#ky writes

The gentle nudge to your shin from underneath the table brings a soft smile to your lips as you sip your coffee. Hawks raises a full eyebrow at you from where he's seated across the table, a minute yet playful expression crossing his features.

You give him a gentle nudge back, shaking your head in attempt to hide your growing smile.

"Playing footsie?"

He leans back in his chair, shrugging nonchalantly he munches away on his pastry, his gaze never breaking from its hold on you. The sun is beginning to reach its peak in the afternoon sky, casting a bright golden glow through the windows of the small, quaint cafe you chose for lunch - its rays casting a warm glow on his features. His irises have an amber radiance to them, the avian features around his eyes complimenting them as they stand out against his skin - his cheeks slightly tanned from all the time spent in flight beneath the warm afternoon sun.

"Adding a little spice to our relationship," he winks, and you can't help but to roll your eyes at his childishness.

"I never would have thought such a high ranking hero could be so.."

"So?" Hawks questions; curious, urging you to finish your thoughts.

"Could be so puerile."

He barks out a laugh, grinning as if it was the funniest thing he's heard all day.

"Puerile, huh? That's quite a use of your words, there, dove."

"You're a menace," you roll your eyes again and sip at your drink, but he can see through your annoyed façade. Instead of retaliating with that spit-fire tongue of his, he reaches forward, prying one of your hands from your drink. You frown in slight disdain at having to act fast to tighten your remaining grip on your cup, but it melts away when he presses an innocent kiss to your fingers.

"A sap, too," you remark, but it's soft this time, as if you said the words quiet enough so only he could hear.

"Yours," he retorts. He says it whole-heartedly, his expression warm and longing, and you know deep down that your heart belongs to him, too.

You pull your hand away and break eye contact, flustered at the intimacy of the conversation and his actions. You decide to change the subject to save yourself from an elevated heart rate and heated cheeks.

"So, bird-brain, you're off today. You even turned your notifications off on your work phone," you muse, looking back at him with interest, "what do you have planned?"

Hawks leans forward, bracing an elbow on the table and resting his cheek in his palm while he looks at you. He smiles slowly, like a love-struck idiot, and you realize nothing is going to save you from his adorable antics.

"Well, I was thinking -"

His sentence gets cut off by the cafe's door slamming open, a tall man dressed in all black making his appearance known. Your skin bristles at the mask that rests over his face - white and made of plastic, with slitted eyes and a sinister smile. He raises a gun and you find yourself grasping for Hawks across the table, your heart thumping in your chest.

Your table is tucked into the back corner of the cafe, more than likely out of the man's line of sight, but that doesn't ease you one bit. Hawks is already turned around, feathers standing on end as he takes in the situation, before turning back to you briskly. He gives you a look, as if to say: stay put, don't make a sound.

He has no time to act before the man grabs a young woman by her arm and yanks her from her seat, holding her to his chest firmly with his gun pointed to her head.

"Nobody make a fuckin' noise. Not a single peep, you hear? All I want is the money. Anyone tries to start shit and this pretty little lady loses her head, got it?"

The quiet chatter of the cafe has fallen completely silent, it's patrons in too much of a shock to utter a peep. The cashier stands there nervously for a moment, and this seems to irritate the man further, as he presses the barrel of the gun firmly to his hostages temple. She screams and begins sobbing, nearly buckling in his hold.

"Now!" The man yells, and just then two more masked men come in, one with a gun and one with a duffel bag.

The second one with the gun, dressed the same but slightly shorter - with more muscle and bulk, turns and catches your table in his eyesight. He immediately raises his gun at the sight of Hawks. This alerts the other two and you can tell the situation is about to get very ugly, very fast.

Hawks can't act because of the hostage. Granted he can disband his feathers quickly to disarm the men, but any sudden movement is too risky for everyone involved at this point.

"We don't want any problems," he says, calm, bringing both hands up in attempt to deescalate the situation. The second man with the gun ignores him and makes his way closer, his gun still trained on Hawks and ready to shoot at any given moment.

"Shut up," he spits, but Hawks isn't paying attention to him anymore, either; his focus primarily on the hostage.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, asshole," the shorter man presses, and something in you snaps.

"Are you actually fucking kidding me right now?" You spit back, seething with annoyance.

The villain trains his gun on you now, and at the same time Hawks turns his head to stare at you, expression caught between worry and anger from you disobeying him.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" The man asks in disbelief, shaking his gun at you.

"If you lay a single fucking hand on her-"

"No, seriously. Are you actually fucking kidding me?" You press, looking up at the villain from where you sit. "The fucking audacity, you low-lives. You think you can come in here with a couple of guns, put some poor woman - who probably has a family waiting for her at home, in the middle of all this, and disrespect my boyfriend on top of that, for a few wads of petty cash?"

"Oi!" The taller man calls, and you stand up abruptly, your chair scraping against the tile floor as it's shoved backward.

"No, you shut up. I'm not done. This is un-fucking-real. Your mothers would be ashamed. You're pathetic," you reprimand. And though you can't see their facial expressions, you're sure they're all looking at you like you're bat-shit crazy.

Hawks takes their stunned silence as an advantage and shoots a few feathers forward, disarming the taller man and pinning him to the wall. His hostage falls to her knees, gasping for breath, and once the shorter man catches on, he turns his gun on Hawks.

You knock the man's arm upward and a shot goes off, into the ceiling. He whips his free hand around and grabs you by the throat, and all you feel is searing, white heat against your skin before Hawks is on him, disarming him and pinning him to the floor.

You choke through the lingering pain in your throat and stumble, catching yourself on the table you once sat at, dizzied with pain and adrenaline. Through your blurred vision you see the third man, the one with the duffel, panic and run for the door. He doesn't make it far before he's assaulted by a flurry of red feathers, pinned to the ground with the rest of his accomplices.

Hawks turns his head to look at you, and the last thing you register is the look of fury on his face, before you hit the floor and pass out.

-

You wake some time in the late afternoon, your body caught in a haze of exhaustion and heavy fog. You blink a few times to clear the sleep from your vision, and bring a hand up to rub at your eyes tiredly. It's then that you realize you aren't at home, but are instead swaddled in a heap of blankets on a very large, plush bed, in a massive penthouse apartment that overlooks the city.

Who the hell..?

Just as you muster the energy to sit upward, you catch a mass of red feathers and a head full of blonde hair coming up the set of stairs that lead to the bedroom you're occupying. Though you wouldn't necessarily call it a bedroom, just a high platform that looks over the living room of the apartment.

Hawks is carrying a wooden dinner tray, with what looks like a tall glass of water, a bowl, and a few utensils. When he reaches the top of the stairs he stops abruptly, looking at you.

"You're awake," he sounds unsure; besides himself.

"I.. yeah," the words leave your lips sounding raw and scratchy. You can't help but to bring a hand up to your throat and rub at the discomfort. To your suprise you feel that your skin is rought and raised just slightly around the width of your neck, especially over your larynx - sensitive to touch.

Hawks winces.

"The guy with the gun.. the one who was about to send me to an early grave," he laughs softly, but there's no humor in it. It's cold and constrained - a sound you aren't used to, coming from him. He takes a seat on the bed next to you and sets the tray down between you both, staring into what you can now tell is a bowl of miso soup. "He was the only one that happened to have a quirk, it turns out. A lot like the Todoroki's, actually."

You can't help but to stare at him. He looks pensive - eyes focused on the view of the city beneath his apartment, lost between the evening traffic and whatever thoughts are rattling throughout his mind.

"Fire?" You ask hesitantly.

"Fire," he confirms. Whatever daze he's in releases its hold on him and he turns to look at you. He frowns, though, when he sees the paled scar tissue around your throat, and reaches down to grab the pill and the glass of water from the dinner tray.

"Here. It's Ibuprofen, nothing strong. Just enough to help with the discomfort."

You accept them both graciously, chugging nearly half the glass of water before remembering the pill. It goes down uncomfortably, almost adding to the scratch in your throat, but after a few more sips of water you're feeling much better than you were five minutes ago.

"I'm sorry," you mutter, setting the glass down on the tray.

"Don't apologize," Hawks voice has a sharp edge to it. He doesn't seem angry, but hurt; distressed, even.

"I antagonized him when I shouldn't have," you persist. You don't like the fact that you're the reason he looks like that. Distant and closed-off.

"You did," he agrees, but it isn't harsh. Just a fact. He reaches a hand toward you and you feel his fingers gently gliding over the scar tissue in your neck. He furrows his brow. "But ultimately, I wasn't fast enough. I hesitated. When it comes to you, I never should. And he put his hands on you, because of that."

"Hawks.."

"What good am I if I can't protect you, hm?" He asks suddenly, and his eyes are boring holes into you; deep, amber irises full of enough heat to put the sun to shame.

"But you did, didn't you?" You raise a hand to his cheek but he pulls away, as if he'd been burned, instead.

"He shouldn't have even been able to lay a hand on you in the first place," the words fall from his lips in a hiss - spiteful, angry.

You reach for him again, with both hands this time, and thankfully he lets you. The second your hands come to caress his cheeks he breathes out, slow, his eyes falling closed as if to steady his thoughts.

"Then erase the fact that he ever did."

You run a gentle hand through the soft, golden locks of his hair, and just as he begins to open his eyes, you lean forward to press a kiss to his lips. It's brief, and when you pull away he sits there, dumbfounded, staring at you like he's trying to find the answers to every question in the universe.

You take advantage of his stupor and move the forgotten dinner tray to the bedside table, the miso soup long forgotten by now.

And when you return your attention back to him? He's on you, pressing you down into the blankets and pillows, looming over you like a man that's found the greatest treasure that the world could harbor.

"No one," Hawks whispers, positioning himself on his knees between your thighs and bringing deft fingers to trail up your chest. He stops when he comes to the scar, and his eyes soften in the slightest, before his gaze turns dark. "No one is ever going to lay a finger on you, again. Not as long a I'm around."

Your heart flutters in your chest, a rapid staccato that you can't control. You've had your fair share of heated make-out sessions with Hawks; have even gotten each other off by merely grinding against each other. But you have yet to actually have sex, and the thought of it sets your skin ablaze and turns your brain to mush.

"Claim me, then," it's a request; a plea that falls from your lips.  "Make me yours, Keigo."

He bristles at the use of his given name, his massive wings flaring out to their full span and nearly knocking the soup off of the bedside table.

"The things you do to me.." He sighs. He tangles his fingers in the hem of your shirt and tugs upwards. You accommodate him so he can tug it off, and without a second thought he tosses it over his shoulder. It flies over the railing of the platform, landing somewhere in the livingroom below.

Your chest is bare before him, as you'd opted out of a bra for the day, and you immediately feel your cheeks flush. He notices your embarrassment and evens the playing field, disbanding his feathers slightly to pull his grey henley over his head, tossing it in the same direction as your shirt - over the railing.

Keigo leans in, then, pressing into you, and the warmth of his chest against yours makes it hard to breath. He presses his face into your neck, nuzzling into your skin as if he's trying to crawl under it, and you bring your arms up to rest on his shoulders, your fingers tangling in his hair.

The roll of his hips against yours has you gasping for air.

"Kei.."

"Shh, baby. M'Gonna take care of you," he whispers against your skin; nips at the sensitive scar on your neck. "Gonna make it up to you - make you mine, so no one lays a finger on you."

You hum into his hair - pleased with his promises, and bring your legs to wrap around his waist, holding him in place while you arch into his touch. The feel of his hands moving to grip tightly at your hips causes a dull buzz to travel beneath your skin, down to your core, where want and need make themselves desperately known. He continues to lave at the same spot on your neck, just over the pulse of your carotid artery, before sinking his teeth in and sucking.

You gasp, breath nearly caught in your throat, and you can't help the sudden thrust of your hips. Though the bite isn't deep enough to draw blood, you're sure it's going to leave a mark.

The mere thought of it makes your eyes roll back, a broken moan escaping your lips.

"That's it, that's my girl," Keigo praises. He starts a trail of kisses down your body, through the valley between your breasts and over the dip of your navel, before coming to a stop at the waistband of your leggings. He peers up at you, cheeks slightly flushed and pupils dialated, his fingers tugging at the elastic band of your pants while your hands keep purchase in his hair.

The way he removes your leggings and panties is almost teasing; agonizingly slow as he shifts his gaze down, studying your pliant body beneath him. He takes his time, as an archeologist would while uncovering the rarest, most precious secrets of the universe - the heat beneath his stare lighting something deep inside of you.

He lazily drops the clothing articles to the floor beside the bed and resumes his position - lying snug between your thighs, taking it upon himself to toss your legs over his shoulders. He brings his hands to rest over the tops of your thighs and squeezes, thumbs massaging into your skin soothingly.

You swallow thickly under his intense stare, your cheeks flushed and heart pounding in your chest; and when he leans in to lick a long, slow stripe through your folds, you can't help but toss your head back and arch into his touch.

"Fuck," you've barely even touched each other and his voice is wrecked; debauched with the want and need to taste you; to be inside of you.

His eyes flutter closed and he delves in again, a low groan falling from his lips as he laps up your juices. He tightens the grip he has on your thighs; flattens his tongue as he drags it slowly through your heat, before swirling it around your swollen clit and sucking.

Your head is spinning, brain turned to mush by the sole fact that Keigo eats pussy like he's been handed the nectar of life - savoring your taste on his tongue as he dives in deeper.

He can't help himself, your sweet moans and cries spurring him on; the way your body tries to fold into his, seeking out his touch and begging for more.

He releases his right hand from your thigh and you find yourself missing its warmth, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of his middle and ring finger sliding inside of you, rubbing against your sensitive walls.

You cry out again, fingers tightening in his hair while tears brim your eyes, the overwhelming pleasure almost too much for you to handle.

He continues to suck on your clit and crooks his fingers once, twice, and on the third time you're cumming, drenching his fingers and face while your sticky walls spasm around him. He moans against you, guiding you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, continuing to lap up your slick with his tongue.

He withdrawals his fingers slowly and sucks them clean, sitting back on his haunches to take in the gooey, wet mess he made out of you.

"Fuck me," you plead, spreading your legs to grant him a better view.

"Oh," he laughs, sultry, like he's planning something you aren't ready for. "I plan on it, sweetheart."

To his suprise you sit forward, grasping at the waistband of his sweatpants while you look up at him innocently. He watches you with curiosity, interest piqued as you reach a hand into his pants, beneath his briefs, where his cock rests hard and aching with need.

You pull it from it's confines and swallow, mouth watering as you take account of its size. It's... well, it's big. Thick and girthy; flushed a pretty, deep red color from being so full.

Keigo leans forward, a hand braced on your cheek; gentle, and pulls you in for a kiss. He nips at your bottom lip intimately, smoothing his tongue over it to get you to open up for him, and when you give his cock a few slow, languid stokes, he moans headily into your mouth.

He presses you to lie back before shimmying out of the confines of his pants and briefs, kicking them to the floor and wasting no time in crawling over you. You lock your legs around his waist and tangle your hands back in his hair, whispering praises in his ear while he takes hold of his cock, running the tip of it through your slick folds.

"Ready?" He asks softly, and you nod, bringing him in for another kiss. He presses the head of his cock against your entrance and rolls his hips forward, slow, until the walls of your pussy finally give way and suck him in. You whine, angling your hips up to take him in more, and he groans deep, sliding in slow until his balls rest against the curve of your ass.

"F-uuuuck," his voice is strained, and he stills for a moment, giving you both time to adjust. "So tight for me, baby. Takin' me so well, like you were made jus' for me."

"Just for you," it's an affirmation, a promise that you whisper into his hair while he tucks his face into your neck. He braces an elbow on the sheets beside your head to support himself, his other hand occupied with the curve of your hip, guiding you flush against him.

He pulls out agonizingly slow, so much so that you can feel the veins of his cock rubbing against your walls, just barely scratching the itch that's stirring inside of you. You moan his name and the hold he had on your hip tightens, his hips stuttering.

"Let go. Claim what's yours, Kei. It's okay."

Keigo grunts, fingers grasping at the pillow your head rests on, and you distantly hear the fabric strain against his hold; possibly even tear.

You don't have to tell him twice. Soon enough he's pounding into you, thrusting so deep and hard that the sound of your wet pussy and his heavy balls slapping against you echo throughout the room, drowning out your thoughts.

He rips his palm from the pillow and brings it to the crook of your neck, opposite of where his head is buried, and rubs the scar tissue gently - as if mapping it out. He loses himself inside of you, and you aren't fairing any better, the familiar, deep ache making itself known again low in your gut.

"You're mine," he growls, tangling his fingers in your hair and pulling, expisosing your neck further to him. His thrusts grow erratic, sloppy, and you cry out his name as his wings flare out, bright red feathers loosening and drifting around the room. You snake a hand around his back and find that sensitive spot that rests between his shoulder blades, right at the base of his wings, and tug.

"Fuck. Fuck, sweetheart, m'gonna cum," he chokes, tonguing sloppy kisses over the hollow of your throat. He tilts your head slightly to the side, nosing over the scar that occupies unwanted space on your skin, and bites down over the same exact spot he did, before. You're sure that he broke skin this time but you could care less, so caught up in the orgasm that washes over you without warning, your body spasming around him as he fucks you through it.

He moans low and deep, like a wounded animal, teeth still sunk into your sensitive skin, and cums, his thrusts keeping pace to pump you as full as he can.

When he's satisfied that he's laid his claim, he lets up, hips still twitching minutely as he releases his hold on your throat. He pulls back slightly, caught in a daze with his cheeks flushed and his eyes heavy, and fuck, if he doesn't look beautiful like this.

You see panic rising within him, though, as he eyes the reddened teeth marks on the crook of your neck, reaching a hand out to tend to the wound. But you stop him, grasping his hand in yours and bringing his fingers to your lips. He stares at you in awe.

"Leave it," you whisper softly, pressing gentle kisses - assurances, to his knuckles. "It's proof."

He looks astounded; innocent like a child who's been caught doing something they shouldn't be, but isn't getting reprimanded. Your beautiful boy.

"Proof?" He rasps.

You smile at him lovingly, bringing your hand to rest on his cheek, lost in the warmth of his gaze.

"That I'm yours."