

you hate being held at arms length. you can clearly tell he’s lying, hiding something from you. and granted, the two of you haven’t really been around each other the past couple years, but you grew up with him. this is your best friend, your first ally– the person you trust the most with the darkest parts of yourself. in some ways, you know you love him. of course you love him. you’re just not sure in what ways. 

“why are you being so weird?” the dance continues. you don’t miss how his jaw clenches when he realizes he’s got four more steps until you have him backed against the wall. he chews on the inside of his cheek– one of his tells you’ve been able to pick up over the many years of training and being around him– before he sidesteps and turns the tables. the edge of his blade rests carefully against your jaw for mere seconds before you take a shaky step backwards. 

with your back now facing the wall, keigo advances. his fingers flex around the handle of the blade and his steps are firm as they chase your own unsettled and rattled movements. “i’m not being weird,” he sounds like he’s forcing the words out. “stop itching for a fight, [y/n].”

your brows furrow with undiluted confusion. your body feels tense and rigid, uneasy with emotions that don’t connect coherently to thoughts. the complete flip of his mood and tone have you spiraling. you aren’t face to face with keigo anymore– this is a new side of hawks, one you haven’t had the ‘joy’ of meeting yet. 

“i’m not itching for a fight!” you hate how your voice trembles. like you’re scared. 

your back hits the wall and the tip of the crimson blade in his hand knicks your chin. there’s a dull stinging, but you can barely feel it over the roar in your eardrums. 

keigo is not normally an intimidating guy. yes, he can be, but you’ve rarely seen it or experienced it. and his little hawks persona is just the same as well— you’ve been on patrol with him before. you’ve seen him take down villains, you’ve seen him in training; you’ve seen every side of him. 

except this one. this intimidating, intense— frightening aura before you, you’re at a loss for words. 

“you’re pushing for information that doesn’t concern you,” keigo growls, his head dipping to meet your eyes. he holds a palm out—either to subtly pin you against the wall or grab at you if you choose to attack— you’re not sure. he adjusts his hold on the handle and fixes the tension in his jaw with a click. 

the both of you are close enough to share breaths, but far enough apart to know that there is something different between the two of you. you are no longer fourteen, eighteen, or fresh in your twenties. when you breathe in, keigo breathes out. 

your hand lifts, reaching forward— towards him— all the tension melts. instead of leaning into your touch like he would back then, his head surges forward and seizes your lips with his own. 

keigo had told you before that the freest he’s ever felt is in the skies. you’ve been flying with him before, you know exactly the type of exhilarating, adrenaline inducing emotion he’s talking about. with the lack of ground beneath you and the limitless sky above, keigo was exactly right. it was the closest thing to freedom he had. 

with his lips on yours, you feel like you are free falling, hurling towards the earth at untamable speeds and the impact into the dirt is the sensation of his mouth pulling away from yours. 

keigo might get a taste of freedom everyday, but it was nothing compared to the taste of freedom he had just given you. 

“i’m just scared,” he mumbles, his voice is small. he sounds so young, so impossibly childlike that you have to open your eyes a blink to make sure it was still him that was brushing against your lips with each breath and syllable. “i… i almost died. i got reckless and screwed everything up and—“ 

your hand moves to the back of his head— a twinge shoots through you when you remember the curls aren’t as long so you can’t hook your fingers through them— and your hand steadies at the back of his neck, pulling his forehead to rest against yours. “why didn’t you come find me?” 

it’s selfish of you to say that. it really is. but the two of you have been each other’s support systems since you were adolescents. 

keigo winces slightly at your statement. “i couldn’t face you like that, [y/n].” 

his blade is still against your jaw, cold and a firm reminder that you were supposed to be elsewhere. your eyes meet his, a silent exchange between the two of you. 

i’ve seen you look worse. 

you always have, haven’t you? 

the silence holds more words, but neither of you put the weight down. whether it be the risk and danger of speaking on it, or the action being a spur of the moment between two childhood friends trying to fit pieces in where they don’t quite fit yet. 

that night you get home from patrol and dream of the feeling of keigo’s lips. you wake up crying. 

you haven’t seen hawks face to face in years. when you finally do run into him at the office, both of you are visibly different from those early years at the commission. you’ve grown your hair out, he’s lost the plumage of red that used to hang behind him. you’re only passing through, grabbing paperwork for your own agency when the two of you stop dead in your tracks in front of each other. 

he’s only grown a couple inches, and he’s kept his hair short. the scar from the war has healed and faded into his skin, but the outline still shows. it makes him look more rugged, more defined. he had always argued with you that the facial hair he tried so desperately to grow did most of the work— the scar did it perfectly on its own. 

hawks is the first to speak. his eyes are shining in a way that’s hard to tell if he’s seconds away from bursting into tears or just looking at something brighter than the sun. “it’s been a while.” 

the inhale you take in is shorter than the exhale you push out. your smile is shaky, and your grip around the files in your hand tightens. “it’s been a while, yeah…” 

there’s a lot to be said. the two of you can’t continue to stare at each other with so much longing, so much emotion. 

there’s a stretch of silence, hawks shifts awkwardly. the katanas against his back slap against muscle and he raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. he can tell time is running out, with the way that you shift the files against your waist and the impending footsteps of employees and commission workers down the hall. 

“you ever wish that we did it?” 

your tongue feels dry. “did what?” 

“run away,” hawks whispers. he chews on the inside of his cheek and it forces you to pause. “we should’ve done it.” 

your vision feels sluggish, dragging up from his lips, to his cheek where his tongue pokes at the inside; up to his eyes. 

you don’t know if you’ll get that taste of freedom only he could give you ever again. 

“we’re still here,” you murmur. your tongue presses in between your lips and you watch hawks physically hold himself back. i’m still here. you’re still here.

by now, the group from down the hall has caught up. your words are rushed as you force them off of your tongue; “do you want to—“ 

he’s swept up by the commission workers before he can hear the latter part of your statement. he reaches for you as he brushes past, bare fingertips against your wrist that send static throughout your skin. you squeeze him back in the half of a second he gives you and you can see the corner of his mouth lift as he’s ushered down the hall. 

freedom was always so close to you, you realize. in your case, it wasn’t a feeling or an action— but a person. 

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

your number one fan!

kaminari, bakugo, midoriya, shouto, shinsou, monoma x reader (individual)

you find out your fellow pro-hero is secretly a big fan of yours

notes: maybe suggestive for some. this was a lot of fun to write. i need to write more denkiii

fem hawks....

🙂‍↕️👍

happy new yearsss here’s a post war dbhwks doodle

HER MAJESTY OF SMAUS HAS RETURNED YAY Could I request this SMAU please: you promising to post pictures of them in your IG to solidify publicly that he’s your BF, but you only post cheeky and sneaky pictures like his back, his hand and stuff like that (making it hard to tell who is it) and them getting irritated or amused by it (or they just don’t give a f) 

with Kiri, Baku & Shinsou (and maybe Denks if you're generous) THANK YOU

HUZZAAAHHHHHH thank you for this silly req <3 even though its been a minute heh

soft launch // smau

kirishima, bakugou, shinsou, denki

-

mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0

katsuki tag: @bitchyfestivalbouquet @kaldurahms-lover

my boss thinks you’re cute

feat: hawks / keigo takami

warnings / cache notes: language

req📌: ❌

m.list

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

EXTRA LESSONS!

midoriya izuku x pro-hero f ! reader ᯓ★ m—dni. smau / i love u teacher deku! / suggestive / no established relationship / sending very ‘private’ photos / i love an izuku that bites back :D

“hey sensei can u teach me anatomy?” and you’re basically flashing him and izuku’s losing all his sense of self.

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : my hc is when u send something lewd to izuku he ends up in a frozen-like state staring into his phone till he gets too dizzy before he could respond again. still really respectful when he’s h word tho that’s his charm! 🥰