⋆soft love. housewife. lady of the house. silk robes & gold hoops. cigarette smoke & strawberry jam. perfume behind the ears. ankles too. behind the thighs as well. lace slip. soft scolding. warm hands & warmer heart. pretty browns. gold rings & cherry flecked knuckles . lover • executioner. “yes ma’am.” domestic devotion. “baby, come home.” kinda love. whispered prayers. coco butter • cologne. “worlds best husband.” his softness. his sanctuary. blood warm vows.
❞I love you. ❞
❛❛I need you.❞
(looks better in dark mode. for visual purposes.)
Dear, lovely readers this story contains mature content and is NSFW. It contains, descriptive violence, hate speech/racism, predator imagery/behavior, implied abuse and k being a pathetic man who loves his wifeyyy. if you haven’t guessed it by now this fic explores what k could be like if he was a mafia man in the 1950s (no specific year will be stated) with you as his pretty lil housewife. yes i did reference the godfather and yes k might be unhinged. you will not be referred to as y/n only Mrs. Takami, angel, honey or another pet name. oh yeah black!fem!reader if that wasn’t clear. and this is only part 1. this was not proofread.
his alibi, his altar, his absolution
The lovely. . . NINA SIMONE
𝒟𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝑀𝑒 𝐵𝑒 𝑀𝒾𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝑜𝑜𝒹
KEIGO, let out a slow, unimpressed sigh, rolling his shoulders in a lazy manner. He crouched down, resting his forearms on his thighs, watching the bloodied, bruised man with the kinda idle amusement that you see in killers.
"You think," he starts a small huff of amusement coming out of him as he dragged his hand down his face as he eyed the man, "I actually wanna spend my time..on a piece of shit like you?" His voice was smooth-casual even if not for the sharp edge hiding in between lines.
He exhaled through his nose shaking his head with a smile, all teeth and predatory. Then he let out a dark chuckle "I just wanna go home to my wife," he mused tilting his head like he was talking to himself more than the guy bleeding in-front of him. "You know? You know this already but I can’t help talk about her.. gorgeous women. Sweetest smile you've ever seen in ya life, and God—" he let out a low whistle, "that laugh of hers? Could make a man forget how much blood is on his hands."
Keigo cracks his knuckles absentmindedly, rolling his wrists like he was getting bored. "She's probably in the kitchen right now, making me those strawberry biscuits she knows I like so much. Got her pretty 'lil apron on, rollers in her hair-lookin' like somethin' out of a dream." He speaks about you with such fondness so unsuited for where he is, what he's doing—what he's committing.
His tawny eyes shine when talking about you but then they flick down to the man, and all the warmth vanishes like it was never there in the first place. "But then see," he starts off slowly, reaching his hand out on the man's jaw with a bruising grip, forcing his head up so their eyes both meet. "I get told about you." Keigo's fingers pressed against fresh wounds, against split skin, and a busted lip that had the guy— Charlie letting out a choked groan. "Heard you had a whole lotta stuff to say about her, mm? Called her something real nasty." His grip tightened. "What was it again?"
The man whimpered, his lips swollen barely parting, but Keigo just clicked his tongue. "Nah, c'mon talk to me. Say it. Say it to my face. You ain’t had a problem when you were with your boys aint’chu?”
Keigo has a lot of patience for things, many, many things. But what he don't got time for is motherfuckers like this playing in his face, disrespecting you, his marriage. He's not the type of guy to beat people up for every and any little thing —he hates senseless violence. Reminds him of his pops, and Keigo ain't like his pops. He's different. He's controlled, he's calm, he keeps himself in check, and knows when to let the chains he's kept so tight around himself loose.
So, of course it's a scary thing when he lets the control slip. When he lets his anger run through him, boiling, it's a stark difference to the charming display he puts on. In the world he lives in where you either bite or get bitten and he doesn't do a lot of biting but when he does?
it's a nasty, bloody, wound.
Because there's an animosity behind that charming personality. Behind that sugar slick smile, and those honeyed eyes. An animal that wants blood, an animal that’s been hiding behind a painted face of a man. It’s kept in a tiny, dark corner of his head where all the rest of his rot lives. It’s kept there so he won’t become the thing his father was. So, he won’t become the thing he fights so hard to cage. He only lets it out when people truly deserve it. Deserve that monster.
This is one of those times.
All because. . . Charlie was one of those guys who drinks to much and when he opens his mouth it's get him in trouble.
He gets up from his crouch, looking at him eyes darkened, patience worn thin before he pressed his thumb hard against the broken nose, grinding down until the man lets out a garbled, pained sob.
Fuckin’ baby. This ain’t even the worst part.
“Don T—Takami, please—“
Keigo lets out a slow breath, rolling his jaw, before pressing down even harder. “Huh?” He drawled lazily. “Can’t hear you, buddy, speak up.”
He grabs Charlie’s jaw again, his grip tightened like a vice until he heard that shit click. He cracked.
“Black bitch!” He spat, blood and spit flying from his busted, red lips.
Then, Keigo sighed, shaking his head like he was disappointed. Like this was the exact answer he was expecting. Lots of thoughts were running through his head but the main one, front and center was ‘I'm gonna be late for dinner.'
“Yeah,” he murmured flexing his fingers before balling them into a fist. He has his brass knuckles tucked right in his pants pocket. Solid gold, heavy, and well used to beating pulp. But nah. He needed Charlie to feel this. His anger—even without brass Keigo hits hard.
“That’s what I thought.”
Then he swung.
Again.
Again.
Again.
And again—
The crack of bone against flesh and skin was sickening.
He didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.
Not when this was the only way he could let it all go.
Not when the only person—the only women who taught him love, real love name is being spat on.
Violence runs through his family.
It’s Hereditary.
Vile.
Grotesque.
Horrifying.
He’s not Keigo Takami anymore.
He’s not a sweet, loving husband right now.
He’s Hawks. Hes Brooklyns Favorite son.
Keigo's fist moved on muscle memory now, driven by something low and burning in his chest. Rage. Love. The need to protect something so soft and delicate in a world that only respected blood and power. His knuckles were raw, bruised, split open, but he didn't feel a damn thing.
The man beneath him—Charlie his 'brother' was half conscious, face swollen, skin clammy and blood soaking into the collar of his shirt. But Keigo grabbed a fistful of it anyway, dragging him up so he could look him dead in the eye.
"You opened your mouth about her," Keigo rasped, his voice thick, heavy with venom and something pained behind it. "My angel. My sweet, sweet angel," he looks away for a second thinking about deep browns and your voice the only thing keeping him right in the head right now—cause he could be doing worse right now. "and all cause of her skin color?"
He looks back and Charlie's eyes are closed oh no. "Hey, hey look at me," he whispers and his eyes open blue and watered. "You cryin'? That's not good enough bud cause I can see it-" His hand fisting the collar tighter bringing them face to face "You still don't get it do you?" His voice is reverent, like he's speaking a prayer and a curse all the same. "You know this—you fuckin’ know this shit. She ain't just my wife. She's the reason I come home at night. Reason why I get up in the morning. The reason why I don't put a bullet in my own damn head some days."
Charlie tried to turn away-maybe from shame, maybe to brace for another blow, but Keigo didn't let him. His hand caught the bastard’s jaw, fast and mean, fingers sinking into the bruised bone like claws. Held him there. Made him look.
"She's light you hear me? And you-," a breathless chuckle, a bewildered expression because he truly can’t believe this. "you disrespected her like it was nothin'. Called her…”
He exhales a shaky breath and goes quiet. eyes squeezing shut like the memory itself burned.
“Why! “ he barked, wild eyed. Loud enough to make Charlie flinch.
“Why, why, why, why—“ he sounded crazy now, kept saying it like it might cough up the answer. Like it might reveal the truth. His voice cracked on the fourth one, raw and unhinged. He was shaking the man now, snarling in his face—teeth bared, nose to nose with someone who’s barely breathing.
“Why would you say that about her?”
It wasn’t rhetorical.
It was a man slipping. Slipping into the dark.
Voice all torn up from the rage.
“Like you forgot what I am,” Keigo hissed eyes blown wide and golden. “Like you forget what I’ll do.”
His head tilted. Smile all teeth. But it ain’t shit was funny.
“Cause you know don’t you?” His voice dropped to something quieter. “What I’ll do. And you still played. Still fucked around.”
A little laugh now. A dry, cracked thing.
His thumb pressed down into the man's cheekbone-slow, deliberate. "You don't deserve to speak about someone like her. You don't deserve to look at someone like her." Charlie wheezed out a breath, but Keigo leaned in closer, breath hot, jaw so clenched his teeth ached.
"You think I do?" Keigo asked almost to himself his eyes distant. "I don't. But she chose me. She loves me. And l'd set the whole fuckin' world on fire if it meant keeping her safe. If it meant beating up filth like you.” He exhales, breathing in and out before that solemn tone left and replaced with hatred. “You're not even worth the dirt under her heel Charlie, c'mon."
"She made you cookies, man," he hissed, disbelieving. "She baked for you. You—you and the other bastards sittin' around my table, drinkin' my liquor, talkin' like you've got some kinda right."
"I let it slide 'cause I consider you family and - and I understood we all get a lil' loose when drunk."
His voice cracked, just for a second.
"I…just..l don't know why she bothers sometimes. Why she's so good to me. So lovely. Lovely to all of you. She's got no idea how much I need that-how much she saves me just by bein' there."
Keigo's voice drops, soft and low like a confession. "So, you understand why I'm doing this to you, right?"
Charlie nodded quickly-pathetically- his split lips trembling, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. The tears streaming down his cheek weren't real.
Not to Keigo.
Not now.
Crocodile shit, every drop of it.
Keigo sighed, slow and tired thumb still resting on Charlie's swollen cheek. He gave it a gentle pat-mocking, almost tender—and smiled just a little.
"That's..that's good. I didn't wanna explain it again."
Then he drove his fist into Charlie's gut so hard the chair rattled. The man choked, eyes bulging, air knocking clean out of his lungs, mouth gasping in shock.
Keigo finally steps back, just to breathe a bit, process everything. He looked down at his hands, flexed his fingers, and wiped the blood across his button up. Ruined. The whole shirt, fucked. He could already hear your voice in his head, scolding him—“bloods hard to get out baby, this is the third one this week.”
But you’d clean it anyway.
You always did. You’d frown and tell him to go sit down somewhere while your hands soaked the fabric, subbing the blood stains out with a high agent cleaner and warm water huffing to yourself if there were any hard ones to get out.
It was so domestic it made his jaw clench, heart even harder.
“She’s always humming,” Keigo rasped, pacing infront of Charlie, thumb rolling over his bloodied knuckles of his right hand trying to self soothe. It fails. “She dances in the kitchen sometimes when she thinks I’m not watching. And she’s always askin’ ,” He huffs here smiling painfully, “if you boys want somethin’ to eat. Always caring bout’ you bunch of fuckers like your her own to fret over.”
He stopped then, turning slowly, eyes locking on Charlie with a look that could freeze blood over.
Wide, a bit bloodshot, tawny eyes darkening—his voice dropped low and dangerous.
“That’s who you spat on.”
A pause. A breath.
“That’s the women who you reduced to some cheap, nasty, punchline.”
Each word was deliberate. Meant to bruise. And it wasn’t just anger behind it—it was pain.
Because she was good.
Too good.
Charlie tried to shake his head, tried to say something. But Keigo ain't let him get a word out. He was trembling not from fear—but from his ill temper barely in check now.
“And c’mon Charlie!” He snarled voice suddenly raucous the sound bouncing off like a gunshot. “You think I don’t see the way you look at her like that? Like you wanna get close to her, like she’s something you got a shot at?! Like you wanna fuck her?”
He cocks his head, one brow raised, and steps forward with a body language all but communicating violence.
He stands infront of him, grabbing Charlie’s jaw again, rough and punishing. “Look at me. Look. At. Me. You dirty fuckin’ mutt.”
It’s a command. One he obeys cause he knows better. Knows better than to be a disobedient dog infront of its master. He meets his eyes and gold sears into him. Not just from shame or fear no it’s feeling of being of already being dead and now he’s just waiting on the shovel.
“Say it ain’t so.”
His grip tightens, thumb digging just under Charlie’s chin.
“Say it ain’t so, and I might not feed you to the fuckin’ dogs.”
He leans in, breath hot and steady, voice bitter.
“Say it ain’t so. . . and maybe I won’t have your worthless ass cut up floatin’ in East Bay by sunrise.”
Charlie breath hitches, jaw caged in Keigo’s palm, voice broken sobs.
“You wanna fuck my wife Charlie?” Keigo repeats, voice eerily soft this time.
“N—No—“
“Liar.” He hisses. The word cuts sharper than a blade
Keigo's fist slammed into Charlie's gut again, a sickening crunch following the impact. The man's breath left him in a wheeze, his body jerking from the hit. But Keigo wasn't done. "You probably think about her on her knees for you don't you?" He sneers, his voice low and guttural "Dream about her suckin' your tiny fuckin' dick, callin’ you ‘sir’ and treatin’ you like a king?! You ain't shit Charlie—you ain't worth shit!" He yells in his face voice rough and visceral.
"Then you got the audacity—the fuckin' audacity—to insult her 'cause of her race? Cause she ain't like the dames you're used to? Cause she ain’t like those paper-thin, powdered up bitches you toss pape at?! You think that makes you a man?”
His face twists, pure disgust now.
“Havin' whores hangin' off your arm, talkin tough shit, like you sit in the same table as me and mine. But I don’t see no ring on that finger. You know why?”
Keigo leans in, lip curled, golden eyes blazing.
“Cause you couldn’t even keep a wife! Couldn’t give her a damn legacy. Not with that dead womb.”
Charlie flinches like he’s been shot and has the audacity to bear his teeth, blood shot blue eyes looking to kill.
Keigo laughs. Low, mean, and cruel.
“There it is,” he mutters, voice all ice now. “That pride. That stupid fuckin’ pride that got you into this chair.”
And before Charlie can say a word—crack—Keigo slaps him hard across the face with the back of his hand. Not a punch. No. A slap. Disrespectful. Deliberate. The kind of hit you give to remind someone of their place.
Charlie head jerks, blood splattering from his mouth. Keigo grabs him by the collar, brings him close enough that their forehead nearly touch.
“Don’t you dare bare your teeth at me, mutt.” The words come out, sharp and heavy. “You wanna growl, you better be ready to die like a dog.”
His grip tightens. “And don’t play that shit with me. You aint a fuckin' King. Not a real one at least. Runnin’ round here sayin my name in conversations like a card. You're just some boy who's got his head mixed up and forgot himself, forgettin' who the fuck he works for, and why he kisses the ring." Keigo spits, his voice laced with pure poison.
“You promised yourself to me.” He huffs, “Said you were mines—my soldier. My fuckin’ man. And I took you in like blood. I brought you under my wing, let you wear my name.”
His voice cracks. Not from weakness but from betrayal.
“I protected your sorry ass when there were bodies on your trail and vultures circling. Me. I fronted you cash when your wife was pregnant and the bills stacked higher than your pride. And when that baby..died. “ his voice cracks here, “ You stood in that hospital, tears in your goddam eyes and said “you would’ve been the Godfather.” “
Keigo’s chest heaved. His fist trembled around Charlie’s collar, “I was there for you,” he said, quiet now. Broken. “Cause I considered you family, man.”
A beat. A moment of silence.
“Like a brother.”
Keigo’s gaze hardened, the lingering feeling of betrayal and mercy gone. The last never being an option in the first place.
“And you…messed that up. Fucked it up really.”
Keigo stepped back dropping his hand from the collar biting his lower lip softly before looking up at the celling.
Charlie’s breaths of wheezes full the warehouse with sound, the smell of blood as well and but Keigo’s mind isn’t even here anymore it’s with you.
You with your pretty brown eyes that never look at him like the monster he is. Never judge him for what he says, what he does, how he acts when he comes back from a bad day at work pent up frustration and silence—he’d never take it out on you. But, you..you’re just so sweet. You press a kiss against his forehead, let him lay his head on your lap, while your run your fingers through his hair humming a sweet tone.
It’s his part of life—so small but so beautiful—that makes him human. Keeps some part of him sane.
You and your kind—soft words. Soft words that aren’t meant for people like him. “I love you,”’s, and “your my forever and only,”’s. When you say those words it sounds like a whole other language—one he thought he would never understand. But, you taught him, you kept patience with him and you never left no matter how ugly it got. How ugly he can get. When he’s not worth those words anymore and you still whisper it in his ear, still look him in the eyes until he says it back without his voice shaking.
You and your warm, home cooked food that fills his stomach and suddenly he’s reminded of that kid inside of him—hollow cheeks, ribs peeking through his skin. Back then he had to earn food. Prove he deserved to eat another day. And it’s not just the food but it’s the genuine amount of emotion you put into it. The time, and effort—and it’s all for him. Because you love him.
Just you.
Smiling. Eyes crinkled at the corners. Laughing—so warm and full of joy. Putting him back together with your words of affirmations and your voice that seems to echoes the loudest in his head—whenever it’s too much.
“You know,”
He drawls dragging his knuckles down his own jaw to ground himself even more.
"She prays for me. Every night. Real quiet, so l don't hear her—but I do. I lie there with her head on my chest, and I hear her ask the Lord to keep me safe. To keep me kind."
He sighs. Looking at Charlie the man barely conscious. Bloodied and beaten. Nose twisting in a way that’s certainly not right. Lips split, busted and red trembling down his chin.
He chuckles, it’s something bitter.
"Some nights I believe He listens. Nights like this?" He tilts his head, tongue running across his front teeth.
I’m so fucking jealous of people who genuinely don’t care about pleasing others. Almost everything I do in a social setting is in attempt to make other people’s lives more comfortable, and to make sure that people still like me
My biggest fear is that people I like dislike me, because I’ve had a lot of previous experiences with this
This is also why I’m scared to come out to people, because I’d rather make their lives more convenient, by staying within their perception of me, rather than doing what would make me happy
“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” with anakin please? also i love the way you write him, you’re so good!
I should try to write something other than Sith!Anakin, but alas, I cannot. If you've seen Clone Wars, this is modeled off of the episode where Obi-Wan and Anakin get captured alongside Count Dooku and the three of them have to work together to make it out.
#10: “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”
In hindsight, trying to make a deal with Hondo Ohnaka and his gang of pirates without any sort of backup was not your best idea. They had tricked you, ambushing your ship when you landed at the coordinates you were given after paying for information as to the whereabouts of a small group of Jedi that you were hoping to recruit into the Rebel Alliance. Considering you still haven't had any formal training and you were heavily outnumbered, the pirates easily stripped you of your newly-constructed lightsaber and knocked you out.
You've been knocked out far too much for your liking since having joined the Rebels, but it's all for a good cause. At least, that's what you tell yourself when you finally come to on the cold concrete floor of a prison cell. You're disoriented, and you wince when you rub at the painful lump on the top of your head from where Hondo had hit you. Great, you're cuffed! Just what you need.
Even with your confused state of mind, it doesn't take long for you to sense that there's someone in this cell with you. You just hope it's not a pirate that's going to finish you off before you even have a chance to fight back.
"Well, well, well, look who it is!"
That voice. You've only met in person once before this (though he's been in your dreams far more than you'd care to admit), but you'd be able to pick that voice out of a crowded room immediately. He's obviously taking great pleasure in your current predicament, and you scowl before stumbling to your feet and glaring into the golden eyes in the other corner of the cell.
"Y'know, Rebel, if you wanted to see me again, you didn't have to go to such extreme lengths to do so."
"Anakin," you greet with as much malice as possible, knowing that, even if he wanted to kill you (which he doesn't), he couldn't. "You've stooped to working with pirates now?"
"As if I would ever even consider such a thing." He finally comes out of the shadows, and you see that he's cuffed over his simple Sith robes exactly as you are.
You can't help but laugh at this turn of events, even though it makes your head hurt to do so. "Oh, this is great. The mighty Sith Lord Darth Vader, captured by a few pirates?"
"I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. After all, we're both in the same unfortunate situation."
That does end your merriment, and you lean against the wall. "Do you know what the pirates are planning on doing?"
"It would appear that they are contacting the Hutts to try and secure a ransom for both of us. After all, two Force-users, one a Sith Lord and the other a high-ranking Rebel, will catch quite a fortune."
"Kriff," you lament.
"'Kriff' is right."
Looking out through the cell bars, you can see that there's only one guard outside. The pirates have probably assumed that you're powerless without a lightsaber. They would be wrong. "Well, I guess we need to get out of here before they can sell us off, then."
Anakin tilts his head with a smile. "Are you suggesting that we work together?"
"We really don't have a choice, do we?"
He comes to stand next to you in front of the bars, both of you silently formulating a plan. You decide to try a mind trick to get the guard to release you from the cell, but before you can so much as lift a hand, Anakin has his own in the air to Force choke the guard. You gasp, looking on in horror (and, you must admit, admiration) as Anakin brings the pirate closer to the cell door.
"If you want to live," he hisses, "you'll unlock the cell now."
The pirate nods frantically, and Anakin releases him from his hold so that he can use his keycard to open up the cell door. When he does and the door swings open, Anakin raises him up in the air with the Force again before crushing his windpipe. He tosses the body to the side as if it's mere trash, rummaging through the dead man's pockets before finding another key to unlock the cuffs.
He undoes his first before grabbing your hand with a surprisingly gentle grip and unlocking your own cuffs. You want to say something, to question why he killed that man or what he plans on doing next, but you can merely stare at him as the atrocity he just committed is fresh on your mind.
"Oh, don't act so scared of me," Anakin scoffs. As if to prove that you have nothing to be scared over, he smiles softly at you. "After all, I've seen the way that you look at me when you think I don't notice."
Your jaw drops, and you try to sputter out an answer now that you've been solidly knocked out of your fear. "I've done no such thing! We've met twice before, and one of those times you were trying to capture me while I was running for my life!"
Anakin smirks. "And what about all of the dreams? There have been plenty of longing looks from both of us in those."
Your stomach drops as you realize that the sanctity of your dreams has been invaded. Somehow, you've been sharing dreams with a Sith Lord. And somehow, you hadn't noticed that you were.
Anakin's already halfway down the hall before he turns around. Though he's just dropped a bomb on you, he doesn't seem to realize or care that it's left you stunned. "Well? Are we going to escape from some pirates or not, Rebel?"
