Chapter Text
!!! PLEASE READ THESE WARNINGS !!
yes this is written in 2nd person and the protagonist is kept vague in appearance, but I'm writing this for my own catharsis. If it holds you in some way, that's fantastic and I'd be happy to hear that. If you don't like something about it, click off.
WARNINGS: Post War Hawks still has his wings and is nearing his thirties. Reader is a much younger bird heteromorph. She's been a fan of Hawks since she was a child, and has no experience in love, sex, or her animal instincts. Hawks is the older man who teaches those things to her. They're both animals as much as they are human. We got breeding instincts in here that are hard to control. It's a hypersexual primal connection that's unapologetic about the uneven power dynamic. Alcohol dependence, past suicide attempts, and hospital stays are depicted. Past death of parental figures. Reader is grieving the loss of her father.
Despite all of that, this is a story of healing and finding comfort with someone like you.
[Playlist]
Myosotis
1; Prologue
The hallway door was cracked slightly open to allow a long band of light to lay across your bedside. It was a comfort to you then. It's funny to remember your innocence. If only imaginary monsters and the absence of light could be your worst fears again. In those days, though, you’d yet to know the sting of the real world. You were twelve, and safe in your childhood bedroom.
The stripe of light broke across your blanket and your door creaked gently open. Your father's voice called your name in a whisper, and you perked your head up to see his face in the crack of your door. This was a ritual you both cherished. Your father was a florist, and he often worked late into the afternoons. It was usual he got home after dark. He’d often wake you in the middle of the night to watch hero news with him, to make up for missing your day.
"Your boyfriend is on TV," he teased, and you jolted up in bed with reddened cheeks.
"Hawks?" You blurted. It was embarrassing you knew exactly who he meant. Even more so when he laughed at your pinkined face.
"Hurry up if you wanna see him, that kid's gone in the blink of an eye-"
You already stumbled out of your bed. Your father stepped back into the light of the hall. His shimmering white wings dragged on the floor behind him as he followed you to the living room.
Hawks was only eighteen then, and he’d been on the scene for only a few months. Still, he quickly became you and your father's favorite face to see in a battle. For your father, it had everything to do with Hawks being a bird, just like him. And just like you. You didn’t meet others with wings on their backs often, so it was nice to see a hero with a similar mutation. Hawks was a talented young man filled with promise, and your father loved to live vicariously through the kid's endeavors.
For you, Hawks was your favorite simply because he was cute.
A fact your father loved to pick on you for.
"Remember to be quiet, your mother will pluck my wings if she knew I let you out of bed so late again," your father quipped as you sat beside each other on the living room couch.
You tucked your feathered limbs against your back and nodded, but your eyes were trained on the television. You didn't miss him this time! The live camera had a hard time keeping up with him as he darted between buildings. Especially in the dark of night. The villain this time appeared to be made of liquid, so Hawks was opting to lure the enemy away from civilians as he formulated a plan.
He didn't look bothered in the least when the camera caught a glimpse of his face. The guy almost looked bored, even, as the villain tried desperately to snag him out of the sky. He was definitely a force to be reckoned with, but you couldn't help but wonder if Hawks ever got scared out there.
"You know, you could be a hero, too… If you really wanted to,” your dad said as he nudged you with his wing. “I mean, with that healing quirk of yours, you’d be a good one to have around.”
Ah, your dad brought that up a lot. You loved talking heroes. Keeping up with their exciting careers was your favorite shared pastime. He seemed to like the idea of seeing you on the television one day, but every kid you knew wanted to be a hero. To follow in the footsteps of the people who sacrificed everything to look out for the community did sound exciting and glamorous. You couldn’t help but wonder, though, who looked out for them?
"There are already lots of strong heroes," you said, rubbing your upper arm in thought. "I want to be something else.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“I wanna be a PA.”
“A what now?”
“You know… a personal assistant, the people who work with heroes to make their jobs easier and stuff. I wanna get into the business course at U.A. and learn to do that,” you said as you ran your fingers over your white feathers. Those were some pretty ambitious dreams for a child to have. “I know it’s not as cool as being a hero, but I think I’d be good at it.”
The television flicked faint light across your father’s face as he smiled at you. That little cockeyed grin of his was always enough to put your heart at ease. Whether it be monsters in the closet or anxiety over an exciting and mysterious future, your father’s gentle kindness kept your heart whole.
“Sounds pretty cool to me,” he assured you, his voice almost a whisper to keep from waking your mother in the next room. “You’re gonna do great things, Chickadee. I can feel it.”
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
The air was crisp on your lips that night. You buried your face a little deeper into your scarf to battle the cold. The setting sun cast shadows over the darkening city streets. Dusk cast the world in its beautiful blue hues. It was a weeknight, so few people were out. It was only you, your mother on one side of you, and your father who was on the other. One of his wings lay lazily over your shoulder to keep you warm against the bitter chill.
You were suffering through your awkward teen years at that point, but life was going as planned. You were working on your first year of the UA business course. Getting in wasn’t easy, and getting your Personal Assistant license was an even greater endeavor, but you were on your way.
Your folks took you around town that night to celebrate your grade average, and, of course, your florist father congratulated you with a surprise bouquet of lilies. The white arrangement was complemented by the powdery blue of your favorite flower, forget-me-nots. Your nose was in them half the night to savor their smell, likely a habit of the bird in you.
All was usual, and you believed that night would be like most others. Pleasant, but forgettable.
That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. It became the most vivid memory you had of life before the war.
Your father slowed his steps, his wing gripped your shoulder just a little to get you to match his new pace. He leaned down and mumbled low enough for just you to hear.
“Do you see who I see?” he asked as he gestured his head up the street. You looked up from your phone to peer forward, and you stiffened to a stop. Up the street, no more than thirty feet, perhaps, the color red stood out against the gray blues of the city. A brilliant set of wings attached to a familiar man you’d never met before that night. At least not outside of your daydreams.
He leaned against a light pole and tapped at his phone, but he noticed your family before you were close enough for him to hear your footsteps.
Your mouth went dry as he caught you in his sights, and your wings instinctively wrapped around you to hide yourself from his view. Your dad laughed at you, because of course he would, before giving you a little tap to try and nudge you forward.
“He doesn’t look busy, we should say hi,” he suggested, and you shook your head no. That was HAWKS. Your favorite hero since you were like ten. You couldn’t just walk up to him and start blathering.
“No, what if I embarrass myself or- dad, I- dad, come back!-”
You yanked your mom’s sleeve as if asking her to back you up, but she just gave you a stupid little grin before she muttered, “You know I can’t stop him when he gets something in his head.”
Your heart pounded against your rib cage like a wild animal. He was not gonna just prance up to the number two hero. Oh god. Your face flushed as red as Hawks’ wings. The hero lowered said feathered appendages until they touched the sidewalk beneath him. He then stood up straight to greet your father, a polite smile on his face. Go figure your dad would be the person to just walk up to a celebrity and start talking as if they were old buddies. You cringed in embarrassment at first, but it melted away when you realized Hawks kindly returned the sentiment.
You couldn’t hear them, but your dad’s wings puffed up and fluttered behind him as he spoke. He was always bad about talking with his wingspan. Hawks tipped his head back and laughed, which made your heart thump.
Your dad turned around to gesture towards you and your mother, and then… Jesus, they walked your way. You were jealous of your father’s courage. You could hardly handle Hawks even looking at you, obvious from your puffed feathers, and there your father was making friends with the guy. Their voices echoed against the buildings lining the street, and the approaching murmur of Hawks’ voice made goosebumps raise on your arms. Your wings clenched tighter around your torso the closer they got, so your mother placed her hand gently on your shoulder to keep you from flying away.
Which you very likely would have.
“That was wild, seeing you and Endeavor up against that freakish hood guy. We were scared for you guys there for a minute!” you heard your father’s deep voice reverberate as they approached. Hawks replied with something or another. He was practically right in front of you. Your ears rang as blood rushed to them. You couldn’t have imagined how big his wings really were in person. Those brilliant crimson limbs of his made even your father’s look pitiful in comparison.
“Here she is,” your dad said as his hands gestured out to you. That dumb look of pride was plastered on his face. Oh, great, he probably gushed about you through most of their conversation.
“Hey, kid,” Hawks said as he lifted his visor to his forehead. He looked right at you. Those amber eyes were unobstructed and soft. White haze ghosted from his mouth from the chill in the air, and his nose and cheeks were dusted a faint pink from the cold. Jeeze, he was pretty. "It's not every day I meet other birds- nice to meetcha!"
You could hardly will yourself to reply. God, how did your dad keep such a cool head with those angular eyes staring at him? You surely weren't capable of it.
"You're my favorite hero,” you squeezed out of your throat, though it came out like a whisper. Surely it was something he heard every day. That made a part of you feel better about being bashful, but there was another part that was disappointed you didn’t say something more memorable. You spent years daydreaming about what words to put together for him if you had the chance, but when he was there in front of you those pre-planned phrases slipped away.
“Ah, me, really?” he chuckled as a gloved hand scratched the back of his neck.
His sweet, relaxed demeanor calmed you a little. Though the bottom of your face was buried beneath your wings to hide the redness in your cheeks. Your feathers stood on end, too, giving your nerves away. Surely a fellow bird would be able to pick up on your pitiful body language.
White specks fluttered down from the darkening sky as you yanked the straps of your backpack out from under your wings. This moment wouldn’t last much longer. Even if he didn’t remember you the next day, you wanted a memento of your meeting.
“Could you… sign my backpack?” you asked. Your wings finally unfurled to reveal all of yourself to him. But they fluffed right back up when he glanced at all the pins and charms that adorned your bag. Of course, they were modeled after his likeness. Your admiration was presented to him in a pitiful display. God, all of the regret! The humiliation! The poor thing made a sound in your fist as you squeezed it with whitening knuckles.
“‘Course I can,” he replied, and his gloved hand grazed yours as you begrudgingly handed the bag over.
His gaze dusted over the thing. As he lingered over your charms his joyful expression faltered. He still smiled, but a hint of a different emotion settled in his eyes. Your flustered disposition faded when you recognized what it was: a solemn, bittersweet sadness.
You were the only one who noticed, it seemed, as your family talked amongst each other behind you. The concern you felt for Hawks outweighed your anxiety. Why did a look at your bag bring out such emotions for him?
"Hawks, are you okay?" you pondered, and he blinked at you. “You look… sad.”
For a moment his smile failed him. The emotion he tried to hide broke through in all its glory. His mouth went slack, and his eyes lowered. But only for one vulnerable moment.
"Sad?" He said, and then his head tipped back as he let out a laugh. "How could I be sad in the presence of an angel?"
It wasn’t the first time someone called you that, on account of your wings. But hearing those words from the mouth of your favorite hero, of Hawks. It left your heart stinging in the most beautiful way. Again, you hid behind your wings with red cheeks.
Jesus Christ, you were gonna cry. If his goal was to distract you, he did a damn fine job.
He popped open the cap of a sharpie he pulled from his pocket and scribbled his name across the cloth. A hint of that expression returned to him, as if he was unworthy of your admiration. What exactly gave you that impression was unclear, but that look of his lingered like a bad taste. You wished there was something you could do or say to alleviate whatever was hurting him, but you knew you didn't have that kind of power.
"Here ya go, Angel," he chimed as he returned your newly signed backpack. Really, no charm or pin could mean as much as those black sharpie stains. HAWKS, they read in messy, thick letters. You smiled faintly. It was nice to know he was just as laid back and kind in person as he was on television.
And that little nickname. Angel, god it made your young heart swoon.
"I hate to run, but I'm afraid I have some business to attend to. It was wonderful talking with you folks," Hawks said, and your heart rattled again.
"W-wait!" you said as your fingers fumbled with the bouquet that'd been aloft in your hands. You pulled some of the arrangement free from the plastic, a lilly and several forget-me-nots clutched in your hand. "Take these."
Graciously, he extended his hand. To lay the stems of your father's flowers in Hawks' gloved palm felt like a dream, but a genuine smile returned to his face as he looked them over.
"Oh, they're so pretty," he said.
"T-they're my favorite. Myosotis— Er, Forget-me-nots," you replied, cheeks pinked with the realization of how on the nose the flower choice was. "My dad grew them at his shop."
He tucked the small bundle of flowers into his jacket pocket, and then gave it a pat.
"Sounds like a good luck charm if I ever heard of one," he said, grinning. "Thank you. I'll see you guys around!"
With That, his visor fell back down over his face and his wings stretched outwards, reaching high above you and your parents. His wingspan alone was intimidating. To be in their shadow made you feel so small.
"Hey, thanks for taking the time!" Your dad replied. Hawks waved before vanishing into the darkness of the evening sky.
You were completely ecstatic about the chance meeting, naturally, but that broken look on his face haunted you with unanswered questions. Little did you know your life would one day revolve solely around finding the answers.