weepingseaweed

Latest Posts by weepingseaweed

I KNOWWW that we got teenage hawks but ive drew junior high school hawks before... im very happi to see how teenage hawks baby face is also somewhat??? similiar as mine,,,

A good comparison of canon hawks and teenage hawks ive drew <3...... thought to share it here <3 <3

Hawks i recently drew 😛😛😛

after school

thinking here...

takami keigo who never thought of having children, but as soon as he met you, the idea grew strong on him. marrying, living together and later having a baby...

takami keigo who promises himself to give all he have to both you and your kid, promises himself to be a better father for his kid than his father was for him...

just... takami keigo... (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

- 🫐

SMALL RED WINGS

A/N: hii anon thank you for your request, send as many as u want, don’t be shy!! here is my way of picturing it all, unfortunately i haven’t read the manga so i tried to look for as many information i could about the time skip, because yeah i think that if hawks wanted a family, he would build it in the afterskip. warning: spoiler for season 7 ep. 18 (idk which manga chapter is that, sorryy)

Imagine being with Keigo Takami, known to the world as Hawks, that never once thought about having a family.

The idea of a child, a home—those were luxuries he couldn’t afford. After all, being the Number Two hero was more than just a job; it was a constant, dangerous responsibility. Every day, he risked his life for people who adored him, but deep down, he knew the truth: being with someone like him wasn’t easy.

Yes, he was charming—everyone said so. Handsome, funny, strong, and caring, with a smile that could disarm anyone.

But all that didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t made for relationships, at least not the normal kind. Dates? Days off? Those were foreign concepts to him.

The very thought was laughable. In truth, anyone with him would have to accept that his work came first, always.

Even if he loved you—God, did he love you—his duty was to the people in danger, the lives he could save. So when the phone rang in the middle of the night, and he had to slip out of bed, leaving you behind, it wasn’t a choice. It was an obligation.

He hated it.

Every single time.

What he wanted more than anything was to stay, to watch you wake up in his arms, to share those quiet mornings that he never got to have. But the call of duty was louder than his heart.

Then, everything changed. After the final battle with All for One, Keigo lost his quirk.

His wings, once his greatest symbol, were gone, stripped away along with the fierceness that made him Hawks. To the public, he was still a hero, even without his red wings. But no one ever truly saw Keigo, the man underneath.

Until he met you.

You knew who he was—of course you did.

But when you looked at him, you didn’t see Hawks, the hero. In those golden eyes of yours, he was simply Takami Keigo, the man. It was that look that made him trust you completely, enough to open up in a way he had never done before. He let you see the boy he once was, the one who had been hidden away behind the mask of a hero for so long.

Becoming the President of Hero Public Safety meant Keigo no longer had to be on the front lines, though his work remained demanding. But with you by his side, he began to entertain a dream he’d never allowed himself to have: a family, a real one. One he could build with you—the kind of family he never had growing up.

The idea didn’t come from you, surprisingly. You had always hoped for a future with him, but you were too considerate to push.

It was Keigo who brought it up, late one night after a long and exhausting shift. When he told you about his small dream, you could hardly believe it, wrapping him in your arms so tightly he could barely breathe. He was ready, and so were you.

The wedding that followed was intimate, just as Keigo wanted. He didn’t want the media frenzy that would come with announcing Hawks’ marriage, so it was a quiet ceremony in a secluded garden, surrounded by only the closest of friends.

Even Endeavor showed up, much to your surprise, muttering under his breath “How did someone as silly as you managed to find someone like her?”

Yet, there was a softness in his words, a hint of approval he rarely showed.

Keigo stood at the altar in a simple suit, his eyes never leaving yours as you walked toward him. His smile was brighter than the sun, and when you exchanged vows, his hands trembled slightly as he slipped the ring onto your finger, a deep red stone set within it, like a piece of his lost wings.

“I promise to love you for the rest of my life” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “To protect you and the family we’re going to build together. Even without my wings, even without my quirk, I’ll protect you.”

For a man who once believed he was destined to be alone, that moment felt nothing short of miraculous.

Time passed, and one day, while Keigo was at work, you called him. Breathless, your voice shook with excitement as you told him the news: you were pregnant. Keigo, sitting behind his desk at the Hero Commission with a cup of coffee in hand, couldn’t believe his ears. He bolted from his chair and raced home so fast you’d almost think his quirk had returned, bursting through the door, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Are you serious?” he asked, breathless with excitement.

When you nod and show him the positive pregnancy test, his grin would turn into a full-blown smile, the kind that makes his eyes light up and crinkle at the corners. You’d probably expect a more composed reaction from someone like him, but instead, he’d move faster than you’ve seen him move in a while.

Without warning, he’d scoop you up, twirling you around effortlessly despite his exhaustion. You’d both be laughing as he holds you close, pressing his forehead against yours. “We’re going to have a baby?” he’d ask again, his voice barely above a whisper, still making sure he isn’t dreaming.

The disbelief would quickly fade, and his excitement would bubble over. “I’m gonna be a dad?” His laugh would be a mix of nervousness and joy.

Hawks, who was always so confident on the battlefield, would suddenly seem a little more vulnerable, maybe even a bit shaky from the emotional rush.

Then, in his fashion, he’d playfully add, “Does that mean I have to, like, baby-proof the whole house? Or maybe teach them how to fly?” His words would be teasing, but the glint in his eyes would show how serious he is about wanting to protect both you and the baby.

As the initial excitement dies down, there’d be a softer moment. He’d sit you both down, still holding your hand, his thumb gently rubbing circles against your skin. There might be a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—Keigo never had the best upbringing, and deep down, that would probably stir up some quiet fears about whether he could be the kind of father your child deserves.

But he wouldn’t say that out loud, not immediately. Instead, he’d look at you, his expression softening, and say something like, “You know, I’ve always been good at flying solo, but…I think this is the one mission I want to be part of a team for.”

The months that followed were a whirlwind. Keigo was more protective than ever, fussing over your comfort, making sure you ate well, and attending every doctor’s appointment.

His eyes were filled with awe as he watched the ultrasound screen, hearing the steady heartbeat of the tiny life you had created together.

But with that joy came anxiety. Late at night, as he lay beside you, those old fears crept in. His father had been a terrible man, filled with anger and violence. What if Keigo had inherited that darkness? What if he wasn’t good enough? One night, the weight of it all became too much, and in the dark, he whispered his fears.

“What if I mess this up?” His voice trembled. “What if I’m not a good father?”

But you reassured him, and slowly, he began to believe that he could be different—that he already was.

Because he knew all too well what a horrible childhood felt like—he had lived through it firsthand—Keigo was determined to ensure his child would experience something entirely different. He had endured the fear, the loneliness, and the pain of growing up in a broken home, with no sense of love or stability. And now, more than anything, he wanted to give his child a life they could be proud of.

He wanted them to grow up feeling safe, loved, and cherished, surrounded by the warmth of a family that supported them. A family built on love, not fear. He was determined that their childhood would be nothing like his. Instead of the cold indifference he had known, his child would be embraced with affection, and instead of shame, they would feel pride—pride in their family and in the love their parents shared.

Keigo wanted them to see what a strong, healthy relationship looked like. To know, from the very start, that they were wanted and adored by both of their parents. He wanted to raise them with the sense of security he never had, so they could grow up confident, knowing they were part of something whole and good.

Above all, Keigo wanted his child to look at their family with pride, knowing that their parents loved each other deeply and fought for the life they were building together.

The day your baby was born was the happiest of Keigo’s life. Sitting beside you, watching as you held your newborn, he felt the ache of his missing wings. He wished he could wrap them around you both, shelter you from the world. Tears filled his eyes as he pressed a gentle kiss to your baby’s forehead.

“They’re perfect,” he whispered, overwhelmed with love and gratitude, leaving the gentlest kiss on their little forehead.

In that moment, Keigo Takami—the man who once thought he could only be a hero—realized that he had everything he had ever dreamed of. He had you, his partner, his love, and now, his child, a symbol of the future he had dared to hope for.

Though he would love his child unconditionally, deep down, my personal headcannon is that he secretly hoped for a boy.

Someone who could grow strong and protect you, just as he had vowed to do.

And while no one could say for sure if his quirk was truly gone forever after All for One stole it, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day, a pair of small red wings appeared on your child’s back!

After Hawks became a pro hero he had his own plush, so imagine your child holding it as baby Keigo held the Endeavor one, this is extremely cutee

bonus super cute scene!

One afternoon, Keigo was sprawled out on the living room floor, lazily flipping through a magazine while your toddler crawled all over him, tugging at his hair and poking at his face. It was one of those rare, lazy days where he didn’t have to rush off for work, and he cherished every second of it. Even if it meant being turned into a human jungle gym.

Your child—who had inherited Keigo’s striking golden eyes—giggled as they clambered onto his back, grabbing handfuls of his messy blond hair and pretending to ‘fly’ like Hawks used to.

“Whoa there, little bird,” Keigo laughed, turning his head slightly so he could see the mischievous look on his child’s face. “You’re not old enough to be flying yet, and besides…” He gave an exaggerated sigh, dramatically slumping onto the floor as if in defeat. “Daddy’s wings are still in the shop.”

Your child squealed in delight, bouncing up and down on Keigo’s back as if they didn’t care at all about the missing wings. “Fly! Fly!” they chanted, pulling on his shirt like reins.

Keigo groaned playfully, shifting his body around as if preparing for takeoff.

“Alright, alright, but this flight is gonna cost ya,” he teased, glancing up at you with a wink. “One kiss for the captain, and we might just make it to the couch in one piece.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics but couldn’t help smiling as your child leaned over and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on Keigo’s cheek. He beamed, as if that kiss gave him all the power he needed. With a dramatic grunt, he pushed himself up on all fours, his child clinging to his back like they were riding a mighty steed.

“Hawks Airlines, taking off!” he announced, crawling around the living room with exaggerated movements, making airplane noises and tilting his body from side to side as if navigating through invisible turbulence. Your child shrieked with laughter, their tiny hands gripping his shoulders.

Keigo made a few loops around the coffee table before finally collapsing in a heap of mock exhaustion. “Phew! Rough landing, folks. We’ve reached our destination—couchland,” he said breathlessly, rolling onto his back and pulling your child into his arms. “Thank you for flying with the best retired hero-slash-dad in the world.”

Your child giggled and snuggled into his chest, their small body rising and falling with Keigo’s soft laughter. He looked down at them, his golden eyes warm and full of love, then glanced up at you with a goofy grin. “I gotta admit, I may have lost my wings, but I’ve gained a pretty cute co-pilot."

Lets collectively step on him until he twitch like a roach

twitter request :D

twitter request :D

Pretty !! Love the art style and anatomy 🔥🔥🔥 you got his cocky face well lol, like how u draw the hair too !!

lol i just realized i've been pronouncing his name "honks" instead of the correct "hawks" :)))

Feral Hawks ♥

I keep wondering why he changed his earrings did i miss something or

Boku no Hero Academia || Hawks (Keigo Takami) Episode 156

just manga hawks

Inktober Day: 9 Hawks

this redraw meme was going around twitter and I felt a Need

A good way to start the year (this had me feeling some sorta way)

this redraw meme was going around twitter and I felt a Need

A good way to start the year (this had me feeling some sorta way)

man maybe i should draw more hawks indeed

マジすか〜〜〜？

WOMEN BIRDIES

i love women

Quiet whispers and bloody kisses

We all should thank v again for their banger headcanons, i can definitely they really indulging us (and themselves ofc lol) with this current puppyplay (WHAT TERM IT IS AGAIN???) scenario AND IT'S GOOD AS HELL THANK YOU FOR THE DINNER BLESS 🙏🙏🙏🙏🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Owner!Keigo who makes you ride him when you're in puppyspace specifically to be mean to you. Puppies really aren't meant to do that much thinking, he knows; but it's just too entertaining to lay back in bed with his hands clasped behind his head, smirk on his lips while you whimper and cry and try so hard for him. You paw at his bare chest for stability when you rock your hips, and Keigo almost coos at how pathetic you look trying to do it all by your poor little self.

Owner!Keigo who takes pity on you and shushes your blubbering, thumbing at the fat tears on the verge of spilling when he whispers, "shh, you're okay. Need daddy to do it for you?" When you harshly nod in response, nearly toppling yourself over in the process, Keigo can't help but chuckle. "Mmhm. 'Course you fuckin' do," he says, and harshly flips you over.

Owner!Keigo whose cock is already wet from how long he allowed you to suck him off prior to all this; his hands propping him up from behind, one eye shut in pleasure and the other watching you blissed out between his legs, rapturous glint in your watery eyes as you slobbered and mouthed at his dick. "That's it, good puppy. Fuck—!" He had to pull your mouth off before he blew his load too early. It's not just for his own desires, no; Keigo knows you want to be bred just as much as he needs to breed you.

Owner!Keigo who knows you like it doggystyle, but wanted to make you work for his cock, regardless. Good dogs don't get treats until they've earned it, do they? No, because then he'd just be spoiling you. And how exactly would that keep you obedient and under his thumb? What kind of an owner would Keigo be if he thrust his thick cock into you from behind the second you pitched a fit for it? As much as he adores to see you pant and hear your positively precious little yelps over the squelch between your thighs, someone has to keep you structured. It'd rot your sweet little mind, otherwise. It'd turn you into a cockdrunk little whore— actually... Keigo is starting to think that might not be such a bad idea, after all.

Owner!Keigo who fills you to the brim and doesn't bother warning you before he cums inside you. You're practically his property, anyway, and he knows damn well how much you want it from how desperately you begged to be bred like a bitch in heat. You're babbling how much you love it, thanking him adorably, but you don't need to worry. Keigo knows how grateful you are. He can feel you twitching on his cock when you cum, too, and he makes damn sure to praise you for waiting for him to feel good first.

Owner!Keigo who soothes you with, "that's a good puppy" and "so good f'me, perfect f'me" as he pulls out, turns you over, and kisses you sweetly. He kisses your cheeks, under your eyes, your forehead, your lips; and Keigo's heart throbs as if it were struck when he sees you yawn, hears your little lovesick "love you" as you lay blissed out on your back while he cleans you up. He makes a point to give you one last wet kiss before spooning you and saying, "god, I love you, too."

海風 ver.2024

But tbh i enjoy lurking and giving my support quietly here on another hawks fans, i need to give more feedback on writers too....

Contemplating to turn this account into hawks fanart account, i truly need to improve on drawing him

乱れ羽 ver.2 (refine)

Drop my one and only hawks fanart because i can

This man is hard to draw how do people can put up with his hair

I THOUGHF THIS WAS GOING TO BE A CUTE POST BUT DAMN YOU I GOF MY EART SHATTER

Ugh ugh ugh I love hawks. I LOVE hawks. Guy who beams about how much he loves people, who says that he would kill people for people. Guy with so much survivor's guilt it doesn't even register as guilt anymore, he just tilts his head like a cat. Because why would he feel survivor's guilt when it's HIS fault he's the survivor (it wasn't his fault). Extremely perceptive guy who understands everyone but himself.

Hawks literally in the comics swings the door open to his empty home with no furniture, singing "I'm home!" to absolutely no one and sits on the fucking floor.

GUY WHO REMEMBERS HUGGING A PLUSH TOY ALONE SURROUNDED BY TRASH AS A LITTLE BOY AND SAYS, WITH ALL SERIOUSNESS: "I wasn't alone in all this. 😇" LIKE HIS FUCKING IMAGINARY FRIEND COUNTED. HE'S 23 FUCKING YEARS OLD. I AM GOING TO KILL MYSELF.

This is truly hawks academia

we did it, we solved hero society! - bnha 429

絵柄の模索中

⚾️⚾️⚾️

BAD IDEA (FORGET ABOUT IT, FORGET ABOUT ME)

It’s a bad idea. You know it is. Even fucking worse now that you realise that you’re no longer doing this for sexual pleasure. You’re doing it for her affection, even if it only comes with her hand around your throat or between your thighs. Or, the one where you’re not lovers, just strangers, and you’re fine with it. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

PAIRING ┊ Quanxi x Fem!Reader

CONTENT ┊ NSFW. Friends with benefits, unrequited pining, angst, slight power imbalance (quanxi is mc’s superior), alcohol, mentions of medication, unhealthy relationships, hurt/no comfort, original character deaths, mentions of blood. Canon divergent, but takes place after the events of Part 1. ~6.5k words

NOTES ┊ my first fic of 2024 lets gooo baby HAPPY NEW YURI!!!! this is my contribution to my thank u, next collab :) likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! this is the most self-indulgent I’ve ever written but I hope you enjoy regardless;;

also on ao3 | @angelshub @bitchcraftinc @enchantedforest-network @ghostqueue

You never think twice.

It runs in the family, you think. Your father was an insanely reckless devil hunter, your mother was impulsive even in the worst situations, and your brother did things just for the thrill. It’s ironic that for people with a job that relies on survival instinct, they had none at all. Impulsivity runs in your family, and there will soon come a day when it will get you killed the same way it did with them. That’s fine. Death doesn’t scare you, not anymore. He’ll come bearing his scythe when his time comes, taking your soul to where it needs to be, and you’ll let it happen when it does.

Public Safety wasn’t your first option. Being a professional devil hunter wasn’t, either. You wanted to pursue something less violent, like someone who could help improve a community’s welfare. You wanted kids to grow up better than you did. But with devils roaming the streets and the lack of the ‘strong-hearted,’ it came as no surprise that you had to give up on what you’d initially hoped. You’re still pissed about it years later in your career. The younger you wanted to help the world.

In a way, you got what you wanted. It just wasn’t the way you wanted it to happen.

You think you’re more familiar with firearms and blades than you are with flowers and crayons now. Your hands, once soft and delicate, are now scarred and calloused, stained with the blood of those you had to slay and lose in combat. Your heart, once full of hope and kindness, is now cold as ice. The innocence and joy you used to have were cruelly ripped out of your hands and crushed into pieces you can never put together again.

But you don’t have time to miss who you used to be, nor do you have the time to dream anymore. You have to survive in a world where danger lurks in every corner. You will pass the days instead of living them, letting them hurt you and bury misery deep in your bones, but you will survive, if not by sheer determination or instinct.

The drink you’re having burns your throat. Though you weren’t previously a drinker, having seen how it changed people like it did to your father, there’s nothing else you can turn to. You never liked bars either, yet here you are, sitting all by your lonesome. People change, whether it’s out of their volition or against their will. You don’t know where you fall between those categories.

The longer you stare into space, the more you tune out the world around you. You feel as though you aren’t here, but somewhere else. It’s been happening more often than you’d like—zoning out, feeling like you’re not in control of your body, vulnerable. You’re more annoyed by it than you are concerned. You’re a professional devil hunter, bound to an organisation that could dispose of you without a second thought if you fail them. There is no time for weakness. Your training and years of work have taught you that the hard way.

By the time you come back to your senses, your glass is already empty. A frown tugs at the corners of your lips. You’ve half a mind to order another shot to feel something other than perpetual numbness and exhaustion, but ultimately decide against it. Your tolerance isn’t as high as Kishibe’s is, after all. Who knows what will happen if you bite off more than you can chew? You don’t, and more importantly, you don’t want to deal with the consequences.

With a sigh, you leave the bar. The bells above the door chime as the door opens and exposes you to the winter air. A chill runs down your spine, making you shiver involuntarily. You’ve never been fond of the cold. It’s miserable, it makes you lethargic, and it’s a pain to get through without getting sick. You hate the shitty apartment you live in and the equally shitty radiator that came with it too, but this time around, you actually can’t wait to be home. You suppose there are still some things to look forward to, no matter how mundane they may be.

“Hm. Didn’t expect to see anyone out at this hour.”

You turn to see Quanxi leaning against a wall with a cigarette between her lips and the same deadpan expression you’re used to seeing her wear. Instinctively, you bow your head in greeting, though she makes no move to respond to it. Briefly you realise how you’ve never had a proper conversation with her, only good mornings here and there whenever you happen to cross paths. This is the first time she’s properly acknowledged you as something else other than one of Kishibe’s many juniors he ‘babysits,’ as he would say.

The wind blows the nicotine in your direction, causing you to grimace instinctively. In an attempt to cover it, you clear your throat and reply, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I thought you didn’t like being out at night.”

“I don’t,” you say with a wry smile. “Why are you out at this hour, Miss Quanxi?”

“I couldn’t sleep either.” With a sigh, she pushes herself off the wall and finds her place by your side. “I’ll walk you home. I’m going in the same direction anyway.”

You have a feeling she’s not going to take no for an answer, so all you do is nod and go along with her. It puts you on edge, being so close to someone you’ve always held in high regard. It’s also strange, in a good way, to be alone with a woman like her. Up until a few moments ago, you didn’t even know she was aware of you at all. You find that you like having her beside you like this. It makes you feel safe, protected, and in a way you can’t pinpoint why, like you belong.

The apartment building looms overhead and stands among electrical lines and small stores. The lightbulb in front of the elevator flickers before it goes out, leaving the hallway too dim for your liking. Anxiety starts to bubble at the pit of your stomach. You don’t know if it’s because of the dark or if it’s because of how close she’s standing to you. As your finger hovers over the button, you glance at her and blurt out, “Would you like to come in?”

She blinks as if she wasn’t expecting you to say that. She probably wasn’t. Heat rises to your cheeks and paints them with shame. You tend to speak before you think, which has both worked in your favour and against it.

(You never learn.)

“It’s cold outside,” you try to reason. “You could come in for tea, warm up for a bit before you go. I’d feel bad if I let you leave without anything.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

Your face burns. You should’ve thought she’d say no. You should’ve thought more. Of course, the Quanxi has no reason to stay and chat with you. She’s not the kind of person to do such a thing. She’s stoic, unapproachable, and–

“But if you insist, I’ll come in,” she says, interrupting you just before your brain is about to go into overdrive. “I could use a break anyway.”

She follows you into the cramped elevator without another word. It’s hard to keep your cool as you’re all too slowly taken up the building. With trembling hands, you unlock the door to your apartment. Your nerves are going haywire for reasons you can’t begin to fathom. You ignore them the best you can.

“Tea? Coffee?” you ask. You like to think you’re pretty good at keeping your composure, but you’re not so confident tonight. It’s fine. You’re being considerate, nothing more, so there’s no need to be so nervous. You’re just being a good host.

“Tea is fine.”

“Alright. Um, have a seat. I’ll be done in a minute.”

She takes off her shoes at the doorway before stepping into the living area, glancing around wordlessly. You hope she doesn’t mind the mess on the coffee table, even if it’s only receipts, newspapers and some blister packs you keep forgetting to throw out. Normal, mundane things. You haven’t had the time or drive to organise your place lately. You wish you did. For anything in general, really.

You’re surprised how stable your hands are this time around as you carry the tray towards where she’s sitting on the couch. She takes the mug with a barely audible thanks and you take your own. The couch isn’t small by any means. It’s old, yes, but it’s more than enough to seat two people. For some reason, it feels like it’s smaller. You’re close enough that your knees brush against each other. You try not to think about how this is the closest you’ve ever physically been to someone in years.

You almost want to scoff at that. It’s never occurred to you (or rather, you prefer not to think about it) how deprived you are of warmth and contact. Every day consists of you passively following a monotonous routine. People like you don’t get the chance to be close to someone, physically and emotionally, not when they can be taken away from you in the blink of an eye. You should be used to it by now.

You don’t think you can ever be.

“Is it okay?” Your voice is soft, hesitant. “It’s not too sweet?”

“It’s fine.”

You don’t know if Quanxi is one for small talk. You highly doubt it, but still, you find yourself chattering away. You talk about almost forgetting your keys in the morning, about how friendly your neighbours are despite their intimidating appearance, about the dog that greets you every morning and every time you come back.

Self-consciousness suddenly threatens to consume you whole when you catch how much you’ve been rambling in your flustered state. You can’t tell if she’s actually listening or if she’s only humming and nodding along so you’d stop eventually. Maybe you should.

The sudden silence makes her look at you curiously. “What’s wrong?”

“I, ah, nothing.” You shake your head. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

“You were talking about your last mission,” she offers. You’re almost disappointed that she had been listening to you. “The bodyguard one.”

You didn’t expect that.

“Right… I’m sorry, Miss Quanxi. I didn’t realise how long I’ve been keeping you here. Would you like me to see you out?”

“I don’t mind. You sound interesting.” She places the cup down and leans back against the cushions, getting herself comfortable. You aren’t sure if you should take it as a compliment or something. “And Quanxi is fine. I’m not Kishibe.”

“Of course! I’m sorry, Miss—I mean, Quanxi.”

Names have always been important to you; hers isn’t any different. But as her name rolls off your tongue, you find that you like how it feels. Familiar, like you’ve been saying it for years. In the back of your mind, you wonder if she knows your name—she hasn’t uttered it once since she spotted you outside the bar.

Somehow, that makes you sadder than you should be.

“You live alone?” she asks. Your mind goes blank for a moment. Is she interested in you? No, that can’t be. She’s just making conversation. She probably pities you for the fact that you’re the only one doing the talking.

“I do. Have been since I was seventeen,” you say, cutting off your train of thought before it gets worse. “I don’t have a girlfriend either.”

You don’t realise what you’ve blurted out until Quanxi hums curiously.

Why did you say that? Why do you say anything?

“You don’t?”

“No,” you mumble. You avert your gaze to the side, nervousness taking hold of you once more. “Are you… Interested? In me?”

When you finally look back at her, her face is only inches away from yours. You stare at her wide-eyed. A myriad of emotions swirls deep in your chest as you stutter and stammer, your lips parting then closing like a fish out of water.

“Maybe,” she answers, and the apology you were going to say dies on your tongue.

Your heart is threatening to burst out of your chest with how fast it thumps in the confines of your ribcage. Despite the winter outside, it feels hot—you feel hot, like you’re standing by a burning flame. You think you’ve short-circuited when she gently tilts your head up with her fingers and leans in to kiss you with a softness usually reserved for a lover.

And because you never think twice, you don’t hesitate to comply when she urges you to sit on her lap. Your arms wrap around her neck and it doesn’t take long before the kiss turns more heated, before you start grinding against her. Cold digits trail across your skin and crawl between your thighs, smoothly unbuttoning your trousers to reveal what they’re searching for.

Hesitantly, you pull away to catch your breath. You can hardly understand what’s happening, and maybe you don’t have to, but there’s a deep longing to hear it directly from her.

“Miss Quanxi!” Whatever you’re trying to say gets interrupted with a gasp as her fingers dip past the waistband of your panties. “What are you—”

“Helping you relax,” she replies nonchalantly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how tense you’ve been since we got here.”

You’re not sure you can handle seeing how attentively she’s watching your expressions right now, so you squeeze your eyes shut. It doesn’t help, not when you can feel everything at once, from her heated expression to her sinfully adept fingers.

There’s a voice in the back of your mind telling you that this is wrong, unfair, but when she brushes over a spot that has you shivering against her hand, the thought ebbs away like it was never there at all.

You don’t want her to stop.

Maybe the strange heavy feeling within your chest is just anxiety from not being in a situation like this for a long time. Maybe it’s what your classmates used to call ‘butterflies in your stomach’ because you’re with someone you admire. Reason slips out of your reach with every curl of her fingers against your walls, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly you’re reaching the edge. The sight of her doing something to you that only lovers do to each other isn’t helping your case, either.

Her name leaves your lips in a pathetic whine. “Quanxi—”

“Let go,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your cheek, “Let me take care of you.”

Your orgasm washes over you like the sea crashes against the shore, rendering you breathless and teary-eyed from how overwhelming everything feels. She doesn’t relent until you weakly wrap your hand around her wrist in a poor attempt to stop her from breaking you any further. She eventually pulls her hand away and brings her fingers up to your mouth, imperceptibly smiling at how you take them in without question. Seemingly satisfied, she withdraws and lets you slump against her body, tuckered out and boneless.

“Look at you,” she coos, her voice dripping with endearment. She’s probably used to saying these things and getting these reactions, and as bitter as you may feel about it, they have your heart racing nonetheless. You’re not used to praise. In your entire life, you’ve only been satisfactory, yet here she is praising you for doing nothing except surrender yourself to her. You part your lips to speak, only to be interrupted.

“Don’t worry about me.”

It’s almost worrisome how she can tell what’s on your mind so effortlessly. With a huff, you bury your face in the crook of her shoulder. You doubt you can look her in the eye without saying or doing something embarrassing.

“But…” you mumble out.

“I can take care of myself.”

You frown, though you don’t argue with the finality in her tone. Your body gradually relaxes as she runs her fingers up and down the length of your spine. It’s getting difficult to stay awake when you feel so sated, so safe. Eventually, without realising it, your blinking slows down and you start to drift off in her arms, growing blissfully unaware of the world around you.

—

You wake up in your bed dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

Quanxi must’ve carried you here before she left. Your vision slowly adjusts to the change in lighting as you look out the window by your side. It seems that people have already gotten their day started, judging from the cars moving down the road and the dogs barking in response to the disturbance they bring. You’re groggy and your thoughts are unclear, leaving you more wearied than you’d normally be. A dull ache rings in your head, growing stronger when you push yourself out of bed and trudge to the bathroom to freshen up.

Your mind feels like it’s shrouded with fog. You’re beginning to think going to the bar yesterday was a mistake. You tend not to dwell too much on the consequences of what you do, only what satisfies you in that moment. It’s a bad habit you can’t seem to get rid of. But it’s far too early to think—in fact, you’d rather not do it at all—so you clumsily grab the shower valve and let the water wash away yesterday’s events. It takes a couple of tries to find it, but you make it nonetheless. A curse escapes you at the unexpected cold that has you jolting awake against your will. You suppose you did need that rude awakening.

The word ‘mistake’ seems to echo in your mind louder and louder as you struggle to properly button up your shirt with sluggish hands. You’re pretty sure one of your socks is mismatched, but you don’t really have the energy to change them. You glance at the bottle of painkillers in your cabinet. You never quite liked taking these things even if they’re supposed to help you. You didn’t like having ‘too much’ in your system. A bit ironic, considering all the supplements and medication you’ve had in your lifetime.

Bitterly, you take them. You can’t have something so inane affect your efficiency at work.

The headquarters is already busy when you arrive. Camaraderie isn’t a thing here, so the atmosphere already feels stiff and awkward. You suppose it’s reasonable, having gone through a few losses yourself. In a world like this, you simply can’t get attached to anyone. You shouldn’t. After all, they can be ripped out of your hands, ripped apart until the only proof of their existence is their blood stained on your skin. It’s not ‘hating the world’ or ‘being unapproachable;’ it’s a way to protect the other person. In a way, it protects you too.

Your mind reels back to last night now that you’re more awake. The way she held you. The way she just knew your body like the back of her hand. The way she kissed you. Only lovers touch each other like that, your mother used to tell you, but you’re not lovers even if it felt like it. The intimate moments you shared threaten to bring tears to your eyes as they play through your mind again like a film reel. The memory of her lips against your skin, of her holding you as if you were made of porcelain. They’re likely nothing to her, but they’re everything to you.

So how are you meant to brush off something like that so easily? When you’ve never had or let anyone touch you in such a way? What is it about her that had you caving in without a second thought? What is it about her that has your emotions going into overdrive?

The coffee nearly burns your tongue and leaves behind a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about this. And sure, maybe the coffee wasn’t a good idea either, but what does it matter? All you have to do is work, hopefully stay alive, and come back to a boring life after a long day of saving the city. What happened last night was only a one-time thing. There’s no reason to mull over it again.

You unceremoniously toss the paper cup into the trash. Coffee was not a good idea.

The day, although surprisingly uneventful, is spent writing reports and being in the worst mood you’ve ever been in. Thankfully you didn’t need to talk to anyone, save for Kishibe who dropped by earlier to see if you were still alive.’ It was oddly kind of him to do. You’re more used to him being distant or plain merciless like he was to the chainsaw boy and the blood fiend. It’s nice to have someone look for you, think of you, even if it’s for such a grim reason.

You were tidying up for the day when your coworker approached you with a smile on her face. ‘Do you wanna come get drinks with us?’ she had asked. Seeing as you didn’t have plans for the rest of the evening—you never do—you agreed. A couple of drinks won’t hurt.

It’s not that difficult to spot your colleagues and seniors in the izakaya. It’s hard to miss them, actually, when one of them is excitedly calling your name and waving you over. They’re already drunk. You understand them, you think. You generally dislike feeling inebriated and what comes after, but with the current path you’re on, it’s the only source of comfort you have.

You grimace. You really have become your father.

The table is cluttered with beer cans and unfinished plates of snacks. Kishibe sits silently in the corner. He’s opted to bring his own drink this time around and barely acknowledges you with a glance. There are a couple other seniors you don’t recognise. With a bow that feels more perfunctory than it does respectful, you greet them and quietly slide into the booth.

Quanxi sits across from you, calm and collected like always. She doesn’t say hello to you with the same enthusiasm that her colleagues had, though she does nod and subtly raise her glass at you. Flustered, you blink, you purse your lips, and then finally you get it together and smile at her, the same way one would when seeing an old friend. Sure, that isn’t what she is, she’s just your senior, but you’d rather stay on her good side. You’ve seen how she dealt with that Hirofumi boy when they both came back last year. As attractive as you found it, you also don’t want to end up being someone she regards coldly.

You shake your head. Why are you worrying so much about what she’d think of you? All she did was acknowledge your presence. Luckily, one of your colleagues (someone you recognise, thank god) notices you and starts to ask all about your day. It’s enough to keep you busy. It’s also surprising you aren’t drained yet, considering how much more talkative they are compared to you.

“This is why I’m trying to help you out of your shell!” they playfully chide once you trail off, feeling self-conscious. “We want to get to know you better! Don’t be shy. Come on, tell me. What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been—”

Whatever phrase you were thinking of immediately goes forgotten when you feel someone’s foot brush against your ankle. You’re nearly seized with panic before you make eye contact with Quanxi and realise that it’s her doing. Somehow, it doesn’t do much to calm your racing heart. She seems so nonchalant, casually smoking her cigarette as if she isn’t threatening to make a mess of you with something so simple.

They furrow their eyebrows in concern. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah! Sorry,” you reply sheepishly. “I’ve been… well, busy. There’s a lot of backlog I still need to catch up on.”

Quanxi doesn’t do much after that, something you’re thankful for. Perhaps she took pity on you. Tearing your gaze away from her, you turn back to your colleague with a strained smile. You hope they won’t notice how you’ve tensed up and how your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

“W-What about you?”

It’s even more surprising that you can still speak while feeling so tongue-tied. Your conversation partner starts to chatter away, talking about everything and nothing, which you try your best to stay invested in. It makes for quite a good distraction, and Quanxi doesn’t tease you again until your colleagues begin to leave one by one. Until you’re eventually left alone with her.

You bite the inside of your cheek nervously. Her surprising you earlier could’ve been an accident, so nothing is stopping you from going home. You should go home. It’s not like she wants you to stay, right? She’s probably waiting for you to leave so she can do the same thing. You try to think of a polite way to excuse yourself, but nothing comes to mind and the words are stuck in the back of your throat.

“You’re thinking too much.”

You’re sober. Sober enough to be able to function, but not enough to notice that Quanxi has moved to sit next to you with her hand on your thigh. She leans in close to press a kiss to your neck, an invitation. A promise. You watch as her lithe fingers teasingly skim across your inner thigh, dancing dangerously close to your core. Your eyes remain on her hand, how it feels pressed against you, so warm and perfect—

“Not here,” you breathe, “H-Home.”

The night passes by in a blur. Before you know it, she has you on her bed, your cheeks flushed and your clothes torn from your body. Everything feels warmer, stronger, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re tipsy or if it’s because you’re pent up, but it doesn’t matter. You can’t think of anything, not when she keeps taking your breath away time and time again with every roll of her lips. Moans and broken syllables of her name leave your lips, doused in lust and whatever remaining modesty you have left.

Once isn’t enough for her. Your thighs are trembling as she pushes you into the blankets, keeping a tight grip on your shoulder as the sound of her thighs slapping against yours fills the room. The lewd noises leaving your body make your cheeks burn, and you wonder if she can feel how warm they are against her thighs when she finally lets you return the favour with your tongue. You’re sloppy and unpracticed, you know you are, but when she says your name and tells you that you’re so good for her, your heart soars.

Eager to please, you stay for what feels like an hour before she has you on your back and her fingers inside you once again. She doesn’t stop until you’re a teary-eyed, trembling mess beneath her. She doesn’t stop until your voice is hoarse from how loud you’ve been. Sleep comes easy to you that night; once more, you nestle close to her side and drift off, completely spent. The same way you did last night; only this time, she doesn’t hold you.

She’s gone by the time you wake up, and her taste lingers on your tongue as you leave her apartment feeling satiated but hollow.

—

You don’t know when meeting up with Quanxi just to fuck became a regular thing, but it did.

It’s a bad idea. You know it is. Even fucking worse now that you realise that you’re no longer doing this for sexual pleasure. You’re doing it for her affection, even if it only comes with her hand around your throat or between your thighs. You know it’s a bad idea when you always leave her place feeling used. Emotions have never been your strong suit—you’re not made to think, you’re made to do—but the whirlwind and the paradox have set you a few steps back. From what, you don’t know; all you know is that you can’t move on without her, without something more from her.

It bothers you how you both go back to work and act like you don’t know each other. It bothers you how she doesn’t even notice you when you happen to walk by. It bothers you how she feels so distant even though everything you’ve ever done with her has been things only lovers do. It bothers you how much you feel like you need her to satisfy you in more ways than what she’s currently doing. It’s not meant to be something serious. You’ve known that the moment she kissed you.

A distraction is all you are. A vice, like her drinks and her cigarettes and the other women. Something she has readily available to her, and because it’s Quanxi, you let it happen. You think she’s worth the turmoil in your mind. Why wouldn’t she be? She knows your body like the back of her hand, knows what you like, knows what you need. You’ll grin and bear it, accept the love she gives you on sleepless nights, and come whenever she calls.

Work has been busy enough for the past week or two. You were sent on a mission to somewhere in the south, ordered to exterminate a cluster of fiends and granted temporary leave after one of them managed to give you a nearly fatal wound. You don’t think she even knows that you were at the hospital until you had enough blood in your veins to heal again. It’s fine. Of course it is. She’s as busy as you are, if not more, and she has her own things to worry about.

You haven’t seen her in a while. Not at work, not at the bar you frequent. It harrows and relieves you at the same time because you feel her wherever you go. You walk in crowds hoping that she’ll be among them. You stay out hours after the work day ends hoping that you’ll bump into her. You keep your ears open hoping that you’ll hear something about her, or if you’re lucky enough, hear her calling your name. You don’t know how she’s woven her existence into your life this much, nor do you know what you want from her. But it’s not that necessary to put a stop to something you need, is it?

It’s fine if she doesn’t need you for anything else beyond sex. It’s fine that your love (is it even so?) goes unreciprocated. It’s fine if you feel cold in her embrace, and it’s fine that she’ll never be yours the same way you are hers. If this is a ‘bad idea,’ then you’ll make the most out of it—anything to keep you happy, anything to please her.

As long as she still knows your name, and as long as she still wants you, it’s enough.

It’s a particularly rough day when you leave an abandoned building with blood on your sleeves. You know your job isn’t done yet. There are reports you have to write, some civilians you need to check on, but you’re not confident that you can keep your impatience and anger under control. You’re tired, miserable, and you’re wondering if those pills do help you or if you’ve been lied to again. A cold shower and coffee weren’t enough to wake you this morning. The so-called soothing balm did nothing to heal the ache in your neck, and things went downhill insanely quickly. Today’s mission was the worst one you’ve ever had. You couldn’t save your partner in time. Their life was syphoned out of their body as they cried—no, begged you to help them, and all you could do was watch it happen.

The weight of your sword on your back feels heavier when you think of your failure today. A good craftsman never blames his tools. Can you say the same thing about yourself? Your weapon is an extension of you. The blade hasn’t dulled, but you have. It makes you feel even worse to know that you aren’t competent at the one thing you can do. If you were, you could’ve saved your partner, the one before that, and the others you lost along the way. Their blood will always be on your hands no matter how much you clean them. You’re quite sure there’s still a splatter on your shirt, but you are so, so tired. Stains are the least of your concerns.

The path to the bar is more familiar than it should be. You can barely register the worried and fearful glances people send you as you walk by them, exhausted and dishevelled. Hell, the bartender isn’t even shocked when you take a seat. He’s seen you more times than he can count. Not as many while you’re looking this beat up, though he takes it well enough. Wordlessly, he brings you your regular order. He doesn’t bother you again after that.

The burn barely fazes you anymore. You settle down the glass a bit harder than you should’ve, making you wince. You don’t want another thing to go wrong today. Quite frankly, you just want it all to be over, so you can retire, rest and visit the places you’ve always wanted to go to. Maybe get married, have a family, or adopt a pet. What a normal entails isn’t that known anymore. You’ll take anything at this point.

“Rough day?”

Quanxi leans on her side against the counter, running her gaze up and down your form. It should make you feel embarrassed, what with the current state you’re in, but you don’t think you can even care anymore.

You chuckle humorlessly. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

It doesn’t occur to you until moments later that this is your first time seeing her in weeks. A part of you feels relieved to know that she’s fine, she’s here, and another part of you is in disbelief that she still wants to talk to you despite the state you’re in. You can’t decide whether that’s endearing or pitiable.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You’ve already made several bad decisions, what’s another one going to do? You can drink the whole night, or you can do something that’ll make you feel good and forget for a little while. You cut to the chase, staring down into the glass. “My place or yours?”

She blinks, bewildered, then she speaks up again, “You can come to mine.”

The world doesn’t come back to you until you’re in her apartment again, already out of breath as you try to keep up with her hungry kisses. They’re addicting, borderline overwhelming, but you always crave for more, more, more. Her hands are on your hips and tonight she touches you with a gentleness that wasn’t present in your other trysts. Her touches are featherlight, treating your body like it’s made out of glass, and for some reason unknown to you, it’s more than enough to make you break into tears.

You pull her closer, your arms wrapped around her waist as you sob into her shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, only rubs soothing circles on your back and lets you cry your heart out. Conflicting feelings make their way into your heart, holding it tight within its suffocating grasp. You want her to say something, but at the same time, you don’t. You want to ignore everything, have her make you forget, but you also don’t want to.

Then you can finally breathe. Your cries turn into sniffles. Your breathing is shakier than it should be, but it gradually calms down. Her collar is stained with your tears, marked with your vulnerability, your weakness. It’s hard to speak. The silence kills you inside, breaks down every wall you’ve put up around you. You crumble before her, your nails lightly digging into her back as she gently lays you down on the bed. You’re still holding on to her when she tries to get up.

“I’ll get you some water,” she says. You think it’s the softest she’s ever sounded. Your hand lingers on hers for a moment before you reluctantly let her go, too worn out to ask or argue.

When she comes back, she crawls into her side of the bed. No words are shared as you curl up close to her. Her heartbeat steadily lulls you to sleep while she pulls you closer with her hand on your back, tucking your head beneath her chin.

And just like last time and the time before that, you wake up alone.

Your head hurts. Your body aches all over, hurting with the smallest movement, but you manage. Some water spills when you drink, which you haphazardly wipe away with the back of your hand. The clock on the wall tells you that you’re late for work, but you’re far too weary to move. Instead, you nestle deeper into the blankets, blankly staring at the nightstand as the city continues to live without you.

She didn’t leave you a note. Why would she? She’s not your lover; she doesn’t have to tell you anything. There’s a sense of urgency in the back of you should leave too. That there’s a busy day ahead of you, there are people and families you need to get in touch with, and there’s some loose ends that you need to tie up. It will get worse the longer you stall, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to care about it.

You don’t feel anything. You want to feel happy, angry, sad, anything, but you just can’t. Not when you’re on your own and the only company you have is the quiet. You don’t feel anything unless you’re in pain. You don’t feel anything unless you drink until you black out. But with Quanxi, you feel alive. With her, you don’t feel like a machine. You don’t feel like a killer, stained in the blood of those you failed to save. You’re someone she likes, at least enough to keep around for as long as she has. You’re someone she looks for when she needs you.

It’s not love. You know it isn’t. You don’t think she’ll ever love you the same way you love her. You’re not that oblivious to ignore what this truly is—pure unadulterated lust and desire, something to relieve stress whenever it arises. Days ago you cried until you had nothing left because you wanted more. Now, you just ignore it all. If it makes you feel good in the moment, makes you feel like you’re worth something, who are you to deny it?

You know you make bad decisions, ones that lead you to consequences you deal with alone like this one. You don’t care anymore. You never think twice. It’s just how you’ve always been.

You never think twice, but as the bed gets colder, you wonder if it’s about time you did.