Work Text:
Dinner is at 6, dessert at 7:15, bath at 7:30, and bedtime at 8:30.
You come home a little later than usual one night, tossing your shoes in the trash because they got ruined in the muddy rain you walked through that day. You skip dessert, take a bath at 7:30, and go to bed at 8:30.
Wake up at 5am, eat breakfast at 5:15, check your email at 5:17, get dressed at 5:30, leave for work at 6am.
You’re early one day. You think that maybe you can leave sooner and have two desserts tonight, or maybe take a longer bath. You work, eat, work, and leave with plans to stew in peach paradise.
Leave work at 2, get off the train at 3, get attacked by villains at 3:03.
“You must be lucky, lady,” the man breathes, his words nearly caught in the wind as he leaps from building to building with you slung over his shoulder.
If you weren’t scared of being dropped, killed, or choking on your spit, you’d respond with something more than a measly whine for him to let you go, but any more than that and you’re sure the last shred of your luck would run out. One look at him and it was obvious the man had no qualms of anyone else’s safety — he had shoved through the crowd of people and grabbed you without a second thought before his quirk allowed him to take off.
“They’ll be really happy when they see me bring a thing like you back.”
You don’t want to know what he means.
He skids to a stop and yelps, something wet splattering against your back before you’re dropped. Your hands are the only thing to barely react in time to embrace your fall, but suddenly you’re floating. That is not how your quirk works.
You’re gently lowered to the ground and you turn over to be on your butt when you see what — who happened.
Crimson feathers fly forward and pin the villain to the roof in front of you, the winged hero sauntering forward. “Well, I think my work here is done. On to the next one. Don’t worry, ma’am, my sidekicks will take care of you.”
And then he’s gone.
You blink away the confusion and the dullness blurring your vision, trying to make sense of what just happened. You can barely figure it out, so why does the change feel exciting?
And just as promised, the Number Two’s sidekicks are on the roof moments later to get you and the villain. The witness report you have to make at the police station takes longer than you hoped — you kiss the long bath goodbye.
Wake up at 5am, eat breakfast at 5:15, check your email at 5:17, get dressed at 5:30, leave for work at 6am.
Your coworkers ask you if you’re alright — “We saw the news! Did Hawks really save you?” — and then quickly move on to finish their own business. Getting caught socializing by the big boss would surely mean something worse than being abducted. Everyone follows their schedule, everyone follows their superiors, everyone follows the status quo. As someone who’s worked here for a decent amount of time, you’ve mastered the act so well it’s practically ingrained into you like a grunge filter over your eyes.
Leave for lunch at 12, get to the sandwich restaurant at 12:15, sit down and eat at 12:25, get pushed into the back of the restaurant by fangirls at 12:33.
Wonderful, you think, wondering if corpses have a hard time getting a moment of peace — you might consider becoming one as your next career. Your life is already boring and methodical, but at least you know what to expect. You nearly have lettuce down your shirt when more squealing girls pack into the small restaurant, cries of “Can I have your autograph?” and “Your wings look so nice today!” and — probably the most amusing you’ve heard — “Give him some space,” right before your lunch is knocked out of your hands because more girls are shoved into you.
“Now, now-”
You recognize the voice but don’t bother looking. There’s nothing to see from your seat and frankly, you’d rather leave. Grabbing your purse, you check the time.
“I’m just here to- ‘scuse me, yup, coming through this way.” His voice gets closer until he emerges from the sea of girls and nearly lands on top of you. “Oh…” and then with more enthusiasm when you give him a strange look, “Oh! There you are, dove. I was worried sick ‘bout you. Didn’t even see you with all these people around. Were you hiding from me? Ahaha! Sorry, girls, mind if I have a private lunch with my girlfriend?”
Become Hawks’ girlfriend at 12:34.
Every girl you can see stares at you in shock or envy, whispering to each other quite loudly and snapping pictures when he wraps your hand in his. What are you supposed to say to him when they’re staring that hard? You haven’t been put on the spot like this before — you’re just a worker bee, not a grandiose wedding dove with hearts in her eyes for a bird of prey.
Is it too much to ask for the excitement in your life to not endanger you?
“Since when did he have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t believe it.”
“What is she wearing, a lettuce dress?”
Hawks pulls you up, smiling fully while his eyes are begging you to play along. You want to out him so you can get out of here yourself. The safety of your routine is much more tempting than anything he could offer you, but how are you supposed to speak up against him, and in front of so many people no less?
Your mouth barely opens to speak some form of denial when he leans in. You instantly shut it, expecting the absolute worst when his face nears yours, but instead, his lips find your ear.
“You kinda owe me, don’t you?”
Owe him?! Hero society really has gone to shit. But like any worker bee, you do your part. You smile tightly, lips feeling like they may crack from how hard you’re trying and he has the gall to coo at you.
“D’awh, look, you ladies made her nervous. Listen, I’ll come back tomorrow for autographs and stuff but I just really should get her home and cook her some lunch or something now that hers is ruined. Sorry to bail out!” He’s as fast as you expect him to be, pulling you out of there by the hand and taking to the streets.
This is most definitely a regular occurrence for him — he moves so naturally when he picks you up, arms behind your back and under your knees. You nearly choke on your own gasp but there’s not even time for that before the wind is on the side of your face. Your head swivels around and you regret it — you know from yesterday’s experience that the 10th floor of buildings should not be visible unless you’re in the air.
Did Hawks just abduct you?
You can hear the billowy flapping of his wings and the wind in your ears, feel the warmth of his chest and the soft fur of his jacket, and see the shadow on his jaw and the blue of the sky above and behind him. For once, things aren’t dull. There’s a pit in your stomach at that thought, one that your heart is dangling precariously over, but the damn thing is pounding like it wouldn’t care if it fell. Like it knows better than you and knows that this is exciting. Since when do hearts think? You don’t want to think with your heart — you don’t know how.
“Sorry,” he starts once he lands on a balcony, “I didn’t realize you were in that spot, otherwise I would’ve just bolted.” He’s slow to set you down, taking extra care to bend his knees and keeps his arms hovering around you to catch you if your legs give out. Again, it seems like he’s familiar with the situation.
“What, do you do this all the time?” Your legs do feel unstable, but not out of fear.
He laughs bitterly. “Nooo, not at all. You think I could get away with something like that multiple times? I only did it because you seemed like you wanted to get out of there too and I was thinking a bit too fast for the logic to catch up with me but- hey, don’t start glaring now! I can make it up to you.”
You don’t doubt that someone of his status could, but you also can’t bring yourself to let him off the hook so easily. Dragging this on, as much as you need to get back to work, is brighter than any other option. “And how would you do that?”
Hawks rubs his chin while sizing you up. “Well, let me get you some lunch since I ruined yours. And I can buy you new clothes too or something. Mustard yellow is in season but I don’t think they meant it too literally.” He snickers while pointing at the obvious streak of yellow condiment on the skirt of your dress. “I shouldn’t laugh — I really didn’t mean you any harm — but that lettuce dress thing was kinda funny.”
The corner of your mouth quirks up despite your eyebrows drawing together. You try to glare at him. “You’re doing a poor job of making it up to me…”
“Right, right! Sorry, won’t happen again. Scouts honor.” He salutes to you jokingly before relaxing. “I guess you’re sorta my hero now, so I’ll get you a new costume, some good barbecue, and you can be on your way to whatever you were doing. Just don’t get caught by another villain again.”
As if you would just let it happen.
This time you aren’t as surprised when he picks you up, not flying too fast or far before he’s setting you down in front of a nearby mall. Again, there are mentions of his name and people staring — “Why is Hawks here with someone?” — but a red wing blocks your view before you can crane your neck to see.
“Let’s get in and get out, shall we? Sooner we do that, the sooner I can get out of your hair.” He ushers you along with a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you toward the nearest women’s clothing store that he deems appropriate. Once you’re in he hangs back, waiting at the entrance with his phone in hand for you to pick something out.
That feeling comes back to you while you browse. It wouldn’t be so bad if this went on, right? You nervously bite your lip while picking up another dress. For once since you started at your boring job you actually feel alive. It would be selfish to take advantage of Hawks and waste his time — you know he’s in a rush — but you can’t help the silly thoughts your heart bubbles up into your head.
Get in, get out. You look at the price tag, balking right away and hastily trying to put the garment back on the rack. A gloved hand stops you, the other flashing a phone screen in front of you.
“Check the price again, dove.” Hawks’ wings block you from view with his chest nearly pressed to your back. Following his odd instructions, you look at his phone as if it were the price tag.
Commission gooney #3 🤢🙄: you and your new “girlfriend” need to get here in 10 min and explain the photos we just saw
There’s a pause as the colorful gears click in place. Either you’re lucky or cursed, but you still smile at the new development.
“So… Come with me and I’ll owe you one?”