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Dabi should have seen it coming the moment Hawks threatened to rip Skeptic’s head off.
One moment they were filing into the conference room, discussing whatever needed to be addressed with the Meta Liberation Army, and the next Skeptic had the nerve to stick his nose in things he sure as fuck had no business in.
Like the stupid fuck had not learned anything in the last couple of weeks, when it came to Hawks and his overprotective tendencies.
Dabi snorts at the thought.
It really wasn’t how Endeavor had explained the whole thing to him at the ripe age of thirteen when he first presented.
“Now that you are off age, son, I want to teach you what is really important in life,” his father had said with a heavy hand on his shoulder, pressing him to his chair.
“You’re an alpha now, so you have to start acting like one,” he had drilled into him.
Dabi still remembered the eyes that bore into his as Endeavor launched into a rant about how his second gender was the superior one. A thousand times did he explain that omegas, like his mother, were weak and delicate and needed protection from alphas like him and his father.
Dabi had blinked at him.
Duh, obviously , when the way his father treated his mother was anything to go by.
Never–
Never, never, never would he stoop so low, no matter what biology told him.
And so in typical Touya fashion, the young alpha had jumped from the chair, kicked his sperm donor in the shin for even implying he would ever end up like him, and stormed out of Endeavor’s office.
Now ten years later, Dabi wanted nothing more than to rub it into Endevour’s stupid face how wrong he was.
Especially when he looks at his omega mate, ready to pounce on someone who was merely breathing wrong in Dabi’s general direction.
Dabi snickers into his fist as he watches fear creep into Skeptic’s features as the omega snaps.
His birdy has his wings flared, trying to intimidate the beta into submission with his bared fangs and filed talons.
His eyes are slitted, hyper-focused on his target, and his talons dig into the wood of the table. A little threatening screech escapes past his lips.
“Come on, just say what you think, I dare you too,” Hawks almost purrs the words, a false sense of safety, like a predator playing with his prey. A cat and a mouse.
His sharp little fang glints in the overhead light and his scent glands pump out a steady stream of protect, protect, protect.
God, he smells so good too. Since yesterday, Keigo’s smell had taken on a whiff of desperation and something distinctively Keigo . Something warm and enticing and only meant for Dabi. Some long-buried, primal part of him is itching to haul his mate back into their nest and have his merry way with him.
Or–
Jesus Christ, fuck – Dabi wants to bend him over the desk right there, right now.
Or be bent over it himself by Keigo.
He wouldn’t mind either way.
And all that because Skeptic sneered at Dabi and looked at him a little wrong.
Just once does Dabi want to wave his strong, feral, overprotective omega into Endevour’s face.
So yeah, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out Hawks is definitely in pre-heat, and he makes it everyone’s problem.
Lucky him.
Heh .
But Hawks’ is only in the beginning stages of his heat, so it’s fairly easy for Dabi to slip his hand against his mate’s to press his scent gland to his wrist, and release some comforting pheromones. And preferably all that before Hawks has the chance to make true to his threats, jump across the table, and sink his fangs into Skeptic's throat.
(Even though Dabi would have loved to see the spectacle. Another time then.)
With a little pinch to the soft skin of his inner wrist, Dabi warns Hawks to stand down, not in the mood to even start anything with anybody.
Not when his mate was so close to heat and ready to commit literal murder for his mate.
Hawks’ sharp eyes turn to him, and he hisses at Dabi in response, like Dabi wasn’t the one Hawks attempted to protect from the bad looks and who the display was for in the first place.
“Really, now?” he asks with raised brows and a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. As soon as those words leave his lips, Hawks’s eyes glaze over something similar to clarity, and he flushes in embarrassment.
“Shut up,” the birdy mutters under his breath, pushing at Dabi’s shoulder in a halfhearted attempt.
Dabi rolls his eyes, ridiculous bird .
Shigaraki slumps in his seat at the head of the table, hands covering his eyes in a dramatic display, unwilling to even acknowledge what was about to go down with the Meta Liberation Army.
With narrowed eyes, he eventually points to the door and motions for them to leave.
“Get out of my sight. Now!”
Dabi doesn’t even think twice before he hauls Hawks up with him. His mate's eyes are still firmly locked on to Skeptic, like he’s still ready to jump him if he dared to misstep one more time.
“Come one, Birdy. You have a nest to build,” he mutters, pushing him gently to the door.
At the mention of his nest, Hawks eventually averts his eyes and looks at Dabi, his mind a little hazy, a little cloudy, thoughts of protect, protect, protect streaming through his body.
Once they are outside, his mind clears a little bit more and he blinks.
“God, what an asshole. I hate this guy,” Hawks shudders at the image of Skeptic’s stupid face in his mind.
“Tell me about it,” Dabi snorts and pulls him down the halls to the private league common room, pushing Hawks to sit on the couch between all the pillows and blankets.
Keigo goes willingly, eyes fixed on Dabi, blinking up at him from his full lashes, feet swinging.
He looks almost docile like this. Like the perfect omega.
All soft, big eyes and fluffy wings, surrounded by the perfect materials for a nest and smelling heavenly.
But Dabi knows better. If there is anything he has learned about Hawks in the last couple of years, it is that Hawks was anything but how the media liked to portray the perfect omega– How his own father liked to depict them.
“It's true, the guy has to reel it in or step up his game if he wants to fight. Not my problem, he’s a wimp,” the birdy argues. His hands find their way into Dabi’s worn shirt and cling to the fabric.
“Yeah? That’s why you almost slashed the guy to threads, dove?” Dabi knows he is being mean with his teasing.
Hawks is running on instincts right now, after all, but it was hilarious enough to completely forgo teasing him about it. Not when he is such an easy target.
Hawks pushes at his mate’s shoulder with a huff.
“He was being mean to you,” he says, the pout clear in his words. Only pictures of kicked puppies help him suppress the amused snort, that threatens to slip past his lips.
To make his point clear, Hawks runs his own scent glands on his wrists against Dabi’s neck, scent marking his territory like someone is about to swipe Dabi away from right under his nose.
Yup, definitely pre-heat.
And now that he’s alone with Keigo and their scents aren’t muddled with all the other people, he can clearly pick out the sharp undertones and changes in his scent.
It always changes to something milkier when Hawks starts to near his cycle, he notes while he watches the bird let go of him and jump up from the couch. Like a man on a mission, he starts to flit around the room, trying to sniff out the perfect fabrics and objects for the nest.
He has already a fuzzy pink jacket in his hand that Toga must have abandoned.
Hawks might not act and look like the typical omega stereotype, but instincts were hard to get rid of, and really , who is Dabi to forbid Hawks from doing what his brain tells him to do?
So he takes a seat on the couch, eyes fixed on his mate, and watches him gather whatever he deems worthy for their nest.
And so for the next hour, Keigo flits in and out of the room, various clothes and fuzzy fabrics hanging over his shoulder and arms.
From time to time he passes Dabi, his wrist almost subconsciously grazes Dabi’s scent gland, seemingly without even meaning to.
Hawks takes a while, and before he can finish the other members fill into the room, Toga and Twice cackling at an inside joke, while Spinner and Shigaraki quietly discuss one thing or the other.
Hawks stops in his tracks, drops his gathered pile of objects into Dabi’s lap with no care in the world, and stomps over to their leader. Without much of a preamble, he buries his hand in the worn, old hoodie. His sharp talons, surely pricking pinholes into the fabric.
Oh, Shigaraki is sure to lose his shit at it, and Dabi is here to watch it go down.
“Mine,” Hawks demands, eyes blown out, his grip tightening in the fabric.
Oh, what a treat it is to witness Hawks play it up, just for the heck of it. Dabi loves, loves, loves Keigo for fucking with their boss.
Shigaraki sneers and swats his hand away. His eyes say it all when he looks like he is seconds away from putting his whole hand around Keigo’s throat.
“As if,” he hisses into Keigo’s face, hands twitching.
With a new attempt, Hawks pulls at the fabric, talons piercing the cloth, his voice taking on a whininess to it. Like he doesn‘t even care that an S-rank villain is seconds away from turning him into dust.
Dabi crosses one leg over the other and hides his shit-eating grin in his hand.
Fucking hilarious .
“Need it,” the birdy demands.
The only other omega growls at him, pushing at his hand, trying to pry his finger off of the fabric.
“I will dust your ass if you don’t let go.”
Which is definitely the wrong thing to say because the next thing he knows, Hawks has him pinned to the ground, hands fisted into the hoodie and wings flared wide.
“Tomura don’t be a brat and give him your hoodie,” a tired Kurogiri interrupts.
Shigaraki lets out a little scream of defeat and eventually sits up, pushing the overgrown chicken off of him. He pulls the hoodie over his head and presses the fabric into Hawks’ chest, angry and fuming.
“I fucking hate you. Once your heat is over, you are on clean-up duty for a month. A whole month, you hear me?” he growls with crossed arms over his chest.
Hawks completely ignores his empty threat and chirps at his won price, while he walks back to his mate, hoodie tightly clutched in his hands.
And Dabi? Dabi tries his best not to laugh at their leader’s misfortune.
Especially because he knows Hawks smell well enough to know that the hoodie was not a need, but a way of revenge for embarrassing him in front of the others and kicking them out of the conference room.
Serves him right. For all the shit he has put them through lately.
His theory is confirmed once he sees his mate’s smug face.
“You insufferable brat,” he mumbles into the blonde’s temple once the bird plops in his lap and goes boneless.
A satisfied purr is the only thing that leaves Hawks’ before he presses his lips to Dabi’s pulse point, just right under his scent gland.
“Is okay dove, you can rest for now,” he whispers into his blonde messy mop of hair and strokes a warm hand up and down his spine.
It doesn’t take all that long before all his plans of building a nest leave his mind and the comforting scent of Dabi envelopes all his senses, making him fall into a slumber.
Protecting his mate from ugly villains and fighting for the perfect nest material sure takes a lot out of one.