Work Text:
Read 7:30 PM.
You stared at the little text under your last message, frowning as you willed those three little dots to suddenly appear.
Read 7:30 PM.
Your stomach twisted, hollow and mean. It was the kind of ache that started in your gut and spread, slow and sickly, up your chest until your throat tightened.
No reply.
Just that fucking timestamp staring back at you like a slap in the face.
You re-read the last thing he said, even though it didn’t make sense. “It’s over.” That was it. No explanation. No warning. Just three words dropped like a grenade—and then silence.
You blinked, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard again, trying to find something, anything, to say that might make him answer. Something that might fix whatever the hell just broke.
“Alright, enough of that.” Your roommate’s voice startled you, cutting through the ache. She plucked the phone from your hand and tossed it onto the bed. “You’re not sitting here all night staring at that screen. We’re going out.”
You groaned. “I’m not in the mood—”
“Exactly why we’re going out.” She was already rifling through your closet, tossing skirts and tops like she was building armor. “And don’t give me that look. He doesn’t get to blow you up like this and then leave you crying into your pillow. Not when you’ve got a body like that and zero reason to hide it.”
“I don’t think I even own anything worth going out in anymore,” you grumbled, throwing yourself backwards on the bed with a loud sigh. “He hated anything like that, so I got rid of it.”
“Shit,” your roommate muttered, sympathy and annoyance tangled in her tone. She crossed the room, yanked open her closet, and dug through the hangers with a kind of ruthless determination. “Fine. Hold on. I’ve got something I’ve been saving for a special occasion, but you need it more tonight.”
When she turned, the dress in her hands nearly blinded you.
Blood red. Skin-tight. Sequins that caught the light like shattered glass. The hem was so short you were pretty sure it’d be illegal in most places.
“Absolutely the fuck not,” you said flatly, propping yourself up on your elbows.
“Absolutely yes.” She tossed it at you, the glittering fabric landing on your chest like a dare. “You wanna sit here crying over a guy who couldn’t handle you? Or do you wanna remind yourself you’re still the baddest bitch in the room?”
You scowled, grabbing the dress and looking at it before sighing in defeat. “I guess.”
“That’s the spirit! Let’s do this!”
It took less than an hour for your hair and makeup to be done to perfection, your roommate smiling as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You almost didn’t recognize the woman looking back—eyes sharp, lips painted in a red that matched the sequins wrapping your body.
You were still processing the transformation when your roommate crouched beside the vanity and pulled out a slim black bottle.
“What the hell is that?” you asked, suspicious.
“Secret weapon.” She held it up like it was priceless. “It’s pheromone perfume. Subtle, not overwhelming. Just enough to make you feel like the center of the room.”
You frowned. “You’re not serious.”
“Dead serious. It doesn’t hypnotize anyone or anything crazy like that,” she explained quickly, popping the cap and giving the air a delicate spritz. The scent bloomed instantly. Warm, heady, intoxicating. “It just enhances what’s already there. Makes people notice. Makes you feel noticed.”
You crossed your arms. “I don’t want attention.”
Her gaze softened, her teasing dimming into something gentler. “I know. You’re not wearing this for them. You’re wearing it for you. After what he did? You deserve to feel wanted again, even if it’s just by the way the mirror looks back at you.”
Your throat tightened. You glanced at the dress glittering on your body, then at the bottle in her hand.
“Just a little,” she coaxed. “It’ll be our secret.”
Against your better judgment, you held out your wrist. She grinned and sprayed once, then misted the hollow of your throat. The perfume clung to your skin, sweet and electric, like something alive.
You inhaled, dizzy for half a second, and then exhaled slowly.
You didn’t feel like the girl who’d been dumped over text anymore.
You felt dangerous.
Despite your best efforts, your roommate refused to spill the name of the place she was dragging you to. You braced yourself for some run-down dive bar, sticky floors and watered-down drinks.
So imagine your surprise when the cab slowed in front of glowing glass doors and a line that wrapped around the block.
Wingbeats.
The hottest club in the city. Exclusive. Untouchable. And owned by the one man who seemed to live in every headline and every fantasy at once.
Hawks.
The number two hero himself.
“How the hell did you get us in here?” you whispered, staring at the line that snaked down the block. “Or are we stuck waiting like everyone else?”
Your roommate only smirked, tugging you toward the front. “Relax. I hooked up with the bouncer a few days ago. Said he’d get us past the rope, no problem.”
You blinked at her. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” she shot back, tossing her hair. “Now quit gawking and let’s go. We’re getting drinks, we’re dancing, and if really we’re lucky, we’ll find a couple of good lays while we’re at it.”
You sighed, but let her drag you forward anyway. The bouncer barely glanced at your IDs before flashing her a grin, and landing a sharp smack on her ass as you passed.
You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Classy.”
She only laughed, throwing you a wink over her shoulder. “What can I say? I’ve got connections.”
The doors opened and the sound hit you like a wave.
Bass thrummed through your ribs, lights pulsed in time with it, and suddenly you were standing in the middle of something alive. Everything shimmered. Bodies, glass, mirrors, even the air. The smell of smoke and liquor mixed with sweat and perfume until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
Your roommate tugged you straight to the bar, practically vibrating with excitement. “Two shots!” she shouted, and the bartender didn’t even blink before sliding them across.
You tossed yours back without thinking. It burned all the way down, sweet and sharp, and for the first time all night, you almost felt steady.
Almost.
Then it hit you, that weird prickling down your spine. Subtle, but enough to make you pause. The kind of feeling that said someone was watching, even if you couldn’t see who.
You turned a little, scanning the crowd. Just people dancing, laughing, leaning into each other under the strobe lights. Normal. Loud. Messy.
Still, it didn’t go away.
You ran your fingers through your hair, the heat of your skin bringing the perfume back to life. A few heads turned when you moved. Quick glances, lingering ones. Nothing obvious, but enough to make your stomach twist.
You told yourself it was the dress. The perfume. The lighting. All of it.
“Hey.” Your roommate nudged your side, grinning. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile.
But your eyes flicked up anyway, toward the balcony that stretched over the dance floor. The lights didn’t reach that high, but you swore for a second you saw something move.
What the hell was happening?
————————
He was burning alive.
Or at least, that’s what it felt like.
The air in Wingbeats was always hot—too many bodies, too much light—but tonight it was unbearable. Every breath scraped against his lungs, thick with perfume, sweat, and the faint metallic taste of his own restraint.
Hawks leaned forward against the glass railing of the VIP balcony, trying to ground himself. His fingers dug into the metal until it creaked. The crowd below moved like a living thing. Shifting, pulsing, oblivious to the problem he was trying to keep hidden in his pants.
He should’ve left hours ago. Locked himself somewhere quiet, away from people. Away from temptation.
Away from this heat.
But he couldn’t. Not when every nerve in his body screamed for release, not when his wings twitched and flared with every passing scent that hit too close. He could smell every single women, knew which ones were ripe for the taking.
Rut always came with warning signs, but this one had him by the throat. It has been weeks since he’d had sex, too busy being Dabi’s fucking errand boy to take care of himself. Too busy to even notice the warning signs of his rut approaching. His pulse was too loud. His skin felt too tight. Every sound, every smell. It all blurred into one heavy, consuming haze.
And then, through all of it, came her.
It started with the perfume. Soft at first, sweet and electric, threading through the chaos until it coiled low in his stomach. His head jerked up before he even realized he’d moved.
One breath. Two.
The scent was unlike anything else in the room.
Alive. Warm. Dangerous.
He scanned the dance floor, wings flexing once behind him.
And then he saw her.
Red sequins. Bare skin. The faintest shimmer of light tracing along her collarbone where that scent clung strongest. She wasn’t looking at him—didn’t even seem to know he existed—but Hawks couldn’t tear his eyes away.
The burn in his chest turned molten. He gritted his teeth, fighting to breathe around it.
Every instinct told him to go to her.
Every rational thought told him to stay the hell put.
He’d spent years mastering control. Smiling when he wanted to snarl. Pretending not to want when want was all he had left. But right now, watching her laugh in that dress, that damn perfume wrapping the air around her like a fucking invitation…
Control felt like a damn joke.
And it didn’t help that he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.
He could pick them out easily from up here. The men whose heads turned when she passed, whose gazes stuck too long. Predators recognizing prey. Or maybe they just felt the pull too.
Hawks’ jaw tightened. What the hell was with this girl?
And what the hell was that perfume she was wearing?
He forced himself to look away. Just for a second. Just long enough to pretend he wasn’t about to do something stupid.
But when his eyes found her again, someone else had already made their move.
Tall guy. Slick hair, black shirt unbuttoned too far. The kind who thought leaning in close and flashing a grin counted as charm. Hawks watched him slide up beside her at the bar, his hand already drifting toward the small of her back like he owned the right.
A sharp pulse of irritation flared low in his gut.
He couldn’t hear what the guy said over the music, but he didn’t need to. The body language said enough. The fake confidence, the too-smooth smile, the way she stiffened and took a half step back.
Hawks’ fingers flexed against the railing.
Easy, he told himself. Not your business. Not your problem.
And yet his wings twitched like they didn’t get the memo. His senses tunneled, cutting out the rest of the noise until it was just her and that idiot breathing her air.
He hated this feeling. The pull, the heat, the raw need scraping through his chest. It wasn’t about her, not really. It was rut. It was instinct. It was biology turning him into something barely human.
At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
Then the guy leaned in closer, close enough that his nose brushed the edge of her hair. Hawks didn’t even realize he’d moved until he was halfway to the stairs, heartbeat pounding in his ears.
He was being stupid.
So fucking stupid.
He should’ve gone home hours ago. Should’ve listened when the Commission warned him the signs were starting. The restless wings. The short fuse. The heat crawling under his damn skin.
But no. He had to come here. To his club. Surrounded by noise and bodies and temptation like an idiot begging to lose control. All because he was tired of being told what to do, like a damn puppet.
Where the hell was his common sense?
The noise of the club softened around him, the beat dissolving into a single muffled pulse. His boots hit the steps one at a time, slow, deliberate, and every head that turned reminded him why he never came down from the balcony. He wasn’t supposed to. He was the untouchable owner, the face that hovered above everything. But tonight, he couldn’t stay up there and watch.
By the time he reached the floor, the crowd had already parted completely. People stepped aside without being told, a quiet reverence following in his wake. Even through the heat and the chaos, he felt their eyes on him, whispers rising and dying too quickly to catch.
He didn’t look at them. Only her.
She was still moving, caught in the rhythm, unaware of the space opening behind her. Even the man who had approached her had disappeared. The lights from above hit her hair and scattered across her shoulders like molten gold. Hawks’ throat went dry. His fingers twitched once at his sides before he gave up the last thread of reason and stepped in close enough for the heat between them to merge.
He didn’t touch her right away. Just stood there, the scent of her perfume filling every corner of his lungs, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. His wings shifted, arching slightly to keep others from crowding in. The distance between them was barely a breath, and when she finally turned her head, just enough to see him from the corner of her eye, the entire world tilted.
The music came back in a rush.
Without a word, he moved with her, the rhythm slipping under his skin. Every small movement of hers drew a reaction from him. His hand brushing against her hip, the faint tremor that went through his shoulders when her hair brushed his jaw. It was a dance, but not one the crowd understood.
But he did. The avian part of himself sure as fuck understood it.
A mating dance.
He moaned low when she backed against him, her ass pressing into his groin. His hands clamped onto her hips instantly, fingers digging in, and there was no hiding how fucking hard he was, his cock straining against her through his pants, throbbing with every grind.
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she rolled her hips slower, teasing, like she was testing how far he’d let this go.
He bent his head until his mouth was near her ear, words barely cutting through the music.
“Keep dancing,” he murmured.
She did, her body swaying with the beat, grinding back against him in a way that made his vision blur.
Hawks’ breath came out ragged, his wings vibrating behind him. Her scent wrapped around him tighter, that fertile edge sharpening every sensation.
“Fuck,” he growled, his hands sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the swell of her breasts. She arched into his touch, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
The crowd blurred into nothing. It was just them, lost in the rhythm, his cock pulsing against her ass with every roll of her hips.
He nipped at her ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “You feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered, voice thick with need. “Making me wanna take you right damn here like a horny teenager.”
Her head tilted back against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, that uncertainty still there but melting under the heat. “I… I feel it,” she breathed, her hand reaching back to grip his thigh.
His rut surged, instincts screaming to spin her, pin her, claim her. But he held back, letting the dance build, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin.
One hand dipped lower, brushing the hem of her dress, teasing the bare thigh beneath. Her skin was hot, smooth, and the touch sent a fresh wave of her scent crashing over him. Not only was her perfume fucking intoxicating, but she was ovulating on top of it.
He had to fuck her. It wasn’t avoidable now.
But, he was dangerously aware of the problem he was currently facing. He was all of two seconds from taking her right here on the dance floor like a horny fucking teenager. His cock throbbed against her ass, aching to bury itself deep, to fill her until she screamed.
But the Commission had fought him tooth and nail on opening this club. He couldn’t risk the hit to his hero reputation with a public indecency scandal. Flashing headlines, investigations, the whole damn mess.
Which left him only one option.
He grasped her wrist, firm but gentle. “Come with me,” he growled into her ear, voice thick with need, his wings flaring to guide her through the crowd.
She hesitated for a beat, eyes wide, but the heat in her gaze won out. She nodded, letting him pull her toward the private stairs, her scent trailing like a promise.
The door clicked shut behind them, muting the roar of the club until only the pulse of the bass seeped through the walls. For a moment neither of them moved. The air between them was thick, charged. Too much perfume, too much heat, too many things unspoken.
Then Keigo turned.
The look in his eyes made it hard to breathe. All the polish, all the practiced ease he wore in public, had burned away. What was left was raw—hungry, yes, but human too. He reached for her slowly, giving her the chance to step back. She didn’t.
His hands came up to her waist, fingers spreading over the glittering red fabric as if he needed proof she was real. “You should really tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough.
“Do you want me to?”
He huffed a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “No.”
Her back met the wall, sequins scraping lightly against paint, and he leaned in until his forehead touched hers. For a heartbeat everything stilled. The sound of their breathing, the muffled thump of music below, the soft shiver that ran through his wings as they arched to frame her against the wall.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t polished or careful. It was the kind of kiss that came from too many hours pretending he didn’t need to feel anything at all. Her hands came up, threading into his hair, and the low sound he made vibrated against her mouth.
The heat between them built fast. His mouth left hers only to find the hollow of her throat, the edge of her jaw, small places that made her sigh and pull him closer. Her perfume mingled with the scent of feathers and ozone until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
“Fuck, I need you,” he rasped, his hand sliding under her dress, fingers grazing her panties. She was wet, so fucking wet, and the realization sent waves through him.
Her moan vibrated against his lips, her hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging in. “Hawks…” she whispered, voice breathy, unsure but hungry.
“Keigo,” he corrected, voice rough as he dropped to his knees, pushing her dress higher. Consequences of giving her his real name be damned. “Call me Keigo when I’m about to make you come.” His eyes locked on hers, before he hooked her panties aside.
“You smell so fucking sweet,” he muttered, his tongue darting out to get a taste of the slick that had gathered between her folds. “Ovulating. Gonna make what comes next so easy.”
Her brows knitted, a question flickering in her eyes. Before she could speak, Keigo’s mouth was on her, tongue dragging slow, deliberate, ravenous. She gasped, head thudding against the wall, her breath a sharp hitch in the quiet.
Her fingers dove into his hair, tugging hard, desperate. The sting sent a jolt through him, his pulse hammering, cock straining painfully against his jeans. Every nerve screamed to take her, to claim her right there.
He wanted to fill her. Fuck, he wanted it so bad his vision blurred. To mark her, to know she was his, body and soul. But Keigo wasn’t exactly small in the cock department. Despite what people assumed about his lean frame. He’d learned the hard way that rushing this hurt more often than it helped.
If he was going to give in to this rut, to breed her like his instincts demanded, he’d do it right. Make her ready. Make her beg.
Especially if she was gonna carry his damn kid for the next nine months.
The Commission would have his head for this. Screw it. He was too far gone to care.
Keigo ate her out like he hadn’t tasted a woman in months, tongue working her clit with desperately. She trembled against him, one hand slamming back against the wall, fingers knotted tight in his hair. She tugged hard, making his eyes water, but fuck, he didn’t care.
All he wanted was to see her lose it, to watch her fall apart under his mouth.
He slipped two fingers inside her, groaning against her clit as they slid in easy, her slick heat soaking him. She was so fucking wet it was unreal. He curled his fingers, hitting that soft, spongy spot without even trying, and her reaction was instant. Hips jerking, a choked cry spilling out.
“Keigo!” Her voice cracked, raw and needy, her body clenching tight around his fingers.
His wings twitched at the sound, feathers brushing the wall. His tongue flicked faster, fingers pumping, relentlessly inside her. Her thighs shook, nails digging into his scalp. She was so damn close, teetering, and he didn’t let up, determined to break her on his tongue.
Her body tensed, then shattered. A sharp moan ripping through the air as she came, walls pulsing around his fingers. Keigo groaned, lapping up every bit of her, his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans. He wanted to fuck her right then, to fill her until she couldn’t think straight, but he held back, savoring her trembling aftershocks.
Thank fuck the music downstairs was so loud.
Keigo’s breath came heavy, his face buried between her thighs as her aftershocks faded. Her body slumped against the wall, legs weak, but her fingers still clutched his hair, loose now, almost tender. His wings settled, feathers smoothing out, but the heat in his veins didn’t cool.
Her scent was everywhere, thick, fertile, wrapping around him like a damn noose.
He stood, slow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His pants were too tight, his cock straining, begging for attention. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, chest rising and falling, that red dress clinging to her sweat-slick skin. Sequins caught the dim light, making her glow like something utterly forbidden.
His hands found her waist before he could second guess himself. He pulled her close, her body molding to his. She gasped softly as his hardness pressed against her thigh, the friction sending a jolt through him. His wings twitched again, brushing her arms, feathers soft but insistent. He ground against her once, slow, testing, and her hips shifted in response, pressing back.
No words. Just the thump of the club below, masking everything. He spun her gently, her palms flat on the desk, ass presented like a gift. His fingers hooked the hem of her dress, shoving it higher, exposing her fully. She arched, inviting, and his rut roared, instincts taking over.
“Fuck, I’m putting a baby in you.”
He freed himself with one hand, jeans shoved down just enough. His cock was hot, heavy, the tip brushing her slick entrance.
“W-Wait! A baby? You can’t be serious?” Her voice was sharp, eyes wide as she twisted her head to meet his gaze, palms braced against the desk. “We hardly know each other. I mean, I know who you are, obviously, but… what the fuck?”
Keigo leaned over, lips brushing her neck, kissing softly. His rational side screamed—reckless, stupid, dangerous. They were strangers, her shock was valid, and the Commission would have his head if they found out. But his rut didn’t care, the horny haze drowning out everything but her. Her scent made his cock throb, his wings twitch.
“I know,” he cooed, voice low, kissing her neck again, tasting her pulse. “Can’t help it, love. It’s my rut—won’t stop till it’s done.” His words were soft, almost tender, but rough with need. “Normally handle it alone, but I’m an idiot. You smell so fucking good. Don’t know what perfume you’re wearing, but fuck. Promise I’ll take care of you, yeah? Be such a good daddy. Just let me make you feel good. Let me breed this cute little pussy.”
The words were filthy, spilling out before he could filter them, raw and vulgar under the grip of his rut. Her breath hitched, a mix of shock and heat in her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her hips shifted, brushing against him, a silent answer that sent a spark through his core.
He thrust in deeper, groaning as her tight, slick heat gripped him. Her moan was soft, head dropping back, nails digging into the desk’s edge. The sequins of her dress shimmered, bunched around her waist, catching the dim light like scattered embers. His wings flared, feathers rustling, cocooning them in shadow.
“Keigo,” she gasped, voice trembling but thick with want, her body rocking to meet his rhythm. “You’re… insane.”
He chuckled, rough and warm, lips grazing her ear.
“You’re keeping up just fine,” he murmured, hips snapping harder, the desk creaking under their weight. Her thighs squeezed his waist, urging him deeper, and his rut roared, demanding more.
His hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing quick, precise circles. Her breath turned sharp, moans spilling out, each one pushing him closer to the edge. “Feel that?” he rasped, voice low, almost feral. “Gonna make you come again.”
She nodded, breathless, nails raking his shoulders, leaving faint red lines. “Fuck, yes,” she whispered, eyes locking on his, fierce despite the haze. Her body tensed, walls fluttering, and she came with a choked cry, clenching around him, pulling him deeper.
The sensation shattered him. His thrusts turned erratic, wings trembling as he groaned, spilling inside her, hot and overwhelming. They collapsed together, panting, her body limp against the desk, his arms still caging her. The club’s bass thumped below, a distant pulse, but it felt like another world.
“You good?” he asked, voice hoarse, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.
She laughed softly, shaky but playful. “Barely,” she teased, eyes glinting. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
He grinned, wings twitching, already hungry for more.
“Not yet, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”