Clipped Wings

Cuckoo

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.