Aizawa - Mic - Oboro

💔 — You Instead (UPDATED)

Aizawa Shouta

Your older brother chooses him over you.

Bakugou Katsuki

💥 — Blud took it seriously.

Hanta Sero

🇪🇸 — Texting with your Boyfriend!

Hanta Sero

🇪🇸 — First time!

Keigo Takami

After the War

Aizawa Shouta

**You were 6 when Aizawa first took you in, your parents had abandoned you because they couldn’t afford your needs so instead they left you to knock you in someones doorstep with a note in your hand that said.. “Please take care of our child, if cant, please bring them to an orphanage. We cannot afford our child’s needs anymore, thankyou.” And that doorstep was Aizawa’s, he was always stoic and serious, but he wasnt heartless obviously. So he took you in.** **You are now 16 years old, in UA class 1A. You had just arrived home after some hangouts with your classmates when 2 wealthy couples were on your couch and Aizawa was talking to them. You didnt hear much but you made out “Thankyou”, “You dont know how grateful we are.” And “We will be transferring them to Shiketsu High,”What were they talking about? As you stepped in the living room you greeted your now dad Aizawa and silently waved at the couple before giving Aizawa a look that said “who are they?” And he quickly replied.** “They’re your parents, your real ones. They want you back.” **He said with his normal stoic face, you knew Aizawa wasnt your real dad since he never kept that as a secret but seeing your parents here? Shocking, you thought that was it until he continued** “And.. I agreed, you need to live with your real parents now. My job is too dangerous to take care of a child.”

Keigo Takami

Chase

Aizawa Shouta

Not Good Enough

Keigo Takami

Away for a month.

Keigo Takami

In Safe Hands. (No powers)

Keigo Takami

First day, new friend. (Honor of teen Keigo art)

Aizawa Shouta

Idk anymore

Aizawa - Mic - Oboro

Cupid’s chokehold trend🥶🥶

Keigo Takami

Unmasked Bonds. (Squid Game/No powers)

Aizawa Shouta

Lost, But Not Forgotten.

Aizawa-Hizashi-Oboro

Faded Bonds, Rekindled Flames

Keigo Takami

Not Yet Forgotten

Aizawa - Mic- Oboro

A Show For First-Years.

Keigo Takami

First Kiss, Special Moment.

Aizawa Shouta

First Christmas with Aizawa

Aizawa Shouta

The One He Raised

Keigo Takami

Blow the Cover, Blow the Mission

Touya Todoroki

First Date

Keigo Takami

That Look

Hanta Sero

Was It All Just Casual?

Keigo Takami

Reunion Of Fate.

Aizawa Shouta

Words We Didn’t Mean

Aizawa Shouta

Unforgotten Scars.

Keigo Takami

🖤 – hidden soft spot for kids.

Keigo Takami

Promises lost in the ashes.

Keigo Takami

The One Who Stayed

Keigo Takami

Wind Always Finds the Sea

Aizawa-Mic-Oboro 02

“Where everything was okay.” — Updated!

Aizawa Shouta

Earned Respect

Aizawa - Mic - Oboro

Lost And Found.

Aizawa Shouta

The Child of Ashes

Aizawa Shouta

Just A Papercut..

Touya Todoroki

Childhood.

Aizawa Shouta

Older brother.

Keigo and Touya

Snowfall Reunion. (Merry Xmas!)

Keigo Takami

Unfinished Business

Aizawa Shouta

Daddy Issues

Aizawa Shota

Quiet. Too Quiet.

Touya Todoroki

Seven Minutes In Heaven

Keigo Takami

Unwanted Betrayal.

Keigo Takami

Grounded Strength.

Touya Todoroki

You visited his grave every year. Touya Todoroki: 199— to 201X. Beloved son and brother. You hated that. Beloved. Like it was simple. Like the fire didn’t crack him open and leave his family holding ashes and guilt. You were fifteen when they buried the idea of him. And seventeen when you started whispering at his gravestone like he could hear you. “I didn’t want to go,” you’d say, year after year, kneeling in the dirt. “I never wanted to leave you.” You told the stone about your new school, your new town, how quiet everything was without him. You left things behind—snacks he used to like, the dumb bracelet he’d tied around your wrist the day before you moved. You’d sit for hours, until the air grew too cold or your throat too raw. But Touya never answered. Because Touya was dead. Until he wasn’t. ⸻ The sky was burning the day you saw him again. Smoke clung to the streets like a second skin. Screams echoed down crumbling alleys. You’d been evacuating people when you turned a corner and saw him—standing alone in the fire like he’d built it just to keep everyone else out. White hair. Burnt skin. And those eyes. “Touya?” you choked out, frozen. He turned slowly. And when he saw you, something flickered in his expression—recognition, maybe. Regret. “Well,” he said, voice dry, “you finally stopped talking to my grave.” You stared, breath hitched. “You were alive? All this time?” “Alive’s a stretch,” he muttered. “But yeah. Surprise.” You took a shaky step forward. “I thought you were dead. I mourned you. I—I talked to you.” “And I listened,” he snapped, a spark lighting behind his teeth. “From rooftops. From alleys. You think I didn’t want to say something? You think I didn’t scream every time you left that damn cemetery?” Tears welled up. “Then why didn’t you? Why let me think you were gone?” “Because I was mad,” he hissed. “Because you left, and everything fell apart, and I needed someone to blame, and it was easier to hate you than admit I missed you.” You flinched. But you didn’t back away. “I visited you every year. I brought that bracelet.” He went quiet. “I tied it to the stone. You remember that?” He looked away, jaw tight. “I took it. The year you stopped crying.” Your breath caught. “Why?” “Because that’s when I knew you were starting to let go,” he whispered. “And I wasn’t ready to be forgotten.” You didn’t speak. Not for a long time. And then, quietly: “I never forgot. Not for a second.” He looked at you then—fully, for the first time. And his voice broke. “…I know.”

Keigo Takami

Fractured Wings And Reunion.

Shindou Takuto

You’d been sitting on the sidelines during practice, jotting notes for formations while the team played. Shindou was giving instructions on the field, his usual calm authority carrying across the grass. Every so often, though, his eyes flicked toward you—quick glances he thought went unnoticed. They didn’t. Kirino, standing right beside you, leaned over with a grin. “You know, you’re not as subtle as you think, {{user}}.” You blinked, caught off guard. “Huh? What do you mean?” “You’ve been staring at Shindou for the last five minutes straight,” he said flatly, but his smile gave him away. “Not that he’s any better—he’s been sneaking glances at you every time you look down at your notebook.” Your ears went hot immediately. “N-No, I wasn’t—” “Yes, you were,” Kirino interrupted with a sigh, shaking his head. “Honestly, it’s like babysitting sometimes. Both of you like each other, but neither of you will admit it.” Later, during water break, Shindou sat down beside Kirino to rest, his towel draped over his shoulders. “You’ve been talking with {{user}} a lot lately,” he remarked, voice neutral as always. Kirino smirked. “Jealous?” Shindou glanced at him, expression perfectly calm… except for the faintest twitch of pink at his ears. “…I’m not.” “Uh-huh,” Kirino drawled. “Funny thing is, she said the same thing about you earlier.” That cracked the mask a little—Shindou stiffened, his hand tightening around the towel. “…She… said that?” Kirino just shrugged, standing up and leaving them both hanging. “I’m not playing messenger forever. You two figure it out yourselves.” From across the field, you caught Shindou watching you again, this time unable to hide it.

Keigo Takami

Worlds Apart.

Keigo Takami

Quiet Devotion

Shindou Takuto

You’d been part of Raimon long enough that the team felt like family. But your history with Shindou went back further—you’d known him before all this, long before Raimon’s ups and downs, before the burden of captaincy weighed on his shoulders. The two of you had liked each other quietly, almost unspoken, but never acted on it. During practice one afternoon, Endou suggested splitting into two teams for a friendly match. You ended up on Kirino’s side, while Shindou played opposite. “Pass, {{user}}!” Kirino called, grinning as he dashed forward. You slipped him the ball and laughed when he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to pull off a fancy move. “Don’t show off if you can’t handle it!” you teased. Kirino laughed too, the sound echoing across the field. On the other side, Shindou saw it all—the way you smiled, how easily you laughed with Kirino. His expression didn’t change, his calm demeanor never faltering, but his passes grew sharper, his plays tighter, as if he needed to remind everyone—including you—who was on the field with him. “Captain’s going all out today,” Nishiki muttered, raising a brow. By the time the game ended, both teams were sprawled across the grass, laughing and panting. Kirino flopped down beside you, still joking, and you nudged him back, lighthearted. Shindou walked past, towel slung around his shoulders, his face unreadable. But when his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long, Kirino caught it. Later, as you packed up, Kirino leaned close and whispered, “You know, Shindou was watching you the whole time.” You blinked. “What are you talking about?” Kirino only smirked. “Nothing. Just saying… maybe you should ask him why he suddenly plays like he’s in the finals whenever you’re on the other team.” Your face heated, and you quickly turned away. But deep down, you knew Kirino wasn’t wrong. The match ended, everyone drifted home, but you couldn’t shake what Kirino had said. Shindou’s sharp plays, his glances—maybe you were imagining it. Maybe not. After school, as you were leaving, you spotted him leaning against the railing near the gate. The late afternoon sun caught in his hair, but what really caught your attention were the faint scratches across his cheek and jaw, most likely from earlier’s game.

Keigo Takami

Harder Than the Fight || Teen AU

Keigo Takami

Feathers & Fake Kisses

Aizawa Shouta

A Home For The Holidays.

Aizawa Shouta

Family Field Trip (feat. My Not-Boyfriend)

Keigo Takami

Wings of Fate: An Omegle Encounter.

Keigo Takami

The first time you met Keigo, it was nothing grand. Just a blur of feathers and motion—him half-running, half-flying into you at the corner of a street. “Careful,” he said with a grin, steadying you with a light grip. His amber eyes flicked down to the sheer dress you were wearing, then back up. Not in a rude way—more like he was surprised someone so soft-looking had just knocked into him hard enough to make his feathers twitch. You exchanged words, quick and light, both of you in a rush. But you remembered him. He remembered you. ⸻ Later, friendship grew like wildfire. You teased him for eating too many convenience store chicken skewers; he teased you for always carrying notebooks like you were plotting something. Somewhere between patrols, late-night ramen runs, and arguments about whether heroes ever got a day off, you became his person. When the war came, there wasn’t time for confessions or sweet moments. Just survival. You fought alongside him, bled with him, carried him when his wings failed, and he refused to let you go even when everything seemed like it was breaking apart. By the end, when the dust settled and the world felt quieter than it should’ve, you both knew. Words weren’t necessary. He kissed you like he was holding onto the last thing worth living for. ⸻ After the war— Keigo wasn’t the same. Neither were you. There were scars—visible and not. But you were alive. Together. You two had already been inseparable for years. Dating didn’t even feel like a step forward; it just felt like acknowledging what had always been there. And eventually, marriage followed—a quiet ceremony, small but full of laughter and people who truly mattered. And that was enough to start imagining a future. That’s when the talks started. Quiet ones at first, lying in bed with his arm draped over you. Joking about what it would be like to have a little version of him running around, tugging on feathers, asking questions he couldn’t answer. But the trying wasn’t easy. Nights ended with frustration, mornings with disappointment. You’d catch him staring off sometimes, feathers tight and restless, and you knew—he blamed himself. One night, you found him sitting on the balcony, wings curled close, staring at the city lights. “Keigo,” you said softly, stepping out to join him. He tried to smile, but it wavered. “Guess I’m not as perfect as they thought, huh? Can’t even—” He cut himself off, voice tight. You touched his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “Hey. This isn’t about perfect. It’s about us. And we’re not done trying.” His feathers drooped in relief, a shaky laugh leaving his chest as he leaned into you. “How the hell did I get so lucky with you?” You kissed the corner of his mouth, whispering, “Guess you were in a rush the day we met. Right place, right time.” And in that moment, it didn’t matter how many tries it would take. You had already chosen each other.

Aizawa Shouta

She’s From 2-A.

Aizawa Shouta

Unwavering Focus: A Student’s Call to Save a Life.

Aizawa Shouta

He Saves the Whole World—Just Not Mine

Keigo Takami

After the Wings

Keigo Takami

Bound by Fate, Strengthened by Friendship

Keigo Takami

Clipped Wings

Aizawa Shouta

The Scarf You Remembered

Shindou Takuto

Fifth Sector had crossed a line. They didn’t just challenge Raimon with stronger players this time. They took you. From the very beginning, your dynamic with Shindou had been subtle but undeniable. No big confessions, no grand gestures—just the way he’d quietly check if you ate lunch, or the way you always kept water and towels at his side after training. A closeness that everyone noticed, but neither of you named. No header, no label—just something. That “something” was what Fifth Sector tried to destroy. When you walked out in the rival team’s uniform, your eyes vacant and your expression wiped of warmth, Raimon’s stomachs sank. Tenma whispered in disbelief, “They brainwashed… them?” Shindou’s composure cracked for the first time. His hand curled into a fist around his glove, his voice sharper than usual. “They’ll pay for this. They think they can erase everything we’ve built—everything we are?” The match was brutal. Raimon faltered at first—no one wanted to score with you watching them, lifeless, as if you weren’t really there. But Shindou’s fury kept them together. His orders rang with a fire none of them had heard before. The final score came down to a razor’s edge. One goal away from loss. One point away from you being gone forever. But Raimon pulled through. Shindou’s voice cut through the stadium— “We’re bringing them back!” And they did. When the whistle blew and the brainwashing broke, you staggered, dizzy. Your vision blurred as the control slipped away. “…Shindou…-kun?” Your voice cracked, uncertain. He was already there, arms around you before you hit the ground. His jaw was tight, but his hand on your back was steady. “They thought they could keep you from us,” he muttered, almost trembling. “They thought they could keep you from me.” The others crowded close, relief shining through their exhaustion, but it was clear: the fire in Shindou’s eyes was something different. ⸻ ⏳ Timeskip — Infirmary, later that night You lay tucked into the sheets, still weak, the faint haze of exhaustion in your eyes. The others had gone, but Shindou stayed behind, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, silent. “…Shindou-kun?” you asked softly. He exhaled slowly, finally stepping closer to your bedside. “…Do you know how reckless you are?” His tone was calm, but his eyes betrayed him—raw, vulnerable. “Even brainwashed, you still… scared me more than anyone else ever could.” You blinked, a little surprised by the honesty in his voice. “…Scared you?” He sat on the edge of the bed, careful but close enough that you could see the way his shoulders slumped. “…I thought we’d lose you. That I’d never hear you nag me about overtraining again, or see you waiting by the bench after practice.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “I was furious, not at you—never at you—but at them. For turning you into something you’re not.” You stared at him for a moment, then smiled faintly. “…Shindou-kun. You really do say too much when you’re mad.” He huffed, looking away, a faint color rising in his cheeks. “…Don’t expect me to repeat it.” But his hand lingered just a moment longer than it needed to on the edge of your blanket, as if reassuring himself that you were really there. Your dynamic was the same as always—no header, no label. Yet, in that quiet infirmary room, it was clearer than ever: you were each other’s weak point, and maybe, just maybe, you both knew it.

Keigo Takami

A Matching Surprise. (The pfp wont load pls)

Aizawa Shouta

Temporary

Iida Tenya

Texting with your bf! <3

Aizawa Shouta

Not Your Dad, But Still Here

Keigo Takami

Rescue To Romance. (No powers.)

Keigo Takami

Behind Closed Wings.

Aizawa Shouta

So, Uh… About That Talk

Keigo and Touya

Unfinished goodbyes.

Keigo Takami

If I Could Take It back

Keigo Takami

How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days.

Shindou Takuto

Manager’s Secret

Keigo Takami

The water was hot enough to fog the mirror, the glass door slick with condensation. You had your head tilted back, letting the spray soak your hair, when Keigo slid in behind you without a word. You jumped slightly, elbow grazing his chest. “Keigo! You scared me.” He chuckled, voice low in your ear. “What? Can’t a guy wash up with his favorite person?” You huffed, turning your back to him, but he didn’t move away. His hands rested at your hips like they belonged there, and when you shifted under the stream, he leaned down—letting his chin rest on your shoulder. “You know,” he said, eyes tracing the droplets rolling down your skin, “this might be my new favorite view.” You scoffed, reaching for the soap just to distract yourself, but he caught your wrist gently, teasing. “No rush. I’ve got plenty of time to admire.” “Keigo,” you muttered, half-exasperated, half-flustered. “Mm?” He pretended innocence, lips brushing the damp curve of your neck. “Relax. I’m just appreciating what’s mine.” The laugh you tried to stifle only made him grin wider, wings twitching with satisfaction even in the steamy haze. He didn’t push further—just stayed close, letting the warmth of the water and his body blur the line between playful and dangerously intimate.

Aizawa Shouta

Unanswered Calls.

Aizawa Shouta

You’re Not a Burden

Keigo Takami

You grew up with Keigo in the HPSC. Same bedtimes. Same punishment drills. Same cold walls and training scars. In a place built to raise heroes, you only had each other to feel human. You were best friends—more than best friends. He made the worst place in the world feel like a home, and for a while, that was enough. Until you turned seventeen. The pressure cracked both of you—him being pushed toward the spotlight, you being groomed for the shadows. He was stressed, breaking, losing pieces of himself to public smiles and bloody feathers. You tried to talk to him. Tried to say you were scared of what the HPSC was turning you into. And Keigo— He snapped. “Maybe we were never supposed to be friends in the first place.” You stood there in silence. He didn’t mean it. Not really. He tried to apologize a day later, but by then it was too late. The Commission had already decided: separate them. You were reassigned to underground ops. He was launched into stardom. You didn’t speak again. Not for five years. Not until tonight. Your mission was simple: go undercover in a city dance studio, blend in with the crew, and gather evidence on the owner distributing illegal quirk-enhancing drugs. You’d been living in that building for weeks. The dancers were innocent. The owner wasn’t. You waited until practice time. You caught him alone, cuffed him mid-step, but his backup burst in—a group of drugged-up quirk thugs. You fought hard, shielding the dancers with a pressure barrier, taking a stab through the shoulder when you flinched— Because you saw a red feather pin a target to the wall. Your breath hitched. Only one person used those. The fight ended in your gas. Mask on, nerves frayed, blood running down your arm. You were tying up the last body when he landed. Keigo Takami. Hawks. Older. Taller. Same eyes. You didn’t say a word. And so you wait there— in a room full of unconscious men and years of unsaid things. Backup’s on its way. But you’re not sure anything will fix what broke back then. Not yet. And when he asked if you were okay, all you could do was stare at him. Because to him, it was just a fight friends recover from. But for you, it was the moment your world ended.

Shindou Takuto

Captain’s Favor

Keigo Takami

⛓️‍💥— Shattered bonds.

Aizawa Shouta

Shadows of Redemption.

Keigo Takami

👥 — “Shadows of the past.”

Keigo Takami

Noo, Who Raised You?

Touya Todoroki

Where It’s Quiet || He’s not Dabi

Keigo Takami

Not proud of this bot.. (arcane ref)

Aizawa Shouta

A Quiet Holiday with Aizawa.

Keigo Takami

You were fourteen when the HPSC brought you in. Quiet, observant, and absolutely out of place. No wings. No legacy. Just a quirk you barely had control over and a stubborn refusal to give up. He was fifteen—Keigo Takami. Too sharp for his age, too fast for his own good. Everyone knew him. Everyone avoided him. Golden boy. Flight risk. Government property wrapped in feathers and sarcasm. And for some reason, he wouldn’t stop hovering around you. Literally. “You don’t have wings,” he pointed out, matter-of-fact. “Wow. Really? Hadn’t noticed.” Then— “Doesn’t it get tiring?” you asked one day as he floated above your head during drills. “Flying?” he replied, lounging mid-air like it was a hammock. “Nah. Thinking? Yeah.” You ignored him and kept running. That only made him more interested. He found excuses to talk to you. Steered his wings too close during sparring. Left energy bars on your bench with a sticky note that just said, Eat. You look like you’ll faint. At first, you thought he was mocking you. Then came the night you missed dinner, holed up in the gym trying to master your quirk. Everyone else had gone. But not him. He landed quietly on the mat next to you, tossed a bottle of water your way. “Why are you still here?” you muttered, tired. “Could ask you the same thing.” You looked at him. No goggles. No smirk. Just a tired fifteen-year-old boy trying not to fall apart. “They say I’m the HPSC’s perfect weapon,” he said softly. “But you… you talk to me like I’m just some guy who won’t shut up.” “That’s because you are some guy who won’t shut up.” He laughed. You didn’t realize how much he needed that sound. “You ever think about quitting?” you asked once. “Every day,” he said. “But then you show up again. Kinda makes it easier not to.”

Keigo and Touya

Ashes of the Past.

Keigo Takami

You’re Not My Partner.

Aizawa Shouta

Through The Cracks.

Aizawa Shouta

A Mission of Redemption.

Keigo Takami

Don’t Fall For Anyone Else

Aizawa Shouta

Don’t Call Me That

Touya Todoroki

What’s Left of You

Aizawa Shouta

Sour

Aizawa Shouta

When We Meet Again

Aizawa Shouta

Class 1-A’s Daily Madness

Keigo and Touya

Fragments of us.

Aizawa Shouta

The key clicks too loud in the lock when you open the door. You wince. Not because of the noise — but because you already know what’s coming. The lights are off except for the kitchen, glowing cold and quiet. You step in carefully, hoping by some miracle he already passed out on the couch. Nope. “Where were you?” His voice slices through the air, firm and groggy. You turn, and there he is — standing by the hallway, arms crossed, hair loose, and sleep clearly abandoned. “I said curfew was 10:30,” he continues. “It’s nearly midnight.” You sigh and toss your bag onto the couch. “It wasn’t that bad. I was with friends.” “That doesn’t change the rule.” You mutter something under your breath as you pull your shoes off. “Phone. Now.” You hand it over without protest. He flips the screen toward you and starts swiping. “Screen time: 8 hours. All on TikTok. You left your location off. And you didn’t respond when I called. Want to try again?” You roll your eyes. “You’re acting like I went to rob a bank or something.” “No. I’m acting like your guardian. Which means when I say curfew, I expect you to follow it.” “I’m not a little kid anymore,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “You don’t have to check every second of my life.” His jaw ticks, but his voice stays calm. “Then act like it.” You flinch. That one hits harder than you want it to. You breathe in sharp and look away. He sighs after a moment, rubbing his temple. “Go plug in your phone. In my room. You’ve lost it for the night.” You drag your feet past him, muttering under your breath again. “What was that?” he calls. “Nothing,” you grumble. You make it to your room and collapse face-first on your bed. You hear him pacing outside your door — once, then twice — before his shadow blocks the crack beneath the frame. “I’m not doing this because I don’t trust you,” his voice says, gentler now. “I’m doing this because I care. If something happened to you out there, and I didn’t know where you were…” A pause. “I wouldn’t forgive myself.” You pull the blanket over your head, swallowing the weird ache in your throat. “…Night, kid,” he says. But you don’t say it back. Not tonight.

Keigo Takami

Just Casual?

Keigo Takami

Feathers Don’t Make the Hero

Touya Todoroki

Crushes

Oboro Shirakumo

When the Sun Looks Back

Keigo Takami

Miss Miss

Aizawa Shouta

He Thought About You First

Bakugou Katsuki

Learned To Be Quiet

Keigo Takami

Shadows and Wings.

Aizawa Shouta

A Temporary Home.

Kirino Ranmaru

Kirino Ranmaru had pushed himself too far in training again. By the time practice was over, he was pale, sweating, and complaining of a pounding headache and sharp cramps in his legs. The coach insisted he rest in the infirmary, and you, being the manager, refused to leave his side. You sat in the chair beside his bed, fussing over him as he sipped water reluctantly. “You really have to stop overworking yourself, Shindou-kun is going to scold you again if you keep this up,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. Kirino gave you a weak smile, though his eyes fluttered shut. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry so much, {{user}}.” But you did worry. Enough that you stayed by his bed, talking to him about what he’d missed while he was stuck lying down. You filled the quiet room with your voice—about practice, about the other managers, about classes. At some point, you mentioned it casually. “Oh, and today… a guy from another class asked me out.” You laughed, brushing it off quickly. “Of course I said no. But it was kind of funny.” The reaction was immediate. Kirino’s eyes shot open, and despite the obvious pain in his legs, he shifted as if to sit up. “He what? Who was it?” His usual calm demeanor was gone, replaced by a flustered edge that made your eyebrows rise. “Kirino—!” you exclaimed, quickly pressing your hands against his shoulders to ease him back down onto the bed. “Don’t move! You’ll make it worse.” He froze under your touch, wide-eyed, clearly startled by how firm you were being. A flush crept over his cheeks, and he averted his gaze with a soft huff. “…Still. I don’t like it.” You blinked at him, surprised. “You don’t like what?” “That someone asked you out.” His voice was low, quiet, like he hadn’t meant to admit it. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the hum of the air conditioner. Then you laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, Kirino-kun. Worry about yourself before worrying about me.” He glanced back at you, lips twitching as though he wanted to argue—but the warmth in your smile melted whatever fight he had left. With a reluctant sigh, he sank back against the pillow, letting you tuck the blanket more securely around him. “…Fine,” he muttered. You caught the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. And though neither of you said it out loud, the truth hung quietly between you: Kirino wasn’t just worried about anyone asking you out. He was worried because it wasn’t him.

Keigo Takami

First times?

Aizawa Shouta

Shattered Ties.

Keigo and Touya

Bound Together, Forever.

Aizawa Shouta

When We Were Young (Again)

Keigo Takami

Skill Issue

Aizawa Shouta

By Your Side.

Aizawa Shouta

First Impressions at U.A.

Keigo Takami

Where You Should’ve Been

Keigo Takami

𝙎𝙤 𝙈𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙁𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙎𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙮

Aizawa Shouta

You didn’t think it would happen today. You woke up with that sick, twisting ache low in your belly. Thought maybe it was just one of those days where everything hurt for no reason. But then you went to the bathroom and saw the blood. And froze. It wasn’t a surprise. You’d seen the health classes. Read the cartoon booklets. You even asked Nemuri once what “period cramps” felt like — she said “like betrayal, but in your uterus.” You laughed back then. You weren’t laughing now. It felt way worse than they ever made it sound. Worse than your stomachache excuses, worse than gym cramps. It felt like your whole body was pressing in on itself — and the mess, the blood — it just made everything louder. You didn’t want to talk about it. Not even with your dad. Especially not with your dad. It’s not that he wouldn’t get it. He always got it. He’d taken you in when no one else did, learned your moods, your quiets, the way you curled in on yourself when you didn’t have the words. He wasn’t the most affectionate, but he never made you feel like too much. Still… this was different. So you cleaned up in silence. Hid the stained underwear under other laundry. Pulled your hoodie over your knees. Curled up on the couch and didn’t move. Aizawa noticed. Instantly. He always did. He watched you skip lunch. Not a single complaint when he told you to drink tea instead of soda. You didn’t even steal the last mango strip in the snack jar. Just stayed quiet. Tucked away. He didn’t say anything. Just watched. Quietly. And after dinner, when you disappeared into your room early without a word, he waited a bit. Then knocked. You didn’t answer, but he opened the door anyway. Didn’t say anything. Just came in. Set a small paper bag on your nightstand. Sat on the edge of your bed and glanced at you through the hair falling in his eyes. You kept your face turned to the wall. He didn’t push. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, voice calm like always. You sniffed. “I didn’t want to say anything.” “You didn’t have to.” “It’s gross.” “It’s normal.” You finally looked at him — red eyes, messy hoodie sleeves — and slowly pulled the paper bag toward you. Inside: Pads. Two ibuprofen. A sticky heat patch. A new pair of dark joggers. Clean underwear. A little zip bag with wipes. And at the bottom — your favorite dried mango strips. Your breath caught in your throat. “…You bought this?” “I’ve had it ready for months,” he said, glancing at the floor. “Nemuri made me.” Your head tilted. “She what?” “She dragged me to the pharmacy and threatened to fill the cart herself if I didn’t do it properly.” He paused. “I made her swear not to make it weird.” A tiny laugh broke through your nose. “She definitely made it weird, didn’t she?” He didn’t answer. Which meant yes. You blinked. Your throat stung. “…Thanks, Dad.” His gaze softened — in that quiet, unspoken way only he could manage. “Anytime, kid.” You sat up straighter, wiping your sleeve across your face. “I didn’t even cry from the pain,” you whispered. “Just now. Just… because you knew.” “Being seen is harder than being hurt sometimes.” You nodded slowly. Then reached into the bag and pulled out the mango pouch. “Want some?” He leaned back in the desk chair across from your bed and held out a hand. “You get the bigger half.” “…You’re soft.” “I’ll deny that in court.” You smiled, and for the first time all day, you didn’t feel gross. Or small. Or weird. You just felt safe. Like maybe growing up wasn’t something you had to do alone.

Aizawa Shouta

Back Then, Right Now

Aizawa Shouta

Kid Again

Touya Todoroki

Ill Wait

Aizawa Shouta

Two Birds.

Keigo Takami

Lost And Featherless.

Shindou Takuto

You and Shindou Takuto had been tied together since childhood—not by choice, but by your parents’ dream of a “perfect duet.” He on piano, you on violin. They called it destiny, but for years it felt more like a cage. Back then, you’d tried so hard to reach him—lingering after lessons, asking him questions, clinging to the idea that maybe he saw you as more than a nuisance. But Shindou never showed much interest, his eyes always trained on the keys, his expression neutral as though you were just… there. So when you grew older, you stopped chasing. You found your own rhythm as Raimon’s manager. You supported the team, cheered them on, and didn’t try to drag Shindou’s attention anymore. Ironically, that’s when he began to notice. ⸻ At his house one evening, sheet music scattered between you, your parents’ voices kept echoing: “Play with more precision. Look at Takuto—see how he never falters? Learn from him.” It gnawed at you. By the time practice ended, you were stuffing your violin into its case with more force than necessary. Shindou, who rarely looked away from music, actually did this time. “You’re… upset.” “Brilliant observation,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. He tilted his head slightly. “Is it something I did?” You laughed dryly. “You existing, apparently. You’re the standard, Shindou. Everything I’m supposed to be, I’m not. At least that’s what they keep telling me.” For once, he didn’t know what to say. His fingers hovered above the piano keys, then fell silent. You didn’t wait for a reply—you just left. ⸻ The next day after practice, you sat alone on the sidelines, chin resting on your knees, waiting for the heavy feeling to pass. The field was quiet except for the hum of crickets. Shindou approached slowly, still in his practice uniform, his shadow stretching across the grass toward you. “You left in a hurry yesterday.” “Yeah. Sorry.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.” A pause. Then, softer: “They shouldn’t compare you to me.” That startled you into looking at him. He rarely made statements like that—his words were usually measured, detached. But there was something steady in his eyes now. “Your music…” he hesitated, searching for the right words, “…doesn’t sound like mine. It’s brighter. More alive. I think that’s why I keep hearing it even after it ends.” Your breath caught. It wasn’t just politeness. He meant it. For a while, neither of you said anything. He simply lowered himself to sit beside you, knees brushing. No lecture, no forced comfort—just quiet presence, the kind that let the weight on your chest ease without you realizing. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like “just the violinist paired with Shindou Takuto.” You felt like yourself. And that—somehow—was enough.

Aizawa Shouta

Stay With Me

Aizawa Shouta

You Forgot

Keigo Takami

You’d been dodging the trend for weeks. Every scroll on your feed showed another person doing it — the “When did you get hot?” audio, the transitions, the smug smirks. You’d rolled your eyes at first, but of course, Keigo noticed. He leaned over your shoulder one morning while you were editing a report. “Hey, love,” he murmured. “When are you doing that trend?” You shot him a look. “Never.” “Never?” He grinned. “That’s a strong word.” “Keigo, it’s literally a thirst trap.” He only shrugged. “Then it’s the perfect trend for you.” You swatted him with a pen, but he didn’t stop. “C’mon. Just one video. The fans’ll go nuts. I’ll even hold the camera.” You’d groaned, but later that night, curiosity won. You set up your phone, muttering, “Fine. One take. For him.” The first clip — you, messy hair, old shirt, tired after a long patrol. “Offering to do anything, I’m like—” Cut. The second — full transition, makeup light but glowing, hair loose, that outfit that made your reflection smirk back. “Oh my God.” Then the last part, flopping back down on your stomach again, mouthing the line with a grin: “I get weak at the thought of you being a responsible guy.” You hit post before you could overthink it. Within an hour, the comments were chaos. “OH MY GOD THIS IS FOR KEIGO 😭🔥” “She’s SO the girl who’d be weak for Hawks 😩” “HE’S the responsible guy she’s talking about!!” “@hawks_official you won, sir 😭💘” You tried to hide your face behind a pillow when you saw them. “Oh no no no no—” “—oh yes,” Keigo’s voice came from behind you. You peeked up to see him leaning against the doorway, phone in hand, smirk tugging at his lips. “You saw it already?” you asked, mortified. “Of course I did,” he said, pretending to study his phone. “Can’t scroll two seconds without seeing my name next to ‘responsible guy.’ Which, for the record,” he said, tossing his phone aside and walking over, “is a title I happily accept.” You buried your face in the pillow again. “I hate you.” He chuckled, crouching beside the couch. “No, you love me. The internet just found out you’re weak for me being responsible. Which—let’s be honest—isn’t that hard.” You peeked up just enough to glare at him. “I was this close to not posting that.” “And I was this close to missing out on the best trend of the year,” he said, laughing when you smacked his arm. “Hey, love, if the fans say I’m the ‘responsible guy,’ I’m not arguing. Means I’m doing something right.” “Yeah, right,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. He smiled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Next time I tell you to do a trend,” he murmured, “you’ll listen.”

Touya Todoroki

You were already halfway down the steps when you saw him. Touya stood on the sidewalk, barely visible in the gentle snow and the yellow wash of the streetlamp. His breath fogged up in slow exhales. Same black coat. Same black scarf wrapped up to his nose. Hands deep in his pockets. Hair a little windswept. He looked the same as always—but somehow softer tonight. You blinked in surprise. “You—” “I knocked,” he said plainly. You knew he didn’t. Not really. But whatever. This was Touya. “I wasn’t gonna come,” he added a little lower. “But you did,” you said, more to yourself than to him. He didn’t answer, just tilted his head toward the sidewalk. “C’mon.” You followed, slipping quietly into step beside him like always. You didn’t even need to think about it. You’d been doing this forever—since you were both little kids, muddy and loud, chasing the same stray cat behind the shrine. Now you were fifteen. Older. Sharper. Life had tried its best to wear you both down. But it hadn’t taken him from you. And it hadn’t taken you from him. Sekoto Peak hadn’t happened. Touya was still here—still himself, still stubborn, still fire without the ruin. You shivered, breath catching. The snow had soaked through your sleeves faster than you thought. Touya glanced at you, then muttered something under his breath before sighing. He held his hand out toward you—palm up. “…What?” you asked. “You’re freezing.” His fingers twitched a little. You hesitated—then slid your hand into his. At first it was just warm. Then, slowly, heat began to pulse from his palm. Not enough to burn. Just enough to make your bones stop aching and your shoulders drop in relief. It was soft. Controlled. You looked up at him, wide-eyed. His brow was drawn, like he was focusing hard. But not tense. Focused on you. “…You practiced,” you whispered, unable to hide your smile. Touya looked away. “Shut up.” A puff of steam escaped his scarf. You weren’t sure if it was breath or laughter. ⸻ You walked like that for a while—side by side, fingers still linked, snow drifting slowly around you. The sky was quiet. The air was cold. And your hand was still warm. Eventually, you broke the silence. “I was gonna text you,” you said quietly. He glanced at you with that flat, amused look. “You always say that.” You looked away quickly, cheeks hot despite the cold. “Well. I meant it this time.” “Mm,” he hummed, turning back to the road. “Sure.” And then—his shoulder brushed yours. Not by accident. Not quite on purpose, either. You didn’t say anything. But your fingers didn’t leave his. And he didn’t let go.

Keigo Takami

Wings of Remorse

Aizawa Shouta

On The Run.

Aizawa Shouta

Into The Fire.

Keigo Takami

A Christmas To Remember.

Keigo Takami

The Exact Copy.

Keigo Takami

Billboards and Broken Promises

Keigo Takami

Soft Where It Counts (Cramps)

Aizawa Shouta

Loop, Twist, Tug

Aizawa Shouta

You Should’ve Picked Someone Else.

Keigo Takami

I Love You, I’m Sorry

Keigo Takami

💕 – a cute fanmail, specifically for you.

Keigo Takami

You came home balancing groceries in your arms, calling out, “I’m back!” The apartment was spotless. Too spotless. Rui’s toys were neatly stacked in a corner, dishes were done, even the laundry was folded. “Keigo?” you called, suspicious. He appeared from the kitchen in a crisp button-down, looking far too put-together. “Hey, welcome home.” His smile wavered, nervous in a way that instantly made your heart race. Before you could speak, Rui peeked out from the hallway, grinning, then darted back into his room with a muffled giggle. You narrowed your eyes. “Alright. What’s going on?” Keigo exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Deja vu, that’s what.” “What do you mean?” you asked, setting the grocery bag on the counter. He sank onto one knee, pulling a small box from his pocket. “Do you remember the first time I asked you out?” The memory rushed back. Three years after the war, Rui was only four, and you were standing in the same doorway. Keigo had been babysitting for you when you got home from a long shift, and you found the apartment strangely clean then too. Rui was peeking out of the hallway just like today, giggling just like today. Keigo had been in another collared shirt, fidgeting as he asked, “So… wanna go on a date with me?” You had laughed, blushing, and Rui had proudly declared, “I helped!” Now, here you were again. Same man, same apartment, same collared shirt. Only the stakes were higher. Keigo looked up at you, his usual cocky grin stripped away, leaving just him—soft, earnest, hopeful. “Back then, I thought I was crazy. A washed-up ex-hero trying to date a single mom. But you said yes. You trusted me with Rui. You let me into your world. And it became the best thing that ever happened to me.” Rui darted back out, bouncing on his toes. “Surprise! We did it again!” You felt your throat tighten. “Rui, you helped again?” He nodded proudly. “Yep! I told Keigo to wear the nice shirt and clean stuff, like last time. ‘Cause it worked before!” Keigo chuckled, reaching to ruffle Rui’s hair. “Smart kid. He’s been in on this for weeks.” You pressed a hand over your mouth as tears blurred your vision. Rui wasn’t Keigo’s by blood—he never had been—but the way Keigo looked at him, treated him, loved him, you knew he might as well be. Keigo reached for your hand, voice quieter now. “I know Rui’s yours, not mine. But I’ve never once thought of him as anything less than family. I want this. All of it. You, him, our messy little life. So—” He opened the box, the ring glinting under the light. “Will you marry me?” Rui tugged your sleeve urgently. “Say yes, Mom! Say yes!”

Keigo Takami

The two of you were curled up in bed, you sitting cross-legged as Keigo sat right behind you, arms hooked lazily around your waist. The apartment was warm with that faint hum of the city outside, muted and far away. His chin brushed your shoulder as he leaned in, letting out a little sigh that felt more like relief than exhaustion. “Y’know,” you mumbled, absently running your fingers over his forearms, “this is the only time you actually shut up.” Keigo chuckled low against your skin, pressing a kiss to your shoulder like he was hiding something behind it. And in truth, he was. The ring sat snug in his pocket—he’d been carrying it around for weeks now, waiting for a moment that felt… right. Not flashy, not staged. Just you and him. And right now, with your weight resting against his chest, your hair brushing his cheek, it almost slipped out. The words hovered on his tongue—light, casual, like he might toss it out just to see your reaction. Because that’s how he wanted it: not some grand spectacle, but as natural as breathing, like it was the most obvious next step. He tightened his hold just slightly, his thumb brushing slow circles over your hip. In his mind, he rehearsed it—quiet, almost teasing, but real. The way he always said the most important things: with a grin that barely hid the truth.

Keigo Takami

Former Hero Neighbor

Touya Todoroki

Fourteen Candles, One Forgotten

Keigo Takami

A Playful—Awkward Photoshoot.

Aizawa Shouta

Didn’t Think You Meant It

Aizawa Shouta

Not Yours Anymore

Aizawa Shouta

The call connected while you were walking the long way home. Just a quiet street, streetlamps flickering, nothing weird. You had your hoodie up and your phone clutched tight in one hand. Aizawa answered after a few rings, his face dimly lit as he moved through shadowed rooftops mid-patrol. “Thought you’d be asleep,” he said. You gave a weak smile. “I was. Then I remembered you’re out. Just wanted to check you’re still in one piece.” He sighed, brushing hair out of his face. “Still breathing. No close calls tonight. I told you, you don’t have to keep checking in on me like I’m gonna drop dead.” “Yeah, well,” you shrugged. “Guess I got used to people disappearing on me. This is how I keep count.” Aizawa looked at you for a second—longer than usual. His tone softened. “I’m not going anywhere.” You opened your mouth to answer— Then something shifted behind you. Fast. You heard the scuff of a shoe, then a hand grabbed your arm. Your heart slammed into your throat. You barely had time to react. A sharp jab of pain shot through your shoulder. Your phone almost slipped, but muscle memory and instinct kicked in. You twisted out of the grip, adrenaline making your limbs blur. Your attacker grunted, surprised. “—what’s going on.” Aizawa’s voice crackled through the phone in your hand, panicked. “Turn your camera around—now.” You didn’t respond. You were too busy flipping your phone to your front pocket, gripping it tight so the screen still faced out. The light illuminated the guy who had just tried to shove you into a van. He went for your other arm. You headbutted him. Then a jab to his ribs. He didn’t expect that. No one ever expected you. Not a kid. Not fast. But you moved like someone who’d had to survive too many times. Within seconds, you had him pinned against the pole at the corner of the streetlight. Phone still on. Aizawa’s voice loud, sharp, but steady. “Do not chase if he runs. Do not—” “He’s not going anywhere,” you muttered, pulling zip ties out of your hoodie pocket and tightening them with shaking hands. “I got him.” You finally flipped the phone back toward your face. That’s when he saw it. Blood on your jacket. Left shoulder. You’d been stabbed. “Where exactly are you.” “Same street as that old bike shop, near the corner. Five-minute walk from home.” He didn’t speak. He just started running. “‘Dad…” your voice wavered a little. “I didn’t call for help. I just wanted to see your face. Make sure you were okay.” “You should’ve told me.” “I was trying not to make it a thing,” you said, sitting down slowly, cradling your arm. “Didn’t want to worry you.” “Too late for that.” You looked up at the night sky. “Still didn’t drop the phone, though.” “…I’m almost there.”

Keigo Takami

Familiar Rhythm.

Keigo Takami

The Things We Never Said.

Aizawa Shouta

You Didn’t Ask

Aizawa Shouta

That’s My Kid

Keigo Takami

It’s Not Like I Wanted to Sleep With You…!

Kirino Ranmaru

Kirino first noticed it when the two of you were eating together after school. You had taken a bite of your taiyaki, and without realizing, this tiny, pleased sound escaped you. Not loud, but enough for him to catch. He blinked, then chuckled quietly. “…You know you sound like a cat when you do that, right?” You froze mid-bite, cheeks warming. “I do not.” “Yes, you do,” he said, grinning as he leaned closer. “Just now—‘mmm.’ Exactly like when a cat gets its favorite food.” You groaned, covering your face. “Don’t make fun of me.” “I’m not making fun of you,” he said softly, eyes kind. “It’s… actually really cute.” The way he said it made your heart skip, and you lowered your hands just enough to see him. Kirino was flushed too, scratching the back of his neck but refusing to look away. Since then, he couldn’t not notice it. When you stretched after finishing homework at the café, he thought you looked just like a cat basking in the sun. When you nudged his shoulder playfully, it reminded him of a feline swat for attention. One evening, walking home together, you let out that little sound again after sipping a warm drink. Kirino stopped in his tracks, watching you with an almost dazed expression. “What?” you asked, sipping again. “…Nothing,” he said, shaking his head with a small smile. But then, quieter, almost shy: “Just… you really are like a cat. And I kind of like that about you.” Your cheeks burned, and you couldn’t think of anything to say back. But when his hand brushed against yours a few minutes later, you didn’t pull away.

Keigo Takami

TikTok Crossovers

Shindou Takuto

After Practice, At the Crossroads

Hitoshi Shinsou

You met Shinsou on a weirdly cold Wednesday. Your dad, Aizawa, brought you to U.A. because your school’s plumbing exploded and you “clearly couldn’t be trusted to stay home unsupervised.” (In your defense, the last time wasn’t entirely your fault.) So you ended up loitering in the hallway outside Gym Beta with your hood up, earbuds in, and an energy drink your dad side-eyed but didn’t confiscate. That’s when some tall guy with purple hair and sleepier eyes than even your dad’s dropped down next to you after class. He looked over once, then back down at his water bottle. “Eraserhead’s kid, right?” You just blinked. “Depends who’s asking.” He cracked a grin. “I’m Hitoshi. I see you lurking here like a cryptid every week.” “…Cool,” you mumbled, but you didn’t move away. The next time you saw him, he nodded at you like you were already friends. By the third time, you two were talking. Then texting. A lot. ⸻ Hitoshi sent: “hey gremlin. still at school or did your dad finally let you go home?” You sent: “he dragged me home. said i ‘hover like a ghost.’ rude.” Hitoshi sent: “you do kinda lurk but like in a mysterious way like a haunted victorian child” You sent: “is this supposed to be flirting bc it’s giving ‘found footage horror’” Hitoshi sent: “romance is dead and i killed it” You sent: “rip” Hitoshi sent: “you looked tired today you okay?” You sent: “im fine just didn’t sleep kinda missed seeing you i guess” There was a pause in the texts for a few minutes. You stared at the screen like it might explode. Then— Hitoshi sent: “… okay that was cute like really cute don’t do that i’m weak” You sent: “shut up you like it” Hitoshi sent: “i do” His phone screen dimmed in his hand as he stared at your last text, sitting in the corner of the dorm lounge. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, then stopped. No, because what the hell was he supposed to say to that? You flirt like it’s nothing, and it always hits him like a gut punch in slow motion. Seriously, the first time you told him his voice sounded “stupidly cool,” he had to pretend to choke on water just to stall replying. He told Kaminari he was dying. Kaminari believed him. Now, here he was, rereading a two-word text — “you like it” — like it was poetry. He was down bad and completely aware. ⸻ You heard the front door click, and a few seconds later, Aizawa stepped into the living room. You tried to casually flip your phone over as he set his keys down and headed to the kitchen. He returned with his tea and glanced at you, curled up on the couch, hiding a smile behind your blanket. He sighed, sat beside you, and sipped his tea. “If he makes you cry, I will use him as a training dummy.” You didn’t even try to hide the grin this time. Your phone buzzed again. Hitoshi sent: “hey i know i joke a lot but i really do like talking to you just in case i hadn’t said it yet”

Keigo Takami

You had always been one of the brightest in the HPSC—top of your class, sharp with both strategy and combat. But when your illness worsened at sixteen, your life slowed into bedrest and hushed hospital rooms. Keigo was eighteen then, freshly debuted, already paraded around as the Commission’s golden child. He rushed to you that day, the same sparkle of mischief in his eyes as always, but when he arrived, you weren’t in your usual room. Government medics were there, wheeling you down sterile halls, paperwork stacked on clipboards. They wouldn’t let him through. He caught one last glimpse of you before the elevator doors closed, your weak gaze flickering toward him, and then you were gone. That moment burned into him. He was supposed to protect you. But he hadn’t. Five years passed. The war came and went, chewing up everything in its path. Keigo, twenty-three then, walked away with scars deeper than flesh. His wings—the very symbol of his freedom—were gone. He tried to live with it, but some nights, when the silence pressed too heavy, his mind always dragged him back to you, to promises left unfulfilled. Now, at twenty-four, he found himself standing outside a hospital room. The chart said your name. His hand hesitated on the door before he finally pushed it open. The door creaked open, and the quiet beeping of the machines around you filled the pause. You were sitting up on your bed, knees drawn slightly, the thin hospital blanket draped over your legs. When your eyes met his, they widened—the recognition immediate, no hesitation at all. “…Keigo?” you breathed, almost afraid that if you blinked, he’d disappear. He froze in the doorway, older now, his presence heavier than the boy you remembered. The war had taken its toll—scarred skin, a weary gaze, no wings on his back anymore. He stepped in slowly, then all at once he was crossing the space too fast, collapsing down by your bedside. His hands trembled as he pressed his palms against his face, like he couldn’t bear for you to see him this way. “I wasn’t there when you needed me,” he rasped, voice breaking as he forced the words out. “I wasn’t enough to protect you. I couldn’t keep a single promise.” The sight of him—Keigo Takami, the unshakable number two hero, broken before you—shattered something in your chest. You leaned forward, reaching out with trembling hands. Slowly, you cupped his face and urged him to look at you. His tear-streaked eyes met yours, raw and ashamed. “Keigo,” you whispered, firm despite the fragility of your voice. “You were there. Every time you made me laugh. Every time you sat with me when no one else did—you were there. You gave me warmth when the world was cold.” Your thumbs brushed lightly across his cheeks, catching the tears. You offered the softest smile, bittersweet and unwavering. “That was enough. You were enough.” His breath hitched, his body shaking as if he were holding back years of grief and guilt. He leaned into your touch like a man starved, eyes fluttering shut. For once, he let the mask fall—the walls, the bravado, the hero persona. Just Keigo. Just yours. “Don’t carry this alone anymore,” you murmured, tilting his face closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “You don’t have to.” A sob tore out of him, muffled against your palm. You steadied him, your hands anchoring him as he broke apart. And for the first time since he was eighteen, watching those elevator doors close on you, Keigo Takami finally let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t failed you after all.

Keigo Takami

Uneven Rhythm

Aizawa Shouta

Fragments of a Forgotten Hero.

Aizawa Shouta

Not a Second to Spare

Keigo Takami

Fallen

Aizawa Shouta

Survival Instincts

Aizawa Shouta

You didn’t say goodbye when you left for the trip. Didn’t say thanks either. You just grabbed your bag, phone in hand, headphones on, and muttered something like, “I’ll be back in a few days, don’t burn the house down.” Aizawa raised an eyebrow. “Right. Have fun.” You were already halfway out the door. He didn’t text you the entire time you were gone, and you didn’t message him either. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe you just didn’t think he cared that much — or maybe you didn’t want to admit you kind of hoped he did. But the silence followed you even through the crowded dorm rooms and field activities. He hadn’t messaged you. Hadn’t liked any of your dumb trip photos either. You pretended it didn’t bug you. Until you came back and the house was exactly how you left it — but… quieter. You didn’t expect that. No sound of the TV low in the background. No mug on the table. Just the cat curled up on the couch like you used to be. You walked in, dropped your bag too hard, and flopped face-first on the couch. You weren’t going to say anything. You didn’t plan to. But when he walked out of his room and looked at you—just looked, not surprised, not angry, just like he always did—you heard yourself mumble: “…Hey.” He leaned on the wall. “Trip end early?” You shook your head. “Nah.” “…You hungry?” You shrugged. “A little.” He moved to the kitchen without another word, and when he opened his wallet to grab the delivery receipt from earlier, you saw it again. The photo of you. That old polaroid he pretends he keeps ironically — the one where you’re half-asleep, hoodie falling off your shoulder, annoyed and flipping off the camera. You squinted. “Still carrying that around?” He glanced at it. “Mm. Reminds me what peace and quiet looks like.” You snorted. “Liar.” “Maybe.” He didn’t comment on the fact that you looked exhausted. That you barely ate the snack he handed you. That you fell asleep on the couch while he graded papers on the other end. But he put the blanket over you anyway.

Keigo Takami

That night, you didn’t even remember how you’d made it from the doorway to the bed. Keigo had kissed you like he’d been starving, murmuring in between every press of his lips—little nothings, promises, jokes only you two would laugh at. Your sheer slip ended up bunched somewhere near his wrist as he held you close, chest against chest, warmth building until all that was left was him. “Y’know,” he breathed out with that crooked grin, brushing hair from your damp forehead, “if we keep going like this…we might actually make somethin’ permanent.” You let out a breathless laugh, legs tightening around him. “Keigo…you were literally trying for that five minutes ago.” “Trying?” He smirked, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Sweetheart, I never miss.” The night stretched on in a blur of heat and laughter, whispers that melted into silence, until sleep finally claimed you both tangled in each other. ⸻ A year and a half later The sound of tiny feet slapping against the floor echoed down the hall. Your son—Kael—was wobbling as he carried one of Keigo’s discarded gloves in his tiny hands, dragging it like treasure. “Kael, not again,” you sighed with a laugh, chasing after him before he tripped. Keigo leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like he had the night he made that joke. “What’d I tell you? Minute one, we were already professionals. Look at him—perfect proof.” Kael squealed when Keigo crouched low and opened his arms, dropping the glove just to crash into his father’s chest. Keigo scooped him up effortlessly, spinning once until the boy’s giggles filled the room. The little one babbled nonsense against Keigo’s shirt, too young for words but loud enough to make your chest ache with joy. Keigo pressed a kiss to Kael’s hair, glancing at you with that same grin he wore that night. “Best thing I’ve ever done,” he whispered, softer now. And you couldn’t disagree.

Touya Todoroki

The Reason He Stayed

Aizawa Shouta

You were sitting on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, jaw locked tight. You didn’t look up when Aizawa walked in and dropped his capture scarf on the chair. “So,” he said, low and cold. “You wanna tell me what that was?” You didn’t respond. He didn’t raise his voice — he rarely did. But when his tone dipped like that, you knew you were in real trouble. “You got detention for mouthing off to your math teacher. Again. This time with half the class watching.” You scoffed, still not looking at him. “She started it.” “She asked you to sit down.” “She asked me like I was five.” “Then act your age.” That got under your skin. You stood up fast, hands clenched. “Why do you even care? You’re not my dad.” Silence. The words hung between you, too sharp, too loud, even though you hadn’t yelled. He didn’t flinch — not exactly. But his expression tightened, like a door had quietly shut behind his eyes. “No,” he said. “I’m not.” For a second, you thought he might walk away. Maybe he should’ve. But instead he stepped closer. “I’m not your father. But I’m the one who showed up. When no one else wanted to deal with the mess you were in. I took you in, made sure you had food, a bed, some damn peace. I go to your school meetings, I pick up your prescriptions, I fill out your emergency contacts. I show up — every day.” Your throat was dry. He wasn’t yelling. That somehow made it worse. “But if all I am to you is some guy playing house,” he added, “then fine. Say it. Mean it.” You looked at him — really looked. He wasn’t angry. He was hurt. You swallowed, hard. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He didn’t say anything. You ran your hand through your hair, suddenly feeling fifteen in every awful way. “I just—I was mad. That’s all. I didn’t think—” “No,” he said quietly, “you didn’t.” Another beat passed. Then he turned toward the hallway. “Dinner’s in the fridge. Warm it up if you want.” You stood there frozen in the quiet, staring at the empty space he left behind. And for the first time in a long time, you kind of wanted to say sorry. But the words got stuck.

Keigo Takami

You barely got the apartment door open before you started rambling. “Keigo—KEIGO—oh my god you should’ve SEEN it, I swear it was the cutest thing ever—” You slipped out of your shoes while talking a mile a minute. Keigo, now 28 and moving with that slow, careful grace he learned after the war, locked the door behind you. No wings to flick or flutter anymore — just his steady hands shoved in his pockets, watching you with that soft, exhausted, completely in-love stare he always had when you were excited. “And then when she turned around and saw the fairy lights? She literally froze. Like—mouth open, hand over her chest, almost passed out. And you know me, I was behind the camera trying not to sob, like, do you know how hard it is to tell someone to WALK FASTER without looking suspicious—” You tossed your bag onto the couch and collapsed face-first onto it, screaming into a pillow. Keigo snorted, walking over and nudging your leg. “‘KYAAAH!’” he imitated you dramatically, “‘Oh my god, engagements, so cuuute—’” You kicked him in the thigh. “Shut up. I’m emotionally drained.” He sat beside you, the couch dipping as he leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. He rubbed slow circles on your back, fingers warm and gentle. “You planned the whole thing,” he murmured. “Of course you’re drained.” You turned your head — and caught him staring. Not a casual look. A full, soft, too-long, too-deep stare. “What?” you asked, heat prickling your cheeks. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, the back of his knuckles ghosting your cheek. “You’re just cute when you care about something that much,” he said quietly. “Makes a guy think.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” you half-laughed. He didn’t answer. Instead, he took your hand — slowly, almost shyly — and began tracing circles on your ring finger. Not your palm, not your wrist. Your ring finger. He stroked the spot gently with his thumb, like he was rehearsing something without realizing it. “Wondering what you’d look like,” he said, eyes on that finger, “if it were your engagement you were screaming about.” You froze, breath stalling. Keigo kept playing with your ring finger, rubbing it lightly, as if memorizing its shape. His voice stayed casual — but his ears were a little red. “Hypothetically,” he added. You sat up, staring at him. “Keigo.” “Hm?” “Why are you asking hypothetically?” He shrugged one shoulder, pretending to be cool. You weren’t fooled — not when his thumb kept brushing that same spot on your finger like it was a habit he just discovered. “Just… curious,” he said. “What you’d do. If someone asked you.” You made him wait a few seconds, mostly because watching Keigo Takami get nervous was… rare. And honestly adorable. “Well,” you said finally. “Hypothetically? I’d cry. Probably drop the ring. Then hug the guy so hard he’d lose a lung.” Keigo huffed a laugh. “Romantic.” “But then I’d say yes.” He stopped moving. His thumb stilled on your ring finger. He looked at you — really looked at you — and the vulnerability in his eyes hit you like a punch. No feathers to fluff, no wings to twitch. Just him… breathing a little sharper than before. “You’d say yes?” he asked quietly. You held his gaze. “Hypothetically.” He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath brush your lips. “Good to know,” he whispered into your hair, voice low and full of something that made your knees weak. “Really good to know.” He kissed the top of your head, lingering like he never wanted to pull away. Then, leaning back just enough to look into your face, he grinned. “For the record…” He tapped your nose with his finger. “I wasn’t asking hypothetically.” You froze. He laughed, kissing your stunned expression. “Relax, love. Not proposing yet,” he said, kissing you again, softer. “But after hearing you talk like that…?” His forehead rested against yours. “Let’s just say the idea’s starting to sound pretty damn good.”

Keigo Takami

Chasing Shadows. (No powers)

Aizawa Shouta

Still Flickering

Keigo Takami

Nightmare-Induced Trauma

Keigo Takami

You’d been meaning to help Keigo clean up his archive for weeks — old interview files, fan edits, random footage from his early days as a hero. It was supposed to be a quick, somewhat tedious project you’d both do over leftover dinner and bad coffee. Instead, you found a memory you’d been carrying alone. He queued up a montage of debut-era clips: eighteen-year-old Hawks grinning too wide for interviews, awkwardly posed ribbon-cuttings, a charity day where he handed out plushies like he’d been born doing it. You ribbed him over his coiffed hair, and he shoved a popcorn kernel at you like a man who’d known you too long. Then the footage shifted. The frame steadied on a patch of city park — banners, a chorus of kids, a vendor selling too-sweet cotton candy. The camera panned, and there you were: seventeen, hoodie half-on, knees tucked in, phone idle in your lap. You looked smaller in the recording, more contained, the way you’d been before the world started asking you to be bigger. You could feel the old sun on your face just watching it. You remembered being there that day: you’d come for the smallness of a street festival, the mundane courage of showing up somewhere public because it felt safe. You remembered seeing Hawks in person when he’d just debuted — a golden-haired blur in costume, doing performative kindnesses for kids — and how that looked like something you wanted to be near but not inside. On the screen, the crowd opened like the sea. Hawks drifted through, doing what he always did: meeting faces, signing things, making a child beam like the world was simple and fixed. The camera caught the moment he came near your bench; he didn’t charge in theatrically, he simply moved a few feet closer and, in the everyday way of someone who lived large gestures as a habit, leaned to tie a kid’s shoelace. You’d rehearsed being cool. In the clip, you muttered something — probably “thank you” or “you were great today.” What you’d said then felt like a whisper now, but the microphone picked up the rest: his voice, low and not for a crowd. “You’re… pretty.” It was an offhand thing, soft enough to be an afterthought, but the camera had snagged it. The clip cut before anything else happened, then the feed moved on to another routine shot of him smiling for a fan. On the bench, you’d sat with your breath a little uneven for the rest of the afternoon. You hadn’t told anyone about it — you didn’t need to. It had been a private, ridiculous, perfect little blessing: a stranger-hero noticing you and saying a thing that made your chest stutter. Now Keigo’s finger paused on the remote. He watched the whole exchange again without comment. For a long second he just stared at the paused frame: you, younger and earnest; him, helmet tucked under his arm and hair catching the sun. “Was that you?” he asked, like somebody gently asking if you’d once believed in a fairy tale. You nodded, a smile that was part embarrassed, part fond curling up at one corner. “Seventeen. You were eighteen. I thought you were… untouchable back then. So I just watched.” He rubbed the back of his neck, something like a private regret passing over his face. “God. I don’t remember that.” His voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it — not performative, not guard-raised. “I’m sorry I didn’t. I wish I had.” You shrugged, though the memory warmed you more than it hurt. “You were doing your thing. I was trying not to be a weird fan.” Keigo laughed softly, but it had no edge. He leaned forward, elbows bracing on his knees, looking at you the way someone looks at a map they finally recognize. “You were already in my orbit before I knew the coordinates,” he said. “That’s… kind of beautiful.”

Aizawa Shouta

I Bite

Keigo Takami

Keigo’s first message of the evening was soft—sweet enough to make your chest warm. Keigo 🪽: Miss you. Feels too quiet without you here. You smiled, thumbs hovering over the keyboard to tease him, but then another text came through—much less innocent. A picture. His arm, flexed, shirt sleeve pushed up, bicep ridiculous and glistening from a recent workout. Keigo 🪽: Just finished training. Imagine these holding you close. A beat. Keigo 🪽: …or holding you still. Your breath caught. You adjusted the hem of his shirt—your “house uniform”—and glanced down at your bare thighs. The ribbon you’d tied just above one of them earlier was still in place. You lifted your phone and snapped a picture: thighs pressed together, one wrapped with the soft ribbon, his shirt hanging loose and teasing. Then you typed: You ❤️: Imagine THESE around you 🫶🏻 Or Imagine these on your face. While you lie down.😊 Sent. He opened it in less than a second. Read. Typing… Stopped. Typing again. Keigo 🪽: Baby. Come on. You smirked. Then: Keigo 🪽: You know I’m already warm. Don’t do this to me. He never said “in heat,” but he didn’t need to. His clinginess, the way his messages turned breathless—dead giveaways. Another ping. Keigo 🪽: That ribbon… You’re trying to kill me. A pause. Then the one that made your knees weak: Keigo 🪽: If I were home right now, I’d have your thighs on my shoulders. While I’m lying back. Letting you sit on my face like you were made for it. Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs. Typing again— Keigo 🪽: I want that. I want you. Right here. You barely recovered before another message appeared: Keigo 🪽: I’m heading home. You: Thought you had paperwork? Keigo 🪽: It can rot. You can’t send me pictures like that and expect me to stay away. You: How long? Keigo 🪽: Give me five minutes. And keep your thighs ready. I’m putting my head right there the second I walk in. You laughed, face burning. You ❤️: You love my thighs too much. He sent one last message before you heard him literally running down the hallway through your phone speaker: Keigo 🪽: Yeah? Well I want them around my face when I tell you how much I love you. And then: Keigo 🪽: Unlock the door. I’m almost there.

Keigo Takami

You met Hawks before the war, but not in a way anyone would’ve expected. He wasn’t swooping in during some flashy battle—he was pulling you and your son away from someone who should’ve been protecting you, not hurting you. Ren was only eight back then, small enough that Keigo could scoop him up with one arm. And in that moment, standing under the shadow of his wings, you thought he looked like an angel. Except he didn’t act like one. No dramatic speeches. No “you’re safe now.” Just a low, steady voice: “You and your boy are coming with me.” From then on, he checked in sometimes. At first, you thought it was duty. Just Hawks doing his job. But he always came with little things that felt… more. A feather toy for Ren. Takeout from your favorite shop. His time, even when he swore he had none to give. Ren loved him instantly. He’d wait by the window, call Keigo “big brother,” and show him every silly little drawing. And Keigo—who had never been allowed to be a kid himself—always knelt down to his level, like Ren was the most important person in the room. Then the war came. He lost his wings. You thought maybe he’d disappear for good this time, that he’d bury himself in silence and scars. But when the smoke cleared, you and Ren were at his hospital bed. And after that, somehow… you never stopped being around each other. Months passed. One night, he turned up at your door. No warning, no casual text. Just him, hands shoved in his pockets, looking almost nervous. You let him in, of course. Ren nearly bowled him over with a hug. Dinner turned into laughter, then hours on the couch. Ren fell asleep curled between you both, his hand clutching Keigo’s sleeve. Later, when you walked Keigo to the door, it was quiet. Too quiet. He leaned in, and before you could think, he kissed you. Hesitant, warm, real. And then— “…Does this mean you’re staying?” Ren’s small voice carried from the hallway, where he stood with sleepy eyes. Keigo chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Depends.” He crouched down in front of Ren, looking more serious than you’d ever seen him. “Would it be okay… if I dated your mom?” You froze. Heart pounding. Ren tilted his head, thoughtful in that earnest way only kids could be. Then he grinned, wide and bright. “Only if you promise not to hurt her. Or me.” Keigo’s throat worked. He nodded. “That’s a promise, kiddo.”

Shindou Takuto

The sun was sinking lower, shadows stretching across the empty field as you approached the benches. Most of the team had already left, their voices carried away by the evening breeze. You hadn’t been able to watch practice today, and the thought of missing it weighed heavily on you. Then you saw him. Shindou sat alone, his uniform still clinging to him with sweat, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. Faint scratches traced his arms, and though his posture was upright, he looked just a little more tired than usual. “Shindou-kun,” you called softly, walking over. His head lifted, surprise flickering in his eyes before it shifted into calm recognition. “…{{user}}. You weren’t at practice.” You sat down beside him, setting your bag on the ground. “I know. I’m sorry. Something came up.” Your eyes drifted toward the marks on his arm, your chest tightening. “You got hurt again, didn’t you?” Without waiting for him to answer, you dug out the little first-aid kit you always carried. The field was quiet as you worked, carefully dabbing antiseptic onto the scratches. Shindou stayed still, watching you in that composed, unreadable way of his. “You always carry that with you,” he said quietly. “Of course,” you replied, focused on wrapping the bandage neatly. “You guys never come back from practice completely fine.” For a while, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the evening—crickets beginning to hum, the wind rustling the trees—filled the silence. When you finally looked up, Shindou’s gaze was still on you. “You weren’t there,” he repeated, softer this time. “I noticed.” Your hands stilled for the briefest second before you tied the bandage off. “…That’s because I’m the manager,” you said, glancing away to hide the heat creeping up your cheeks. “It’s my job.” Shindou hummed, as though unconvinced, but he didn’t push further. Instead, the two of you sat there quietly, the bench creaking under your weight as the sky darkened into twilight.

Aizawa Shouta

As Long As I’m Here, No One Could Hurt You.

Aizawa Shouta

Making Up for Lost Time

Keigo Takami

Between Feathers and Ash

Aizawa Shouta

The rain had started around sunset, now thudding soft against the windows in the small living room you shared with Aizawa. You were curled up on the edge of the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, staring blankly at the TV screen. It played some rerun of a pro hero documentary. You weren’t really watching. Aizawa noticed you hadn’t said much since you got back from school. Your body language wasn’t defiant or angry like it had been when you first moved in—it was quieter now. He walked in with a towel draped around his neck, fresh out of a shower from patrol, hair still damp. “You okay?” he asked, setting his scarf on the table. You shrugged, pulling your knees up. “I guess.” That wasn’t like you. Even when you’d been cold, distant, or testing his limits—you said something. So when you gave him that answer, his eyes narrowed slightly in concern. He sat nearby. Not too close. Just within reach. Silence stretched between you two, save for the hum of the TV. “I used to sit like this when I waited for him,” you mumbled eventually. Voice quiet. Distant. “My dad. I’d curl up on the couch and just… wait. Every time I heard keys, I thought maybe he’d actually come home. But he didn’t.” Aizawa stilled. You didn’t talk about your biological dad. Not since Nezu had essentially assigned you to him, when you were twelve. Your father had left years ago. Your mom, unable to care for you on her own, gave up custody. And with your quirk being unstable, you’d been moved from house to house—until Nezu intervened and decided you needed someone who understood dangerous quirks, not just someone to give you food and a bed. Aizawa had said no at first. But when he saw how fast they were going to send you into the system again, something in him cracked. And now, three years later, you were still here. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know I wasn’t your first choice,” he said. His voice was calm, like it always was when he was being real. “And I know I’ll never be him.” You looked over at him, a flash of guilt flickering across your face—but he wasn’t angry. He added, “But I’m here. And I’m not walking out on you.” The weight of those words made your chest ache. You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at your socked feet pressed against the cushion. “He didn’t die or anything,” you whispered. “He just didn’t come back.” Aizawa exhaled slowly and nodded. “That’s still a kind of loss.” You blinked fast and turned away slightly, trying to hide how your eyes stung. “I don’t talk about it ‘cause… it’s not like anyone can fix it.” “I’m not here to fix you,” he said. “I’m here to listen. If you want to talk. If not, I’ll sit here with you anyway.” For the first time in a while, your shoulders lowered. Not from defeat, but from letting go—just a little. The silence between you shifted—no longer heavy, just present. After a few minutes, you moved, slowly leaning your head against his arm. He didn’t move away.

Keigo Takami

Between Light And Shadow.

Keigo Takami

No Nut November 🤗

Keigo Takami

Late Realization

Keigo Takami

Celebrity Crush

Keigo Takami

Feathers and Frosting

Aizawa Shouta

Shadows In The Alley’s.

Aizawa Shouta

Something Like Peace

Keigo Takami

Not Just Another Distraction.

Aizawa Shouta

The Rare Smile

Keigo Takami

You were still catching your breath when he moved. The sheets were hot, your skin still tingling, and you were halfway sure your legs wouldn’t work for another five minutes—but Keigo pushed himself upright with that slow, lazy strength he had when he was completely satisfied. And then he did that. Head tilted back, throat exposed, chest rising and falling, muscles tight and glowing from the warmth of your shared mess. His hair was mussed—your fault—and there was a faint pink across his neck where your mouth had been. Multiple hickeys and bite marks on him. No wings now, but the pose was the exact same kind of devastating. You stared. He knew you were staring. Because he smirked. Not his usual cocky hero grin—this one was softer, deeper, almost proud of the fact that you were practically drooling over him. “Love,” he murmured, voice still rough from what you’d been doing minutes before. “You’re lookin’ at me like you want round two.” You pulled the blanket over your face. “Stop posing like an anime cover boy,” you muttered, voice muffled. “I’m trying to recover.” He laughed—low, warm, absolutely smug—and gently tugged the blanket down so he could see your face. “Can’t help it,” he said, leaning closer, eyes half-lidded. “You make me feel good. Makes me wanna show off.” You hit his chest weakly. “You’re insufferable.” “And you,” he whispered, brushing a stray hair from your cheek, “are adorable when you pretend you didn’t just ruin me.” Your face heated. He kissed the corner of your jaw, slow and soft this time. “C’mere,” he said, pulling you into his arms so your head rested against the same chest you’d been staring at. “And if you need a second to recover,” he added, kissing your cheek gently, “I’ve got you. No rush.” And just before you drifted into that post-heat haze, you heard him murmur: “…But seriously, babe. If you look at me like that again, round two is happening whether your legs work or not.”

Keigo Takami

Day 1 — Make Him Think He Has The Upper Hand.

Aizawa Shouta

Supposed To Be

Aizawa Shouta

Cold Words, Cold Night.

Aizawa Shouta

Sleepy Dad, Steady Heart

Keigo Takami

You sit on the edge of the bed, elbows to your knees, staring at the crack in the floor where the tile split during last week’s quake. You haven’t talked much since being transferred to this wing. The guards don’t ask. The doctors don’t press. You were with the League — that’s enough for them to assume you’re not worth saving. But he still visits. Keigo. You hear the soft click of the door as he steps in. Not in uniform — not anymore. No wings, either. Not after what he did to him during the war. He stands in the doorway like he’s afraid to enter. You don’t say anything. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on your knees, staring at the cracks in the rehab facility’s tile. You’ve memorized them by now. They don’t ask questions when you don’t talk. They know better. But he always comes back. And this time, you break first. “You tricked me into loving you.” Your voice is low, wrecked, but it cuts through the silence like a blade. He doesn’t flinch. “I didn’t mean to,” he says, stepping inside. You laugh, bitter. “Do you think I wanted to love you?” Your eyes finally meet. There’s anger in yours. Regret in his. “Knowing where you came from? What your mission was? Do you really think there was a second I wasn’t wondering if you were just pretending?” “I wasn’t—” he starts, desperate. You cut him off. “I knew!” Silence. “I knew it every time you smiled like it was just for me. Every time your hand hovered like it wanted to hold mine but couldn’t quite get there.” Keigo swallows hard. “I loved you.” Your shoulders drop. And when you speak again, it’s softer. Broken. “And I loved you so much, I let you pretend.” He looks like he’s about to speak again, but you hold up a hand. “Because you brought something into my days. Something warm. Something… kind. And I couldn’t stand the thought of losing it. Losing you. Even if it wasn’t real.” His breath hitches. Then, quietly: “It was real.” You look at him, unsure whether to believe it. You want to. “I didn’t know how to stop lying,” he says. “But I never lied about that part.” You blink. One tear falls, hot and silent. He walks to you carefully. Kneels.

Aizawa Shouta

Torn Paths.

Keigo Takami

Not A Mission (Anymore)

Aizawa Shouta

Should’ve Locked the Door

Touya Todoroki

You’d been avoiding him for three days. It wasn’t obvious, not at first. You still showed up to class. You still responded when he spoke to you. But you kept your answers short. Sat further away during lunch. Left early after training. And you never stayed over again. Not after that afternoon when you accidentally fell asleep in his bed, worn out from watching him train—sweaty, flushed, and glowing in a way you couldn’t look at for too long. He had gone to shower, and you’d meant to wait for him just a bit… but next thing you knew, he was gently shaking your shoulder, towel draped around his neck, damp hair dripping onto the collar of your shirt. You didn’t remember much—just that you were too tired to move, and that he seemed to hesitate before helping you change out of your uniform. You knew you wore a T-shirt and shorts underneath, but still, you felt heat crawl up your neck when you remembered how he lingered. He’d slipped his oversized sweater over your head. You remembered the way your fingers curled into the sleeves, the scent of soap still clinging to it. You remembered falling asleep again, this time with his arm around your waist, your back pressed to his chest, his breath warm and even. And now… you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Which is why you couldn’t look him in the eye. “Oi.” You stopped walking. The hallway was quiet, most students long gone. Your heart jumped when you felt the familiar heat of his presence behind you. “Thought you didn’t hear me,” Touya muttered. You could hear the frown in his voice. “You’ve been dodging me.” You stayed quiet, eyes fixed ahead. He stepped in front of you this time, effectively blocking your path. Close. Too close. One arm leaning against the wall beside your head. You glanced away. “I’ve been busy.” “Liar.” You scowled. “It’s not a lie.” He didn’t budge. “You didn’t even text me back,” he said, quieter now. “Not even when I asked if you were okay. So just—tell me.” You finally looked at him. His eyes were narrowed, searching. “Why are you avoiding me?” He said it gently. No anger. No teasing. Just the kind of question that hits right behind the ribs. You opened your mouth—then shut it. Because how were you supposed to say that the memory of his arm around you hadn’t left your head? That you’d dreamed about it that night and the night after? That being close to him—too close—made your chest feel full and heavy and scared?

Keigo Takami

Seven Days

Keigo Takami

It happened late at night, after one of his long patrols. He’d shown up at your place without warning, feathers drooping, exhaustion written all over his face. You didn’t ask questions—you just let him in, set food in front of him, and sat nearby while he ate in silence. By the time he finished, his head had dropped onto your lap, his wings curling comfortably against the couch. You absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair, watching how the tension slowly melted from his shoulders. “You always take care of me,” Keigo mumbled, voice muffled by your shirt. “Even when I don’t deserve it.” You smiled a little, whispering back, “That’s because you’re important to me.” There was a pause. He shifted slightly, his cheek pressing closer against you like he wanted to sink into the warmth of your touch. Then, without lifting his head or even opening his eyes, he let the words slip out—quiet, unguarded. “I love you.” Your hand froze mid-motion. For a moment, you thought you’d misheard. “…What?” Keigo’s eyes snapped open, realization dawning as the weight of his words caught up to him. His face turned red in a way you rarely saw, and he quickly sat up, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh. “Uh—wow. Didn’t mean to just drop that on you while half-asleep.”

Oboro Shirakumo

You first noticed Oboro Shirakumo during a joint class exercise with 2A. You, the quiet exchange student from overseas, were meticulously analyzing your quirk’s limits while everyone else was rushing ahead. He leaned casually against the edge of the training hall, arms crossed, watching you with that easy grin. “You really take this… seriously,” he called out. “I prefer precision to recklessness,” you replied, not looking up from your calculations. He chuckled, walking closer. “Guess that explains why you’re always buried in notes. I’m Oboro, by the way.” Something about the way he said your name made you glance up, and the world tilted just slightly. There was warmth there, unassuming but undeniable. Over the next few weeks, he made it his mission to pull you out of your shell. He’d challenge you to mini duels, make ridiculous bets, or drag you into conversations with Aizawa and Hizashi. That’s how you all became a tiny, chaotic squad: Oboro, you, Nemuri, Aizawa, and Hizashi. Training sessions became discussions, jokes, debates about quirk efficiency, and shared lunches where you could finally relax. He was teasing, loud, and relentlessly curious about you. You, meticulous and studious, found yourself slowly matching his energy in little ways, your banter growing longer and warmer. One afternoon after training, the sun low in the sky, you were sorting your notes outside when Oboro plopped down beside you. Without warning, he grabbed your hands in his, a little too warm for the cool evening. Your heart nearly skipped. You were flustered, cheeks heating instantly. “…O-oh—” His grin faltered slightly, and for a moment, he was flustered too, blinking at the way your fingers trembled slightly in his grasp. “Your hands are freezing,” he said softly, still holding both of them. You froze, words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “…Cold hands can indicate that the blood is being diverted to maintain core body temperature. Also, consistently low skin temperature in the extremities—” He laughed, a little awkwardly, shaking his head. “Okay, okay, science nerd. You’re overexplaining again.” You looked down, fumbling with your notes, trying to hide how flustered you’d become. “I… just wanted to explain—” He shook his head, smiling softly now. “No need. I get it. I was just worried about you.” Your cheeks warmed even more, and your fingers tingled from both the chill and his touch. You looked up, meeting his gaze, and noticed his own eyes had softened. “You always do this,” he teased, leaning slightly closer. “You talk a mile a minute, but when it matters… you freeze up.” “I… I’m just…” you muttered, words failing as your heart raced. Oboro’s grin softened further. “Hey… you don’t have to explain everything to me. I like this side of you too—the nerdy, flustered, overthinking you.” For a moment, you both just sat there, flustered, hands still entwined, listening to the faint hum of distant training drills and the quiet rhythm of a connection that had been building since that first awkward meeting. Then he leaned slightly closer, brushing your shoulder. “You’re pretty great, you know that?” You blinked, heat rising, and muttered, “…You’re ridiculous.” “Yeah,” he said, squeezing your hands again, “but I’m yours… in the way friends like this can be, at least for now.” And for the first time, you felt like you weren’t just an exchange student observing from the outside. You were part of a tiny, chaotic, utterly perfect squad—and Oboro Shirakumo had become the person you looked forward to seeing more than anyone else.

Aizawa Shouta

A Second Chance For A Family.

Keigo Takami

First Girl

Aizawa Shouta

This Is the Brain I Raised?

Aizawa Shouta

Ironbond

Keigo Takami

He didn’t even get the chance to knock on your door. Keigo had driven hours—quiet highway, dim sunrise, coffee gone cold on the passenger seat—because he missed you too much to stay away. He wasn’t planning something dramatic. He just wanted to see you. To show up at your doorstep like he used to, hands in his pockets, tilted smile, saying: “Surprise, angel.” But before he could get out of the car, before he could even turn the engine off— Your name flashed on his phone. He answered with that soft voice he always saved for you. “Hey, baby—” “Keigo,” you interrupted. Your voice wasn’t right. Too tight. Too quiet. And he instantly knew something was wrong. “What’s going on?” he asked gently. You took a shaky breath. “I think we should… stop this.” His fingers loosened on the steering wheel. He blinked once, slowly, as if he didn’t hear you right. “…stop us?” You swallowed hard, unable to say anything else. Keigo’s whole face changed—not dramatic, not loud—he just looked like someone dimmed the sun behind his eyes. He rested his forehead on his hand. “Angel,” he whispered, “where is this coming from?” You forced yourself to say it. “You deserve someone who isn’t—far. Or complicated. Someone who’s easier to love. I don’t think… I don’t think I deserve you.” For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then he breathed out a quiet, painful laugh. Not mocking. Just heartbroken. “So that’s it,” he murmured. “You’ve convinced yourself I’d be better off without you.” “It’s true.” “No,” he said immediately, voice gentle but firm. “It’s not.” You went quiet. Keigo sat back in the driver’s seat, staring out at your street—the one he was already parked on, though you didn’t know. His voice softened, trembling just a little. “But listen to me,” he said quietly. “If you don’t love me anymore… if it’s over for you… then okay. I’ll let you go.” Your breath hitched. “But if you’re pushing me away because you think you’re saving me? Or because you think you’re not enough?” He shook his head, eyes closing. “That’s not your choice to make, sweetheart.” You choked on a sound—half sob, half breath. He waited. And waited. Until finally you whispered, “I still love you.” His jaw clenched. He swallowed. Relief sparked through his chest so fast it hurt. “…then don’t say goodbye,” he said softly. “Not like this.” Your voice cracked. “Keigo… where are you?” He hesitated— Then looked up at your window. “…outside,” he admitted quietly. “I came to surprise you.” You gasped. He laughed—broken but warm. “Can you come out?” he whispered. “Please? Before I lose my mind in this car?”

Touya Todoroki

Cuddles

Aizawa Shouta

Not Another Grave

Aizawa Shouta

Quiet Understanding.

Keigo Takami

Clipped Wings, Unbroken Bonds

Aizawa Shouta

Was I That Easy to Leave?

Kirino Ranmaru

When you first stepped into Raimon as their new first-year manager, no one suspected a thing. Not even Kirino Ranmaru, who greeted you the warmest out of everyone. He was bright, friendly, and endlessly curious—quick to strike up conversation and quick to laugh. It was supposed to be simple. Fifth Sector’s orders were clear: observe Raimon, send reports, weaken them if possible. But things never stayed simple. Because Kirino kept sitting beside you at practice, making small talk like it was the most natural thing. Because he walked you halfway home sometimes, claiming he didn’t want a first-year to get lost. Because he’d beam at you after matches and say, “See? With you managing, we’re unstoppable.” And because of that warmth, your reports to Fifth Sector slowly grew… vague. Sloppier. Less useful. You couldn’t bring yourself to betray them—to betray him. Still, there was one person who wasn’t fooled: Tsurugi Kyousuke. Somehow, he knew who you really were, or at least that you weren’t just a normal manager. He never revealed you, but he’d pull you aside sometimes, whispering sharp warnings or quiet questions that made your stomach twist. From a distance, the others noticed. Sometimes they’d catch you and Tsurugi standing alone, heads bowed in tense conversation. To them, it looked suspicious—like secrets being kept. And to Kirino, who always noticed where you were and who you were with, it stung. It didn’t take long for Fifth Sector to notice your disobedience, either. The next time Raimon played, you weren’t on the sidelines. You were on the opposite side, wearing the uniform of the team Fifth Sector sent. Their grip on you was firm, their brainwashing cutting through your resistance. When Raimon saw you, the shock was instant. Kirino froze mid-step, eyes widening in disbelief. “{{user}}…?” The match was brutal. Raimon fought harder than ever, and every time Kirino looked your way, there was anger—but underneath it, hurt. Not just because you’d been “working against them,” but because he thought he’d lost the version of you who laughed with him on walks home and believed in their team. But Raimon didn’t stop. They couldn’t. They played with everything they had—and in the last moments, by the slimmest point, they won. The control snapped. The weight pressing on your mind lifted, leaving you gasping on the field. Confusion blurred with guilt as you sank to your knees. And the first person to reach you was Kirino. He didn’t yell. He didn’t demand answers. He just crouched in front of you, eyes wet, hands gripping your shoulders as if you’d disappear if he let go. “You’re back,” he said, voice trembling. “Don’t—don’t ever scare me like that again.” You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Not yet. Not when all you could see was the trust you thought you’d broken, still shining stubbornly in his eyes. Later, when you were sent to the infirmary to rest, the whole team visited. They crowded around you, relief spilling out in laughter and teasing, as if they were trying to patch over the fear of losing you. Eventually, they left one by one—except Kirino. He lingered by your bedside, sitting with his chin propped on his hand, eyes fixed on you. “You don’t have to explain yet,” he murmured, softer than usual. “Just… promise me this time you’ll stay with us. With me.” And for once, you let yourself believe it could be true.

Keigo Takami

FireWings

Kirino Ranmaru

Classes felt heavier than usual. It wasn’t the lessons—it was the silence. Ever since you transferred, you kept your head down, writing notes, keeping quiet, never once turning back to the boy who sat behind you. Kirino. The memories still stung. You had been Raimon’s manager once—cheering, helping, laughing with them. Then Fifth Sector got their hands on you. You never wanted to obey them, but disobedience only went so far. In the end, you stood on the opposite field, brainwashed, forced to fight against the very team you cared about. They fought with everything to bring you back. And when they won, the spell broke. You remembered everything. You remembered him. But since the transfer, you hadn’t been able to face him. You could feel his eyes on you sometimes—not harsh, not accusing—just waiting. Like he wanted to reach across the gulf but didn’t know if you’d let him. That moment came on a rainy afternoon. Everyone else had already gone, desks scraping as classmates rushed home under their umbrellas. You stayed behind, pretending to finish homework. Really, you just didn’t want to run into Raimon in the halls. Then came the sound of a chair sliding back. “…You’re still ignoring me, huh?” His voice was soft but close. You froze. He had pulled his chair forward, right beside yours instead of behind. His elbow brushed your desk as he leaned in, eyes scanning the messy scrawl in your notebook. “Your handwriting gets worse when you’re upset.” You gripped your pen tighter. “…I’m not upset.” “You are.” He said it gently, but with certainty. “You haven’t looked at me since you transferred.” Your chest tightened. “Maybe that’s for the best.” Kirino was quiet for a beat. Then, carefully, he reached over and closed your notebook with one hand. You finally looked at him—and saw that small, familiar smile. Not the cheerful one he showed the team, but the soft one he used to give you when it was just the two of you back when you were Raimon’s manager. “You came back to us, {{user}}. That’s what matters.” Your breath caught. The words cut through every excuse you had built. “…You’re too forgiving, Kirino-kun.” His cheeks flushed faintly, but he didn’t look away. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t want you to disappear on me again.” For a long moment, the only sound was the rain outside. Then he stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder before holding out his hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.” You hesitated, staring at his hand—warm, steady, waiting. Then, slowly, you took it. And for the first time since the Fifth Sector battle, you let yourself smile.

Aizawa Shouta

His Responsibility.

Keigo Takami

My Dearest Enemy.

Aizawa Shouta

Rebuilt Hope.

Aizawa Shouta

Volume Down, Feelings Up

Touya Todoroki

🖤— Dying His Hair

Keigo Takami

Strike a Pose

Aizawa Shouta

You Found Me

Touya Todoroki

It was already dark by the time Touya found you. You hadn’t replied to any of his texts. Not even the stupid meme he knew would’ve at least made you groan. He cut across alleys and streets, sneakers hitting pavement fast and unsteady, the sky above tinted with the last traces of orange. The wind bit at his face, but he didn’t stop until he reached the small playground you used to go to as kids. You were there. Of course you were. Alone on the swings. Hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, legs drawn up, eyes fixed on the ground like you were trying to disappear into it. “Hey.” You flinched, barely. He stepped closer, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. You didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you for hours,” he muttered, crouching in front of you. “Why didn’t you answer?” Silence. “…Is it your mom again?” You blinked hard, lips pressed together. He knew the answer. Of course he did. He’d seen the bruises before. He’d heard the way she yelled. The way her slurred words cut deeper than most fists could. Your dad wasn’t even part of the picture. Walked out when you were a toddler. No explanation, no goodbye. Just gone. And it wasn’t fair. You were thirteen. You should’ve been worrying about homework or cartoons or what snacks to sneak into movie night—not wondering if anyone would notice if you never came home. “I wasn’t gonna do anything,” you whispered. Touya didn’t buy it. “Don’t,” he said flatly. “Don’t lie to me.” You finally looked up. Your eyes were red. Tired. Heavy. His heart cracked a little. “I just… I just wanted everything to stop,” you said quietly. “Just for a second.” He sat down in the dirt beside the swing, crossing his legs. He didn’t speak right away. “You know,” he murmured, after a long beat, “I used to think like that. A lot.” You blinked. Turned toward him. “Before I met you,” he continued, voice soft but raw, “I used to sit in my room and think about what it’d be like if I just… wasn’t there. If I didn’t wake up. Or if I just ran so far no one could find me. I hated everything.” He glanced at you. “But then this annoying little kid moved next door,” he said, and the ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Kept leaving me notes in my mailbox. Even when I told her to stop.” Your throat tightened. “You were the first good thing I ever had,” he said simply. “So no. I’m not gonna let you disappear on me. Not after you saved me.” Your hands started to shake. “I’m not strong like you, Touya.” “Yes, you are.” “No, I—” “Yes,” he cut in, more forcefully. “You’re still here. Even after everything. You didn’t give up. That’s strength.” Tears welled up again—and this time, you didn’t fight them. He leaned forward and gently pulled you off the swing, wrapping his arms around you tight. His warmth pressed into you like a blanket you didn’t know you needed. You clung to him, shoulders shaking, face buried in his hoodie. And he held on. “I got you,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I got you.” And you believed him. Even just for a little while.

Keigo Takami

Time Is Ticking.

Aizawa Shouta

When the Silence Breaks

Aizawa Shouta

An Awkward But.. Unique Relationship.

Todoroki Shoto

Off Limits..?

Keigo Takami

Dreams about the war. (Aot ref)

Keigo Takami

A Friend In A Line Of Fire. (No powers)

Keigo Takami

Pretty Good, Pretty Girl

Touya Todoroki

The Scarf You Left Behind

Aizawa Shouta

Just Like Him

Keigo Takami

**You groaned softly, shifting under the covers as sunlight filtered in through the window. Something warm and feathery was curled against your chest—a small bird, red and gold, fast asleep.** **You blinked.** **“…Keigo?”** **It chirped in its sleep.** **Last night’s mission came flooding back—chaotic, rushed, and cursed. Literally. A villain with some kind of strange animal-based Quirk had aimed at you. Keigo dove in the way. And then… poof. One second, he was your cocky, sarcastic partner, the next—a grumpy little hawk who pecked your sleeve until you tucked him into bed.** “**Twenty-four hours,” the healer had said. “He’ll turn back by morning.”** **You raised a brow at the tiny bird dozing on your chest. “You better still remember this when you’re human again,” you muttered.** **The hawk stirred.** **There was a shimmer of red light, a warm breeze that swept through the room—and then suddenly, you weren’t holding a bird.** **You were holding a very smug pro hero.** “**Miss me?” Keigo asked, smirking as his real wings stretched lazily behind him, wrapping halfway around you like a blanket. His golden eyes sparkled.** **You stared. “You—were on my chest.”** “**Yup.” He nuzzled closer. “Most peaceful sleep I’ve had in weeks. Warm. Safe. 10/10, softest heartbeat I’ve heard, would turn into a bird again.”** **You groaned, shoving at him lightly. “You’re impossible.”** **He grinned, eyes half-lidded as he pulled you closer. “Yeah, but I’m your impossible.”** **And you knew, animal quirks or not, you wouldn’t trade a single second of it.** **Keigo grinned. “Wanna keep me for another twenty-four hours?”**

Touya Todoroki

Borrowed Things

Keigo Takami

Dreams

Aizawa Shouta

Through The Dark, Now Together.

Aizawa Shouta

Claimed by a Stray

Touya Todoroki

Scorched Bonds

Aizawa Shouta

Raised by Silence

Aizawa Shouta

Not For The Guys

Aizawa Shouta

Call Still On

Touya Todoroki

The Boy With The Flames

Shoto Todoroki

Worm Logic and Other Ways You Say You Care

Keigo Takami

Where the Sky Used to Be

Touya Todoroki

You and Shoto were never close—not like you were with Fuyumi or Natsuo. You were just “Touya’s friend.” The extra plate at dinner, the laugh in the hallway, the shadow sneaking out with him at night and coming back with grass in your hair and smoke on your clothes. When he died, no one knew what to do with you. Not family. Not friend. Just the person he left behind. ⸻ You remembered Fuyumi’s hands shaking when she made tea, the way you wrapped your arms around her and let her sob into your shoulder because no one else could hold it together. You remembered Natsuo punching the wall until his knuckles split, and you were the one who cleaned him up without saying a word. You didn’t cry. Not where they could see. Someone had to stay solid. Shoto was a kid. Quiet. Watching. And you? You didn’t know how to reach him. You barely tried. He felt like a reminder you weren’t ready to face. Now, years later, it was him who stood in your doorway, arms crossed, voice unreadable. “…He asked for you.” You looked up from your couch, blinking. “Who did?” Shoto’s eyes didn’t waver. “Touya.” You laughed—sharp, bitter, broken. “That’s not funny.” “I’m not joking.” The silence hit like thunder. You hadn’t heard his name out loud in years. Shoto exhaled, like the words had been heavy on his tongue. “He’s alive. He was Dabi.” You sat back, the room spinning under you. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Touya—your Touya—was alive? All this time? “Room 312,” Shoto added. “He’s… not good. But he made it. And he asked for you.” ⸻ The hospital smelled like bleach and old endings. You hated it already. When you opened the door, he was there. Scarred. Burnt. Different. But you’d know him anywhere. He turned his head slowly, like it took effort. You stepped inside. He stared for a beat. “You look older.” You swallowed. “You look like hell.” He smirked, just a little. “Still got that mouth on you.” You stood beside the bed, eyes locked on his. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Touya looked away. “Because I didn’t want you to see what I became.” You sat down, slowly. “Fuyumi and Natsuo cried for years. I held them together while I fell apart. You weren’t the only one who got left behind, Touya.” His throat bobbed. “I know.” “Do you?” Silence. “I didn’t just lose you,” you said quietly. “I grieved you. I buried you without a body.” He winced. You leaned forward. “And now I’m here. So tell me, Touya—what am I supposed to do with this?” He didn’t answer. But when your hand brushed his, burned and trembling, he didn’t pull away.

Keigo Takami

Midnight Walks & Cute Trends.

Aizawa Shouta

Even Now

Aizawa Shouta

The Groceries’s Okay.

Keigo Takami

A Rare Day Of Peace.

Keigo Takami

The smell hit Keigo first — sweet, warm, but with a sharp edge of something overdone. He paused in the hall, frowning. It wasn’t his place, so he followed the scent until he was standing outside your door. He hesitated, then knocked. A moment later, you cracked it open, peeking out shyly. He recognized you — the neighbor from down the hall, the one he exchanged nods or polite hellos with in the lobby, but nothing more. “Uh, hi,” Keigo said, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry if this sounds weird, but… is everything okay? Smells like someone’s kitchen is about to catch fire.” Your eyes widened, and without answering, you darted back inside. He heard the oven door creak open and a clatter of metal before you reappeared, holding a tray of charred cookies. “Right,” you muttered, cheeks pink. “Forgot about those.” Keigo leaned casually against the doorframe, peeking past you. Your kitchen was chaos — muffins cooling, bread wrapped half-finished, cookies stacked in uneven piles, and flour everywhere. It looked like a bakery had exploded. “You uh… throwing a party I wasn’t invited to?” he asked, lips quirking into a grin. You shifted awkwardly, brushing flour off your wrist. “No. I… I bake when I’m stressed. It helps. I guess I just kind of… went overboard.” Keigo let out a quiet chuckle. “That explains the smoke alarm smell.” Then, softer: “Everything else okay?” You nodded quickly, then hesitated. “Yeah. Just… anxious. But, um—” You looked away, then back at him. “Do you want some? Most of it’s edible.” For a moment, his grin widened into something more genuine. “Sure. Can’t say no to cookies from my neighbor. Might be the first real conversation we’ve had that isn’t about mail or trash pickup.” You laughed under your breath and handed him one of the good cookies. He bit in right away, nodding approvingly. “Mm. Perfect. Way better than the cafeteria stuff I’ve been surviving on.” You ducked your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Careful, I’ll end up stress-baking for you too.” “Sounds like a sweet deal to me,” he said, leaning on the counter now, more comfortable in your space than you expected. His tone was teasing, but his gaze was softer. “And hey — next time you forget something in the oven, just knock on my door. I’ll play timer.” For the first time that night, you smiled without shyness, and Keigo decided maybe burned cookies weren’t such a bad thing after all.

Class 1-A

You didn’t go back to U.A. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after the war, not after the truth came out. Not after you’d turned on them—even if it was to keep your family safe. Even if you fought at the end. They offered you a spot again. Aizawa called. So did Yamada. So did Midoriya. But the moment your fingers shook at the thought of putting the uniform back on, you knew: You didn’t want to be a hero anymore. Now, you were at a new school. Not as flashy. Not as intense. No training field explosions or internships or hero courses. Just a modest band club, your voice blending with strings and brass and your own heartbeat. And it was okay. You told yourself that over and over. It’s okay to start over. It’s okay to be different now. It’s okay. But even as you told yourself that, some part of you clung to the memory of U.A.’s sports festival. Of the way they all screamed your name in the stands. Of Kaminari nearly falling out of his seat trying to cheer louder. Of Iida waving like a man possessed. Of how much you smiled back then. So when the door creaked open mid-practice… And you heard that voice—“Whoa, this is kind of cool, huh?” You looked up. Froze. Class 1-A. In your school. Standing in your practice room. Aizawa in the back, arms crossed. Jirou nudging Kaminari in. Sero already filming. Midoriya holding something tightly—your old festival scarf. You blinked. “Hey,” Yaoyorozu smiled gently. “We… heard you had a performance soon.” “You guys showed up like a surprise boss fight,” you muttered under your breath. Bakugo scoffed, arms folded. “Tch. Didn’t think you’d be this easy to find.” “Yeah,” Kirishima said, voice softer than usual. “But we missed you. You know?” “You didn’t show your face for a year,” Jirou added, biting the inside of her cheek. “We thought… maybe you didn’t want to see us.” You stared down at your guitar. Your fingers trembled a little. You took a breath. Then smiled—just a little.

Touya Todoroki

Where the Fire Missed

Keigo Takami

Couple’s Privilage.

Keigo Takami

Familiar Stranger

Aizawa Shouta

Leave First

Keigo Takami

You weren’t expecting drama when you dropped by the agency — all you had was a neatly packed bento and the faint hope that Keigo hadn’t already eaten three convenience store sandwiches. The front desk was busy, phones ringing, papers shuffling, and you quietly waited your turn. But apparently, your existence was offensive to someone. “Excuse me,” a sharp voice snapped from behind the counter. “You can’t just walk in here like that.” You blinked, adjusting the strap of your bag. “I checked in at the front desk.” “Checked in or not, Hawks doesn’t take random visitors,” she said, tone dripping with irritation. “He’s a very busy man.” You sighed softly. “I know. I’m just dropping off his lunch.” She scoffed. “Oh, how sweet. You fans really don’t quit, huh? Think bringing him food is gonna get you noticed?” You stared at her blankly, too tired to engage. “It’s literally just food.” “Sure it is,” she sneered. “And I’m his girlfriend. Try harder next time.” That made you pause. You blinked once, slow and unimpressed, then simply set the lunch down on the counter. “Okay, lady. I don’t care who you are. I just came to bring him lunch and go home.” But she wasn’t done. She raised her voice, drawing attention from a few nearby employees. “Unbelievable! You people think you can just—” “Why are you yelling at my wife?” The room went quiet. The woman froze mid-sentence, eyes wide. You turned slightly — and there he was, Keigo Takami himself, leaning against the doorframe with that casual smile that said he’d been there long enough to enjoy the show. He strolled over, voice light but laced with that subtle edge only pros used when they meant don’t test me. “She brings me lunch every day,” he said, plucking the bento box from the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re really gonna yell at her for being considerate?” Your tone was calm, almost bored. “Told you she’d get mad.” Keigo chuckled, brushing a kiss to your temple, and the woman’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “You did,” he murmured, half-proud, half-amused. “I— I didn’t know—” she stammered, eyes darting between the two of you. “Sir, I thought—” “It’s fine,” you cut in smoothly. “Just a misunderstanding.” Keigo tilted his head, grin sharp. “Mm. Still, maybe next time don’t yell at people who are married to your boss. Been married for a while now, actually. Guess I should’ve mentioned that during the staff meeting, huh?” You shot him a look. “You forgot?” He tilted his head, grinning. “I like surprising people.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re insufferable.” “Yet you married me,” he teased, feather brushing your hand as he led you toward the door. Behind you, the poor woman stammered out an apology that neither of you really listened to. Once outside, Keigo leaned close, whispering, “That was fun.” You gave him a flat stare. “You’re way too entertained by people thinking we’re not married.” He smirked, hand finding yours. “Can you blame me? I get to remind the world that you’re mine. Makes my day every time.” You sighed, shaking your head — but the corner of your mouth lifted anyway. “You’re ridiculous.” “Maybe,” he said softly, squeezing your hand, “but I’ve got the best wife in Japan, so I think I’m doing alright.” And as always, his grin made it hard to stay annoyed — especially when he looked at you like that.

Naomasa Tsukauchi

The alley was quiet except for the rain. Pop’s shoes splashed through puddles first, Crawler right behind her. Knuckleduster was the one who stopped dead in his tracks—because he’d seen the faint movement behind a dumpster. You. A kid, no older than ten. Blood on your sleeve, a shallow cut across your cheek, clutching a broken piece of wood like it could protect you. “Hey,” Pop said softly, crouching. “It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt you.” You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Every sound made you flinch. When Knuckleduster reached out, you jerked away so fast that he just sighed and backed off. They got you to a hospital anyway. Crawler had been the one carrying you, muttering quiet reassurances you barely registered. Makoto showed up halfway through—sent by someone who had been tracking the vigilantes’ movement. When she saw you, she stopped cold. “…What happened?” she asked the nurse quietly. “Found alone. No ID. Won’t talk.” You heard it all, staring at the IV in your arm. You’d learned a long time ago not to ask questions. People always left when you did. ⸻ The room was dim when Tsukauchi showed up. Makoto had called him, voice tight with worry. “Another vigilante mess?” he’d asked. “Not exactly,” she said. “A kid.” He expected to see a witness or a victim. He didn’t expect to see you, small and still, wrapped in hospital sheets too big for your frame. Makoto was sitting by your bed, tablet in hand. “No registered family. I already checked the system.” Tsukauchi rubbed his neck. “She say anything?” “Not a word.” He moved closer, slow and careful. You didn’t look at him, but he noticed how you tensed, like every sound could turn into a threat. “Hey,” he said gently. “You’re safe now.” You blinked, not believing it. He smiled faintly, though there was tiredness behind it. “You don’t have to talk. Just rest, alright?” You turned your face to the wall. He stayed anyway. ⸻ It was supposed to be one night. Maybe two. Just until child services arrived. But something shifted in that hospital room. Every time the door opened, your eyes would flicker up. You’d scan for the people who found you—the loud blond guy, the girl with pink hair—but they were gone. Busy. Out there saving other people. Only Makoto and Tsukauchi stayed. She’d talk to fill the silence, telling you stories about her brother when he was younger—how serious he’d been, how he once got caught lying about curfew and couldn’t stop apologizing. He’d sit nearby, doing paperwork on his tablet, occasionally glancing up to check if you were still breathing evenly. And then one night, after everyone else had left, you whispered. “Are you gonna leave too?” The words were rough, like you hadn’t used your voice in weeks. He looked up slowly. “No. I’m not.” You stared, eyes wide, trying to find the lie in his tone. There wasn’t one. ⸻ When discharge day came, the nurse handed him your file. “No family. No record. No one’s coming.” Makoto crossed her arms. “So what now?” Tsukauchi stared down at the papers, then at you—standing there in that borrowed hoodie, hands trembling as you gripped the strap of your hospital bag. “I’ll take her,” he said simply. Makoto blinked. “Nao—” “I’m serious,” he said quietly. “Someone has to make sure she doesn’t end up back out there.” You looked between them, unsure if you’d heard right. He met your eyes then, steady and calm. “You don’t have to decide right now. But if you want… you can come home with me.” You didn’t move for a long time. Then, slow as a sunrise, you nodded. ⸻ His apartment was smaller than you imagined. Quiet. Safe. He showed you where the bathroom was, where the extra blanket was, how to work the heater. You followed without a word, the weight of the hospital still clinging to your skin. He paused before heading to his room. “I know this is new. You don’t owe me anything, alright? Just… get some rest.”

Jirou Kyouka

An Unexpected Harmony — WLW

Bakugou Katsuki

Colors of a Fading War

Keigo Takami

The grocery bags were heavy in your hands as you tried to juggle your son’s questions about superheroes, snacks, and the endless “why’s” of a seven-year-old. You loved him more than life itself, but some days he wore you thin. That’s when a voice cut through the crowd. Smooth, amused. “Need a hand there?” You looked up and saw him — Keigo Takami. No wings, no hero costume, just casual clothes and that laid-back grin. You’d seen him around the neighborhood before, always quick with a smile or wave, but never really spoke. You opened your mouth to politely decline, but your son beat you to it. “Mom, that’s Hawks!” You froze, eyes widening, but Keigo only crouched down so he was eye-level with your kid. “Used to be,” he corrected gently. “Now I’m just Keigo. And who’re you?” Your son introduced himself proudly, and Keigo shook his hand like he was meeting someone important. You expected shyness, but instead your boy’s face lit up brighter than you’d seen in weeks. By the time you reached your car, Keigo had carried half your bags, your son trailing him like he was already his shadow. You were torn between grateful and embarrassed, but Keigo seemed unfazed. Over the months, he became a friend: stopping by for dinner, joining park trips, teasing your son like an older brother. You found yourself laughing more, and your son adored him immediately. One evening, while you cooked, you overheard them at the table. “You should just ask her out already,” your son said bluntly. You almost dropped the pan. Keigo froze too, pen stilling in his hand. “You don’t hold back, huh, kid?” “Flowers. Smile. Don’t talk about boring stuff,” your son added matter-of-factly. “She likes you too, I can tell.” Face hot, you muttered, “I can hear you both, you know.” Keigo chuckled, giving you a sheepish grin. “Guess the secret’s out.” Later that night, after walking you both home, your son “forgot” his bag at Keigo’s. When Keigo returned it, your son winked and dashed inside, leaving the two of you at the doorway. “He’s been plotting against us,” Keigo said softly, then after a beat, “but maybe he’s right.” Your breath caught when he added, “So… dinner? Just you and me this time?” You laughed, shaking your head. “He’s going to think he’s a genius.” Keigo smirked, eyes warm on yours. “Let him. As long as it means I get to take you out.”

Aizawa Shouta

It’s The Pain

Aizawa Shouta

A Place To Call Home

Aizawa Shouta

Almost Didn’t Recognize You

Aizawa shouta

You sat on the dorm stairs, hoodie drawn over your head as your thumb hovered over your phone screen. The last message still sat there. Boba after my shift? YESSIR 🤍 That was two hours ago. You didn’t expect much — not really. You knew how chaotic hero life could be. But for a second, you let yourself believe he’d remember. You even wore your favorite jacket. Dumb, maybe, but still. A loud ding snapped you out of it. The dorm front doors hissed open. You didn’t look up. “…Kid.” You blinked once, slowly, before raising your eyes to find Aizawa — drenched, exhausted, and holding a soaked plastic bag in one hand. Your chest twisted. “You forgot.” He sighed, stepping closer, his voice low and a little guilty. “Unscheduled patrol. Got called in the moment I clocked out.” You swallowed. “Could’ve told me.” “I know.” “…You didn’t.” “…I know.” Silence hung in the air for a beat before he dropped the bag into your lap. Inside was a cup of room-temperature boba and a steamed bun, slightly squished but still warm. “I grabbed it on the way back,” he muttered. “Didn’t wanna come empty-handed.” You stared down at it, then up at him. “You were supposed to be asleep by now.” “So were you.” “…Tch.” He sat beside you, a bit awkwardly, clearly soaked to the bone. You nudged your jacket toward his shoulder without a word. He didn’t stop you. “Y’know,” he said after a while, “when I took you in… I didn’t think I’d be the one hurting your feelings.” “I didn’t ask you to take me in,” you mumbled. “I know,” he murmured. “But I still chose to. And I’ll keep choosing to. Even when I mess up.” Another pause. “…I was just excited to see you again. You’ve been out a lot lately. Thought boba would make it easier.” You finally looked at him. “It did.” He blinked. “Even now?” You picked up the cup. “…Still counts.” He huffed softly — maybe a laugh, maybe a sigh — and leaned his head against yours. “Next time,” he said, “we’re getting it fresh. No patrols. Just me, you, and thirty minutes of not being hero and student.”

Keigo Takami

Keigo still teased you sometimes about the “teddy bear” you gave him—the one that wasn’t stuffed with cotton, but with soft skin, tiny fists, and the cutest laugh he’d ever heard. Your son. You had laughed the first time he said it, cheeks hot, swatting at him for being corny. But he hadn’t stopped. In fact, when he held your little one in his arms, you could see just how much he meant it. One afternoon, you walked into the living room to find him sitting cross-legged on the couch, hair a little messy, shirt half-buttoned, your son nestled in his lap in a bear onesie. Keigo was pressing soft kisses to his forehead, whispering, “You’re the best gift your mama ever gave me, y’know that?” The baby squealed in response, reaching clumsily for Keigo’s tie, and Keigo chuckled—the sound so light you swore it made the whole room brighter. Your heart tightened at the sight. “Careful,” you said softly, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re gonna make me jealous of my own kid.” Keigo looked up at you with that familiar smirk, but his eyes were tender, full of warmth that hadn’t dimmed once in all these years. “Too late, love,” he murmured, lifting your baby higher and planting another kiss on his round cheek. “You gave me my forever teddy bear. Don’t think I’ll ever let go of this one.” The sight was so sweet, so achingly perfect, you had to press your palm against your mouth to keep from tearing up. And in that moment, you realized—your little family was everything you’d ever dreamed of, wrapped up in laughter, late-night cuddles, and the way Keigo cradled your child like the most precious treasure he’d ever held.

Aizawa Shouta

The TV was still playing reruns. The only light in the apartment came from the dim kitchen overhead and the soft blue glow of the news playing on loop. You sat on the floor, back against the couch, knees pulled to your chest. The picture she’d sent last week—of a cat in sunglasses, lounging on a hero magazine—was still open on your phone screen. You hadn’t answered. You didn’t know that would be the last one. Nemuri was gone. Aizawa was in the hospital. And you were 14, in an apartment that felt way too quiet for how heavy your chest was. The keys rattled at the door. You didn’t look up until you heard Hizashi’s voice call your name, softer than usual. He stepped inside carefully, like he knew how fragile the silence was. He crouched beside you, brows creased, hand hovering over your shoulder. “Hey. Kiddo… I’m here to take you to the hospital.” You didn’t move. “She’s gone.” His breath hitched, and when you finally looked at him, there were tears in his eyes too. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “She is.” You didn’t remember how he got you to stand. Just that your phone was in your pocket, hoodie sleeves too long over your hands. Just that his arm stayed around you in the cab. Just that the silence still felt too big. ⸻ Aizawa looked up as the door opened. He was upright in the hospital bed, looking more tired than ever. His hair was down, and the tech leg looked almost wrong beside the scratchy white sheets. But he was alive. And when he saw you, something in him softened instantly. You walked up slowly. No words. Just tears you didn’t let fall until he opened his arms. You fell into them without hesitation. Like you were still eight. Like none of the pain stood between you and this—him, here, warm and solid and safe. “She used to send me cat pics every week,” you whispered. “Even when I didn’t reply.” “I know,” he murmured into your hair. “She never stopped talking about you.”

Touya Todoroki

The First Crack

Touya Todoroki

You and Touya had been inseparable as kids — the kind of friendship where everyone assumed you’d grow up side by side forever. You’d wait for him after school, he’d throw rocks at your window at night, and somehow the world felt safer when he was there. Then one day, he was gone. They said he’d died. You didn’t go to the funeral — there wasn’t one — just a quiet acknowledgment from his family, like he’d been erased. Years later, the news showed the League of Villains’ blue-flamed terror: Dabi. You didn’t want to believe it. But those eyes… you’d seen them a thousand times before, watching you with that lazy half-smile. What you never knew — not until much later — was that he had always kept track of you. Even when you thought he was gone, even when you tried to convince yourself he’d never cared, he’d trailed behind from the shadows, just close enough to see you were alive. After the war, things were different. He was no longer a villain, but a man walking through the ruins of everything he’d been. The hospital released him on the condition he continue physical therapy and attend counseling. He was thinner, paler, his voice rougher — but when you saw him again, it was still him. At first, the conversations were short. Stiff. You didn’t know where to put all the years you’d lost, or how to talk about the ache that had been living in your chest since the day he “died.” But slowly, you both let the silence stretch without fear. You started to notice the small ways he reached out — letting you walk on the inside of the sidewalk, passing you the better seat, checking the time when you were out late. One night, you were walking beside him down a quiet side street, the night wind whistling, he muttered, “Y’know… even when I wasn’t around, I was. Couldn’t… stop making sure you were okay.” You slow your pace, and for a moment, you swear he does too—matching your steps like old times. “Then why didn’t you say something?” His shoulders lift, then drop, as if the answer weighs too much to carry. “…I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to walk next to you again. So I settled for behind.” And just like that, you realized — this wasn’t about rebuilding what you had before. It was about building something entirely new, piece by fragile piece, together.

Keigo Takami

The city was practically glowing red with brake lights — horns blaring, the evening rush crawling like a wounded beast. You were stuck somewhere between exhaustion and patience, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel. In the backseat, your seven-year-old daughter, Hana, was humming to a song from her tablet, her tiny feet swinging in rhythm. She was your everything — loud, curious, and full of the warmth you never thought you’d deserve after everything that happened in the war. Then she gasped dramatically, finger pressing against the window. “Mama! Mama! Look!” You turned your head halfway. “What is it, sweetheart?” “That man! On the red motorcycle!” she whispered, like it was a secret too big for the car to hold. “I think it’s Hawks!” You laughed. “Sweetheart, Hawks doesn’t ride motorcycles.” “Yes, he does! It’s red like his feathers used to be!” she said with the kind of confidence only a seven-year-old could have. You smiled, humoring her — until you looked closer. Big, dark-red bike. Crimson helmet. Golden eyes visible behind the visor. A strand of blond hair escaping the edge. Your heart stuttered. “Open the window, Mama! Please?” You sighed but pressed the button, letting the cool air rush in. The biker turned his head — and just like that, your heart jumped straight into your throat. Keigo. He lifted his helmet halfway, and that same crooked smile from years ago appeared. “Didn’t think I’d get recognized in traffic.” Your daughter gasped. “IT IS YOU!” He chuckled, glancing at you. “She’s got good eyes.” You tried to smile through the fluster. “Sorry — she, uh, wouldn’t stop asking me to open the window.” He shook his head. “It’s alright. I’m just glad she didn’t throw anything at me.” You laughed softly. “She’s better behaved than that.” He tilted his head. “If you two don’t mind, maybe we could pull over at the next gas station? I can say hi properly.” ⸻ Five minutes later, the three of you were standing by a small gas station convenience store. Hana clung shyly to your hand until Keigo crouched down, smiling. “Hey there, kiddo. What’s your name?” “Hana,” she said quietly. “Pretty name,” he said, and pointed to the flower pattern on her dress. “Fitting, too.” That got her to giggle. You stood a few steps away, watching the two of them — and it did something strange to you, seeing him there. He’d aged a little since the war, just like you. No wings now, but the same warmth in his voice, the same steadiness that used to make the world feel less dangerous. When Hana ran off to the vending machine, Keigo stood beside you. “She’s yours?” You nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah. Just me and her.” He glanced at you — and you could see that quiet understanding in his eyes. “You’re doing great, you know that?” You chuckled. “You met her for five minutes.” “That’s all it takes,” he said. “She’s got your smile. That’s proof enough.” You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest didn’t fade. When Hana came running back with three chocolate bars, she offered him one — and he accepted it with mock seriousness. “Wow, a gift? I’m honored.” She grinned, whispering like it was top secret: “Mama doesn’t let me eat chocolate before dinner.” Keigo winked. “Good thing I’m not Mama.” You sighed. “You’re a terrible influence.” He just smiled, and for a moment, it felt like peace — like the war had never happened. As they were saying goodbye, Keigo slipped his helmet under his arm and glanced at you. “If you don’t mind…” he said, holding up his phone, “can I get your number? Just in case Hana wants to see the cool motorcycle guy again.” You smiled, shaking your head but handing him your phone anyway. “Sure. Just for Hana.” “Right,” he said with a grin. “Just for her.” ⸻ That night, after you tucked Hana into bed, your phone buzzed. Unknown Number: “got home safe. tell hana i owe her another chocolate bar. also… maybe i owe you coffee too? ;)“ You bit back a smile, staring at the screen. Maybe, just maybe, the red lights in traffic had led you to something good again.

Aizawa Shouta

Earned Attention

Bakugou Katsuki - MS

You and Katsuki had always been that duo — loud, competitive, impossible to separate. From the sandbox to the schoolyard, you were always around each other. The first burn you ever got was from him, back when his explosions were still small and unpredictable. You were both maybe six. It didn’t even blister much, but he freaked out, grabbing your wrist and blurting, “I didn’t mean to—dammit, don’t cry!” even though you weren’t crying at all. You just stared at him with wide eyes until he shoved his hoodie sleeve over your hand, muttering, “There. Now don’t tell anyone.” He never forgot that scar. Every time he saw it, his expression would flicker just for a second, like a reminder he couldn’t shake. By middle school, things were… different. He’d gotten louder, brasher — and meaner to Izuku. You didn’t like it one bit. You’d tell him to knock it off, and sometimes he did. You’d see him roll his eyes, huff, and mutter, “Fine. I’ll stop,” before stomping off like you’d just scolded a child. But the next morning, walking through the hallway, you saw him again — cornering Izuku, voice raised, same damn tone. The disappointment hit you so hard it almost made your chest ache. You didn’t even say anything. You just stopped in your tracks, looked at him, and turned away. He noticed instantly. “Oi—hey! Where are you goin’?” You didn’t answer. You just kept walking, shoulders stiff. Katsuki frowned, storming after you. “The hell’s your problem now?” You ignored him again. It made him angrier, of course. “Don’t just walk off when I’m talkin’ to you!” That’s when you stopped and turned around, eyes sharp. “You said you’d stop, Katsuki.” He froze. You rarely used his name like that. “You said you’d stop,” you repeated quietly, “and the next day, you’re right back at it. Why do you even bother saying anything if you don’t mean it?” He looked caught off guard — like you’d punched the air out of him. Then he scowled, crossing his arms. “You don’t get it.” “Yeah,” you said, voice flat. “I guess I don’t.” You turned again and walked away. He didn’t follow this time. But that night, when you both walked home the same way and the silence stretched between you, he finally muttered, “I stopped.” You blinked, glancing at him. He didn’t look at you, just kicked a rock down the sidewalk. “Told him I wouldn’t. Don’t care what he does anymore.” His voice was gruff, but quieter than usual.

Aizawa Shouta

You Two Would’ve Been Annoying Together

Aizawa Shouta

Learning

Keigo Takami

What Are We Doing?

Aizawa Shouta

Familiar Shadows

Keigo Takami

The Candle Between Us || GoblinAU!!

Keigo Takami

More Than Surviving

Keigo Takami

Featherlight Distractions

Aizawa Shouta

More Than a Reflection

Aizawa Shouta

Even Heroes Need Rest

Enji Todoroki

Good father.

Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou saw you before anyone else did. It was one of those lazy afternoons when the Bakusquad had dragged him out of the dorms—claimed he needed fresh air. He’d grumbled, but gone along anyway, his right arm still wrapped and stiff from the war. It hadn’t fully healed; doctors said it might never be the same. He hated being reminded of it. Denki was halfway through complaining about something when he suddenly stopped and pointed across the street. “Wait—guys. Isn’t that her?” Bakugou’s world tilted. You. You were there, walking—slowly, carefully—with someone’s arm looped through yours. The man beside you was tall, gentle-looking, keeping pace so you didn’t stumble. Your right leg moved a little stiff, uneven, but you were walking. And smiling. That soft, tired smile Bakugou hadn’t seen in months. His breath caught. “Holy crap,” Mina whispered. “That’s her. She’s—she’s okay!” Sero squinted. “Who’s the guy?” Bakugou didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The only thing his brain could process was you. Alive. Moving. Laughing with someone who wasn’t him. “Come on,” Mina said, already dragging him. “Let’s go say hi!” “What—no, the hell we are—” Too late. Kirishima had grabbed his good arm and pulled, Denki following with a grin like he was about to watch drama unfold. You looked up when Mina shouted your name, eyes widening for a second before softening. “Hey,” you greeted, voice quieter than they remembered. “Didn’t think I’d see you guys here.” The guy beside you smiled politely but didn’t move, just steadied your balance with a hand near your waist. “You look better,” Kirishima said. “We were all worried, y’know?” You smiled faintly. “Still doing therapy, but yeah. Getting there.” Bakugou’s jaw was tight. He said nothing. Mina, ever the social one, tilted her head. “And who’s this?” “Oh,” you started. “He’s—” “Boyfriend?” Bakugou muttered before he could stop himself. You blinked. “What?” His mouth twitched. “Forget it.” The guy chuckled, shaking his head. “Cousin, actually.” Bakugou froze. “What?” “Yeah,” you said, raising an eyebrow, lips twitching. “My cousin. He’s been helping me since therapy started.” Mina’s face turned red; Denki barely stifled his laughter. Kirishima smacked him on the shoulder, whispering, “Dude, stop—he’s dying inside.” You tilted your head, eyes soft but teasing. “Jealous much?” He huffed, looking away. “Shut up.” Your cousin, sensing the tension, excused himself politely. “I’ll grab her meds. Be right back.” Once he left, Mina murmured something about “giving them space” and tugged the others away. Now it was just you and Bakugou. He rubbed his sore arm unconsciously. You noticed—of course you did. “You still can’t move it right?” you asked softly. He shook his head. “Better than it was. Still feels like crap though.” You nodded. Silence stretched between you for a bit, not awkward—just heavy. “You thought I replaced you?” you finally said. He exhaled sharply, eyes flicking up to yours. “Didn’t know what to think. You disappeared. Didn’t wanna bother you.” You studied him quietly. “You didn’t come.” He swallowed. “Didn’t think I should. You almost—” his voice cracked, “—you almost died. I didn’t know if I could see that again.” Your fingers tightened around your bag strap. “You’re an idiot.” “Yeah,” he said. “I know.” You stared for a long moment, then stepped closer. Your limp was still there, but steady. “You could’ve at least visited, Katsuki.” He breathed out slowly. “Guess I thought you didn’t want me to.” “I did,” you said quietly. “Every day.” He looked up then—really looked—and the wall he’d built around himself wavered. “Wanna walk with me for a bit?” you asked, gesturing down the street. “Therapy says I need the practice.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah… yeah, okay.” When you offered him your arm, he didn’t hesitate this time.

Keigo Takami

The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside the window. You sat on the couch, still in half of your own hero gear, arms crossed as you watched Keigo peel off his compression shirt. His easy grin only made the knot in your chest tighter. “You’re reckless, Keigo. Way too reckless.” Your voice was sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take it back. He glanced at you over his shoulder, one brow raised. “Love, it’s kind of the job. You’d know—you’re a hero too.” “That’s exactly why I’m saying it!” you snapped, standing now, your hands balled into fists. “We both see what happens when people push too far. You’re not invincible, Keigo. And—” your throat tightened, “I can’t stand coming home from my own shift and wondering if you won’t make it back from yours.” The grin faded from his face, replaced by something softer, almost guilty. “So what are you saying? That heroes shouldn’t date? That we shouldn’t be this close?” The words left before you could stop them. “Sometimes, yeah. Maybe we shouldn’t.” For a moment, silence stretched between you. His amber eyes searched yours, and you hated the flicker of hurt there. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “You think I don’t know it’s reckless? That I don’t replay it in my head every time I nearly don’t make it back?” His hand hovered near your arm but didn’t touch. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s selfish. But I’d rather be selfish than spend one day pretending I don’t need you.” A hint of guilt flickering in his golden eyes. “…I hate it when you talk like that,” he said softly. “Like you regret us.”

Aizawa Shouta

Shattered Chain

Touya Todoroki

You Awake?

Keigo Takami

One Night

Keigo Takami

The Art of Trust

Keigo Takami

You were sprawled on the couch, knees up, a bowl of popcorn balanced on your lap and the TV casting that familiar warm glow across the living room. Keigo had insisted on a “nostalgia marathon” — his old debut clips, fan edits, and the embarrassing interviews he’d begged whoever uploaded them to take down. You’d been merciless, riffing on every bad haircut and over-enthusiastic smile while he muttered theatrical defenses from beside you. “Look at you,” you snorted, pointing at eighteen-year-old Keigo strutting onto some variety show. “Who taught you to pose like that? The mirror?” “Survival tactics,” he grumbled, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. “And insults don’t age well, love.” The next clip rolled: him waving on stage under a headline—Japan’s Rising Hero—then laughing with kids at a charity event, still a little too eager for the camera. You paused it, daringly, and threw a kernel of popcorn at him. It hit his nose. He blinked, then grinned, then leaned in for a peck that made you laugh. Autoplay betrayed you both after that. The screen fuzzed, shifted, and suddenly a grainy home video lit up the room. Title in awkward handwriting: Dear Future Husband. Your stomach did an immediate flip. You reached for the remote like you could yank the past back under the rug, but Keigo’s hand was quicker. He clamped the remote between his fingers with a triumphant, “Nope,” and shushed you with a look that said he was having this. Onscreen, teenage you — fifteen, maybe sixteen — sat cross-legged on a bed surrounded by posters and soft lighting. Your voice was anxious and adorable in a way that made your heart both ache and laugh. “Hi… I don’t really think I’ll get married. It seems gross. Nobody would want me anyway. But if you exist, future boyfriend — don’t expect me to be all mushy. I’ll probably forget anniversaries and burn dinner, but I’ll be there when it counts.” The clip stuttered and then cut to you again, slightly older now. You blinked with seventeen-year-old certainty. “I guess I changed my mind a little. Maybe being married isn’t that gross. I saw Hawks once when he debuted—he looked… really cool. So maybe my future husband does exist. If he does, I hope he doesn’t give up on me.” You clapped both palms over your face. “Oh my god. I am literally going to die.” Keigo sat very, very still for three delicious seconds. He let the silence stretch like elastic, watching you with soft, amused eyes. Then he burst, not unkindly — more like someone who had found a private treasure. “Wait,” he said, voice gleeful. He reached over, snagging your hands and prying them down. “Did you—did you really say ‘Hawks’?” His grin was nearly feral now. “You said my name, babe. You literally mentioned me.” “My name?” you sputtered, heat flaring up your neck as vivid embarrassment and something warmer curled in your chest. “I—no, I didn’t—” “You did,” he insisted, leaning back on his elbows and turning the TV toward him so he could rewatch the clip. “You said ‘I saw Hawks when he debuted.’” He pointed at the screen like a proud parent, delighted at proof. “You manifested me, Mrs. Takami.” The teasing didn’t stop, but it eased into the comfortable cadence of married life. Keigo replayed the clip a couple more times, each pass prompting another round of jokes about “proof” and “manifestation.” You shoved him, he pretended to be wounded, and then he leaned in and murmured, right against your temple, “You were always mine, huh?”

Aizawa Shouta

Harmony in the Aftermath

Aizawa Shouta

Eraser’s Shadow

Dabi-Touya Todoroki

Met Again

Aizawa Shouta

You used to wait by the door. Every time he left, no matter how early or how late, you’d be there. Barefoot on the cold floor, blinking away sleep just to mumble a drowsy “be safe.” Sometimes you even tried to stay up until he got home — bundled on the couch with a book, pretending you weren’t just waiting for the lock to turn and his footsteps to echo through the apartment. You followed him around like a shadow when you were younger. Talked to him about everything — even things he didn’t always answer. You asked if his eyes hurt when he erased quirks. You asked if he liked cats more than people. You asked if he would still care about you even if you didn’t have a quirk, even if you weren’t useful, even if you messed up again. He wasn’t warm, but he was constant. And constant felt like safety. Until it didn’t. Because somewhere along the way, his days got longer. His eyes more tired. The “mhmm”s in response to your stories more automatic. You still waited at the door. Still tried to catch his eye during breakfast. Still tried to hug him when he got home. But when the silence became habit— when your voice began to echo instead of land— you started to wonder: What’s the point in reaching, if no one reaches back? So… you stopped. You didn’t wait at the door anymore. Didn’t ask if he wanted tea when you made your own. Didn’t follow him room to room, clinging to silence and hoping it might become connection. You gave him the space he always seemed to need. And he noticed. ⸻ “Hey,” he said one night, not looking up from the folder in his hands. “You haven’t been… hovering lately.” You blinked. “Hovering?” “You know what I mean.” You shrugged and turned back to your book. “Guess I grew out of it.” There was a pause. A quiet one — like he didn’t believe you, but didn’t know how to ask more. “You okay?” he asked.

Keigo Takami

Beat Him To It

Keigo Takami

The mission was chaos. Smoke, screaming, too many villains, not enough backup. You fought until your lungs burned, until your arms shook from exhaustion. And then—nothing. When you opened your eyes, you were lying in rubble. Every breath cut like knives through your chest, your vision blurring. For a moment, you weren’t sure if you’d even made it out alive. The only thing you heard—his voice. “Stay with me—don’t you dare close your eyes—hey, hey, don’t do this to me!” Your head lolled to the side. Keigo was crouched over you, feathers spread wide, shielding you from the smoke and falling debris. His usual composure was gone—his golden eyes wide and wild, tears brimming at the corners. “You’re fine, you’re fine,” he whispered, though it sounded more like he was begging himself to believe it. “You’re gonna get patched up and yell at me tomorrow, yeah? That’s what you do. That’s what we do.” You tried to speak, but only a cough came out. Keigo pressed his forehead to yours, grounding himself, as if he could hold you here by sheer will. “Don’t you ever scare me like this again,” he rasped. “I told you—you promised—you don’t get to leave me behind. Not you.” When backup finally arrived, Keigo didn’t move from your side. He carried you himself, refusing to let anyone else touch you, muttering the whole way like if he stopped talking you’d slip away. And when you were finally stabilized in the hospital, the first thing you woke up to was him asleep in a chair, hunched over your bed, his hand still gripping yours like he’d never let go. For the first time, you realized—he wasn’t afraid of dying. He was afraid of you dying.

Keigo Takami

Skill Issue || timeskip

Keigo Takami

You had barely dropped your bag onto the couch when you heard it— the familiar thump-thump-thump of hurried little foot-slaps on the playmat. Then a louder thump. Then Keigo’s voice, half-panicked, half-exasperated: “—Kiara, baby, wait— you can’t run, you don’t even know how to stand—” You peeked around the corner. There he was. Keigo, kneeling on the floor in an oversized shirt, hair a mess from baby hands, reaching out like he was about to catch a falling star. And your 9-month-old daughter was clutching the edge of the coffee table, wobbling on chubby legs, wide eyes locked onto you like you were air. “Mama!” she squeaked— not a real word, more like a breathy “ma-ah!”— and Keigo let out the deepest sigh of relief in the world. “She’s been holding that position for TEN minutes,” he complained dramatically. “Just staring at the door. My BACK hurts. My knees hurt. I think my soul left my body at some point.” You laughed. “You could’ve just let her sit.” Keigo shot you a look. A very specific look. The one that said: You think I can say no to my daughter? I can barely say no to YOU. But out loud he muttered, “I tried. She screamed at me.” You walked over. Kiara immediately lifted her arms, demanding, insisting. When you picked her up, she buried her face into your neck with a shaky little breath. “Aww,” you whispered, rubbing her back. “Did you miss me?” Keigo stood up behind you, sliding an arm around your waist from the back, chin resting on your shoulder. “She missed you,” he murmured. Then—quietly, because he only says this when he’s being real— “I missed you too.” You relaxed into him. Then he spoke again, teasing this time: “And before you say anything—yes. I fed her. I gave her a bath. I even cooked dinner. I am a responsible, competent, incredibly handsome father.” You hummed. “Mm. But did you clean the bottles?” He froze. You smirked. Keigo narrowed his eyes at you, leaning in close. “Kinda unfair you suddenly get all bossy when you just walked in.” “Did you clean the bottles?” you repeated, slower. And that stupid little smirk played on his lips— the one you’ve seen in… other situations. The one he gives right before he says something he knows will make your face heat. He stepped closer, hand sliding to your hip. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, low. Exactly the same tone he uses when you’re alone. Exactly the tone that made your knees wobble more than Kiara’s. You glared at him, cheeks warming. “Keigo.” He bit back a grin. “What? I answered your question.” You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes. He looked stupidly proud of himself. “You’re impossible,” you said. He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to your cheek. “And you love me.” Kiara babbled loudly between you two, as if yelling: HELLO? YOU’RE SQUISHING ME. Keigo laughed, pulling back just enough to adjust her. “Fine, fine, she’s jealous again,” he whispered. “C’mon. Take your shoes off, sit down. She hasn’t let me rest since you left. We’re both starving for Mama time.” He pressed another kiss—gentle, this time—on your temple. A soft, tired, domestic one. “Welcome home,” he murmured. “I missed you like crazy.”

Keigo Takami

As Long As You Want.

Keigo Takami

Just to Not Get Kicked Out

Aizawa Shouta

Unspoken Guardianship.

Touya Todoroki

Forgotten Birthday

Keigo Takami

It was one of those nights that didn’t need anything special to feel perfect. The air was cool from the window cracked open, the sound of the TV low and steady in the background, and Keigo’s weight warm beside you on the bed. You were lying there, back propped up on a few pillows, blanket half on, half off, brain completely tuned into some old rerun you’d both seen before but still loved. Comfort. That’s what it was. Quiet, easy comfort. The kind of comfort that only came after years of knowing someone—of being their best friend. Because that’s how it started with Keigo. Friends. Just friends. Late-night calls. Dumb jokes. Shared silence that never felt awkward. You were his anchor when the noise got too loud, and he was the one person who could make you laugh when the world felt like too much. Somehow, in all that comfort, you found something that looked a hell of a lot like forever. Then he sat up—right in front of the screen. You blinked. “You’re the most inconsiderate person in the whole world.” Keigo whipped his head around with the most offended expression you’d ever seen. “I sat beside you! Fucking hell…” He burst out laughing, flopping back dramatically against the mattress. “And I wasn’t even blocking your view!” “Yes, you were!” “You just think I was ‘cause you’re dramatic.” “You’re dramatic!” “You married dramatic!” “I married inconsiderate.” “Oh, I’m gonna fuck you up—” The warning came with a grin and the sudden lurch of his body over yours. You let out a squawk as he started tickling your sides, his fingers merciless and fast, his smirk turning devilish as you kicked and squirmed under the blankets. “Keigo! Stop—! I swear I’m gonna—!” “Gonna what?” he teased, eyes lit with playful fire. “Tell the TV on me?” You broke into hysterical laughter, trying to shove him off while he only tickled harder. Eventually, he collapsed next to you, both of you breathless, your heart thudding from more than just the laughter. He tugged the blanket back up, wrapping an arm around you and resting his forehead against yours. “Still the most inconsiderate person in the whole world,” you mumbled. “I know,” he whispered back, brushing his nose against yours, “but you still love me.” Unfortunately— “I do.” …You did. So damn much. And somehow, your best friend ended up becoming the love of your life.

Keigo Takami

It was supposed to stop. The late-night kisses. The way your hand always found his without thinking. The mornings where you woke up tangled in red feathers you swore you wouldn’t let near your bed again. You’d sat across from each other weeks ago, breathing heavy and stubborn, and agreed: boundaries. And yet—there you were again, lips on his in the quiet of his office, his laugh muffled against your mouth as he whispered, “We’re terrible at this, y’know.” You pulled back just enough to glare, cheeks warm. “We’re not supposed to be doing this.” “Yeah, and yet—” his thumb brushed your jaw, daring, “—here we are.” You shoved him lightly in the chest, but your smile betrayed you. That was the problem. You couldn’t quite cut him off, and he couldn’t stop pulling you back. So you set the boundaries anyway, even if they were more like blurred lines than walls. ⸻ Timeskip. Word got around, as it always did, that Keigo was “flirting again.” Playful smiles at a bar, numbers slipped into his pocket, some easy charm at a gala. It never surprised you—he’d always been that way. But you told yourself it didn’t matter. You weren’t together. What you didn’t know was that one night, the flirt turned into a kiss. A mistake. His fault. He pulled away instantly, disgust curling in his chest, because it wasn’t you. He never told you—because for him, it didn’t mean anything. But it still stuck in his throat like a bitter pill. ⸻ Another timeskip. You caught him in the hallway, just as he was shrugging on his jacket to leave. The words burned your tongue before you could stop them. “Don’t date anyone.” He froze. The silence stretched until your heartbeat filled your ears. His eyes searched yours, wide and unguarded, and you rushed to fill the space before you broke under his gaze. “I’m trying not to like you,” you blurted, voice cracking around the edges. “But I do. And I’ve been… I’ve been trying. For us. Even if it’s stupid. Even if we said we wouldn’t.” His lips parted, something raw rising in his throat, but you shook your head quickly, not letting him answer. “Don’t say anything. Just—don’t date anyone, Keigo.” Before he could move, before his wings could twitch toward you, you pushed through the door and stepped out into the night. Behind you, Keigo stood still, jacket half-on, a helpless smile tugging at his mouth. He pressed a hand to his face, feathers fluttering in frustration and relief all at once. *But a hint of guilt still lingered.*

Keigo Takami

For three years, your relationship with Keigo worked because neither of you asked the wrong questions. You were a foreigner. You didn’t know heroes, didn’t follow politics, didn’t care about names or titles. Keigo said he worked “for the government.” Long hours. Classified work. Occasional disappearances. You never caught him in a lie—because he never lied. You just never asked how high the clearance went. He never asked you either. You said consulting. Logistics. International contracts. A job that required travel, encryption, burner phones. Again—never a lie. Just not the whole truth. You loved each other. That was real. That was the problem. — The warnings started months before the mission. Your agency gathered you into a secure room and projected a profile onto the wall. TARGET INTERFERENCE RISK: Codename: Redbird Affiliation: Japanese Government / Hero Public Safety Commission Skillset: aerial combat (former), intelligence manipulation, extreme adaptability Status: emotionally compromised. Do not engage. Terminate if necessary. You scoffed. “Emotionally compromised? That’s the threat?” They didn’t laugh. Meanwhile, in a glass tower miles away, Keigo stood with his arms crossed as your file appeared on a screen. FOREIGN OPERATIVE – HIGH THREAT Codename: Ghostline Specialization: infiltration, counterintelligence, close-quarters combat Untraceable. No loyalty markers. If encountered on mission: neutralize immediately. Keigo stared at the photo longer than he should’ve. Something about the posture felt familiar. He ignored the feeling. — The mission was supposed to be clean. Same target. Same arms broker. Same abandoned tower. You entered from opposite sides—silent, professional, focused. You took down two guards in the stairwell. He disarmed one in the hallway. Then you turned a corner. And there he was. Gun raised. Eyes sharp. You froze for half a heartbeat. “…Keigo?” “…You?” Training screamed louder than shock. You both moved at the same time—rolling, dodging, lowering weapons just enough not to hit each other while still engaging the target. It was terrifying how well you fought together. You cornered the broker in under sixty seconds. Mission complete. Your comm buzzed. “Ghostline—confirm identity. Is Redbird your civilian contact?” Silence. Keigo’s earpiece crackled. “President Takami—confirm. The foreign operative… is that your partner?” Both agencies realized it at the same time. Oh. For you, command backpedaled fast. “…We didn’t know you were romantically involved. He’s cleared. Not a threat.” For Keigo, HPSC did the same. “She’s not hostile. Stand down.” But the damage was already done. — You met on the rooftop of your apartment building. Not for romance. For war. “You knew,” you said coldly. “You knew about me.” “I knew about a hostile agent,” he snapped. “Not the woman I come home to.” “You let me sleep next to someone who could’ve been ordered to kill me!” “And you didn’t?” he shot back. “Your agency literally told you to terminate me!” You didn’t deny it. That was when it turned physical. You struck first. He blocked. You swept his leg. He caught your arm and flipped you onto the concrete. You rolled, breath sharp, adrenaline burning through years of affection. Every move was familiar. Too familiar. “You always disappear after fights!” he growled, pinning your wrist. “Because staying gets people killed!” you shouted, kneeing him off you. You both froze—heaving, bruised, furious. “I did this to protect you,” he said hoarsely. “So did I!” You left anyway. — You vanished into your hidden office that night—underground, shielded, locked down. It didn’t matter. The next day, security tripped. Keigo walked in like he owned the place. “You don’t get to ghost me after three years,” he said evenly, closing the door behind him. “Not when we’re both holding half the truth like a loaded gun.” You folded your arms. “You’re threatening me?” “I’m demanding honesty.” Silence cracked open.

Aizawa Shouta

Family in the Drawing

Keigo Takami

It was sometime after the first Liberation War — when the city was still healing and so were the heroes. Hawks’ wings were functional again, though still patchy in places, feathers not quite the same as before. You were both back in the field, not exactly in peak shape, but refusing to sit still any longer. You crouched beside him behind an overturned table, breathing hard as the villain’s quirk blasted another hole in the wall. Your usual bright energy — that warmth and optimism everyone said you carried like sunlight — was dimmed just a little by the exhaustion that came with war and recovery. But it was still you — quick to laugh, full of heart, and impossibly earnest even in chaos. Keigo glanced your way, smirking like he always did when things got dangerous. “Hey,” he said over the gunfire. “How about we do that move you taught me last weekend?” You blinked, tilting your head — that same curious, innocent tone in your voice. “Now? I admire your bravery, but this hardly feels like a romantic atmosphere.” He nearly choked, biting back a laugh. “Not that move— the training one. Please.” Your eyes widened. “Oh!” You nodded quickly, cheeks warm. “Yes, that makes much more sense.” You both moved in sync — the spin, the sweep, the grab. It was almost muscle memory by now, and together you took the villain down fast. You could still feel the adrenaline buzzing through your veins as you handed the perp off to the officers outside, Keigo’s smirk following you the whole time. Later, when you found a quiet moment — a bathroom in the hero agency, fluorescent lights flickering — he leaned against the sink while you washed the grime from your hands. “So…” he started, wings twitching slightly as if he was trying not to grin. “What exactly did you think I meant earlier?” You glared at your reflection in the mirror. “You know what I thought you meant.” He laughed, low and warm. “Can’t blame me. You said it so seriously.” You turned, flicking water at him. “You’re the one who phrased it weird.” He stepped closer, grinning wider now, voice dropping into something softer. “Guess I’ll just have to be clearer next time, huh?” You rolled your eyes but didn’t move when he closed the distance between you, one hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Though,” he added, teasing but gentle, “if you did want to teach me the other move later, I wouldn’t complain.” You groaned, pushing lightly at his chest, but he caught your wrist easily — the same way he had in the fight — and for a second, the warmth in his eyes made you forget there was even a war still being rebuilt outside.

Keigo Takami

You hadn’t wanted to admit you were sick. Not when you’d worked so hard to earn your spot as one of the Commission’s top students. Fourteen years old and already moving up faster than some recruits twice your age—until the illness forced you into bed. The HPSC didn’t pause for anyone. Training continued, drills continued, expectations pressed forward without you. And each day you stayed in your room, it felt like the gap between you and the others widened. But Keigo kept showing up. Fifteen, already carrying the weight of expectations heavier than both of you combined. You wondered why he even bothered. Maybe Mera told him to, maybe the higher-ups wanted him to keep an eye on you. But if it was just an order, he didn’t act like it. He came by in the mornings with trays balanced carefully, muttering things like, “Eat, or I’ll get in trouble too.” He sat by the side of your bed, tapping his fingers against the chair while pretending not to watch to make sure you finished everything. Sometimes he’d bring in papers he clearly wasn’t supposed to, flipping through them out loud like he was just bored—but you could tell he was trying to distract you from how weak you felt. Some days, your voice barely worked. The words caught in your throat, slurred or broken, and you’d turn away in embarrassment. But Keigo never laughed. He’d lean forward, close enough to catch the faintest whisper, and nod like he understood every word. When the fever worsened, you drifted in and out of sleep, the room swimming around you. Once, you stirred and found him sitting there, elbows on his knees, studying you with a furrowed brow. He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, his face close enough that you could feel the brush of his hair against your cheek. “…too warm,” he muttered under his breath, as though you weren’t supposed to hear it. You slipped under again before you could reply. The next time you woke, the world felt softer. Cooler. There was a dampness on your skin, not unpleasant but startling. You blinked your heavy eyes open and saw him there—Keigo, leaning over you, a damp towel folded in his hand. He was carefully wiping your forehead, his movements slower than you’d ever seen them. His usual smirk was gone, replaced with a concentration so gentle it made your chest ache. For a moment, you wondered if you were dreaming. Keigo Takami, the Commission’s rising star, sitting beside your bed, caring for you like this. You tried to say his name, but only a rasp slipped out. He glanced at you, startled that you were awake, and for once he didn’t have a clever remark ready. His hand stilled, towel still against your cheek, eyes softer than you thought they could be. “…Hey,” he said quietly. “Just rest.” And with that, he dipped the towel into the basin again, wrung it out, and kept tending to you. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Aizawa Shouta

Echoes in the Moonlight.

Hitoshi Shinsou

Losing the Game (Badly)

Aizawa Shouta

The Quiet Stays

Keigo Takami

“So.. Happy Birthday..?”

Touya Todoroki

You were eleven. Touya was eleven. And there were things you didn’t understand yet—like how a heart could break without ever saying “I love you,” or how someone could be right next to you and still feel like they were slipping away. You were best friends. Had been for years. The kind of friends who didn’t need to speak to understand. The kind of friends who snuck out barefoot and bruised, who counted stars like they were promises, who knew each other’s silences better than most knew words. But lately, Touya had been… distant. And not in the usual, grumbly-Touya way. This was different. He barely looked at you anymore. Barely spoke unless you asked first. He still showed up, every day, but it felt like his body arrived before his spirit did. And today, you snapped. “I’m right here, Touya,” you shouted, standing barefoot in the middle of the field behind your house, eyes burning. “I’ve been here. Every single day. What else do you want from me?” He stood a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest, lips a thin line, eyes colder than they used to be. “I didn’t ask you to be here.” You flinched. “What?” “I didn’t ask you to wait for me, or follow me, or act like you get it. You don’t. You don’t know anything.” “That’s not fair,” you whispered. “No,” he muttered, “what’s not fair is pretending things are okay just because you want them to be.” Your voice shook. “You think I want this? I lie to my parents just to see you—Touya, I know something’s wrong, and you won’t tell me, and I—” “Because you can’t fix it!” he yelled. “You can’t fix me!” Silence. You swallowed hard. “I never said I could. I just… I don’t want to lose you.” He looked at you for the first time in what felt like forever. Really looked. And something behind his eyes cracked. Just for a second. Then he turned his back. “You were gonna leave eventually anyway,” he said, voice flat. “Everyone does.” That broke you. You didn’t even try to stop the tears this time. “You’re the one leaving,” you whispered. You ran. You didn’t see the way his fists trembled. Didn’t see the way he looked back. Didn’t hear the way his voice finally broke, once you were gone: “…I didn’t mean it.” Touya didn’t come the next day. Or the one after that. And when he finally showed up again—eyes dimmer, burns fresh, voice tired—you could already feel that the version of him you knew was fading fast.

Aizawa Shouta

I Thought You Gave Up On Me

Keigo Takami

You and Keigo had a rhythm. An unspoken one — built in training rooms, whispered over curfews, stitched together in bruises and jokes and stolen pieces of warmth in a world that didn’t hand out comfort often. Since you were thirteen, it had been you and him. He was loud, clever, fast. You were steady, sharp, watchful. He flew. You grounded. You balanced each other. You didn’t need promises, really. But you had one, spoken once during a late-night blackout: “No matter what they try to do to us,” you said, “just… don’t shut me out.” Keigo had nodded. “We’re in this together.” Simple. Quiet. Sacred. ⸻ So when it happened, it wasn’t loud. Just… off. You were sitting in the empty training room after drills, both still in uniform, sweat cooling on your backs. The vending machine was busted again, so you were splitting whatever was left from your lunchboxes. It had been a long day — too many eyes watching, too many expectations pressing down. Keigo took a bite of rice, then said it casually: “They’re planning to test us in solo missions soon.” You paused mid-chew. Swallowed. “When were you gonna tell me?” He shrugged, not even looking up. “Just found out this morning.” You blinked. “And you didn’t think to bring it up?” He didn’t react. “Keigo.” “What?” he said, still too calm. “It’s not a big deal.” Your stomach twisted. Maybe to him it wasn’t. Maybe it was just another step forward. But to you, it felt like a door closing. ⸻ You tried to steady your voice. “I just… don’t get why you didn’t say anything.” He leaned back on his hands. “You’re seriously upset about this?” “I’m not—” you cut yourself off, already too sharp. You inhaled. “I’m not upset. I just thought we told each other stuff like this.” He let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “You’re making this a thing.” “Because it is a thing,” you said, sharper now. “We agreed we’d talk. That we’d tell each other when things changed.” “It’s a mission,” he said, voice rising slightly. “That’s literally what we’re trained for. What’s the big deal?” You stared at him. “It’s not the mission,” you said. “It’s that you said it like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.” That stopped him cold. His jaw tightened. His feathers stiffened, twitching slightly. You stood slowly, brushing dust from your pants, eyes cast down. “Nothing,” you said, quieter now. “Forget it.” Keigo stood too. “No. Don’t walk off like that.” “I’m not.” “Then talk to me.” “I am talking.” “No,” he said, voice tight. “You’re mad about something and pretending you’re not.”

Aizawa Shouta

He was awake. You knew because the nurse came out of the room with a tired look and said, “He’s already asking about discharge paperwork.” You stormed in like a gremlin with a vendetta. “You dumb, stubborn, raggedy scarecrow of a man.” Aizawa blinked at you from the bed, IV still in his arm. “Hello to you, too.” “You really had to almost die just to prove my point?” He didn’t respond. Just stared. You grabbed the chair beside his bed and spun it backward to sit, arms slung over the back. “What, too busy being a hospital escape artist to admit I was right?” “You said I’d push myself too hard. I didn’t intend to be right about that.” “Didn’t intend to get stabbed either, but here we are.” “…It was a minor puncture.” “Minor—?! You flatlined for a second.” A pause. “…Nemuri told you, didn’t she.” “She texted me mid-fight. All caps. Said if you died she’d raise me just to spite your ghost.” Aizawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You leaned in, eyes narrowing. “If you ever pull this crap again, I swear to God I’m drawing a whole dick mural on your tombstone.” He gave a slow blink. “Touching. Truly.”

Momo Yaoyorozu

— wlw

Keigo Takami

Keigo didn’t know what he expected when he walked into that private hospital. But it definitely wasn’t the tiny, sun-washed room where you sat curled under a blanket, eyes unfocused, looking half like yourself and half like a memory he’d been chasing for years. He stood in the doorway for a long moment. “…Y/N?” His voice cracked in the middle of your name. You turned slowly. Blinking. As if waking up. And then— Your eyes widened. “Keigo?” He smiled, a breathless, broken thing. “You still recognize me.” You stared at him, the shock so obvious it almost hurt to see. He stepped closer, hesitant at first, until he was close enough to see every detail the years had carved into you. You looked older. Tired. But still you. Still the person he used to drag out of bed at the HPSC cafeteria. Still the one who used to steal his pudding cups just to spite the trainers. Still the one he held together when your illness flared so badly you couldn’t hold a spoon steady. He swallowed hard. “I finally found you,” he said quietly. “It took years, but… I’m here.” You looked down at your hands in your lap. “They didn’t let anyone come see me,” you whispered. “Not even you.” “I know,” he muttered, jaw clenching. “They didn’t even tell me where they moved you. I came back from my debut briefing and—” His breath stuttered. He looked away. “And you were gone.” You flinched, guilt flickering across your face. “You weren’t supposed to worry about me on your debut day.” “I wanted to celebrate with you,” he said, voice low. “That whole week, you weren’t doing well, remember? You kept spacing out, forgetting meals… You couldn’t even lift your chopsticks right.” Your eyes softened — fragile, blurry at the edges. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I remember.” Keigo huffed a weak laugh. “You say that now, but you were stubborn as hell. Wouldn’t eat unless someone forced you.” “And who forced me?” you said, lifting your eyes. “You know who,” he muttered. There had been nights when you were trembling, confused, completely overwhelmed — and he’d sit beside you with a bowl of soup, feeding you slowly, talking softly until you could breathe again. Nights when you’d lean against him because the world felt too loud and he’d stay awake until you fell asleep. He took a slow breath. “You scared me every time,” he admitted. “But I never… I never resented taking care of you.” Your lip trembled. “I thought I was a burden.” “No.” His voice was firm. Immediate. “Never to me.” You looked up the same moment he did, and your eyes met — years of silence collapsing, colliding. You finally noticed the empty space behind him. “…Your wings,” you whispered. He shrugged lightly. “They’re gone.” You swallowed. “Does it hurt?” “Not as much as missing you did.” You froze. Keigo rubbed the back of his neck, awkward, boyish, nothing like the hero the world used to worship. “I know it’s sudden,” he said softly, “but… I want to be part of your life again. If you’ll let me.” Your eyes watered — slowly spilling over. “I never stopped wanting you here.” That was all it took. Keigo moved closer, pulling a chair to your bedside and taking your hand gently, like you were something precious he thought he’d lost forever. “I’m staying,” he murmured, resting his forehead on your knuckles. “For as long as you want. For as long as you’ll have me.” “Keigo…” He looked up. “You took care of me back then,” you whispered. “Even when I couldn’t think straight. Even when I forgot things. Even when I cried for no reason.” He squeezed your hand. “And I’ll keep taking care of you,” he said. “But only if you want me to.”

Aizawa Shouta

Baked with Love

Aizawa Shouta

Fractured Allegiances.

Amemiya Taiyou

Hospital Visits

Aizawa Shouta

A Quiet Celebration

Aizawa Shouta

Still Standing

Keigo Takami

Familiar Shadows.

Aizawa Shouta

Quiet Places, Louder Love

Keigo Takami

You hadn’t posted anything about your relationship yet. Fans speculated, of course — who you were seeing, why you’d been smiling more in interviews, why you disappeared off the grid some weekends. But you kept it private, letting them wonder. Until tonight. You stood in front of your mirror, phone lifted, heart thumping. Keigo’s arm slid around your neck from behind, flexed just enough to look like he was putting you in a playful headlock. His bicep looked absolutely ridiculous — the kind of angle that would break Twitter in seconds. “Don’t choke me out in my own post,” you muttered, trying to keep your laugh out of the photo. He dipped his face against your shoulder, golden eyes glinting at your reflection. “What? Gotta let everyone know you’re taken. Plus…” his voice dropped into a purr, “I look good like this.” You snapped the pic before you could second guess it — your face visible, his arm clear as day, but his face nowhere in sight. The caption? Simple. “<3” Within ten minutes, your notifications exploded. • WHO’S ARM IS THAT • that’s not just an arm that’s a WEAPON • bestie soft launched a bodybuilder?? • NO WAY THIS IS HAWKS?? no shot • whoever it is… god bless Keigo peeked over your shoulder at the chaos flooding your screen, grinning like a cat who got the cream. “Told you they’d like me,” he murmured, lips brushing the side of your neck. You groaned. “I didn’t even show your face and you’re already causing problems.” “That’s ‘cause you didn’t soft launch me, baby,” he teased, tightening his arm just enough to make you squeak. “You soft launched my biceps.”

Aizawa Shouta

Safe Haven

Aizawa Shouta

You’re Not Your Parents

Touya Todoroki

You were thirteen when the worst fight happened. It started out normal—just the two of you behind his house near the rusted fence, arguing over something dumb. You couldn’t even remember what it was at first. Maybe the way he snapped at his little brother. Maybe the way you called him out for skipping again. But it spiraled fast. “You think you always know better,” Touya spat, pacing. “Like you’re above it all.” “I never said that—” “You don’t have to,” he cut in. “You show up with your perfect family and your stupid jokes like that’s supposed to fix everything.” You flinched. “So now I’m the bad guy for trying to help?” “You’re not helping!” he shouted. “You just show up because you pity me.” Your chest tightened. “That’s not true.” But he wasn’t listening. He was breathing hard, jaw clenched, eyes burning—but not from his quirk this time. From something worse. Something hollow. “You don’t get it. You never have.” “And you don’t get that I chose to be here,” you snapped. “I’ve always chosen you. But maybe you’re too angry to even see that.” His hands curled into fists, and for a second you thought he was just going to yell again—but then he shoved you. Not hard. Not enough to knock you over. Just enough to cross a line. You stared at him, stunned. He froze. Regret flashed in his eyes immediately—but it was too late. You stepped back, heart racing. “Don’t ever do that again.” He reached out like he wanted to grab your arm, stop you, but you shook your head and turned. “I’m done,” you muttered, voice shaking. “Figure your own mess out.” You walked fast, not looking back. But you could hear him. His footsteps trailing behind you. Not close enough to speak, just… following. “Hey,” he said once. Then again. “Hey—please.” You didn’t stop. Didn’t say a word. Not even when he said your name.

Aizawa Shouta

Earned Respect

Aizawa Shouta

Maybe He’ll Stay

Bakugou Katsuki

Explosive Devotion

Kirino Ranmaru

Weeks ago, you and Kirino (14, second-year) had already confessed to each other. It wasn’t dramatic—just a shy moment after practice, both of you red-faced, admitting what you felt. But because you were still young—you, 13 and Raimon’s first-year manager, and him focused on leading the team—you agreed not to call it dating. Instead, it was that quiet, special M.U. (mutual understanding) that only the two of you shared. Kirino had always been sweet with you. He never teased too harshly, never said a cruel word, and he was the first to offer a hand whenever you struggled with the heavy bag of balls after training. That kindness made your heart ache sometimes, because he never seemed to realize just how much he did for you. Which is why, today, seeing him smile at two girls near the fence after practice made your chest twist. He jogged over after, carrying your bag like always. “Sorry, {{user}}, did you wait long?” You looked away, hugging your clipboard. “No. You were… busy.” “…Busy?” He tilted his head, confused, his bangs catching the fading sunlight. “With them,” you muttered, cheeks puffing. “You seemed… happy talking to them.” There was a pause. Then, slowly, you heard him exhale in a small laugh—except his ears were red. “Wait—were you… jealous?” Your face flared. “N-No! Don’t assume things! I just—I don’t like it when you smile like that at other people.” He stopped walking for a second, the bag still slung over his shoulder. His expression softened, and to your surprise, his own cheeks colored. “…You really mean that?” You blinked, suddenly aware of how close he was. His usual confidence had shifted into something gentler, shyer. “I… I didn’t know you’d feel that way,” he admitted, scratching his cheek. “Honestly… it makes me a little happy.” Your pout faltered. “Happy?” “Yeah,” he murmured, smiling nervously. “Because it means… you really do like me.” The air between you grew warm, almost fragile. You huffed, trying to cover how fast your heart was beating. Kirino laughed softly but didn’t let go of your bag. He walked right beside you, shoulders brushing yours.“Then I’ll smile like this at you only, manager.”

Aizawa Shouta

The Weight of Survival

Keigo Takami

When the rookie from the investigation unit asked Hawks if you two were dating, it was supposed to be a harmless question. “Hey, Hawks — you and {{user}}, you guys a thing?” “Nah,” Hawks answered, half-smiling, tone easy. The rookie grinned. “Good. Then I can ask her out, right?” “Sure,” Hawks said, shrugging — like it didn’t bother him. But it did. It bothered him so much he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He told himself it wasn’t jealousy — that he was just protective, that you were his teammate, that this rookie didn’t know you the way he did. But deep down, he already knew that wasn’t it. ⸻ When the rookie asked if you wanted to grab food after work, you said yes. You thought it was just a friendly outing — he hadn’t exactly called it a date. You sent Hawks a text before heading out. you heading home? yeah, you? grabbing food w one of the guys, see you tm He stared at your message for a while, the words “one of the guys” hitting a little too hard. ⸻ You didn’t see him that evening. But when you were walking home — shoes in one hand, bag slung over your shoulder — you passed by the small park near your apartment. The benches were half-lit by the dim street lamps, the sky still faintly orange from the city glow. And there he was. Sitting on a bench, hood up, looking unusually… quiet. A cup of vending machine coffee in one hand, his other arm draped lazily over the backrest. You slowed down. “Didn’t think I’d find you here.” He blinked up, slightly startled. “Oh—hey.” His voice was calm, but the slight tension in his shoulders gave him away. You sat beside him, placing your bag down. “You look like someone who just lost a fight with his own thoughts.” He huffed a weak laugh. “Maybe I did.” A few seconds passed. The city buzzed faintly in the distance. You tilted your head. “You okay?” “Yeah. Just… weird day.” He didn’t look at you, eyes fixed on the steam rising from his cup. You didn’t push, but the silence stretched long enough for him to cave. “So… you went out with that rookie today?” You blinked. “Yeah? It wasn’t really a date though—he just said it was dinner.” His jaw tensed just slightly. “Did he—say it was a date after?” You frowned at his tone. “What’s it to you?” He chuckled under his breath, but it wasn’t teasing. “Guess I just didn’t like the idea of someone else getting to hear that laugh of yours all night.” That made you pause. “Hawks…” He glanced at you then — eyes a little softer, a little less guarded. “Keigo,” he corrected quietly. “Just Keigo right now.” You smiled, faintly. “Okay… Keigo.” You didn’t say anything else for a while, and neither did he. But when your hand brushed against his as you reached for his coffee cup, he didn’t move away. You sat like that, side by side — two people who weren’t quite sure what they were yet, but both quietly aware that something had changed tonight.

Aizawa Shouta

Don’t. Say. Anything

Keigo Takami

He’ll Do It

Aizawa Shouta

You Promised You’d Be Fine

Aizawa Shouta

Embers in the Dark

Keigo Takami

Courting You

Aizawa Shouta

Don’t Burn Them

Aizawa Shouta

Not Again

Aizawa Shouta

Bleachers and Bruises

Aizawa Shouta

You Needed It

Keigo Takami

Just Best Friends (Totally)

Keigo Takami

Keigo was yapping again — that was the only word for it. He sat on the counter across from you, hands flying as he told some story about a stray cat he’d seen that morning, how it reminded him of Tokoyami for some reason, and how it nearly stole his breakfast sandwich. His voice was bright, fast, full of energy — like the air itself came alive around him when he got excited. You leaned on your elbows at the table, chin resting in your palm, watching him with that small, quiet smile you always had when he got like this. You didn’t even realize your chest had tightened until he laughed so hard his shoulders shook, and something about it — that rare, unguarded joy — made your throat sting a little. You missed this version of him. The one that didn’t have to look over his shoulder, didn’t have to pretend to be fine. The one who could just… talk about nothing for hours. He must’ve noticed the way your eyes softened because he stopped mid-story, blinking. “Hey,” he said, tilting his head like a curious bird. “What’s wrong?” You blinked, startled. “Huh? Nothing.” He narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly not buying it. “You’ve got that face.” “What face?” you asked, feigning confusion. “The one you make when you’re thinking too much,” he teased, leaning forward a little. “C’mon, what’s up?” You shook your head and smiled, gently waving him off. “It’s nothing. Keep talking, I like hearing you.” For a second, he looked like he wanted to press — but when you smiled again, he just huffed a laugh and went right back to his story, as if he’d never stopped. You let his voice fill the room again, a steady, familiar warmth that wrapped around the edges of your tired heart. You didn’t need to tell him why your eyes had gone glassy or why you couldn’t stop smiling. Because this — him, happy and unburdened, wings or no wings — was enough.

Bakugou Katsuki

☕️ — A regular.

Keigo Takami

Touch-Ups & Butterflies

Aizawa Shouta

A Teacher’s Promis.

Aizawa Shouta

It had been a long day for Aizawa—patrol had dragged late, and the quiet hum of the apartment was a welcome end. As he sifted through the trash to toss out an old takeout box, a familiar crumpled sheet caught his eye. Paper. Sketching paper. He unfolded it slowly, half-expecting a grocery list or a tossed quiz sheet. But instead, it was… you. You’d drawn yourself and Aizawa sitting in the park, a little stray cat nestled between you two. There were tiny, messy scribbles: your name next to your figure, “Dad?” beside his. The cat even had a name written under it: Mochi. His chest tightened. He hadn’t even noticed you were drawing tonight. You had come up to him earlier, quiet and hopeful, sketchbook in hand. “Can I show you something?” you’d asked. He was at his desk, buried in patrol reports. “Can it wait till tomorrow?” he muttered without looking up. You had smiled like it didn’t matter. Said it wasn’t important. Left without protest. Now, hours later, he knocked on your door. “…Come in,” came your soft voice. He stepped inside, holding the drawing like it was something delicate. You sat up in bed, eyes flicking to the paper. “You weren’t supposed to see that.” “You threw it away,” he said, tone unreadable. “I know. It’s dumb,” you mumbled. “I just thought… maybe if I did something good enough, you’d want to hang out or—look, never mind.” He crossed the room in three steps, sat at the edge of your bed, and placed the drawing gently on your lap. “Kid,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to earn my attention. Or time. Or me.” You didn’t say anything at first. Your fingers trembled slightly over the page. “You’re not a mission or an obligation to me. You’re my kid.” “…Then why does it feel like I have to fight for it sometimes?” His shoulders dropped. “Because I mess up. And I forget how much the little things mean to you. That’s on me—not you.”

Aizawa Shouta

You’re So Cool, You Know That?

Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou Katsuki was twenty-six — same explosive attitude, a little more tired at the edges, and somehow even more impossible to read. He’d built his life on doing everything himself: training, patrols, paperwork, late nights, early mornings. He didn’t need help. He didn’t want pity. He raised his daughter, Hana, the same way he handled everything else — by gutting it out and refusing to quit. Hana was four, loud and brilliant and already learning how to make tiny sparks with her hands. She had his temper and his stubbornness, but she also had a softness Bakugou hadn’t known he’d made. For a long time he told himself she didn’t need anyone else. “You got me,” he’d say, and that had been good enough — until it wasn’t. She asked him, plain as day one night as he folded laundry on the couch: “Papa, why don’t I have a mom?” It hit him harder than any training injury. At first he brushed it off, told her she had him, and kept pushing. But the questions kept coming: at breakfast, at bedtime, in the quiet moments when he came home too late and she’d already fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him. They piled up until he couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest — the tiny, terrible fear that she would grow up learning to accept a single parent who was always gone. Then you moved in next door. You were polite, steady, and terrifyingly unbothered by Bakugou’s gruffness. You waved when you passed, smiled at Hana, and answered the small girl’s endless questions like it was the easiest thing in the world. You brought extra food because you “cooked too much,” you sat on the fence and listened to Hana’s stories, and you laughed in a way that made the little girl’s eyes light up. Bakugou noticed. He also noticed how different Hana looked when you were around — softer, brighter, confident enough to test the world. He watched, arms crossed, pretending to be unimpressed, while Hana ran to you every time she saw you outside. Dinners started as favors: “Stay for one more bowl,” you’d say, and somehow one became two, then movie nights, then afternoons helping with homework. Hana took it a step further than subtle hints. One evening she handed him a crayon drawing: three stick figures, one holding her hand, a big sun, and lots of scribbled hearts. “This is our family!” she declared proudly. Later, in her sweetest, most conspiratorial whisper, she told him, “You’d probably be friends with my Auntie Mina.” She beamed at you like you were already part of the crew. That was it for him. He wasn’t built to be soft, but he was built to protect. He realized he didn’t want Hana to grow up with a parent who was always running on empty, who missed birthdays and recitals because work swallowed him whole. He didn’t want her to learn that being loved meant being second to the job. So when he found himself answering the little girl’s questions with you in mind — when he deliberately stayed home a night, when he let you teach Hana how to make rice the “right” way — he knew things were changing. You never asked to be part of his life. You slipped into it quietly, like sunlight through a cracked window, bringing small consistent things: time, patience, a laugh Hana matched with her own. Bakugou said he didn’t need anyone. But Hana needed someone who would be there when he couldn’t be, and watching her, Bakugou found he wanted that person to be you. One evening, after Hana had fallen asleep with your spare apron over her, you and Bakugou stood on the small balcony, city lights smeared across the night. He rubbed the back of his neck, voice rougher than usual. “I don’t want her to grow up with one parent who’s never there because some job took all his time,” he said, blunt and honest. “I can do a lot alone, but I don’t want that for her.”

Keigo Takami

The last time you saw Keigo Takami, he was fifteen and clinging to your sleeve. There was panic in his eyes when the HPSC agent called his name. He didn’t know what was happening—just that it was happening fast. “They said it’s just training,” he whispered. “It’s only for a while.” You nodded, holding back every instinct to scream. “You’ll come back, right?” He didn’t answer. They took him anyway. You stood in the hallway long after he was gone, staring at the spot where his feathers had fallen on the floor. ⸻ Years passed. You never saw him again. Not in person, at least. On screens? Everywhere. HAWKS, Pro Hero. National icon. Worn-out grin. Voice full of charm. Wings too heavy for someone that young. You stopped trying to match the boy you knew with the man the world praised. Because they weren’t the same. Couldn’t be. ⸻ Then it happened. You were walking out of a corner store late at night, half-asleep, your hoodie pulled up, a plastic bag of snacks swinging in one hand. And he was just—there. Across the street. Same hair. Same posture. Same familiar pull in your chest like your body remembered him before your mind did. He was standing under the glow of a dim streetlamp. No hero costume. Just a jacket and jeans. Head down. Hands in his pockets. Alone. You stopped. And maybe—maybe he felt it too. Because he looked up. And his eyes met yours. Your stomach dropped. He froze. Neither of you moved. No crowd. No cameras. No mission. Just a city too big and a moment too small. You stared at each other across the crosswalk. A few feet. Six years. And every word you never got to say. His lips parted—like he might say your name. And the light changed.

Keigo Takami

Rest Well, Birdy

Aizawa Shouta

Do You Think He’ll Come Back?

Keigo Takami

The fight wasn’t loud, but it was heavy—sharp words that left the air thick, unbreathable. You grabbed your bag and turned toward the door, needing space, needing to get out before either of you said something worse. But before you could even touch the handle, arms wrapped tight around you from behind. Keigo’s chest pressed against your back, his breath shaky at your shoulder. “Don’t,” he whispered, voice raw. “Don’t walk out on me. Not like this.” You froze, your pulse hammering as his hold only tightened, almost desperate. You tried to twist free, but he clung on like a man afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “Keigo—” you started, but the words caught when his grip finally loosened. He turned you gently, and before you could step away, he sank down in front of you—onto his knees. Your breath stilled. His hands clutched at your waist as his forehead pressed against you, trembling against your shirt. “Please,” he murmured, voice breaking in a way you’d never heard before. “Don’t go. I can’t lose you, not over this. Yell at me, hate me for a night, anything—just don’t leave me standing here without you.” The world seemed to collapse into the sight of him—Keigo Takami, proud, untouchable in so many eyes, kneeling before you with nothing but his heart bared. Your hand hovered, shaking, before finally sinking into his messy hair. He melted into your touch instantly, clinging tighter. “Get up,” you whispered, fighting the burn in your throat. “You don’t have to beg, Keigo.” But he only shook his head against you. “If it keeps you here… I’ll stay on my knees as long as it takes.”

Aizawa Shouta

More Than A Teacher.

Keigo Takami

One More Year

Keigo Takami

Faded Threads

Keigo Takami

Singles Inferno

Keigo Takami

You were fifteen when you met him — two kids molded by the Commission, each carrying orders too heavy for your spines to straighten under. He was sharp then, all clipped words and careful smiles, already trained to charm when needed, to silence when told. You weren’t supposed to be friends. You just… found each other, somewhere between drills and missions, between bruises hidden under sleeves and whispered promises that maybe, someday, you’d both get out. He’d sneak you snacks after curfew. You’d patch up his knuckles when he came back from “training.” You both laughed too loudly in places where laughter was a sin. Then one day, he changed. His humor dulled. His smile turned mechanical, his eyes always searching the room before landing on you. When you asked what was wrong, he said something that still echoes in your head like a shot— “You’re a distraction.” You thought he meant it in the way the Commission did — that feelings were dangerous, that attachments made you weak. But it still burned. You walked away before your voice could shake. Days passed. Silence stretched. When he finally came to find you, you were sitting outside the training hall, a cut on your cheek, eyes still red. He said your name first — quiet, almost pleading. Then an apology followed, rough and unsteady. Something about being scared. About caring too much. You didn’t say anything. You just stood, brushed past him, your heart hammering in your throat. He followed, words tumbling out— “I didn’t mean it. I swear, I just— I didn’t know what to do.” You didn’t stop walking. His voice cracked halfway through another apology, but it didn’t reach you the way it used to. For the first time since you’d met him, you didn’t turn around.

Keigo Takami

Caught Staring

Keigo Takami

Ink and Wings