My Hero Academia One-Shots | Self Insert

🌷hawks | in painted admiration🌷

if you like castles, light academia, the renaissance period, and hawks, i have some good news for you
wc: 1008

•••

You raked the tips of your fingers across the strings of the spruce harp, elegantly lifting your elbows upon the final glissando. Eyelids shut, shoulders dropped, you exhaled a weary sigh.

An entire minute passed, and your only sign of movement was smoothing out the milky satin dress that hung off your knees so gracefully.

The vast windows welcomed a warm light that encased the beautiful, renaissance paintings on the wall. Your eyes followed the floating particles of dust that caught in the sun's rays as if they were the most enchanted thing in the world; in other words, you were horrendously bored.

A faint, muffled chatter pulled your attention to the chiseled, double doors of the room.

"...stays in their room. If they were to meet any of tomorrow's guests, I simply wouldn't be able to..."

Right. A neighboring kingdom's royal family was visiting tomorrow evening. That was all you knew of such an event.

However, it was only expected your mother would say that. Anytime an outsider wandered the halls of the castle, you were strictly encouraged to occupy your stagnant, suffocating bedroom. Henceforth, you've never met another person besides your family and those who worked inside the castle. It was quite humiliating.

"Beautiful harping, m'lady," sung a playful voice.

You twisted to your right, but the room was empty.

"Hello?" Your own voice surprised you, for it was only on special occasions when you got to use it.

"Harping... harp-playing. Is harping even a word? I think I just made that up," it rambled,
it's voice oddly flat.

You continued to twist and turn on the bench, searching the frozen room for any sign of life.

"Harping is a word. Nobody uses it anymore."

"Ah, got it."

Finally, the slightest glimpse of movement tugged at your gaze. Just to your right was a vast, hazy fresco of a young man with flaxen blonde hair. He held his left arm up to the sky, a flaming ball of light an inch from his fingertips, and a set of brilliant, crimson wings extended behind his back. The painted man wore a draping, gold-accented, white garment that exposed half of his chest and cut off at his shins.

He lowered his arm, stepping down from the unmoving position he had held for all twenty one years of your life.

You leaned in closer to the wall with curiosity.

"Hey," he said with a lopsided smile, his elbow wresting on a fluffy, painted cloud.

"Hello," you said back.

"C'mon, at least act a little surprised. You're talking to a painting for christ's sake." The man rolled his eyes.

"I figured I was dreaming."

He briefly rose his eyebrows, his index finger tapping against his jawline.

"My name is Keigo, by the way. Nice to finally meet you."

"Mine is Y/N," you sputtered after an abnormal pause.

It was a natural instinct for Keigo to say it was a nice name.

Each second of eye contact with him felt easier than any other person you've spoken to. Maybe that was because he was a painting—and not a person.

And the way he stared, spoke, and blinked made him look like he was in love. But then again, how did you know what love looked like? You've never been outside of the castle walls.

"What's it like being a fresco?" you inquired, your hands folded neatly on your satin lap.

Keigo was impressed by your initiative.

"It's alright..." he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Actually, no, I lied. It sucks. I hate it. It's so boring."

"I see we both live boring lives then." Your eyes subconsciously drifted to the dusty rays of light caught in the glass panes.

Keigo's shared sympathy only grew for the two of you. He thought about what he could say to lift your spirits.

"Hey, but look on the bright side. This is my first time talking to... not a painting—and your first time meeting someone entirely new. Feels nice, doesn't it?"

No matter how humiliating the fact was, he was right. And somehow, you weren't embarrassed about it around Keigo.

For once in your life, you could finally breathe.

"Yes. It does." You reflected the conversation back to Keigo. "Do you know the meaning of your artwork?"

The blonde slumped back, his chin finally lifting from his planted elbow.

"Sort of. I'm not one to think about it much, but the most I could infer was the image of hope and dedication. Since I'm reaching for the Sun like that and all," Keigo paused for a moment, reenacting the pose he's practiced all his life. "Maybe that, or I'm just Icarus."

Your hand went up to your mouth as a bubbly laugh tugged at your lips. A laugh. Oh my god, you laughed.

Keigo's face lifted with amusement, a baffled smile on his own ruby red lips.

"Coincidentally, I very much enjoyed the legend of Icarus. Some believe the moral is to listen to your elders, but if that's so, I'd rewrite the story if I could."

It felt amazing to talk, to speak, to hear your own words aloud. Not only to yourself, but to another as well. You forgot how exhilarating it felt.

However, Keigo had cut your Greek Mythology rant in half.

"God, your voice is beautiful."

Your face felt like it was on fire, and your fingers tightened around your dress. Keigo seemed to enjoy your reaction, for he only leaned further in.

"All of these years of watching a stunning royal as yourself... And to think I never even spoke to you until now. Can you believe it?"

His tone was the definition of flirtatious. It froze you to your very core. Finally satisfied with your bemused state, Keigo concluded his serenade.

"Hellooo," he sung. "You alive?"

You met his poking, golden eyes and delivered a silent nod.

"I'm alive."