Archive of Our Own

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Morning light gleams over feathers, bringing out plum from the deepest purple of the marginal coverts, creating dazzling pink where primary coverts overlap the band of white plumage. It gilds the snowy edges and creates velvet, violet shadows in the hollows of their structure. One wing flits back and that same early morning sunshine spills across your eyes. Your brows twitch, your nose scrunches in displeasure and you’re pulled from your dreams by the sheen of crimson that’s daylight through the veil of your eyelids.It’s two minutes before your alarm would wake you, just too little time to convince yourself you can take a cat nap. Outside your window, your winged brethren sing their merry chorus. You grouse at them as you roll from your covers, feet curling against the cold, unfriendly floor. You stretch your arms up, your wings wide, throw back your head, and yawn. As the stretch reaches its zenith, you remember what day it is and your morning grumpiness dissipates under a rush of excitement.It’s the first day at your new job.Today, you begin your life as a childcare specialist for the Hawks Agency Child Development Center.It’s a dream job. Sure, you’re on the lowest rung for the moment, but even there the benefits are plenty. You have access to a 401k, stock options, health care and dental. In case of villain attack or natural disaster, there are emergency stipends, survivor benefits, and clauses for additional care and compensation. There are mandatory pay increases, for gods’ sake. That’s par-for-the-course from what you’ve heard about the dashing young hero. He ensures his team has everything they need and more, much better than the older generations of heroes, who were “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” types.It’s a big team, too; there’s an entire floor for PR and two for support item development. Childcare shares a level with a fully outfitted clinic, and there are balconies and outdoor additions everywhere so the winged hero can enter and leave where he pleases. Working there will give you the life you’ve always dreamt of, you’re sure of it.The occasion calls for careful wardrobe contemplation; you settle on your best practical outfit— a royal purple blouse that complements the Tyrian tones in your glossy, freshly preened wings, black slacks with a little stretch for ease of movement, sensible black flats, sparkly studs the only jewelry because kids like shiny things.Your makeup matches, understated, but nice. With the white lines running from the inner corner along your bottom lid, the black line at the outer upper edge, you don’t need much on your face. The main addition is lipstick that brings the whole look together.Today you opt to take public transport. Unlike Hawks, you can’t fly everywhere all the time; your wings sap a lot of energy with use. Though, you remind yourself, you are a superb flier when you indulge. It just wouldn’t do to arrive at work sweaty and unkempt on your first day; there will be plenty of time for that in the future, especially since you’re working with children. You reread the email throughout the short trip downtown, checking the details for where you’re mandated to be when, any rules on dress code and employee behavior, parking— not that you have a car in this city— everything, just in case. It’s all fairly standard, easy to follow, more relaxed than the average company. You’re confident that you’ve got this.You reach the tall, shiny building twenty minutes early and, by the time the elevator door dings to announce your arrival on the correct floor, it’s sixteen minutes til.Misaki, the receptionist for the floor, brightens when she spots you. “Oh, you’re early!”“You know what they say about the early bird,” you quip to her amusement. “I like to take a few minutes to ease into things.”She nods sagely, dark eyes sparkling. “That’s always a good idea.”“Where can a girl get some caffeine around here?” you ask, leaning against the tall reception desk.“Oh! You lucked out. We have the best employee lounge in the agency here. Hawks even comes down now and then,” she brags before pointing out the way. “Just through there. I brewed a pot of caramel dark roast; there should be a cup or two left if you wanna snag it.”“Thanks.” You take off for the lounge, eager for your morning pick-me-up. The entire floor is so open, clean, just shy of being sterile in its simple modernity. You kinda like it, though you could never live in such a place; you prefer to make your nest in a cozy space.The lounge is everything the receptionist promised. Plush scarlet couches and chairs take up the back half of the room while the front boasts an impressive kitchenette with a full-size fridge and just about every appliance you could want. There’s a single-cup coffee maker with a clean, reusable filter on top, an espresso maker with too many buttons and switches, a microwave and a toaster oven, and a toaster. Is that— yep, that’s an airfryer. You spend a few minutes familiarizing yourself with everything, finding several types of creamer, a list of rules for use of the lounge, a key for labels to mark what’s for common use versus specific people, fruit, veggies and dips, chips, crackers, cookies, sugar and sugar substitutes, loose leaf teas in pretty glass containers, so many different flavors of coffee… It’s dizzying, and were you less set in what you wanted, decision paralysis could have easily claimed you.You settle on a specific blend close to your normal morning drink and begin brewing, then turn toward the wall of glass to your right.It’s the theme of the building. There are windows everywhere to let in the sun and create an airy, open atmosphere. For a winged being like you, it’s the next best thing to being outdoors. You feel like you could stretch your wings and swoop down into the garden below, except for the sheen that gives away the presence of the window.The thick sound of suction from opening a refrigerator tugs you from daydreams of flight, and you almost jolt when crimson blocks your view.Hawks, you realize. Those are his blazing scarlet wings, larger and deadlier than your own.The hero, realizing he surprised you, lifts his hands to indicate that he’s harmless. As the number two hero, he’s anything but, though the action eases you as much as his affable smile.“You startled me,” you laugh, laying a hand on your chest to soothe your hummingbird-swift heart. Golden eyes flit over you before returning to meet your gaze. “Sorry about that, pretty bird. I didn’t know anyone else was in here.”“It’s fine.” You grab a lovely violet coffee mug that’s on the larger side and press the button for your drink to sputter into it. “I mean, it’s your agency.”“Yeah, but usually I notice when a pretty girl is in the vicinity. Especially one with such nice wings.” He’s watching as you stir in sweetener, keen raptor eyes roving your form. You don’t see his avarice; by the time you face him again, it’s hidden behind a friendly mask.“I bet you say that to all the birds.”Hawks grins and winks. “Maybe. Though, to be fair, some of those birds are deep fried and about to go down my gullet.”You smother your laugh with the smooth rim of your coffee cup. “Cannibal.”“Hawks are predators,” he says defensively. “Sorry we don’t all eat out of bird feeders, like you.”Your wings flutter in false indignance. “I’ll have you know I keep my seeds in my cabinets, like a civilized being.”“Sure, little finch. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”  Finch. He recognized you. Your cheeks heat, though you hold your cup close to obscure it. “Careful. We might be small, but we’re fierce.”“Mhm.” His eyes glimmer at your boast. “I’m shaking in my boots.” Chimes ring out from within his jacket pockets. Hawks fishes out his phone and sighs at the screen. “Gotta fly. I’ll see ya around, pretty bird.” He strides past to the wall of windows and fiddles with a latch to open it wide. “Close this behind me, will ya?” And then he’s swan diving into the wind.You follow his descent in awe as his wings snap open below and he rises to salute you before he soars out of sight.For a moment, you enjoy the fresh breeze ruffling your hair and feathers, then you sigh and slide the glass back in place, using your wings to reach the high latch. Your drink is no longer steaming, having been cooled by the wind, but it’s still warm as you clean up the kitchenette.The workday commences and your interaction with the head honcho fades to the background. You’re in the Bluebird room, which is the name of the nursery, where the infants stay. The youngest is two months, tiny and precious, while the oldest toddles from object to object, no more than six steps at a time. He’ll be moving to the Cardinal room in a few months, you’re told. The hours are spent feeding, burping, changing diapers and clothes as necessary (including your blouse; you’re smart enough you brought spare clothes).By the end of the day, you’re exhausted, but happy. “You did great,” Misaki confides on the way out. “Everyone was commenting on how good you are with the littles.”You shrug and blush, despite knowing you’ve always been good with babies. “They like bright, colorful things.” You gesture to your wings. “And babies are easy. You take care of their basic needs and they’re happy.”“Well, I heard a lot of positives,” she reiterates.You already feel like you’re flying, so you give yourself respite and take public transport home, too. You don’t want to wear yourself out on a Sunday.That’ll take some adjustment; your work week is now Sunday through Thursday. Staff schedules are staggered throughout the week because the agency runs 24/7. At night, it’s down to a skeleton crew, no need for childcare, but there’s at least one PR person on call and someone monitoring events at all times.You strip down and indulge in a hot shower. You’d love a bath, but most of them are uncomfortable with your wings, so a shower it is.Steam buffets your face and you breathe in the blessed warmth. You slather yourself in soap with hints of orange blossoms and honey. It’s refreshing, sweet, but not cloying. After your shower, you’re relaxed enough to indulge in your other unwinding pastime, one that you dread your new employer ever discovering.It’s silly, really. You started out with a tumblr where you reposted about your favorite heroes. Then you began speculating on what they might like behind the scenes. One thing led to another and…You never intended to write hero fanfiction, especially not smut, but your imagination has always been vivid. You settle down with your laptop, cozy on your well-used couch, and begin to type away.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

His hands are hot as they skate over the curve of your ass. “I wouldn’t have to punish you if you behaved.” That deep voice rumbles through you; it shouldn’t make you clench your thighs, but you can’t help yourself. Endeavor has that effect on you. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” you murmur against the bed. His cock twitches at your helpless little voice.

“Hm.” He spreads your cheeks, then lets them go to watch them bounce back together. “We’ll see about that.”

He starts spanking you.

Each slap from his large hands burns deliciously. Your daddy would never really hurt you; he loves you. This is just his way of showing that. He has to make sure his little girl is properly disciplined.

“What’s this?” He’s only reached ten but he stops and spreads your thighs to prod at your sticky entrance. “You little slut. Are you enjoying this?”

You struggle to close your legs, but he’s so much bigger and stronger. You’re helpless. You whine and squirm, pressing his hard cock against your belly. “I didn’t mean to.”

The fire hero laughs at your pathetic denial. “Maybe I should punish you some other way.” He leans in so his hot breath tickles your ear. “How about I break you apart on my cock instead.”

You moan, eyes fluttering shut, stomach clenching at the idea. He licks the curve of your ear and then grabs you and throws you in the middle of the bed. His massive body smothers you as he lines up his cock with your pussy and pushes in.

It’s fitting for a man of his stature, stretching your unprepared cunt wide, but the pain is so good you can’t help but moan and arch into it.

Your daddy chuckles and wraps your hair in his fist. “That’s my girl.”

You pull yourself from the garbage across your screen and stretch your fingers to alleviate the cramping. It’s getting late. You have work tomorrow.

But you hate stopping in the middle of a smut scene. That’s when you’re at your best.

You yawn and glance at your clock. There’s always the lunch break. You usually wind up scrolling through your phone for smut anyway.

That decided, you ensure your progress has saved properly, check your notifications one last time, and close your laptop.

As you prepare for bed, someone else is sneaking onto your account to read what you spent your night doing. He chuckles as he scrolls along, imagining how you must have squirmed in your seat as you wrote.

“Such a dirty mind.” He smirks and makes sure to sign out before closing the app.
 
You develop a bad habit of writing during your breaks. It’s not the best idea since you sometimes fluster yourself with your own smut, but the ideas flow like water lately. You don’t want to waste the motivation. Besides, the smut gives you an energy boost for the end of the day.

There’s just one slight little problem…

“Working on your ‘secret project’ again?”

You switch apps and silently pray he didn’t read anything over your shoulder, then glare back at the winged hero. “It’s rude to read people’s phones, Hawks.”

He gives you his most wholesome smile, the one that could sell swamp land to an Inuit. “Aw, c’mon. I’m just teasing you.”

“I value my privacy,” you retort. “And that’s the third time this week.”

“I didn’t see nothin’.”

Your eyes narrow at that. He’s a casual kind of hero, but the double negative is still suspicious. “I didn’t realize heroes act like little boys.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He takes up the seat beside yours, elbows up, chin propped in his hands.

“If I had my hair in pigtails, would you pull them?”

Those golden eyes gleam with unvoiced laughter. “I don’t know. Maybe we should test it out.”

You smother a giggle, rolling your eyes instead. He’s as flirtatious and incorrigible as in his interviews. The little compliments always make you want to preen, but you know better than to take him seriously; it’s just his hero persona.

“I’ll keep away from things that make me look younger, thanks,” you huff, pulling the bag of sunflower seeds closer.

They’re your favorite snack. As soon as you finish your sandwich, you open them out to enjoy, and you gather up a handful to delicately toss in your mouth one at a time.

Hawks snatches the bag from the table to read the label. “Sunflower seeds? Seriously?”

“What?” you demand, hand on your hip.

“Next you’re gonna tell me you sleep in a nest.”

You give him your best raptor glare. “And if I do?”

He laughs and bats it away. “That’s adorable. Is it made outta twigs and leaves, or blankets and pillows? Ow!” His mouth falls into a pout. “What was that for?”

“Finches are fighters, you know. Keep talking like that and we’re gonna have to throw down.” You favor him with your best smoldering glare. His insipid smile widens.

“Is that a promise, little finch?” His teeth are sharp enough to tear flesh. “Because that doesn’t sound threatening to me.”

Your heart flutters and only hard-won awareness prevents your wings from fluttering along with it. Hawks’ avian eyes flit toward them anyway, and you worry they gave you away somehow. “I don’t know,” you say nonchalantly. “I’d hate to get fired for whooping the boss’s ass.”

“Oooo, big words for such a little bird.” Hawks winks and stands up straight. “Welp, gotta fly. I’ll see you later, little chickie.”

You roll your eyes and give him a wave as he falls backwards out of the building. The wind stirs your hair. You grumble as you shut the sliding glass, muttering about big-headed bird brains and their show-off antics.

Before you head back to the Bluejay Room, you take a moment to check your wings. If Hawks’ clear flirtation makes you preen a little, no one but you needs to know.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

He’s being intentional. Yes, Hawks has a flirty, casual, careless persona, but there’s no way he’s not intentionally trying to ruffle your feathers.

Hawks increasingly shows up during your breaks. It’s like clockwork; you’ll settle down in the lounge and start scrolling through your phone or (the worst) pulling up your current WIP to work on, and his irritatingly cheery voice will comment over your shoulder. How he does it, you don’t know, but it’s infuriating.

And while he has this blase, playboy persona, he often does things that let you know he’s paying attention. Like now:

“I thought you might like these.” A sealed bag falls into your lap. From the color of the packaging alone you know what they are: sunflower seeds. You pick it up to inspect it. They’re still in the shell, too. You narrow your eyes askance at him and he shrugs. “I noticed you like to suck the salt off the shells before spitting them out.”

It’s suddenly very, uncomfortably hot despite the late winter breeze flowing through the opening in the glass. You bite your lip and hope he can’t tell that your cheeks are frying. “Thanks.”

“No problem, little finch. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on your favorite snack, after all.” He strides toward the fridge, a bounce in his step and whistling a jaunty tune. You tap your foot to it before you realize what you’re doing, grit your teeth, and force yourself to stop.

It must be a slow day for hero work, because he’s back in the sitting area a few minutes later. You can't help but notice the way his feather fluff up as he stretches his wings wide. They tuck in as he drops into the seat across from you, a sly smirk on his face.

He’s not fooling you, not at all. He’s messing with you.

That’s it, you assure yourself as you studiously focus on your phone. The wings, bringing you food, even the whistling…

Sex Ed has changed in the era of quirks. There’s now a section on animal-based quirks and how that can impact behavior. People with certain mammalian quirks (cat, dog, rabbits, to name a few) have estrous cycles. You, like most humans, have a menstrual cycle. However, it goes a bit haywire during spring. Cycles shorten to allow more frequent ovulation, and you’re usually unbearably horny during the height of it.

There are theories Hawks has a similar issue. He’s notably more aggressive during Spring, and he’s often disappeared for a few weeks only to return calmer, more balanced again.

Like any bird, he knows Spring is on the horizon, and he’s decided to tease you in the way only another bird-type would know to do. The worst part is that it’s working; you can hardly look at him without getting hot under the collar. You only hope he hasn’t caught on, because the last thing you need is him trying to up the ante. If you acted on it you’d be in HR with a sexual harassment complaint faster than the hero could fly. No doubt any excuse of “but he started it” would be met with his claim that he always acts like this.

Because there is no way he’s for real about it.

He might just wanna bone.

You smack back that part of yourself. No. Nope. You will not try to sleep with the boss. Besides, playboy that he is, he probably has a ton of women flocking to him all the time. You’re a

finch

. Males are supposed to compete for you, not the other way around.

“Why so serious, babe?”

That’s a new one. You glance up to find him reclining the oddest way in the plush seat: legs over one arm and back against other. Sure, they’re comfy and large, but how he manages to sit like that, with as much bigger than you than he is, is mind-boggling.

“Just thinking about the best way to fry a hawk’s wings.”

“Ouch.” He grins. “Buuuuut if you wanted to try a little hawk, you should have just told me.”

“Oh my gods.” Your head rolls back and you groan in time with his burst of laughter. You grab a pillow and throw it at him. “No means no, Hawks.”

He catches, because he’s a hero and it’s a

pillow

, and pouts. “But I didn’t even ask a question.”

Could you get away with strangling him to death? If there are cameras in here, maybe they picked up his cheesy lines. That could back-up your manslaughter defense. Totally understandable. You might be able to plead temporary insanity.

His phone goes off before you think of a response. He grimaces at his screen and is up before you can say ‘fuck you, Hawks.’ “Looks like I gotta fly. Eat your snack, chickie.”

“Don’t call me that,” you call to his back. He shoots up into the sky one second and spirals past the window in a tight dive the next.

Show off.

You’re too tired to fly home these days. Dealing with multiple children can be like that. Today especially, you’re just

sore.

Some of those kids are too active for their own good.

As the doors of the shuttle open, you finally cave and open the bag of sunflower seeds. You pop one into your mouth, tongue flooding with the salty flavor. It’s too good. Hawks with his easy smile and crimson wings pops into your mind before you banish him.

Once each shell has been sucked clean of its flavor, you spit it onto the ground. No one really cares here, and they’re biodegradable anyway.

Every now and then that spot between your wings itch. You take a cursory observation of your surroundings, but nothing sticks out.

It never does.

This is almost a normal sensation. Sometimes you get it while you sit at home, alone, door locked, windowed latched, no way anyone else could be in your apartment with you. It’s still unsettling.

You don’t notice the flare of red from the shadows when you face forward again.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Your laptop is open and a few WIPs up in your internet tabs. That’s the best place to keep them in your opinion. You can access them anywhere and it’s easier to send them to beta readers.

You’ve been trying to write all day, but your brain keeps cycling back to the red-winged menace at work. Would it be unprofessional to write about him? Probably.

Who would know?

You would.

But it might help get him out of your head, smarmy asshole.

You wiggle your mouse to brighten your screen before the machine falls asleep again, poised to open a new doc—

A little black circle with the white silhouette of a bird blips out of existence on your Present Mic WIP (in your defense, there is no way that man isn’t kinky as fuck). You haven’t even linked your beta to this one yet, so how did someone get access?

You scroll through the WIP to see if anything has changed, but whoever it was didn’t leave any tracks. Frantically, you search through the rest of your docs, but again, nothing.

There’s no way you imagined it.

You text your beta just in case. Maybe you sent the link and didn’t realize? <<<

Heeeeyyyy, were you just on one of my docs?

The message comes not two minutes later.

>>>Not today got new stuff for me?

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Someone has access to your docs. This is unbelievably terrifying.

You grab a bottle of wine and a glass and decide to sit watch on your laptop. Maybe whoever it is will come back if you’re idle long enough. They may have thought you were working on that doc. It’s only luck that it was open and you caught them.

You poured a generous helping and switched to your favorite veg-out show.

The icon doesn’t pop up again while you’re waiting. You wind up shutting your laptop and going to bed after the second glass, buzzed and irritated and in no mood to write.

Somewhere outside your apartment building, your watcher opens up docs on mobile. His eyes scan what he hadn’t been able to read before you logged on. Every word is delicious; he’s probably your biggest fan. Who else would have tracked you down to learn all about the mind that created the best smut he’d ever read. Perhaps he’s a bit biased, as the subject of the first piece he’d read.

He wonders if any other heroes have read your work. Has your boss?

He didn’t think so, otherwise the number two hero would have acted on it. There’s no way someone could read your work, peek inside that mind, look at you, and not desire you.

He closes out of the program and rubs at tired eyes. He needs to get back to his patrol.
 
You wake with a slight wine headache the next day. There’s also that gross, bitter taste in your mouth. You cringe and wash it away with caffeine.

Only when you’ve eaten breakfast and allowed the caffeine take hold do you remember what happened the night before. You scramble to your laptop and login to search your docs; there’s nothing. Not a hint that anyone else was on them last night.

The temptation rises to throw your laptop across the room, but that wouldn’t help the situation at all. In fact, it’d just make writing harder, and you'd have to go through the pain of buying a new laptop and transferring all of your files that you could salvage.

You sigh and close it again. “Fuck.”

What now? What if it wasn’t a glitch or your imagination? What if someone is stalking you?

To read your smut?

You snort. Yeah, sure, someone is breaking into your docs to read your WIPs because that’s the only way they can get their jollies off. Wow, can you be any more arrogant? Next thing you know, you’ll wake up to your wings molting and growing in scarlet.

You should do something productive with your time, like laundry. Or grocery shop. When was the last time you bought fresh produce? It’s been a while.

That’s what you decide to do.

You dress in a cute little romper low enough not to irritate your wings and wrap in a nice, comfy, pink, red, and plum scarf to keep the cold at bay. You don’t like covering your wings when you can help it, but wind can be a bitch. Unlike some people, you don’t have endless funds to spend at a heteromorph store. You refuse to compromise cuteness to buy bargain to accommodate your wings, so…

You have gloves as well, opera length and soft, fake velvet material. They’re purple, your favorite color, or so you tell everyone.

The market isn’t far and you walk/ flyto give yourself a little exercise. It’s pleasant to stretch your wings, and reminds you that, once you’re in the air, your natural cold resistance kicks in. The gloves go in your purse and you are refreshed.

Your quirk is the best.

“Ooooh, sale on sunflower seeds!” Shelled or not, nuts and seeds are your absolute favorite. There’s something to be said for spitting out the hard shell and feeling like a badass, though eating them without is much easier (and nothing gets stuck in your teeth; sometimes you wish you were born with a beak, too) You add them to your basket alongside your berries and veggies. It really sucks that you have expensive taste in food, though at least you can afford it on the new salary.

Chicken is next, protein another integral part of your diet, and not just from nuts. You aren’t about to eat insects, so fellow bird it is.

The feisty fuckers.

Once grocery shopping is crossed off the list, your two lightly filled bags hanging off an arm each, you decide to treat yourself to a coffee. You hop a happy little step, your wings flap, and the cement beneath your feet drops away.

“Miss! Excuse me, miss!” Is that voice directed at you?

Feet fall back to the sidewalk and you peek through the space between feathers to find a dark-haired man with a hand outstretched. He’s handsome, scruffy, and the bags beneath his eyes look heavier than your groceries. In the outstretched hand is a folded piece of paper wrapped around a red card.

Oh shit.

“You dropped this,” he growls and his low, rumbly voice is suited to his appearance.

Eyes flit between the hand and his face, then you turn so fast, so tight, only someone with your little finch wings could manage it. You snatch the card and read your name across the bottom, then bow low enough you think you brush the ground. “Thank you  so, so much!” This homeless-looking guy has saved you from at least a week of panic over finances. You fumble in your purse as you right yourself again. “Please allow me to repay you for your kindness.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” he mumbles, holding out a placating hand.

“I must,” you insist. You have no cash, because who carries cash in this day and age. But as your eyes flick around in panic, you remember your purpose and inspiration strikes. “Oh, come to coffee with me!”

He blushes all the way to his ears. It’s adorable and lifts about five years of exhaustion from his face. “I, uh, I couldn’t—”

“Really, please.” Your eyes widen as you implore him, your best impression of pathetic neediness. “I could use the company.”

He scratches the back of his neck beneath all that long, dark hair. “If you’re sure…”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The stranger sits across from you with only sugar to sweeten his black coffee. You have something ridiculously sugary yourself, and pretty enough you’d snap a pic if it weren’t for present company.“So,” you begin awkwardly, “what’s your name?”“Shouta Aizawa.”You introduce yourself though he may have read it from your card already. Something about his name niggles at the back of your head. You’ve seen it somewhere, heard it before, though you have no idea how.“Do you live in the area, Mr. Aizawa?” you sip on your drink and delight in the sweetness of the drizzle against your tongue. His dark eyes seem focused on your mouth, then he blinks.He shakes his head. “No. I was finishing up a patrol actually.”“You’re a hero.” You almost want to smack yourself. Of course, you’ve heard of the pro who teaches at UA, close friend to the fairly popular Present Mic. Some fans speculate there’s more to their relationship and you may have written a piece where they share a lucky fan between them, so you cannot believe you didn’t recognize the guy in front of you. “Eraserhead.”His tired eyes gleam brighter for a second. “That’s right. What is it you do, Miss?”“I work in childcare at the Hawks agency,” you reply, feeling far less interesting and not a little embarrassed. To think your internal monolgue called him homeless-looking, you could die. Though you also thought he was hot. He is hot.You might have to return to him as a smut subject after this.“Are you arlight? You’re a bit flushed.” His dark brows knit in worry and you drag your thoughts from the gutter before they descend into the explicit.“I’m fine,” you assure him, squeezing your hands in your lap to avoid touching your cheeks. You know they’re blazing now, but there’s nothing for it. You’ll just have to play it off. “My quirk makes me resistant to cold; I really shouldn’t have gotten a warm drink today.”He nods along with your weak excuse. “Would you like some water? I’d be happy to get it for you.”“No, please. I’m supposed to be treating you, remember?” Your smile is genuine enough he relaxes back in his seat and returns it.“Alright then.”“You teach at U.A., right?” you ask to try and steer the conversation somewhere more comfortable, and it works pretty well. You’re able to get him to launch into discussing his students from there.The scruffy man is passionate about what he does, there’s no doubt. He gives you a rundown on his teaching philosophy and the overall personality of 1A and you’re astounded by the talent and drive of a bunch of teenagers.“So the kid didn’t even want his medal after that?” You lean forward in your seat, head on your hand as he regales you with the events of the Sports Fest. “But he won.”Shouta shrugs. “He didn’t view it that way. After all, Todoroki wasn’t at his best, and he won by the skin of his teeth. He didn’t think the fight was over, let alone that he won.”“Sounds like he’ll make one hell of a hero someday.”“Yeah, I think he’s got what it takes.” You catch movement from the corner of your eye and turn toward the big, kitchy clock that swallows up a good deal of the wall. “Is that the time?” You check your phone to find another minute has ticked away already. “Oh my God, it’s been two hours! I am so sorry to have kept you!” Your cheeks flare hot and you stand.“It’s fine,” he says, though his eyes are even more red-rimmed than when you began and you’re astounded he’s still standing knowing he was up all night. “Again, thank you for the coffee.”“It’s the least I could do.” You fish out a pen and receipt and scribble your number down to hand over. “And, I mean, if you ever want to do it again…” Is it your imagination or is he blushing? His cheeks and ears are both flushed and you hope it’s a sign of interest because it’s the cutest damn thing you’ve ever seen.And you are definitel using this as writing material when you get home.“I– I’d like that.” The man shoves away the receipt and you scurry out the door before you can make a fool of yourself. Your feathers ruffle as you bob upward in excitement, then lecture yourself on keeping in the excitement. It’s just hard because you asked out a pro hero.You asked out a pro hero.Oh gods above, below, around. What the hell did you do? You glance down at your phone again and try to ground yourself. Weren’t you supposed to be running errands or something?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

After coffee, Aizawa can’t help himself. He follows you at a distance as you finish your errands and head back to your little apartment to write. It’s cute how you hold excitement in your wings. Every now and then they’ll flutter and lift you from the ground despite your best efforts to remain landed— after all, you’re not a hero. Use of your quirk is limited by the law, though hetermorphs often have a little more leeway.

Still, they can’t have civilians bogging down the skies.

When you finally settle in at home, it’s with a cup of iced coffee (mocha, he thinks) and a cozy blanket wrapped around your legs.

You’re always embedded in comfy things, from downy pillows to sherpa and fleece blankets. Only the best for what Shouta can’t help thinking of as your nest.

”Looky what I've found."

Aizawa jolts from his reverie to find a certain irritant hovering overhead. It isn't bad enough the bird keeps you in his agency during the day where he can visit as his leisure, now he's interrupting the erasure hero's treasured moments.

"I'm on patrol," he gripes, but Hawks just chuckles.

"Sure. On patrol and taking a break to watch through a beautiful woman's bedroom window. And you do this, what, every night? For more than an hour?"

"Oh, so you're stalking me?"

"No," Hawks chirps. "We're both stalking her. Now, my interest is obvious. She's a pretty, winged woman who works in my agency. How did you find her?"

Despite being several years older, Aizawa feels like a petulant child. His hand is caught in the cookie jar and he'd like nothing better than to make excuses.

But for all Hawks' relaxed, fly boy persona, he recognizes the keen predator for what he is. "I'm a fan of her work."

"Oh? I don't know, this seems like a little more than usual fanboy behavior."

"You're one to talk." They stare hard at one another for a long moment, then Hawks grins wide, sharp white teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

"You know, I think this could work."
 
Hawks has been different the last few weeks. He hasn’t come to the coffee lounge in two weeks, at least not that you’ve seen. In fact, you’ve hardly caught sight of a single feather of the winged hero. It’s disconcerting and slightly, just slightly disappointing. There’s only one place where his presence lurks and it’s somewhere he shouldn’t be.

He’s haunting your mind, always just around the corner. You’ll be changing a nappy or wiping down a counter and your thoughts will slam into Hawks’ chest. Sometimes you find yourself wondering just how hard that chest is beneath the black shirt he wears. How soft is his hair? What does he smell like?

Why, why, why are you thinking like this?

Spring is on the horizon, you try to justify. You’re always hornier from spring to summer; how lucky for you that finches have a mating time that spans the better part of two seasons. Not that you’re not horny the rest of the year, it’s just manageable. You can’t count the number of bad decisions you’ve rolled into bed with March through August.

None of them have had wings though…

And then there’s Aizawa. You and Eraserhead exchanged snapchats and have a two week long streak going. Some of those snaps have skirted appropriate, too. Disappointingly, he hasn’t asked you out for a second date yet and you’re nervous about asking yourself because maybe he just wants to be friends?

You open your phone to see another snap from the tired man. He’s smiling softly at what you sent.

He’s so hot it hurts, and the fact that he works with kids, is passionate about his job, does things to you. He’d be a great father.

“Can you stay until close today?” the senior woman at the daycare asks when it’s your midday break. “I’ve had an emergency and can’t lock up.”

You’ve never been asked before but it can’t be too hard. “Alright.” Not that you want to be at work longer, but your boss is nice and has given you long lunches a few times you’ve been in the zone with your writing. She doesn’t judge you for writing smut though you haven’t divulged it’s real hero fanfiction.

“Thank you so much.” She flashes you a sharp-toothed smile of gratitude.

That’s how you find yourself cleaning up toys at the end of the day, checking all the rooms before you turn out their lights and lock their doors.

It’s eerie in the empty building. You’re fairly sure there’s someone at work on one of the floors above, maybe a sidekick or two, but it’s been slow lately and those with families typically work normal business hours.

The walls seem more distant and the little noises you make echo in a way that sends shivers down your spine. There are security cameras and you comfort yourself that someone is watching those at least, so it’s not like a villain is going to pop out and attack you or—

Your feathers feel the stir of air before movement registers. Something wraps around your body to bind it tight. Your wings flex pathetically and you squirm against whatever it is as you fall to the floor. The floor rises against you and your jaw knocks hard enough to audibly clack your teeth. You’re too dizzy to find your way up the shoes that enter your vision and up to whoever has you bound, but familiarity tickles your ears as you hear hushed voices.

“It’ll be easier to take my route.” The voice is rough, like a cat’s tongue, and equally sensual.

The next is cool and oddly cheerful given the situation. “Easier than the sky, above anyone who could see?”

“Yes,” says the first voice, and the shoe nearest you taps. “Your wings stand out too much in the city. With all this light pollution—”

“I’ll go above that; no one will be able to see me.”

There’s a sigh. “The air is far too thin up there, she—”

“Relax, Eraser. Little birdy’s quirk has her equipped for high altitudes. She’ll be fine.”

“Would you stop interrupting me?” There’s a pause during which you start to process what’s been said. The word Eraser specifically tugs at your memory. “You’re right, though you could’ve been more polite about it.”

“Just trying to save time.” Your world tips and there’s a flash of crimson. “Don’t squirm so much or I might drop you in the air, and your wings will still be trapped.”

You aren’t aware you’d been struggling and go deadly still. The world is still spinning as wind buffets your cheeks. Normally you’d find the breeze refreshing, but now it only adds vertigo to what you’re pretty sure is a concussion.

You’ve never had vertigo before. Maybe if you check your surroundings—

You turn your head to stare down at a city blanketed in darkness with dancing yellow lights.
No, that’s definitely vertigo and you’d be sick if you weren’t suddenly so tired that your head lolls against the chest of the man holding you. He smells like wind and frost and a hint of animalistic musk that’s both familiar and powerful. And he radiates warmth. It’s so nice. You could just slip away like this.
You do.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The world is almost stifling when you jerk awake. Nausea tumbles through your stomach and up your throat and you roll to be sick over the edge of the bed.The world slowly stops its wave-like motions and comes into focus. You lie on your stomach with your head right there on the side of the bed. Crimson lines your cheek, soft and cool against it. It’s the sheet covering the bed.You groan as you roll over again, this time to survey the room.The bed you’re on is gigantic. You didn’t know they make mattresses this large, let alone frames to hold them. It and the bedding must be special order.The bed is piled with pillows, the comforter black with gold and red tooling, and there are more blankets folded down by your feet. It’s a four-poster and drapes are tied to the stanchion-like posts.The rest of the room is cozier given that the bed takes up most of it. There’s furniture to match the elegant cherry wood bed— an armoire, a dresser, night stands— and three doors; two on one side look fairly normal, but the one directly across from you is foreboding. There’s a keypad or something beside it and it gleams like matte-painted black metal. There is no doorknob.If you were strong enough to stand, you’d be checking it out. As it is, you startle when the door pushes inward. You hadn’t heard anything on the other side of the room.When Hawks enters, his wings folded elegantly against his back, somehow you’re not surprised. You should be, but no. Who else would have flown you here? Or, for that matter, who could have kidnapped you at the Hawks agency other than the hero himself?There’s no doubt that’s what this is, a kidnapping. You wake up in a strange place, a door like you’d see in a rich villain’s fortress blocking freedom, of course you’ve been kidnapped.But it makes no sense. Why in the Hell would Hawks kidnap you?“Hey there, pretty bird.” His usual smile graces boyish features, but he’s in a v-neck and jeans rather than his hero suit. He’d look good if you weren’t feeling like shit and trying to come to terms with what the fuck was going on.You watch him through slitted eyes. “What’s going on, Hawks?”His smile doesn’t falter as he replies, “Call me Keigo. That’s my name and it’d be pretty nice to hear it now and then.”“Cut the crap and answer the question.”“Do you like your nest?” He circles around the bed closer to you and you shuffle toward the other side. “I’ve been collecting everything for it for months.”The word echoes in your chest. Months? It’s not like you’ve been working for him very long, about six weeks at most. That means…“How long have you been planning this?” Your mouth is cotton and you don’t know whether you just realized or whether it’s been like this since you woke up. It could be either with how muddled your mind is right now.Hawks— Keigo— brushes a hand through windswept hair and shrugs. “When you put in your application I was intrigued. My secretary told me someone with wings applied and—”“That was six months ago!” You can’t believe it. There’s no way.But Hawks is blushing and his hands are jammed in his pockets. “It took a while to make an opening without too much fuss. I wanted everything to be perfect.”You think back to last night, how your supervisor had an ‘emergency,’ the emptiness of the agency, the cameras…“Who else is there?”“Hm?” His brows rise at the question but you’re not buying this awe-shucks act.“The other person last night,” you elaborate. “The one who helped you kidnap me.”He sits and the mattress doesn’t move near you; it’s a good quality mattress.The stray thought annoys you.“Oh. Well, I guess you’d find out soon enough anyway. Eraserhead.”You frown. “But he— I— we’re friends.”“Yeah, sure. You and your two-week snapstreak are totally just friends. He shares, y’know. Has a secret app that lets him screenshot without notifying you and everything.” Golden eyes consider you carefully. “You don’t like him more than me, do you?”“What?” You scoff, disgusted by the question. Given the circumstances, you can’t dredge up any affection for either hero. “Because eventually, I’d like it to be just you and me. Lovebirds in our little love nest.”“Fuck you; let me go!” You shout at him as much as your weakened state allows, but it doesn’t phase the hero one bit.Instead, he stares at you with a terrifyingly cheerful visage and says, “It’s alright; you’ll come around in time. Redtailed hawks mate forever, you.”“Finches don’t,” you spit back venomously. “And I’ll never ‘come around’ anyway.”The smile twitches. “It’s instinct. You’ll see. Let me get you something to eat, eh?” He rose from the bed and walked toward the door.“Wait, Hawks.” You have to try anything to get out of here. He halts, back facing you. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this.”He shakes his head and leaves You alone. You’re sore and nauseous and tired and you break down sobbing over the pile of pillows.Once you’ve cried yourself empty, you sniffle and take stock of your body again. You need to pee. Logically, one of the doors has to lead to a bathroom. There’s no way they’d lock you in here without one, right?You slowly stand and toe your way toward the doors, twisting a handle with each hand to check them out. Like you’d thought, one gleams with the reflected light off tile and toilet and spa tub. The other is darker, seems to suck in light. You can make out the shapes hanging to either side though. It’s a closet, a big one.You shut that door and go into the bathroom, which unfortunately has no luck to engage. You’ll just have to hope Hawks lets you take care of your business in peace.It’s a nice bathroom admittedly, big, with a standing shower that could easily fit multiple people. You gaze around and see toiletries neatly lined up, all your preferred brands and some that you know are far nicer but would be suited to your skin and hair types. These guys did their research on you. How else would they have everything right down to the color of your toothbrush? It’s creepy.You stall by washing up as much as possible, but eventually, you run out of things to do, so you go back into the bedroom. There you find a tray on the bed laden with food. There’s juice, a little bowl of mixed berries, yogurt, some ham that smells delicious despite you not being much of a meat eater, and buttered toast. He really wants to make sure you have everything. It just pisses you off more.You grudgingly poke at everything, smell it to check if you can detect anything suspicious, and take a bite of the berries with the yogurt. You hadn’t noticed there was granola in the later. It’s a crunchy surprise.Why did he have to feed you so well? You hate it. You hate him.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hawks has fed you twice more since you arrived here. You’ve even caved in and showered, unable to bear the scent of your own pits. You know it’s been more than a day but it could easily be two, or maybe three depending on how long you were out that first time.You’ve also slept once or twice, just nodding off. It’s too hard to stay asleep when your predator senses are blaring danger.With neither windows nor clock, you have no way of knowing the time. It’s disorienting.When the door opens, you think it will be Hawks with more honeyed words and rich food. Instead, it’s an especially tired Eraserhead still in his hero clothes. “Hey there, pretty bird.”Your feathers puff in irritation. The look on your face must scream murder, because he holds out a placating hand and doesn’t approach past closing the door.“Easy, there. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assures in a low, calm tone.“Too late.” You want to tear into him, rake your nails across his face and into his red eyes and—He winces at the words. “I didn’t expect you to fall so hard, sorry about that.”The broken, bruised skin on your chin throbs in memory. “It wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t fucking kidnap me.”“Look, this is for your own good—”That’s rich. You laugh bitterly. “How the fuck is this—”“Watch your mouth,” he snaps, like you’re one of his students, but you keep on.“—for my own fucking good, Eraserhead? Huh?”A silent beat passes, he glances aside with a sigh, then faces you again. “Winged heteromorphs are rare and you were out there as though you’ve never heard of human trafficking rings. You have no sense of self-preservation. Do you have any idea how easy it was to break into your computer? Your accounts? Your apartment?”“You broke into my home?” You practically roar at him, rising above the bed with your wings flaring around. Only your toes skin the soft sheets.“Anyone could have.” His eyes flare red with his quirk and the two of you are locked in a staring contest. With the blazing crimson and his hair floating around his head, he’s rather intimidating.You refuse to let it get to you. Let him see that you’re furious, that you’ll remain that way and he and his buddy will never have an easy, eager captive.A minute passes and he finally blinks. It’s not like it matters; your quirk doesn’t do anything, it just is. He can’t rip your wings off with his gaze any more than he could your eyes or hands.You can’t maintain this long; finches aren’t meant to hove like hummingbirds. You drop to the bed and continue glaring instead. “So have you been stalking me since we met?”“No.” He leans against the door and crosses his arms. You can make out the shape of his biceps beneath the black shirt and it would ordinarily be distracting, but now you want to murder him for it. “I’ve been stalking you for a few years now.”The silence thickens until it practically strangles you. You make a noise through the molasses-quiet in your throat, incredulous, and say, “I’m sorry? Did you say ‘years?’”He nods. “You wrote something about Mic and I sharing a fan; he found it while searching through fanfic about himself. He loves doing that. I took a gander and…” He shrugs. “It’s not my fault is was so easy to track you down. Seriously, it’s like you don’t even try.”“People aren’t supposed to stalk the author of fanfic. It’s— we’re supposed to be anonymous because no one wants to know what kind of loser wastes their time like this.”He stares and you continue to rant.“Especially RHF writers; we’re the most pathetic. I mean, we write about real celebrities, about heroes, who are supposed to be virtuous and good. And I write about them doing—” You can’t say it outloud, so you just shake your head. “I found your portrayals interesting. Some of them aren’t far off, either.”You’ve finished the Daddy/daughter Endeavor fic and moved on to one about Aizawa, just like you’d thought you might. Is he saying that there are heroes who engage in noncon— rape— and incest? In blackmailing their sidekicks?You can’t with this, it’s too much.“As for me, I’m not against sharing.” He favors you with a tired smirk. “And I can get a little… over enthusiastic when I find someone I like.”“‘Over-enthusiastic?’” You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “More like obsessive, crazy, fucking psycho—”His capture scarf wraps around your mouth and his eyes narrow. “I don’t like you using that kind of language. You’re around children all day; I know you can do better.”You growl and reach up to grab your gag, but it wraps around you wrists as well and you’re trapped, helpless as he steps forward. You can only scramble across the bed in a nervous flit of limbs.His fingers skim your cheek; you pull your face away. “Don’t be like that, pretty bird. I love you. You’ll see in time.” You glare daggers at him as he sighs and withdraws. His capture scarf returns to its place around his neck and he leaves you there, helpless and tired.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

There are rules to your captivity, though they’re unwritten and unspoken. It takes a while for you to figure them out.Hawks seems like the more laidback of your captors. He’s always cheerful when he sees you, which is more often than the teacher-cum-hero Aizawa. Hawks makes his own hours, so he’s able to stop by on long breaks to check on you. His main rule is: Do not ignore him. Ignoring him once got you three days without food. You were weak enough by the end that you let him pet your hair as you ate from the plate he brought.Slowly, he’s inuring you to his touch, too.Rule two for Hawks is that you’re supposed to call him Keigo. He’ll ignore you if you use his hero name.Aizawa has more rules, is far more strict than the winged hero.You’re not supposed to curse. He will remove your ability if you get too bad.You should call him ‘Shouta’ or ‘sir.’ Calling him things like ‘dickhead’ makes him threatren to punish you. He’s yet to do more than bind you with his scarf, but you know it’s a matter of time.When he brings you food, you eat it all. He has Hawks skip a meal if you don’t since you’re “clearly not hungry.”Do not swat his hand away when he touches you. In fact, don’t fight his touch at all.This is the hardest one to take; his touch makes your skin crawl. But he will bind you and do more if you fight him on it.So far, neither hero has taken it further than petting your hair or stroking a wing; you know it’s only a matter of time. Eventually, they’ll push for more. You can see it in their eyes, both hungry and hanging on your every twitch.Since Aizawa works two jobs, you see him every few days. Thus far, you’ve yet to deal with them together.That changes one afternoon roughly a week and a half into your unwilling stay.You have just finished showering, blow drying your wings and hair with a an air blower installed beside the sink. It’s ingenius, larger than those for hands, and it doesn’t get as hot. It ruffles your feathers more than you like, but you take your time preening them afterward— what you can reach, anyway. You don’t have the back scratcher you used at home to help with those feathers at the base, but at least you can handle the majority of the brilliant plum and pink and white plumage.“You know, I could help you with that.” You pause in your grooming and thank the gods that you’ve thrown on the low-backed little dress you found in the closet. It’s one of the more covering outfits you’ve been provided and you have a feeling by the sheer amount of red shades that Hawks is responsible.Said hero stands in the doorway grinning at you.“No. I have it handled,” you reply shortly.The door opens wider to reveal Aizawa. “There’s no way you can reach the tertials up by your shoulders, little bird. Let him help.”“What do you know about preening feathers?” you sneer.He shrugs. “I’ve done my research.” Aizawa steps inside and shuts the door behind the pair. When did Hawks get so close. “Now, do I have to tie you up or…”You freeze and glance between them, but say nothing. You do not want to be bound while they’re both in here with you. The silence must be enough, because Hawks sits on the edge of the bed and directs you to turn your back to him. He smooths over the radius and down the phalanx, then behind slowly setting the feathers at the base to rights. It would feel good if it weren’t him doing it.Fingers comb through your hair and you startle. You didn’t notice Aizawa sidling up, not while the other was at your back and you were hyperfixated on his touch.“Relax, sweetheart. Nothing’s happened,” he mutters in that gravelly voice of his.“You’re both touching me,” you retort.Hawks hums. “Isn’t it nice? Just two guys spoiling our girl.”“I’m not your girl.”Aizawa clicks his tongue. “You are. That’s why you’re here.”“I’m here because you’re both—” The scarf wraps around your mouth before you can finish the sentence. You glare at him with all the fury filling your heart. You’re a caged bird, their own little pet, and it’s galling.There was a time when you were claustrophobic. It was until your mid-teens. Your parents attributed it to your quirk and maybe it was, but you’d thought you were completely past that nervous panic that would loom over you whenever you were in a small enough space. You felt trapped, like everything would close in and constrict you, hamper your wings, make escape impossible.You feel like that now.“Stop.” The fingers tighten in your hair, a fist holding your head in place. Aizawa stands in front of you, staring down with pinched brows. “Stop fighting us. Stop panicking. If you just let go, everything would be so much better for you.”You can’t shake your head, but you try.His fist tightens. “Yes.” His fist shakes. “You can. You need to be a good girl and accept your new life.”Tears— of pain or of frustration— fill your eyes. They tremble hotly on the edge of your lids and slide down your face only when they’re cool.Warm breath puffs on your throat and your wings are slightly pressed against your back as Hawks says, “You can do it, finch. You can be our good little lovebird. It will be so good. We’ll make you feel so good.” He rubs his lips against your skin. “Spring is here and I want to show you how much I need you.”Shit, what month is it? Is it March, April? Your mating season is pretty much here and Hawks is already in the thick of his. Panic suffuses your veins. You start to thrash.In a blink, Hawks has rolled you onto your back and he’s on top. Aizawa has his hands around your wrists and sits at the top of the bed, pressing them down.“Behave,” Aizawa growls. “You need this. Your body temperature has been rising every day since you arrived and you rearrange the bed every morning. It’s mating season?”You scream through the scarf and flop your head from one side to the other in denial, but they’re right. You feel it. Normally by now you’d be cutting down on work in order to tend to your needs, perhaps finding someone who doesn’t mind hooking up for a few months before you go your separate ways. There are enough animal-quirk types who breed in spring that it’s not too difficult.Your current situation had pushed that from your mind, but it all comes rushing back as you pant beneath the two men.“That’s right.” Hawks coos as you start to cry in earnest. “That’s our pretty bird. Just accept that this is happening and let yourself enjoy it. What a lucky little chicky you are, too, two mates. Two mates to feed you and groom you and bring you presents. To take care of our babies. We’re gonna be so good to you, finch.” He presses himself against you and you feel his hardness against your core.Your stomach churns.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Lips work at your throat, hands knead your breasts. Another set is slowly skimming over your hips and the matching mouth leaves love bites in its wake. Your wrists are tied and stuck between the body at your back and your wings, and you know you can’t fight like this.“So soft,” Aizawa murmurs as he thumbs your nipples. “So perfect.”Hawks cut off your dress before they positioned you. Now he blows on your center and the cool air makes you want to squirm, but you suppress the urge. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction.“You’re wet, little finch,” he teases.No shit, you want to say. It’s spring, dumbass. It’s called instinct.Aizawa must be more into bondage than you thought because he has a ring gag shoved in your mouth and buckled around your head. You can’t speak past pathetic whimpers or grunts. Worse, you’re drooling all over your chin and chest. You feel disgusting.Finger brush your clit and you jolt. Both men chuckle. “That’s it, precious.” Aizawa rubs his scruff against you light enough not to scratch. “Let him prepare you. We don’t want to hurt you.”You don’t believe that.“Yeah,” Hawks says from his spot between your legs. “We wanna make you feel good.” He blows again and you tremble. It’s so hard to keep reactions under control when every instinct screams at you to give in.Never, you promise yourself. You’ve always handled your Spring mating urges on your own terms and you’ll be damned if you let them win now. Whether they planned out this venture first or not, the two work in tandem to tear you apart. Aizawa begins nibbling at your throat as Hawks dives into your pussy face first. He’s sucking, swirling his tongue around your clit and giving you the barest edge of teeth. Your back threatens to bow; you release the low groan that rises in your chest. “That’s it, babygirl.” The hands on your breasts stop their gentle kneading and instead focus on your nipples. Coupled with the sensation at your clit and the damnable man at your back, your body slowly starts forcing you where they want.Your wings, trapped though they are, twitch and long to open wide. Aizawa is stronger and his arms bracing the, hold them as though caged.Hawks moans against you. The sight of his head between your legs is painfully erotic, and you’d never guess that the winged hero enjoyed giving oral so much. He’s rolling his hips along the bed in lazy waves.You breathe deeply to center yourself, to pull the reactions and the possibility of impending orgasm in.A finger far thicker than your own slides inside you. You choke on the breath that was supposed to steady you. Another finger joins the first far too soon, stretching you and curling up just enough brush the sweet spot you can never quite hit. It feels like stars are erupting inside you, hot and sharp and—Hawks removes his fingers, savoring the taste as he sits upright. He removes his fingers from his mouth with a lascivious ‘pop.’Only now do you realize Hawks is completely nude. A golden tan covers his body and the hair trailing from his belly downward is a darker blond than that atop his head.The pupils of his eyes are blown wide, leaving the barest glint of amber. He practically gleams against the crimson of his winds, which flare out as you gaze at him, then tuck against his back again.He shoots you his signature cocky grin. “See something you like?”The answer is no, but also yes.‘No’ because this situation is fucked. ‘Yes’ because any time before this you’d be salivating over him. He’s gorgeous and it isn’t just bird instinct yelling that. He’s just that pretty.The chest against your hands and wings grumbles as Aizawa says, “Stop peacocking and get on with it.”That’s when your eyes are drawn to the one place you had avoided in your study of the naked hero.He’s not the biggest you’ve ever taken. Maybe longer than average and the right width for the length. It, like its owner, is somehow more attractive than all the others you’ve been with. It curves up proudly from his groin, veins just visible below the surface of his tan skin, and his head already has precum beading.He bends over you and adjusts his dick so it glides through your wetness. That’s when it really hits you.You begin thrashing in your bonds, your nails clawing as you twist and pull to free your arms. You fling your head back and forth, hair whipping your cheeks. Through the gag you’re trying to scream, “No,” but you can’t quite round your ‘o’. It doesn’t matter; they know what you’re saying.They’re not listening anyway.Aizawa wraps his arms around you and crushes you to his chest. Your wings are uncomfortably pinned and your thrashing halts as you wince.Hawks has one hand on your hip and with the other he guides his dick inside you.He gets about halfway before you can’t take anymore, so his hips pull back until he’s barely inside you, then he thrusts inside again.And again. Somewhere between the third and fourth stroke, you ease open; he sighs when your pelvises meet.“You feel so good, lovebird.”He goes to press his forehead to yours, but your newly tear-stricken eyes glare at him and he thinks better of it. Instead, he focuses on fucking you.You weren’t prepped all that well, but it’s still this side of painful. It’s almost like it’s scratching an itch deep inside, one you could never find otherwise.You squeeze your eyes shut and roll your head back.Lay back and think of England.Scruff scratches gently at your jawline. “Hawks has to go first. I’m too big. He needed to open you up for me.” He kisses just below your ear and his breath is hot and tantalizing. “Just like a present.”You shiver and whimper at the dual sensations.“That’s my girl,” Aizawa praises. “Just let go and enjoy it.”Hawks picks up on the low words and adds, “Let us take care of you, pretty girl.”You’re tempted. Your eyes are wide, lashes sticking together from tears. You’re covered in drool and your face is all red. You’re going to have marks from the bondage and there’s no way the men didn’t leave bruises when they were subduing you.Your body is tired.Sensing weakness, Aizwa begins plucking at your breasts again. “That’s it. Good girl.”You shudder.Hawks grips your hair and forces you to look at him. He’s staring down intently and predator warnings flash in in the back of your mind. Hawks eat finches. He’s going to devour you.Fear spikes, but you’re frozen to the bed. You can’t fight his, this hawk, this hero. These heroes.Your fear is exactly what sets Hawks off. He groans and lays against you, painting on the shoulder opposite Aizawa. When he cums, he groans and you swear you can feel each spurt.A beat passes wherein he catches his breath.Another.“Get off so I can take my turn,” comes the gruff voice of Aizawa. He’s trying to extricate himself, but it’s difficult when he’s between the headboard and you.Hawks chuckles and sits up, running a hand through his hair. “So impatient. Calm down, man. We have forever.” Despite his point, he moves aside.They’re manhandling you again, switching places. You heart is still beating like hummingbird wings. Between fight, flight, and freeze, your body chose the last.Your fear ratchets up when Aizawa is kneeling in front of you like Hawks did before. Where the other man is golden, Aizawa is pale. His long hair and the hair sparse on his chest that leads to a happy trail is all black. He has a different kind of appeal than Hawks, but you’re too out of it to make the same appraisal. All you can focus on his dick.It’s way bigger than it has any right to be, thick and long and veiny.You can only shake your head when he’s getting ready to push it in.Aizawa cups your cheek at your denial. “It’s okay, baby. You’ll be alright.”He’s not wrong. Though his dick stretches your entrance, you’re wet and Hawks’ cum helps lube the way. If Aizawa is at all bothered by it, he doesn’t say.He stares down at you with something like awe written on his face, like you hung the stars in the sky.“What a pretty little slut you are,” Hawks coos, chin on your shoulder. He can never stay quiet long and he’s going to take advantage of the situation any way he can. “Our own personal whore, spreading her legs for two men.”You sniffle.“Are you seriously gonna cry?” He laughs, then a hand skims between you and Aizawa and he begins circling your clit. “I’ll make it all better.”Aizawa is reaching places inside you that have never been touched, pressing against every sweet spot. You can almost feel the internal pleasure spots pulsing through to your clit.It’s too much and it’s building too fast.You shake your head again, but neither man stops. “There you go, baby bird,” Hawks murmure. “Let go.”You keen as he redoubles his efforts. It’s so good, it must be a sin. Nothing this good comes without drawbacks.The sparks return, but they’re fireworks now, shooting and climbing inside. And when they burst, your whole world goes dark.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s been a week since you woke up from an orgasm that was too much for your exhausted body to handle.

Once you’d woken, both men were all cuddles and kindness. You let them bathe you, change the bedding, even brush your teeth. You were too tired to fight.

They haven’t

done anything

since.

It’s silly to avoid the words in your own head, but you’ve been partially dissociated since the incident and you’re leaning into it. You’ll build your strength back this way.

“You ate all your breakfast?” Hawks coos down at you from your recumbent position in bed. “What a good little bird. C’mon, let’s go brush your teeth.”

You frown at him. He’s been pushier about grooming you and you don’t know if it’s a hawk thing or a Hawks thing. You’re betting the latter.

He’s taken to washing your hair, combing it, playing with it. He likes helping you wash in the tub, but you’ve drawn the line there.

“Pleeeeease.” He pouts like a child. “Pretty please.”

“I can brush my own damn teeth,” you retort.

It’s his turn to frown. “You know Shouta doesn’t like you using that kind of language.”

“Aizawa can suck a dick.” You stand and walk toward the bathroom door, but a vice-like grip on your arm stops you.

“You know, we’ve let little things go lately because you’ve been behaving like a good pet, but the level of disrespect from your mouth is not acceptable.”

“You sound like

Eraser

right now.” You jerk your arm with no success.

Hawks’ gaze darkens. If there’s one thing the two captors hate, it’s when you use their hero names. Even family names ride the line, but they’ve let that go (with Aizawa; you don’t know Hawks’ family name). He pulls you toward the bathroom and shoves you onto the toilet. Two of his feathers detach; one fetches your toothbrush (purple) and the other, the toothpaste.

“I’ve been telling Shouta we should just force you to do the things we want, but he’s insisted we give you time, ease you into everything.” You snort. He takes your chin in hand and leans forward. “Since he’s not here right now, I’m going to brush your teeth whether you like it or not.”

You swat at one of the feathers but it ducks away. “No.”

His grip tightens. “You’ll sit here and take it or I will put you over my knee and spank you like the little brat you are.”

You fall still. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. I’d enjoy it.” He grins to prove his point. “Now, are you gonna be good?”

Instead of answering, you open your mouth to indicate willingness. Almost anything is better than the punishment he threatened.

Hawks spreads toothpaste on the brush and brings it up to your front teeth. That’s where he begins his scrubbing.

It’s uncomfortable; you can’t control the pace and he keeps hitting your lip or being too aggressive at your gums. When the brush goes inside your mouth to clean the back teeth, you hold in a gag.

Hawks is humming away all the while.

“You know.” He pauses his humming to speak. “My mom used to let me play with her hair. It was our only bonding time, actually. Sometimes she’d have me wash it for her, but only when she was really hungover. She drank a lot. I’d find her lying on her side in the bathroom, and I’d worry. I saw a commercial or something that said how important it was brush your teeth, how stomach acid can wear down enamel. I’d think about brushing them. I sometimes wonder whether her teeth ever fell out.”

He grabs a little cup from the sink and fills it with water.

“Sip. Spit.”

Finally done.
 
Aizawa has taken to sleeping with you when he has the chance, which isn’t often. You wonder if it’s the only sleep he gets, which is close to every third day. No wonder the man is eternally exhausted.

He enters the room and starts stripping out of his hero uniform. You know the drill by now; he’ll shower, then cuddle you in bed while you stare at the wall for hours.

“It’s so nice to come home and see my girl.” He leans over to kiss your forehead. You jerk back and his face falls in disappointment. “Are we really gonna start the night this way?”

“What way?” you counter.

He sneers. “Don’t be a brat.”

You cross your arms and stare.

“The appropriate response, sweetheart,” he’s standing over you as he speaks, “is ‘I’m sorry, Shouta.’” When you don’t speak, his capture weapon unwinds to wrap around your body and trap your arms at your sides. “You know, Keigo told me what happened earlier. Said his threat was pretty effective.”

You roll your eyes.

The world spin upside down and you’re suddenly on Shouta’s lap with your ass in the air. The nightgown you’re wearing has fallen around your face. You kick your legs in effectively; it only takes one hand to hold them down.

The first slap is surprising and cracks through your ears before the pain even registers. From there, they become a blur.

This one lands on one cheek, this one on the other. One hits the spot between ass and thigh— that fucking hurts— he hits the same spot again.

It goes on until you’re crying, snot falling with the tears since you can’t wipe your nose.

“Shouta, please,” you try desperately to get his attention. “Shouta, I’m sorry.”

The spanking slows for a second, then carries on with one final flurry of blows.

“Are you really sorry?” He rubs in soothing circles.

You try to nod. “Yes.”

You’re sorry because it got this to happen and no other reason. Not that you’ll tell him that.

He hums and continues the soothing circles. “Are you crying, little bird?”

The tears you’d unsuccessfully kept back burst forth. He rights you with your butt hanging off his lap. Shouta rocks, kisses your forehead, gently wipes away hair that sticks to your face. “I know,” he murmurs against your hair. “I know this is hard. I promise it’ll get better if you work with us.”

You sniffle as you catch his words. “What?”

“Baby.” He turns your chin and stares down at you tenderly. “We don’t plan on always keeping you locked up in here, but you need to earn it. Prove you can have outside privileges.”

“Outside?” you repeat. Your heart beats faster.

He shrugs a little. “Not at first. At first you’ll be allowed around the apartment, able to come in and out as you please. If you’re very, very good, we’ll start taking you out.”

“Can I go back to work?” It’s a stupid, pathetic question, and you have no idea why you asked it.

Shouta’s mouth sets in a line before he answers. “No. You’ll always be accompanied by one of us.” You sniffle as the tears refresh. “That’s to keep you safe. We need to take care of you. But you’ll be able to go to parties with Hawks, and maybe to school with me sometimes.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

It sounds a whole hell of a lot better than this. You nod shyly as your brain starts to work for the first time in a week. If you earn those privileges, you can get outside. You can talk to people. You can get help.

You can escape. After all, they can’t put you on a leash in public,

and you have wings.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

You sit patiently on Keigo’s lap as he checks over the temperature of the food. He has taken it on himself to feed you when he’s around.

This is on top of bathing you, washing your hair and combing it, brushing your teeth, dressing you (not that you wear much). It’s ridiculous, but you allow it for the sake of getting the fuck out of here someday.

“Open up.” The first spoonful tastes like ash. It’s oatmeal with a little fruit and a drizzle of honey. “That’s my good little bird. You know, you’ve been pretty well-behaved the last few days.”

He sounds sly and your ears perk, though you try not to show too much interest.

“Maybe you can even be allowed around the penthouse.”

Your wings flutter despite yourself. He chuckles.

“Let’s finish breakfast and then we can talk more, ‘kay?”

You can’t eat fast enough. Keigo doles out each spoonful so slowly that you would think he didn’t know what speed is. It’s frustrating, but he pays no mind to your tapping foot that hangs in the air, nor the occasional movement of wings that give away your restlessness.

When he declares ‘all done’ you can’t keep in the sigh of relief.

He chuckles, then disappears from the room to clear away the dishes.

Finally

, you think. Finally, you won’t be trapped in this fucking room anymore.

When Keigo enters the room again, he has one hand curled in a fist. “Hold your leg, baby bird.” He kneels and his hands block what he does, but you’re pretty sure he’s putting something around your ankle.

When he leans back to survey his work, you take note of the anklet now around your limb.

It’s gold, a delicate chain that you can’t see the clasp of. Hanging off it are three stones— a ruby, an amethyst, and a garnet. The two red stones flank the amethyst and something in that chills you.

“How do I take it off?” you ask as you gaze down at the fragile-looking piece.

He shrugs as he says, “Ya don’t.”

“What about when I take a shower or–”

“Someone with a special quirk made this. It’ll be fine in water. Even fire isn’t a problem. In fact, you can’t take it off.”

You gape at him as he relays this information. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. Only Shouta and I know how to take it off.” He says it so nonchalantly and you realize something as you look between it and your new shackle: you’ve now been tagged. Like a bird with a tracker on its foot, you are now marked. You wonder if they can use it the same way, too, if they’ll always know where you are should you escape.

You don’t ask. You’re not sure you want to know.

He leans down and kisses your forehead. “Now, are you ready to see the rest of our love nest?”

In the receipt of the anklet, you’d forgotten he promised to let you roam outside the room. The flutter of excitement is back, and you nod.

“Good girl. C’mon.” Keigo takes your hand and helps you to your feet. You’re dazed as he opens the door and shows you something other than the four walls for the first time in what feels like ages.

The first thing you realize is that you’re on a landing. The apartment is loft-style with three doors leading into rooms— the one you’re in, your bathroom, and another on the opposite side of the landing.

You step further out. Your wings tremble. The loft opens out into a high ceiling living area. There is glass everywhere and the sunlight that streams in hurts your eyes, but it’s beautiful. Your room has no windows; you didn’t realize how much you missed them until now.

Hawks tugs gently on your hand until you return your gaze to his. He’s leading you toward the spiral iron staircase that descends into the rest of the apartment.

The furniture is red and plush. There’s the coziest sectional you’ve ever seen in your life and two large armchairs. The television on the wall closest to that area is at least 65 inches. Everything screams money.

The kitchen is under the loft, as are two doors leading to rooms you cannot begin to guess. The walls opposite the kitchen are all glass. You wonder if people can see through it, but how many people realistically fly?

“There’s a guest room and the main floor bathroom through there.” Hawks gestures toward the doors by the kitchen. “You’re free to use whatever you need. If it’s not locked, it’s as much yours as mine.”

Fingertips skim the console behind the couch. It’s black, simple but nice. On it sits ivy in a gleaming beaten gold planter. Its tendrils wall over the edge in a tasteful display.

“So I can go on that laptop?” you ask, nodding toward the appliance on the coffee table.

He smirks in response. “Nice try, little bird. It’s locked to fingerprints.”

“Oh.” You deflate a little, but you hadn’t expected much. “What about the television?”

“You can watch whatever you want. It’s a smart TV, so it has all the streaming services,” he says.

You nod along, surveying the entire penthouse. "Can I go outside?”

“Not on your own.” His eyes darken. “I’m serious, don’t try it. The place will be locked up tight when we’re working, and the glass is shatterproof, so don’t try that way.”

“I’m hardly going to fly down— what? Thirty stories? — with my wings as weak as they are,” you argue.

“Forty-seven,” he grits out. “And I don’t care. I’m not risking it.”

You decide to drop the topic and return to it later, once you’ve proven how “good” you are to them. As of now, at least you have this new part of your world to explore.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Days in the apartment are slow. You wake in the morning and usually find yourself alone now. Before, Keigo was taking a short leave of absence so he could “help his new pet acclimate” in his words. Thus, you were now free to scavenge for breakfast on your own.

After breakfast, you generally laze on the sofa to watch television for a bit, then you make yourself do a little exercise.

That's harder than you’d like to admit. The time spent locked in the room had done your fitness no favors. Your wings are much weaker and would surely fail in getting you anywhere, much less to the ground from the height of the penthouse.

You warm up, do some yoga and light calisthenics, then set yourself to flying around the penthouse. Your wings stretch wide, and you rise more slowly than you’d like, but you rise all the same. You first go to the loft and then sweep down to the bottom floor to turn into the kitchen. You land on the floor and then shoot upward toward the ceiling at your swiftest. It’s not very fast; Hawks would catch you in instant.

By the end of the workout, you’re sweaty enough to take a shower.

The shower is nice. It’s rainfall style and heats up quickly. You step beneath the stream and find yourself enveloped in gentle raindrops and steam.

You scrub your skin and take down the separate showerhead to hose down your wings. When you get out, the wing dryer is the first stop on your mind; you hate having sodden wings. You don’t understand how bird in the wild deal with them.

Well, you know how they do, but you don’t like it. You spread each wing in the sunbathing position individually to shake loose any residual water, and then they go beneath the dryer again to ensure they’re fully dry.

With that done, you’re left to figure out the remainder of your day. They’re now filled with streaming crappy television and reading whatever catches your attention from Hawks’ bookshelf. It’s boring, but it’s infinitely better than the room.

You don’t go in there until the end of the day.

“Come on, pretty bird. It’s time for bed.”

You glance toward the stove. “It’s only ten thirty,” you complain.

The winged hero crosses his arms. They’re showcased in his white undershirt, the muscle flexing as they move. “Shouta is coming in early and I want you to get some sleep before he gets home.”

You frown at that because Shouta is just going to curl up in bed around you. Every time you’ve seen the man has involved sleep, whether he’s forcing you to bed for a nap or you’re waking up with him suddenly there.

“I’m not tired,” you try again.

Hawks is having none of it. “Don’t make me drag you to bed, little bird. You won’t enjoy it.”

He could and it would be easy for him. You go into the bedroom.

At least it’s not hard to get ready for bed. You brush your teeth and slide under the covers. Negligees and similar are the only clothes they’ve provided, so you only change in the morning.

And they have yet to give you panties. At least you don’t have your period during Spring. You’re always in ovulation mode.

“You’re so beautiful.” Hawks is already there. His tanned arms wrap around your waist and pull you close. “I’ wanted you so much. You have no idea how hard it was to work with you every day and not have you.”

He plants kisses on from your jaw to your shoulder and his hands pay homage to your body. You want to hate it, but he feels so good. He’s making

you

feel so good.

“I love you; you know that?” He pushes you onto your back and slips down the straps of your nightgown. “I just want to keep you safe.” He presses kisses to your throat and down to breasts. “I want to make you mine.” Nibbles and suckles land on your stomach. “Want you to have my babies.”

You keen. The thought of your stomach round with winged infants shouldn’t be as stirring as it is.

He sits up and toys with your breasts. “Do you love me, baby bird?”

That breaks through the haze enough to warm your eyes with tears. You don’t want to answer that.

“I see. It’s okay, though. I’ll make you love me.” He leans down to kiss you and his mouth is hot and needy. His tongue sneaks between your lips to rove you, taste you, possess you. At your core, his fingers stroke and prod until he’s able to ease in first one, then another. You arch in pain and arousal, but his larger form traps yours.

Keigo pulls away and the gaze in his eyes should be frightening.

“I’m gonna fill you up. Is that what you want, baby? Want me inside you every way you can get it?” You stare up at him plaintiff and he takes that as affirmation. “Open your mouth. I wanna see that pretty tongue.” When you obey, he smirks, then spits.

You cringe as his hand slaps over your mouth. You can’t get rid of the spit. He’s not even letting you breathe. You’re forced to swallow.

“So hot, that’s my little slut.”

Your core is getting wound up by his thrusts. He curves just right to hit your sweet spot. You wish you could hate it, and in the back of your mind you hate yourself for loving it.

“Get ready for it, baby bird.” His fingers slip down again to play with your clit.

You hate him

, you remind yourself. You hate him so much it could fill you up and boil over, but right now your body is surrendering to his will. You whimper and moan. You can’t help it. You want more. You’re easing toward the edge, and you need him to push you over it.

“You like this, you little slut?” He pounds into you harder. “That’s it. You need this. You whore.” Why are his words sending you reeling? “Bet you’ll like this, too.” Hawks slaps you across the face and it’s so jarring your ears rings.

But it sends you flying. Your core clenches and you tingle with electricity from your toes to your scalp. The pleasure soars through you like a bird through a thermal, warm waves in tandem with your dizziness.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He cries out, hands shoved under your hips to raise your lower body to just the right angle. He’s going so hard, so deep, it hurts as it prolongs your pleasure. Then he’s holding you against him as he spills into you.

Keigo drops his head on the pillow beside you. His body is hot and it’s crushing you.

“Good girl.” He kisses your cheek and rolls to the side. “Get some sleep.” He passes out within moments, and you’re left to wiggle out and clean up on your own.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

You float on a warm, soft river. Dry water shushes across your skin like a lover. It caresses your arms, your throat, your breasts. There’s gentle pressure across your lower body as you laze, then wet kisses press across your neck and the air that stirs the moisture is cold.

That cold is out of place in your hazy dreamscape, and you slowly begin to surface.

Sandpaper scratches at your skin along with the harsh edge of teeth. A black curtain shields the face of your companion, but you recognize him anyway. It’s Shouta. He’s home from work and rather than curl in bed with you he’s undressed and is now paying homage to you in a way you’d rather he didn’t.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs as he skims fingers across your nipples. He has undressed you in your sleep and you didn’t notice. “You waking up, angel?” He crawls up and stares down at you with adoring eyes.

For a moment you are frozen beneath him. Then you swallow and say, “Is it morning already? I, um, I’ll go look at breakfast.”

Shouta smirks. “Not quite. We still have hours before we need to be up.”

You were afraid he’d say something like that. “Then maybe we should sleep.”

His strong arms bracket you as he continues to stare down with that smirk. “We have plenty of time, babygirl.”

“But—”

He leans down and presses his lips to yours.

They’re gentler than Hawks’ were, but just as demanding. He works at your mouth until you gasp for air, then his tongue sweeps across the inner rm of your lips with a sensation that borders on ticklish but feels good. One knee slides between your legs to ease them apart, then his body wedges tight against yours and you can feel how hard he is.

His erection is huge and throbbing against your core. You keen against your will, turned on as you feel the throb of blood from the big vein along the bottom of his dick. He rolls his hips so he rubs your clit tantalizingly. While you’ve slept he’s been warming up your body. You don’t realize how wet you are until this moment.

“That’s it, good girl.” He leans up and rubs the head of his dick through your slick. It nudges your opening and then he’s slowly easing in. It burns as you stretch around his width. He backs his hips away, rolls them forward again, all in gentle motions to allow your cunt to stretch as gently as possible. “Gods, you’re tight.” It’s agonizing in its pace and you almost want him to stop and just fuck you. You’d get used to it quickly and it would scratch the itch building inside.

You bite your lip to keep from begging him.

He stares down at you like you’re the world, grey eyes flitting to your swollen lower lip. “Don’t hold it in,” Shouta grumbles in a voice so deep you can feel it in your chest. You whimper despite yourself and clench around him. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

Regardless of his size, there’s something far more tender about the way he’s fucking you than how Keigo did it the night before. Shouta is focused on the way he moves inside you, angling to find what makes your lips part in a gasp. And his gaze keeps boring into you until you wonder if you’re laid bare, stripped to the soul for him. It feels that way, and there’s something liberating in that.

You squeeze your eyes shut and hope you shut him out, too.

Your cheek burns as your ears ring with the sudden impact. Your eyes pop open. He’s stroking the abused side of your face now. “Don’t.” It’s a warning and a plea. You nod helplessly, enamored at the way he’s touching you. He’s so close you’re sharing hot, humid breath. He brushes his lips against yours, the ghost of a kiss; unthinking, you arch toward him.

His mouth seals over yours and the kiss is more demanding this time. His tongue dominates yours. His lips are bruising, teeth scrape your lower lip into his mouth so he can nip and bite.

It’s such a contrast to the steady pace of his cock in and out but engulfing just the same. You realize his tongue is moving to the same unheard beat and you moan into him.

You’re being stretched apart, consumed by Shouta’s needy, demanding love. And you know that’s what it is for him— it’s a love so consuming that it burns him from the inside out, until he’s had no choice but to take you lest he become a mere husk of himself. He needs more of you to fill the places inside that have been reduced to ash.

His hands scoop beneath your head to twine in your hair. He tugs and arches you against the bed. The delicious pain of it snaps the band in your stomach that’s been holding back the dam. Your wings flare to the sides and you cry out your pleasure.

Shouta curses and groans as your core pulses around him. It’s too much and he’s following you down the to the abyss. He spills inside you and holds you against his chest until he comes down, then rolls onto his back to drape you over him, his own perfect stuffed toy.

“You’re so perfect, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he strokes a hand across the arch of a wing.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Shouta and Keigo have been watching you like, well, hawks. You’re not sure why. It’s not like you can do anything without them knowing anyway; red feathers are omnipresent in the penthouse even when the hero who owns them is not.

It’s not like you can escape.

Not even when they take you to the patio you’ve been staring at longingly since they let you out of the room.

The cool wind feels so good blowing through your feathers. Your eyes drift shut, and you stand there, relishing the sensation.

A hand rests on the small of your back. “Come sit down, little bird.” Keigo leads you to the outdoor furniture to take a seat on a U-backed chair. It’s an interesting design; your wings aren’t crushed, yet you can lean against it. It’s all rust red with a black wrought iron framework. The center of the black table has a firepit built in. Shouta is stirring the fire in it from the chair across from yours. He opens a small cooler and pops the top off a beer bottle, then slides it your way.

You haven’t had a drink in so long that you’re unphased by drinking the brand one of the men chose despite it not being one you like. You take it in both hands and down half of it in one go.

“Whoa, careful, sweetheart. You haven’t even eaten yet,” Shouta chastises gently. He leans across the table and lays a hand over one wrist to pull your hand down. “We’ll go get the food.” He nods to Hawks and the two go inside presumably toward the kitchen.

Leaving you alone.

Outside.

You tremble as you stand and walk toward the edge of the building. There are no railings here; why would there be when Hawks is the one who bought this place and has lived here for who knows how long? He doesn’t need them.

For the first time in your life, as you lean over the side of the building, you experience vertigo.

It’s such a long way down and you haven’t tested the strength of your wings in ages. It’d be too risky to try anything now, especially with the heroes nearby enough to act should you try.

Slowly, you back away and sit in your chair again. Maybe you’ll have another opportunity, a

real

opportunity soon.

The guys come out not a minute later and you see the moment their eyes fall on you that they’re relieved to find you in the same place, curled up in your chair and clinging to your near-empty beer.

“You’re such a good girl, little bird.” Keigo lifts you up and takes your spot, settling you in his lap instead. He kisses your forehead. You take a swig of your drink as his hands begin to roam.

One the table there are burgers and hotdogs. You’ve never had a rooftop cookout before. It would be nice if not for your kidnapping.

Keigo sets your empty on the table and sends out a feather to fetch a new one. It’s amazing how much he can do with those things. You’ve seen quite a bit of it since you started living with him.

“You’re gonna get her drunk like that,” Shouta warns his fellow hero.

Keigo shrugs. “There’s nothing wrong with a little celebration here and there,” he says, then sips some of his own beer. "I’m so proud of you, baby.”

You gaze back at him, then glance at Shouta. “Is something going on?”

They exchange a look, then Shouta shrugs as if to tell Keigo it’s up to him.

“I’m taking you with me to the Hero Billboard Chart.”

You freeze, unsure you heard him correctly, grasped the meaning. You know what all the words mean; what person in the age of heroes doesn’t know what the Hero Billboard Chart is? It’s only the biggest event in society, the hero equivalent of the Oscars, but more important. After all, actors didn’t put their lives on the line every day.

However, you were sure you’d heard Keigo say he was taking

you

, the nobody who used to work for him, the person currently held captive in him home. No one would do such a thing, right? It was entirely too risky, too absurd.

“I already got your dress, and hair and makeup people will be coming to help you get ready before.” He fiddles his thumbs and his wings flick nervously. “You won’t have to worry about thing.”

“And I’ll be watching from the sidelines, so don’t get any funny ideas,” Shouta adds. Your heart doesn’t even sink at the warning. You’re too excited about your first proper outing.

Besides, maybe I can still slip a message to someone, give someone a hint that I’m being held against my will.

It’s a nice thought.
 
The dress is a red violet that complements your plumage as much as it does Hawks’. He’s in his hero costume, but you’re in this slinky, low-backed silk number that hugs you so well you’re made to forego anything underneath it. There’s a high slit on the side with the anklet and the makeup artist helps you use fashion tape to secure everything in place so there are no accidents.

Your shoes are gold and strappy and entirely higher than you’re comfortable with. It’s a good thing you have wings to help you balance.

Your lips are painted the same scarlet as Hawks’ wings and your eyeline evokes his eye markings. A ruby drop pendant graces the space between your breasts and your hair is pinned and curled and artfully placed until you feel like some scantily clad Greco-Roman figure or something.

You feel beautiful and can’t help a slight preening.

Hawks releases a low whistle when he sees you all made up. Shouta had to stay while the prep team was with you, since Keigo had his own preparations to make. The underground hero has already made his gratification known.

“Wow, baby bird. You look… wow.” He circles you to take in the whole package, then slides between your wings to hug your body. “You’re so beautiful. I almost don’t wanna go at all. I’d rather stay here and eat you up.”

You blush beneath the layer of makeup. You have a feeling you’ll be doing a lot of that tonight.

“Hawks.” Shouta’s voice cuts through the tension but isn’t particularly sharp, more of a caution than anything.

“Yeah, yeah.” The scruffy blond kisses your throat then backs away to take your hand. “Anyway. We’re gonna fly there. I hope you’re ready.”

You stare at him wide-eyed. “I haven’t flown in…” Well, other than your exercise, it’s been a minute. You certainly don’t have the stamina to fly all the way to the event.

He strokes a thumb across the back of your hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll carry you most of the way. I just want us to make an

entrance

.” Your heart returns to its normal beat and you nod. That also means he won’t know your capabilities. That’s good. It means you have a wing up on him toward your escape.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Swooping through the sky in Hawks’ arms is nothing like flying on your own. His wings are so much more powerful, so much swifter. He held you as you came down from the building, then let you fly a little on your own until it became clear you couldn’t keep up with his superior speed. Now you’re circling around a building about a block away from the event so you can get your bearings.

“I’m gonna set you down, then we’ll fly in together at your pace, alright lovebird?” You nod and he dives straight toward the rooftop at a pace you couldn’t pull out of if you were at your peak. It’s so simple for him to pull up at the last second and come to a hover, then slip you to the stone roof.

“Beautiful,” he repeats as he smooths a stray hair.

That sets you in motion and you check to make sure everything is in its proper place. How you’ve been managing without flashing the world, you don’t know. Then again, with the ultra-low back, this may be a quirk-designed dress specifically for flyers. You’ve heard of such things before, but never been able to afford them.

“Okay,” you murmur as you smooth the dress one final time.

He smirks, golden eyes flicking once more up and down your form. “You ready? Good.” He’s already in the air and for a split second you consider taking off in the opposite direction.

You dismiss the thought, knowing he’s catch you in the time it took to blink; instead, you leap and unfurl your wings to join him in the air.

It’s clear from the way the spotlight shifts to you, the hush that falls over the spectators and paparazzi below, that the two of you make quite the spectacle. Hawks leads with subtle shifts and tugs to your hand and lands a split second before you, just in time to wrap his hands around your waist like he’s plucked you from the sky.

The paparazzi are instantly enamored. Flashes go off everywhere and then the hero begins fielding questions like a pro.

“Hawks, who is this—”

“Hawks, have you finally set—”

“Hawks, over here!”

He laughs affably and pulls you to his side for a red carpet-photo. “Best Jeanist designed the gown, of course,” he answers for you. “And this is my little lovebird. Isn’t she beautiful?” He doesn’t even tell them your name; doubtless it will be spread everywhere tomorrow anyway.

He leads you in and toward the front and a small table that has his name on a placard in the center. There’s a woman you recognize from the agency already there, though you can’t for the life of you remember her name.

“Baby bird, you remember Tohsaka?” You don’t really, but nod anyway.

If she’s surprised to see an errant employee, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she gives a perfunctory bow to the pair of you. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, miss.”

“Er, you too,” you say dumbly.

Hawks grins. “Miss Tohsaka here knows

everything

, and you don’t wanna experience her quirk. So, you’ll be a good girl if I have to leave you at the table, right?”

You nod. What the hell does that mean? What, exactly, is her quirk that it’s enough to be threatening.

Tohsaka touches your wrist as you’re helped into a seat, and you suddenly fall limp into it. “I can activate it without touch for the next two hours,” she informs you as you begin to get back control of your muscles.

Shouta needn’t have bothered coming tonight if this is what you’re faced with.

Hawks leaves you there with Tohsaka presumably to get drinks, but you see him crossing the floor slowly and greeting various top execs and fellow heroes as well, even the occasional sidekick. He’s so affable, so boyishly charming, that you bet no one here would suspect the dirty little secret he’s hiding in plain sight.

“You’re really okay with this?” you ask the other woman. She’s wearing a sharp black pantsuit with a crimson blouse, and she looks like corporate perfection personified.

Tohsaka nods. “Hawks is the boss. Whatever he needs.”

“He’s a hero,” you point out.

“Heroes often have peculiar needs.” She tips her head and considers. “Those needs are more important than that of the rest of us.”

You narrow your gaze on her. “How do you figure that?”

“A hero who isn’t getting his needs cared for will not be as effective in the field.”

She’s so matter of fact it hurts. You want to say something cutting, but you’re unable to fashion an argument before someone stops by your table.

“Hi-hi, Birdie!” It’s Mirko, the rabbit hero. “You’re the first date Hawks has ever brought to one of these things. I had to come introduce myself. Hi, I’m Mirko!”

“I know.” You could slap yourself if you weren’t currently starstruck. Mirko is one of your favorite heroes. She’s just so strong despite having a quirk most consider a prey animal. She’s incredible, really. You introduce yourself and hold out your hand, which the hero skims her lips over.

“You’re way too cute for that bird brain. Why’s you come here with him, anyhow?”

It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it. “I didn’t have a choice.” You slap a hand across your lips and stare, horrified at yourself.

Although maybe…

“Tryin’ to horn in on my girl already, bunny?” Hawks has scented another near his territory and returned. Hopefully after you uttered the damned words. “This one is stuck with me, I’m afraid. Birds of a feather and all that.”

Mirko narrows her crimson gaze at the other hero. “Uh-huh. She came with you but maybe she’d rather leap into bed with me later.” She winks at you. “What do you say, beautiful?”

“Oh, I…”

Hawks stands behind your chair and pulls you back until your wings are fairly crushed. “I didn’t realize you were a poacher. Must be desperate if you’re going to such extremes.”

There’s such tension between the two, like you’re missing something big, important. You wonder if they’ve fought over girls before, not that you’d known the rabbit hero was into women before now.

Mirko holds up her hands in defeat. “Easy, big bird, I’m just playing with ya. I’m not one to kick a friend in the back.”

“Sure.” Hawks strokes your throat. “Just remember who she’s with if you talk to her again.”

“Right.” Mirko beams down at you. “It was nice meeting you, lovely.”

Hawks takes the seat beside you and thrusts a champagne flute in your direction. “Did anything happen while I was gone?” You shake your head.

“She just came over,” you tell him.” It was maybe a minute before you arrived.

Tohsaka shrugs when he looks at her and he sighs in relief. “Mirko is worse than I am when it comes to women. She just dives right in and never thinks of the consequences.”

You want to say something to that, but don’t know what. After all, there’s no way the rabbit hero is

worse

than the man who became obsessed when he found out you had wings and then orchestrated your life to kidnap and keep you his love slave.

At least, you hope not.

He squeezes your bare leg, and the anklet faintly tinkles. “Don’t you worry. Shou and I will never let you go.”

He sticks by your side, sending feathers for drinks, until the ceremony. At that point he has to leave you and you’re left in a sea of B-listers who didn’t make the top ten.

“Thanks for not ratting me out,” you murmur to Tohsaka.

She lifts a perfectly groomed brow. “I’m not sure whether that qualified as a concern, let alone an escape attempt.”

“Still…”

You watch as Hawks not so humbly accepts his place as the number two top pro in Japan. His public affairs team must be having conniptions right now. They are going to be a disaster in the morning, trying to straighten all this out.

Then again, he’s not entirely wrong. They could go with it, double-down on his declarations and his challenge to the new number one.

A new drink appears in front of you, and you start sipping it before you realize where it came from. Shouta sits like a shadow at the table now, one foot brushing your own in a secretive gesture of affection. The leather of his shoe is cool against your manicured toes.

“Having fun, sweetheart?”

You nod. You are, kinda. It’s nice to be out in the open. If you wanted, you could unfurl your wings and fly around this venue. You’d never be able to get away before one of your keepers downed you, but it was a nice thought. It helped ease the usual claustrophobia that hovers just out of conscious thought. It offsets the anxiety of being around so many people for the first time in ages.

He smiles wanly at you; he’s tired, but he always is. “Good. I’m glad. And you’re behaving so well, too. I’m proud of you.”

Something like affection flutters in your heart. You frown. That’s not good. It must be the season getting to you again. It’s still summer, right? You’re still in mating season. Which reminds you…

You could be pregnant. You hope to all the gods worshipped on the earth that you’re not, but with how often they’re filling you up, it’s probably futile. You should ask for a pregnancy test. Maybe then they’d stop forcing themselves on you.

Doubtful.

Shouta disappears a moment later and Hawks wades through the crowd of those congratulating him. You can just make out his wings as he slips by with hand shaking, shoulder clapping, the occasional more formal bow. It takes the better part of an hour for him to finally return. You’re tipsy when he finally arrives.

“Ready to go, lovebird?”

He pulls you to your feet and you sway, a wing flaring to keep you upright. “What? Already?”

Hawks slips an arm around you to hold you close. He smells like the wind and sunshine. His eyes glint in the low lighting. “I wanna get you home and look after you.”

“I don’t need looking after,” you protest.

He smirks. “You’re drunk, baby bird. Lemme take care of you.”

“I’m not.”

He sweeps you into a bridal carry and you hit his chest ineffectually. Around you, the crowd parts. “You are and I'm taking care of you, no arguments.”

You can’t protest any more when he takes to the sky.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Embarassingly, you pass out before you reach home. Hawks and Shouta take it upon themselves to strip you and wipe away the makeup, to unpin and comb your hair. You sleep floating in the bliss of their mutual embrace.

Waking is not quite so soft.

Something prods at one of your wings and you raise and flick it before it settle back. Another prod. “C’mon, baby bird. Up.”

“Don’t wanna.” You turn and burrow against Shouta’s warm chest.

He chuckles and wraps an arm around you. “Let her sleep, Keigo.”

“No, we need to discuss this now.” The winged hero’s voice is deadly serious, more so than you’ve ever heard before. It prompts you to turn your head and blink open a tired eye.

He’s still naked, phone in hand and the other hand on his hip. “Mirko told me what you said, baby bird. If you’d made that joke to anyone else, they might have taken it the wrong way.”

Shit.

“I— I didn’t mean to. It just kinda slipped out.”

He kneels on the bed and smoothes back your hair. “I know, but you understand what it looks like, right? Like we’re holding you here captive?”

Like what it actually is.

You don’t want to ruin the tentative peace, not when you’re so close to having a chance to get out.

“How are we supposed to trust you if you make comments like that, hm?” Shouta thumbs your waist affectionately.

Neither of them is surprised. They must have discussed this already and come to the same conclusion as Tohsaka: it wasn’t serious enough to count as an escape attempt.

“I didn’t mean to,” you repeat helplessly.

Hawks shakes his head. “We want to take you out more, baby. You liked it, right? Being out last night?” You nod. “We could tell. And we’d love to do that for you, but we need some… insurance you won’t try to get away.”

You swallow. “Like what?”

“Let me tie you up and we’ll show you,” Shouta murmurs into your hair.

You nod reluctantly.

Shouta slips out from beneath you and goes to the closet to fetch his rope. It’s black jute, a little rough on your skin but sturdy and it never tightens after he’s knotted it. He begins with your wrists, up your elbows. He goes slowly, so you can feel the strangely seductive sensation of rope skimming your bare flesh. He’s so good with it that you’re almost in a daze.

Keigo, meanwhile, holds a glass of water to your lips to replenish your fluids.

Your chest and hips are both bound in harnesses, then your arms attached to them so you have no wiggle room without tossing your entire body side to side.

Lastly he binds your legs to the footboard so you can’t kick them. Keigo then transfers the glass to Shouta and Shouta climbs to the head of the bed, laying your cheek against his knee. He holds the straw to your lips for a few more sips, then sets it aside. His forearms drape over your shoulderblades.

Keigo shuffles around out of sight before he returns to the bed. You can just see the looming shadow of his wings as he mounts your hips with a knee to either side. He strokes along your wings and you shiver under the gentle touch.

“We really  didn’t want to do this to you, my pretty bird. We wanted you to behave perfectly; we wanted to trust you fully. But, well, we discussed it. You know, some birds don’t know what’s good for them. They’ll fly away from a warm home and get lost out in the world. We won’t let you make that mistake.”

Chills spread across your body in foreboding. Your body is trying to warn you.

Keigo shifts. He tackles one of your wings and pulls it taught, then lays a knee right on top so you can’t unpin it from the bed. With one strong hand, he’s tugging the other out so he can get at your primaries.

“No!” You toss ineffectually— Shouta's holding your torso down and you allowed yourself to be tied in such a way that struggling is futile.

The scissors

hurt

at the clip feathers never meant for shearing. The quills of each pulls and prods and poke uncomfortably as they are clipped. And blood trickles when a few pinfeathers are caught in the crossing.

“No!” you cry again as tears stream down your face. All around, little bits of plum and violet and magenta and white fall around you like a garish, bloody rain. “No, please—”

Hawks shifts his weight onto the newly-clipped wing and that hurts, too. It’s so raw, so strange, uncomfortable, and unpleasant. You feel naked.

He stretches the other wing out as you try to retract it with all your might, but you’ve never been a match for him. Soon, he’s cutting away the primary feathers there too.

“Sh.” Shouta strokes your head as you devolve into wordless sobs. It’s too late now. They’ve done it. They clipped your wings and put a tag on your foot and now you’re just a house pet. “Shush, sweetheart. It’s okay.” The ropes loosen and come off, but you just cry harder as your weakened wings curl in around your body.

It’s not okay. It’ll never be okay again.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

You sit in the cozy rocking chair, it’s soft squeaking the only noise. Shouta and Keigo are both working, but promised they’d be home early today.Snow blankets the cityscape, freshly fallen even as you watch; fat flakes whirl like you once danced in the breeze. How you miss the way the wind felt through your feathers...Your wings stir in memory, and you sigh. Your wings have been clipped twice more since that first time, and each is a nail in your coffin. They still don’t trust you.  Is it any wonder though? When you started showing, you stopped trying to hide your real feelings. You cry at the drop of a hat and they blame pregnancy hormones. Neither want to think that you’re unhappy, that you’re a caged bird dealing with bringing children into this world to two monsters. That maybe that’s why you cry. It's so frustrating that you could scream, and you have, sometimes until your throat is raw. It makes no difference.Although you’ve not cried at all today.Instead, you feel numb. You rock back and forth in the nursery with its soft white decorations, perfect for any gender (they want to wait so it’ll be a surprise) and gaze out at the grey and white world.Once, you’d felt hope on snowy mornings like this. The world was wiped clean, a blank slate. Now you only want to lay in bed and sleep the day away, but that isn’t good for the baby.You can’t have caffeine anymore. You have a strict bedtime. You are taken for walks almost like you’re a dog or something. Anything for the baby. It's exhausting.You want to hate what’s growing inside you, but you can’t bring yourself to. After all, it’s your only company here in the small, cruel world of your confinement. And the kid will be innocent in all this.You hum and stroke your belly through the pale blue maternity dress. You’ve never been much of a songbird, but you find yourself singing more than ever now. Maybe it’s an instinct to calm the baby and get it used to your voice.There’s a flutter in your stomach and you look down to see movement. You like to imagine that’s a wing brushing your insides, and that they will come out purple and streaked like your own. That you won’t know which man to hate more for impregnating you because the baby will be so you that they may as well not have a father.Another insistent movement and you sigh. “Fine. I’ll get us a snack.” You wobble to the kitchen and pull out two bags— one full of sunflower seeds and the other empty for the shells. You begin munching on the salt treat as you head back to the nursery.There’s already a toddler bed as well as the crib. The bassinet is in the master bedroom. You really hope the toddler bed isn’t a hint that you’re expected to have children back-to-back. Is that even healthy?Like they care. As long as you’re doing what they want, kept here in your gilded cage, they probably don’t have a care for what’s actually good for you.If they did, they never would have captured you. They never would have clipped your wings.You spit a shell into the bag. “They’ll never do that to you,” you promise your unborn child. “I’ll kill them first.”You mean it, too. Or you’d do worse and kill yourself. Then they’d be alone in the world with a child whose existence they can’t explain. Maybe they’d put the kid up for adoption and the little one could live a normal life.You doubt it, but you can dream, right?You begin rocking again, your humming only interrupted by the spitting of shells and the munching on seeds.