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You rock back and forth on your feels, the basket hanging on your arm rocking with you. It is stuffed with the necessary caretaking items: cans of noodle soup, tissue boxes, cough drops, and tea. Hawks hasn't been at the agency for four days, which is unheard of for the overworked number two hero. HR told you that he'd come down with the flu, but as an intern that has kiss-ass tendencies and a UA graduate, "plus ultra" is ingrained in your blood. If anything could give you an edge in the hero world, like the favor of a popular hero, you'd do you best to get it.
You'd already knocked on the door of Hawk's impressive villa (it was all dark windows, sleek metal, and modern architecture), but there had been no answer. You frown. He could be just sleeping off the virus... or worse. He could've passed out and hit his head, or be burning up with infection, or... or...
Heartbeat rising, you knock again. As a hero in training, the wellbeing of others is of particular importance to you and the thought of even inadvertently abandoning someone when they're in need makes your chest tighten. You tap your foot anxiously and press an ear to the door, but there is no sound except the pulsing of blood through your ears. You're about to leave and call the agency to send over a wellness check from the local police when you stumble and your elbow catches the door handle.
It dips, unlocked, and your body collides with the door so that it swings open and you're falling through the threshold. Cursing, you regather the materials from your spilled basket and haul yourself back to your feet, noticing the the complete darkness of Hawks' front room as you rise. All of the curtains are drawn tightly shut and not a single light is on. That combined with his unlocked door has your concern deepening, and a tinge of terror worms its way into your gut despite yourself.
You're a hero (well, almost). Facing villains and saving people shouldn't make you afraid, but the idea that someone could've incapacitated such a strong hero is disconcerting to say the least. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you make a decision. What kind of hero would you be if you don't make sure Hawks is okay?
Setting the basket on the end table next to the door, you turn on your phone's flashlight to venture further into the house. A glance to the right has your brows furrowing. His living room is completely out of order in a way that almost look like a ... pillow fort? Cushions are stacked on the floor around the couch, and blankets are twisted into a heap at the center. Before you can explore the room further and check for lost valuables or damaged goods (typical of a robbery or intimidation by villains), you finally hear faint noise in the distance.
Straining your ears, it sounds like moans of pain coming from the second floor. This propels you into action, and you stride up the stairs, taking them two at a time, to the origin of the noise. You still outside of the slightly ajar door to the room, remembering your training not to rush into a situation in case there's an ambush or unexpected offenders, but the only thing you can hear is that strained moaning, definitely Hawks' voice, and a rhythmic thumping.
Curiosity and worry overtaking you, you nudge open the door further, your flashlight beam landing on the bed at the same time as you utter a breathy, "Hawks?"
You immediately flinch backward at the sight before you.
Hawks is stark naked, lying propped up against his headboard. Sweat glistens off of his toned chest, and his blonde hair is ruffled. His wings are flung out behind him, twitching. He bites his bottom lip between a canine tooth. Most unsettling all, his hand is wrapped around his hard cock, furiously pumping it, though it seems to have turned pink from constant attention and is slick with precum.
You clap your palm over your mouth and hastily avert your eyes, looking anywhere but at him. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry... They said you were sick and I came by, and then your door was unlocked and I fell though, and then I got worried something had happened..." you ramble, but the words fall away from your mouth as you realize he's not listening at all.
He's definitely noticed you, but his eyes are glazed over and lack any gleam of shame or general comprehension of the situation. Your own thoughts are a whirl of horror and embarrassment, and your automatic instinct is to duck out the door and leave, but as you begin to turn around, his voice stops you.
"Y/n." You're surprised he even remembers your name. You'd only ever talked to him a few times, for an initial introduction and then to convey messages or drop off papers. Then, he'd been all composed charm and cheeky smiles. The difference now is jarring. "Please, don't go." His hand doesn't still, those long fingers still wrapped around his member, but it does slow down as if he's trying to restrain himself.
He sounds so desperate, so needy, that you hesitate. "What the hell is going on?" You'd never normally speak to a superior in that way, but none of this is normal. "Were you drugged? Or hit with a sex pollen quirk?"
He shakes his head as slides to the end of the bed and stands up. You can't help but notice the way his cock hangs between his legs, how he flinches as it bumps his thigh. You don't know what's going on, but you know you should keep your distance. You step backwards and are met with the door, which swings shut behind you.
Hawks, faster than ever, slaps both his palms to the door behind you, caging you in. Your stomach drops at the confinement, and for the first time ever, you feel afraid of a hero. Your back presses against the wood in an effort to stay as far away from his naked body as possible. He leans his face down to yours, and you notice that his pupils are dilated beyond what's normal even in dark environments. You can feel an unnatural amount of heat radiating from his skin, and a cold sweat breaks out across the back of your neck.
You want to push him away, but you're also afraid to touch him. "Hawks," you say again, this time in warning, but at the sound of his name on your lips, he chokes back a moan.
Breathing heavily, he tries to usher out an explanation. "I-I'm rutting." Another deep breath. "Stopped taking my suppressants cause the agency said they made me weaker." His arms are shaking on either side of your head. "Haven't went through this in so long, it's built up."
You eyes widen. Hawks' animal quirk gives him animal attributes besides his wings, and apparently a bird's spring sex drive is one of them. Without his meds, he's feeling the enhanced effects after years of nothing at all.
His body heat is making you burn up, so you risk it and gingerly push at his chest, but even that slight touch seems to crumble his defenses. He immediately presses his body against you, head nestled in the crook of your neck. You can feel his hard chest muscles against the curves of your body, and his even harder dick pressed against your lower stomach, dangerously close to your erogenous zone.
Your own breath hitches at the thought. It's been so long since you've had this much contact with someone you weren't throwing across a room in a fight. And you can't lie, you've fantasized about Hawks taking notice of you just like all the other interns, sidekicks, and even some pro heroes have. Warmth curls in your core even as you try to get a handle on your lewd thoughts.
Suddenly, Hawks stiffens, and draws back. Fear springs up in your chest at the sight of his pupils now so blown out they nearly eclipse his golden irises. His nose crinkles as he inhales.
"Oh shit..." you mutter. With his fragile state and his hawk's sense of smell, you're sure he can smell your arousal, and a switch has flipped within him.
He dips down, face shoved between your thighs and you yelp, jumping in surprise, but he only takes the opportunity to grab the backs of your thighs and haul them over his shoulders. Your immediately shove your hands against his face, pushing him away from your groin. "What the fuck are you doing?" you ask, though you doubt the man below you can even form words at this point. It's like the predator side of him has completely taken over, and any rational part of him has been banished at your scent.
You'd forgotten about his quirk until you hear the whistle of red feathers detaching themselves from his wings and flying towards you. One cuts a slit across your top, and you struggle wildly as more feathers join it in the mission of destroying your clothes. Your efforts are in vain though, and Hawks grabs your wrists and pins them to either side of you. Panic continues to expand in your chest, constricting your lungs. You know you don't stand a chance against whatever Hawks intends for you. He has years of training that you lack, more strength n general, and a quirk that excels at combat, unlike yours, which is more in the arena of surveillance and spying.
You gasp in pain as a feather meant to slice through the side of your pantleg also slices your skin, drawing a red line against you hip and down your thigh. Hawks doesn't seem to notice, and his mouth latches onto your exposed stomach, sucking harshly. The more you struggle, the more the feathers miss their marks and cut you instead, pain blooming across your shoulder, the top of your breast, your inner thigh. You don't think Hawks means to hurt you (on the contrary, his goal seems to be pleasure for you both), but in the state he's in, his accuracy with his quirk is limited.
Quickly, you're just as naked as he is and the feathers, done with eradicating your clothing, immobilize you instead, keeping your limbs right where he wants them. Under normal circumstances, you'd be embarrassed of your nude body, but it's clear that Hawks would be attracted to anyone with a heartbeat at this point. The feathers free up his hands so he doesn't have to hold your wrists anymore. Instead, he gropes your supple breasts, kneading the soft flesh and rolling your nipples between his fingers. The contact sends ripples of shock through you, the muscles in your thighs flexing as if you can stop the blood from rushing towards your core.
"Hawks, stop! Calm down," you say, but the words fall on deaf ears.
"Gonna make you feel so good," he murmurs. He shifts his attention to you thighs, nipping the tender skin before soothing the area with his tongue. "So wet for me."
Your head is thrown back against the wall in an effort not to look at him and your limbs shake with the exertion of fighting the feathers, but you can feel the moisture in the crux of your legs beginning to drip. Damn it! Why were you enjoying yourself? How fucked up were you that your body liked this?
He licks a stripe up your pussy, and you gasp. His hands drift back to gripping your thighs, but he stretches out his thumb, brushing your clit. You can't help it; you jerk into touch, and his thumb presses harder, drawing slow circles. His tongue laps up your juices, delving into your hole, but it's not enough and he knows it.
"Hawks- I- Fuck!" You can't finish a sentence, and you're not sure whether you were about to tell him to stop or keep going.
With his feathers still holding you against the wall and above him, he switches tactics. He drags a finger through your folds, lubricating it, before plunging it into you at the same time as he sucks your clit. As he adds another finger, pumping and curling at a merciless pace, his tongue presses and flicks. You're writhing from the stimulation, and the feathers give you more leeway, as if they can sense that these movements aren't resistance.
Pleasure builds in your core, winding tighter and tighter until your thighs crush against his cheekbones and a strangled scream leaves your lips. He works you through your orgasm, gradually slowing his pace as the aftershocks lessen.
The feathers release you, but your muscles are gelatin, and Hawks loops his arms under yours to prevent you from falling. Instinctually, you wrap your legs around his waist, and his still-hard cock brushes against the underside of your pussy. You twitch, bucking your hips into his even as you push against his shoulders.
Post-orgasm clarity leaks back into your head, and you stare into his still-dilated eyes. "Put me down, Hawks."
He blinks slowly and turns toward the bed. Grabbing your hips, he drops you onto the mattress, and you prop yourself up on your elbows. You start to scramble for the side of the bed, but he grabs your ankle and pulls you beneath him.
His face is right above yours, his cheeks flushed pink. You can't quite interpret the look in his eyes, lust bordering on reverence. He's hovering about you, but his lengthy cock nudges your pubic bone. Glancing down, you can tell it's bigger than any cock you've ever taken, thick and veined. The fear that had been driven out by the orgasm returns at the thought of fitting that inside of you.
At this point, you know that you can't physically overpower him. Instead, you seize his face in your hands and force him to meet your gaze.
"This isn't you, Hawks," you urge.
His body lowers further over yours, and he grinds his cock against you, stimulating your clit, but you bite back a moan as best as you can. "Please," he whines. His hips buck forward again, but your thighs are firmly pressed together and it slides against your clit again. "I need you." Another grinding hip motion. "I need you so bad, y/n."
Then, he presses his lips to yours with surprising gentleness, his eyelids drifting shut. He drags his tongue across your lower lip, and you part you mouth just enough for him to nudge his tongue in, still careful and slow in his exploration. If you close your eyes, you can almost imagine you're kissing a lover.
That is, until he bites down on your bottom lip. Hard. It splits, crimson drops spilling back into your mouth. You're so stunned at the switch-up that he manages to grab your thigh and wrench it apart from the other. In the blink of an eye, he thrusts into you.
You scream, his cock expanding your walls to the point of burning. If you weren't so wet from being eaten out and loose from the orgasm, you bet he would've ripped you.
Once inside, he stills as your body adjusts to accommodate him. His detached feathers spring to action once again, further spreading your legs and lifting them so that they wrap around his narrow waist.
"You bastard," you hiss. He licks the blood- your blood- from his lips. Again, you think he's reached a new level of miscomprehension. He reaches a hand to your face, swiping a tendril of hair stuck to your sweat-slicked skin away from your face. He kisses you gently again, soothing the cut he made.
As he does, the thrusts start, slow and deep at first, and then faster. He moans into your mouth, a high yet guttural sound. You stare at the ceiling, purging your mind of thoughts because you don't want to dwell on the fact that the number two pro hero is assaulting you and you definitely don't want to think about how wet you are even now.
You slide your hands around his back and pull him closer to you so that he has to break the kiss and instead tucks his head into your shoulder. As his hips pound into yours, your nails slide down his skin, scoring him with what you're sure will be angry red lines, but the feathers allow it.
Once again, warmth is filling you core. Every stroke hits you deep, bruising your cervix in a burst of pleasure and pain. Red-tinted saliva leaks from your lips along with a a series of moans and curse words, and, accidentally Hawk's real name, as if this is something real. "K-keigo."
He goes feral at that, groaning loudly and losing all sense of rhythm. He pumps into you hard and fast, and your release finds you with yet another scream. You walls tightening around him is the final push Hawks needs, and he bites into you shoulder as he cums, his teeth breaking the skin.
Thick, warm liquid fills your hole, his cock twitching as it spurts and his hips jerk faintly. He rests against you for a moment, and you're afraid he'll fall asleep on top of you, but he rolls off. You don't look at him. Too much is going on with your body. You can feel the sheets scratching against your skin, the pulsing pain of your bitten lip and every scratch the feathers made, the throbbing ache of your pussy, the soreness of your muscles.
You take a deep breath. And another. And another. "What hero you are, Hawks," you say bitterly, turning your head to look at him.
Your heart drops. His eyes are completely black, no gold in sight. His cock, somehow, is just as hard as it was earlier, and his expression is solely lust and predatory intent. "Fuck," you swear, much too weak to even try to put up a fight now. He roughly grabs your hips and flips you over, your face pressed into the duvet, before pinning your wrists against your lower back. The awkward angle strains your shoulders, but his grip is merciless. Without any more preparation, he inserts himself into you, his cock rubbing against your already sore pussy.
You're not sure how much times passes, or even how many times Hawks finishes. He takes you in every position (on your knees, on your side with a leg flung out, bent over the dresser). You stopped getting wet long ago, but his cum acts as a lubricant. Eventually, even that runs out and his orgasms are dry.
You think that in the beginning, Hawks had some level of sympathy for you or awareness of sex as an intimate act and at least tried to make you feel good. Now, you’re merely an object, and his face shows no emotion no matter what you say or how hard you beg or cry. You don’t think he’s ignoring you. He’s simply dead to the world, only aware of the furious movements of his cock and the warm hole you can provide.
If you weren’t in the situation you’re in, you might even feel bad for Hawks. You know it must be painful for him. His cock has chafed into an angry red, almost bloody, and his grunts of pleasure have devolved into desperate whines, as if he too is wishing this could be over. His limbs tremble from the exertion.
You dip in and out of consciousness, only aware that it's still happening and you're still hurting.
Finally, you feel him withdraw from you for the last time. You can hear his heavy breathing for the next few minutes, almost as loud as the slow beating of our heart.
"Oh my- Oh my god," you hear him say. He's staring at you, strung out on the bed with your legs wide open. White liquid seeps from your pussy, pooling onto the blankets. Your blood had mostly dried in red rivulets leading down from your various cuts, but some still bleed freely, like the ones on your hips, irritated from the way his rough fingers dug in.
With bleary vision, you can finally see the gold in his eyes again.
He approaches the side of the bed, reaching out a hand as if to check your pulse, but you flinch away. You'd curl into a ball if you had the energy to move.
Running his fingers through his hair, his expression grows more distressed by the second. "I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry. I can't believe I did this."
Are those tears gleaming in his eyes? "Anything you want, I'll get you. I know it doesn't make up for anything, but I don't know what else to do."
You can barely think, your consciousness slipping away from you, but you latch onto one final thought. This... This all has to be worth something, doesn't it? You lick your lips and force the words out. "I want a promotion. I want to be your sidekick."
His eyes widen, surprised you're not asking to be transferred far away from him or threatening to tarnish his name. "Done."
You wake the next morning- or several mornings later, you're not sure- to Hawks' now clean bed. Your body is clean too, and your wounds are bandaged. A glass of water and a pill bottle is on the end table, but you're focused on what's hanging on the dresser.
It's a hero costume, finely designed and expensive. Fit for the sidekick of the number two hero. Your hero name labels the front. You're not an intern anymore.