Good Traits Gone Bad

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1x09/4x09

When your old besties are back from the dead and they're angry you got character development

"After everything you have done. How will you sleep at night?"

"Next to my wife."

Its so me I love spooky Hawks <3

ᯓ★୭˚. ENEMIES OR MORE?

જ⁀➴ “what are we?” event masterlist

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

pairing: hawks x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

and yet, tonight, something feels different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

for a moment, you’re quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he likes you. really likes you.

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

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

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

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

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

the days that follow the encounter feel different.

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

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

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

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

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

but it’s harder to believe that now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

still, you fight it.

but then, one night, everything changes.

it’s supposed to be just another mission.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then, suddenly, it happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but hawks doesn’t do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it isn’t just exhaustion.

it isn’t just the fight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but it hasn’t. it never will.

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

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

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

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

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

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do not copy, translate, or plagarize

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i will sell my soul to you YES PUH LEASE

I have barely watched any MHA, only seen some with my younger brother and every scene with this man but I love Hawks? Such an interesting character. I am half-tempted to write an X Reader or an X OC series on my AO3 (like I did when I was like, 14) where the reader is an undercover journalist/private investigator (maybe considered a vigilante but they just release sensitive information about corrupt organizations) who's trying to seed out corruption in the Hero Commission and publish it and goes to Hawks since he's like one of their inside men? Idk, I would have to actually watch the show but it sounds goofy lol