Chapter Text
“You’re the worst person in the world, you know that right?” Rabbit hero Mirko just cackles as she shoves another tequila shot in his face.
“C’mon, you can’t let a girl out drink you under the table!” Hawks groans but takes the shot, swallowing it all in one go and chasing it with a lime. It stings going down but it warms him up a little.
“That’s not fair Rumi and you know it. My bones are hollow and you’re like twice my weight in muscle mass alone. Obviously you can out drink me.” They’re in a very loud bar in Yakuin ward, the trendiest part of Fukuoka. Theres a lot of young, wealthy people on the dance floor, and the loud music and flashing lights makes Hawks’ eyes get fuzzy and brain go numb. Rumi’s red eyes sparkle under the flashing pink and blue lights.
“Yeah, well I think you’re just being a little bitch and a bad wingman. Hah! Get it! Wingman!” She’s clearly drunk because that joke was more terrible than usual. Hawks rolls his eyes, deflated wings fluttering slightly under his hoodie. They always try to keep as anonymous as possible when they go out drinking, the last thing the two heroes want on their night off is to get mobbed by a bunch of fans when they are just trying to get drunk and act like idiots in their twenties. Leaving the majority of his feathers at home and hiding the fluffy remnants under a hoodie is usually good enough for Hawks. The massive red wings are such an iconic part of his hero persona that he rarely gets recognized without them, especially if he isn’t wearing the aviator uniform. Rumi usually tries to tie her ears into her massive white ponytail, cover her fluffy little tail with a big skirt, and wear a jacket to mask her absolutely insane arms. Maybe not good enough to fool someone who is really looking, but at a passing glance in a dimly lit bar the two of them look remarkably average.
“Ooh Hawks look at that girl, I want that one.” Hawks narrows his eyes across the dance floor. He’s thoroughly tipsy at this point and his vision is slightly blurry.
“The one with the blue hair?” She looks, fine? Average he supposes. Whatever floats Rumi’s boat.
“Yeah her. Just look at her legs. I want to climb them.” Hawks rolls his eyes.
“Whatever you say Rumi. Aren’t you going to be running out of girls in this city that you haven’t slept with?” Rumi slams her double shot of tequila back (jesus how does she do that) before grinning maniacally.
“Don’t be dramatic Hawks, just because you’re a fucking prude doesn’t make the rest of us sexual deviants. Do you want her instead? I could wingman for you you know.” Hawks tries very hard to not look uncomfortable. He hates this subject.
“Pass. You know I don’t date Rumi.” The rabbit hero gives an annoyed huff before waving down the bartender, ordering yet another round of shots.
“I don’t get it chickadee. You’re young, you’re hot, I’m literally your only friend –“
“Hey, that’s not—“
“It’s true and you know it. You should branch out chickadee, stop spending all of your free time with a lesbian and find a nice straight girl to get freaky with.” Her grin is truly, truly evil. Hawks shifts uncomfortably before grabbing the shot. He so does not want to talk about this. He drinks it quickly, the taste is starting to make him a little nauseous and the room is spinning slightly, he should probably slow down if he doesn’t want to fly into a window on his way home.
“I just, haven’t found the right person yet. And I love you Rumi but I really, really doubt I’m going to meet the right person in a loud, sweaty bar.” Rumi drinks her double shot without a chaser, like a crazy person.
“Eh you can meet someone anywhere, you just have to have an open mind. C’mon let’s dance, neither of us are going to get laid just standing around and talking about how boring you are.” She grabs him by the arm and yanks him towards the dance floor, and he lets out an embarrassing little ‘eep’. She pulls them towards the middle of the throng of people, and the press of bodies is overwhelming. He likes it though, melting into the crowd, the dim flashing lights, music so loud it makes his teeth vibrate. It erases his individuality, out here he isn’t Pro Hero Hawks, he’s just another drunk 20 something enjoying the false intimacy of dozens of strangers pressed against him while they dance. Rumi slowly has them dance their way closer and closer to the woman with blue hair. She’s a little prettier up close, pale blue, almost translucent scales along the edges of her face. Her eyes are a brilliant turquoise that make a strange pang well up in his chest, but he stuffs it down. He says hello, makes friendly conversation as best he can in a loud club through mostly yelling, before pointing out Rumi who is doing her best to look casual and unaware of the situation while dancing from 10 feet away. It works, the blue haired girl gives Rumi a happy little wave and the off duty hero practically hops over. Hawks backs off, giving the two a little room.
He sinks back into a cluster of people, swaying to the pounding beat and closing his eyes. A dozen people are pressed against him and it feels so good. As a hero most of his job is stopping robberies, getting punched in the face or slammed through walls, so touch from another human being that doesn’t hurt is rare. Someone slides their hand up his arm and he presses into the sensation. He glances back, it’s a rather tall man with black hair and burning blue eyes. Hawks feels his heart leap up into his throat but presses backwards into the stranger’s chest, shivering slightly as a large hand settles on his hip and sways along with him to the deafening pounding of the music. It’s just dancing, it’s harmless, but a slow anxiety and guilt starts to build in his stomach at the feel of a broad, warm chest at his back, hot breath starting to ghost at his neck. He pulls away reluctantly, offering an apologetic glance over his shoulder before ducking away and disappearing into another group of people.
Before long Hawks spies Rumi making out against a wall with the blue haired girl. He catches her eye from across the way and sticks his tongue out teasingly. Rumi flips him off and then whispers something in the woman’s ear. She gets an enthusiastic nod and suddenly she’s being dragged out of the bar, Rumi waving goodbye and winking. Hawks rolls his eyes. How does she make it look so… easy?
Hawks tries to let himself sink back into the crowd, dance with another stranger for a bit, but he’s too distracted now, uneasy and anxious in the heat and sweat and mass of people. He quietly slips out of the club and into the cold night air. It’s mid November and the temperature has been dropping quickly. He normally hates the cold but he’s sweaty and overheated from dancing in the crowd of people, so right now it’s honestly refreshing. He walks a couple blocks to a quiet street, lined with restaurants and stores that have long been closed for the night. He ducks into an alley behind a bookstore where he stashed his feathers, recalling them all to reattach to his back through the hidden slits in the back of his oversized hoodie. He shakes his wings out, feeling significantly better with the full appendages at his back. It’s necessary sometimes, but going without his feathers for a significant amount of time always puts his teeth on edge.
Hawks is spreading his wings, about to take off, when his phone buzzes to life in his pocket. He stops, fishing out the phone and unlocking the screen with a gloved finger. His heart rate immediately picks up. It’s a location pin, halfway across the city in the industrial district, and instructions to be there in 30 minutes. There’s no elaboration, no meeting topic, nothing. Hawks sighs and stows his phone, shaking out his wings again and rubbing his arms through his hoodie. He would have stashed a flight jacket here too if he would have known he wasn’t just going to be making a short flight home. He hates the cold. He spreads his wings and takes off, catching an air current that floats him high above the buildings of the city and hopefully out of sight. It’s the middle of the night so the chances of someone looking up and seeing him are low, but he doesn’t really want to take any chances. He takes his time, locking his wings out into a glide and letting the air current do most of the work. Birds actually do remarkably little work when flying, most of the effort is just getting up to altitude before just letting himself soar on currents to get to wherever he needs to go. He enjoys it regardless. He doesn’t have his large headphones or visor tonight since he is just in civilian clothes, and he always enjoys the deafening roar of the wind and the bite of air across his face. It’s incredibly relaxing and helps some of the anxiety leak out of his shoulders.
A short time later he starts making slow, lazy circles above the alley he was instructed to be at, raptor eyes scanning the ground for any signs of movement. Theres a couple of drunk salarymen laughing a few blocks away, and a cat that runs under a dumpster, but that’s it. No sign of the person he’s supposed to meet yet. Satisfied that there doesn’t seem to be an immediate threat, Hawks tucks his wings into a dive, flaring his wings out 20 feet above the ground to halt his fall before gently touching down in the darkened alley. It’s narrow, the tips of his primaries can touch both walls when fully extended. He folds his wings along his back and leans against the grimy wall next to a telephone pole covered in ripped papers and staples from a million signs.
He waits, it’s almost 35 minutes past the time he was told to arrive when a cloud of black materializes along the alley wall, edges purple and shimmering slightly. Hawks can’t help but frown, last he had heard their teleporter was in prison. Apparently not anymore, and he makes a mental note to find out what the hell happened. Out of the warp gate steps a tall, thin man, hair jet black and eyes like chips of brilliant ice that practically glow in the dark. The most defining feature, however, are the massive scars that cover most of his visible skin, deep purple and rough. The normal skin is glowingly pale and perfectly smooth, stapled into place by rows and rows of gleaming surgical staples. The piercings in his ears and the side of his nose glint in the low light, reflecting off the pale streetlight. A subtle smell of smoke and ash follows the man wherever he goes, and Hawks has to forcefully suppress the shiver of anxiety that runs through his spine whenever he sees the man.
Dabi’s mouth breaks into a toothy, predatory smile, sauntering over and getting way too close into Hawks’ personal space. He tries to back up a little, wings bumping into the wall behind him.
“Glad you could make it pigeon, I was wondering if you would show.” Dabi’s voice is raspy and deep, damaged from years of smoke inhalation. The faint smell of cheap cigarettes clings to his ratty clothes. Hawks swallows as his eyes rake down the villain’s thin but strong frame. He looks like some kind of predatory cat, movements lazy and languid but simmering with a violence ready to be let out at a moments notice. He’s ashamed to say it’s not unattractive.
“Could have given me a little more of a heads up you know, I was busy.” Dabi’s glowing blue eyes rake him up and down, and Hawks can’t help but feel like an insect under a microscope, pinned in place and waiting to get his wings plucked off. He reaches out a hand, long thin fingers spreading along his neck. Hawks doesn’t know which instinct he has to fight more, the urge to jerk away or the temptation to lean in to the touch. His fingers are unusually warm, unsurprising given the man’s quirk, and they leave a scorching line of sensation in their wake when the villain pulls his hand back, inspecting his finger tips.
“Having a good time hero? Didn’t take you for one to wear glitter.” Hawks blushes as Dabi gives him a cruel, predatory grin. He rubs his fingertips together, letting little bits of body glitter fall to the floor. “Or did some pretty little whore leave that behind as a souvenir for you?” Hawks grits his teeth in annoyance.
“Is there a point to you dragging me out here in the middle of the night, or did you just want a turn showing me a good time?” Dabi’s eyes narrow a little at that, and Hawks gives him a little smile of satisfaction. The teasing never fails to make the villain mad. He presses forwards a little. “You could just say it’s a booty call next time, I don’t mind.” He flashes Dabi a salacious grin which finally gets him to take a step back.
“Don’t flatter yourself pigeon. We need patrol schedules for the next few weeks, every pro and sidekick in the city. We need to know when and where there will be eyes in the sky, and when there won’t.” Hawks flits his wings.
“Anything else? My home address? My wings on a silver platter?” Dabi chuckles darkly, breath leaving a small trail of mist in the cold.
“We want you covering Higashi ward for the next few weeks, and for you to find nothing interesting on your patrol routes while you’re there.” Hawks sighs, flaring his wings slightly in an annoyed huff. Ever since the incident with High End he’s been doing nothing but small, uninteresting favors for the League. He still hasn’t met anyone outside of Dabi, and he can feel the mission stalling under his hands. Dabi is supposed to be his in with the League of Villains, a way to meet Shigaraki Tomura and start getting information about all the members and their bigger plans. Instead he’s been stuck as the arsonist’s errand boy with very little to show for it.
“Anything in it for me hot stuff? I’ve been doing a lot of favors for you for free, you know. I think I deserve a little something in return.” Dabi scowls, pushing back into the hero’s personal space. His face is so close he can feel the heat graze his face, the smell of fire and smoke luring him in.
“I’m afraid I’m fresh out of birdseed. Do you accept payment in breadcrumbs?” He teases. Hawks narrows his eyes. Dabi just gives him a wry smile. “Unless you want some other form of payment, pigeon.” A thin hand drifts up to trace a single finger tip along the edge of Hawks’ jaw, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through his spine. “That could be arranged.” The hero tries to swallow as subtly as possible, a barrage of very, very inappropriate thoughts suddenly flickering through his head.
“I’d settle for finally getting to meet your boss. I’m getting bored of talking to just you.”
“Mm, how rude. I happen to think I’m very interesting, hero. Be patient, you’ll meet him when we decide you can trust you, pigeon. In the meantime just keep doing as you’re told, and we won’t have a problem.” Hawks fights down the swell of annoyance.
“Anything else hot stuff? Or can I be done freezing my feathers off in a grimy alley?” Dabi chuckles a little, leaning in dangerously close. Their noses are barely an inch apart, and Hawks feels the higher functions in his brain start to shut down as he feels himself get pulled in. The smell of smoke and ash has never been so intoxicating.
“We’ll keep in touch pigeon.” The words are barely above a raspy whisper. The next second the villain is gone, falling backwards through the warp gate. The black cloud quickly winks out of existence, leaving Hawks cold and alone in the alley. He takes a second to clear his head, fighting down the heady arousal that’s pooling in his stomach. When he had been given this assignment, his handler had conveniently failed to mention how fucking attractive his mark would be. He shakes his feathers out, trying to focus on the bitter cold and not the memory of the touch along his jaw or the whisper of a breath across his face. It’s unprofessional at best, but he has to admit the flirty tension is good entertainment.
Hawks launches himself back into the air, winging home as quickly as possible. Its late and he has work in the morning, a full day of patrol, and now he has some schedules to steal from multiple agencies. He winces a little, feeling guilty at having to hand over Rumi’s work schedule. He knows it by heart considering they meet for lunch or dinner every other day, but still. He hates the feeling of betraying his friend and colleagues, he’s still burning with guilt at the massive injuries Endeavor sustained when he set the him up with that noumu fight. Hawks has been trained as a hero since he was seven years old, everything he’s been doing lately has been grating against all of his carefully trained instincts, his innate desire to do good and protect people. He knows sullying his wings is for the greater good, but it still feels disgusting and wrong as he actively works against the efforts of the heroes of the city.
Hopefully he can finish the mission soon, arrest everybody in the League, and go back to being a hero without any further complications to his life or conscience. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?