Chapter Text
Hawks pulls back with a wet gasp, the sound overloud in the empty alleyway. Tears cling to his eyelashes as he glances up, evidence of his unwillingness to give up that ridiculous work ethic, even in this. It would be laughable if it didn’t make him so damn good at it. Hawks’ tongue darts out, capturing the spill of come that lingers on his bottom lip, his eyes closing as if savouring the taste.
“How was that?” Hawks asks, his voice delightfully raspy. His trousers tent lewdly between them though neither of them mention it.
“Passable.”
Hawks huffs a laugh. Still on his knees, he’s so close that his breath warms the bare skin of Dabi’s—
Fuck. Dabi hastily backspaces, deleting the last sentence. A lack of a good night’s sleep is really catching up to him. He hasn’t made a mistake like that in a while. Releasing a sigh, Dabi types the sentence again.
Hawks huffs a laugh. Still on his knees, he’s so close that his breath warms the bare skin of y/n’s thigh.
That’s better. Well, sort of. Dabi would be lying if he said he’s particularly fond of the whole y/n business, but needs must. Those needs being anonymity at all costs and not having any of this linked back to him. Absolutely fucking ever.
This latest chapter only needs a couple more sentences to finish it off then Dabi can give it a quick proofread and post it. He’s pretty pleased with how it ended up turning out. Inspiration struck on his last job, waiting around for one of Giran’s shitty clients to turn up. With his phone dead in his pocket, what else was Dabi to do except indulge in his usual bird-related fantasies?
It had been all too easy to picture the hero kneeling before him, getting that pristine uniform dirty just for a chance to get Dabi off. Unfortunately for Dabi the client appeared, seemingly out of thin air, while Dabi had been a little too engrossed in his imaginings and the result was a slight charring of the guy’s jacket. Only a little bit. With the way he had instantly dropped to the floor with an undignified scream you’d think that Dabi had doused him in fuel first. Wimp.
Whatever, it had been worth it. He’d completed the job fine, Giran was only slightly peeved, and his readers get a new chapter out of it. Win, win, win.
Dabi types the few sentences required to finish the chapter and scrolls up to the top to begin his read-through. He’s just getting to the part where Hawks’ drops eagerly to his knees, his hands grasping at Dabi’s belt, when Dabi’s phone screen floods with a picture of Giran’s face, signifying an incoming call.
“Gah—” Dabi recoils so hard he nearly drops his phone. With fumbling hands he attempts to prevent it from crashing to the concrete steps beneath him. When he finally manages to regain a somewhat steady hold of it he swipes his thumb across the screen to answer the call, his heart racing in his chest. “Fuck, what do you want? It’s early as shit.”
“You need to work on your social skills, kid.” Giran says. Enough of his face is in frame for Dabi to see his amused grin. “I’ve got an urgent job for ya, down at Najima Storage. They said the quicker you get it done, the more they’ll pay. You in?”
“Yeah, fine. I can head over now, send me the details.”
“Good. Oh, and Dabi? At least try to play nice with the client this time. Word travels, and a trigger happy arsonist is bad for business.”
Dabi rolls his eyes and hangs up without a word. Call over, he is once again confronted with the wall of text that is his latest chapter and he desperately tries not to conflate the lingering memory of Giran’s smarmy face with how many times he can see the word cock written in front of him. His eye begins to twitch with the effort.
Deliberately trying to think of anything else, Dabi places his phone down and reaches for his packet of cigarettes. Sliding one between his teeth, Dabi lights it with the tip of a finger while he waits for Giran’s text with the details of the job. He could proofread on the way over to Najima, but reading and walking always slows him down quite considerably and he’s really strapped for cash at the minute. The luxury of sleeping somewhere with indoor heating, and maybe even grabbing a real coffee instead of the canned crap he’s currently stealing, calls to him.
Ah, fuck it. Reading back over his own work sort of makes Dabi want to peel his own skin off anyway. Without much other thought, Dabi picks his phone back up and hits post on the chapter. Setting off toward Najima Dabi opens Giran’s text and scans for the important details, all the while vaguely wondering if he’ll have a comment or two by the time he’s done.
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This routine, of flicking between jobs for Giran and posting obscene fantasies of Hawks online, was not something that had happened to Dabi overnight.
In truth, Dabi’s imagination had always been a wild thing. Untameable, despite his father’s best efforts. In those first couple of years on the streets he let it run free, allowing his mind to drift where it pleased and to what it might have been like to receive a different kind of homecoming than the one he had ended up with.
Instead of finding desolate halls, Dabi might have found his siblings running toward him, their excitement so loud and bright he could do nothing but prepare for the impact. Instead of noticing the empty space his mother had once occupied, the imprint of her softly curled body still visible on the window seat, he would see her there. Turning toward him, her eyes crinkling with the strength of her smile. He let his imagination go so far as to show him his father, arms wide in welcome and apologies falling readily from a mouth only previously used to curse him.
Invariably, allowing that fantasy to run amok would lead Dabi to remember just how unattainable it was. He knew that there was no such homecoming for him, not now that he was little more than a creature of borrowed parts and barely leashed rage. He quickly learnt to destroy such dreams, clawing them out at the root so that they could not regrow and poison him from the inside.
Whenever he thought of Endeavour now, it was only to gleefully imagine the horror that might contort his face when he realised exactly who Dabi had become and what he was going to do.
Of the rest of his family, Dabi thought nought at all.
Much time was passed planning Endeavour’s end, however Dabi found that delving so deeply into his hatred had the inconvenient side effect of turning him into a bit of a lunatic. One who forgot to eat and sleep and do the various things required to actually stay alive, which, he was aggrieved to remind himself, was required if he ever meant to follow through on any such plan.
So Dabi found other ways to occupy his mind, ones that allowed him to keep an idle eye on the hero billboard charts while also being a somewhat functional human being. To pass the time, Dabi began conjuring up stories for each of the heroes. Not the sanitised crap they touted in exclusive interviews, Dabi knew from personal experience just how much they lied during those, no, Dabi thought about what it might really be like to be behind closed doors with them.
Dabi imagined Best Jeanist peacocking around an extortionately expensive apartment, clad in some revolting pyjama-jort hybrid and a denim house shoe. He considered the implications of Wash’s entire... being. Was it a hero costume? Or did Wash enter this world as a mere salad spinner and occasionally sprout into some new, slightly larger, water based form? Dabi also found himself frequently turning toward Mirko and her unfailing tenacity; how she often went to the extreme to get a job done. Hours were spent wondering at why she was allowed to be that way, praised for it even, when he had only ever been beaten down for it. He came up blank every time.
And then Hawks entered the scene. All thoughts of other heroes fell from of Dabi’s head like water from a tipped pail.
Hawks with his Midas-touched skin, his angel wings, and his devil may care attitude. From the moment Dabi saw him, soundlessly babbling away on a TV behind a storefront window, he was gripped.
However, most unfortunately for him, Dabi was not the only one who felt this way. Seemingly everywhere he went he overheard snippets of conversation about the newly debuted hero. Mostly it was teenage girls. Starry eyed and blushing, Dabi overheard them giggling over Hawks’ face, or his body, or his voice. He would grit his teeth and staunchly ignore them. If any of them ended up with a singed pigtail or two, Dabi was none the wiser about how that might or might not have occurred.
He tried, at first, to slot Hawks in to his usual routine. Rolling around ideas in his mind of how Hawks might spend his free time or what he might have been like as a child but, infuriatingly, Dabi always came up blank. It was as though Hawks was simultaneously nothing and everything. So loud and beautiful that everyone who saw him hung on his every breath, not realising that every word he spoke was completely empty.
It ignited a kind of hunger within Dabi and he began to collect as much information as he could about the hero, desperate for something that would help him piece together who Hawks really was. There was a not insignificant part of Dabi that loathed himself for it, keenly aware that he was pedestalising the hero in the way he always sneered at others for doing, but he just couldn’t seem to help himself. Every time he attempted to tamp his feelings down, he would find his feet taking him the long route back from a job just to pass a billboard he knew was still up, or if he went more than a few days without catching a glimpse of crimson feathers, Dabi’s skin would begin to itch and he would find a stolen magazine in his hands that touted ‘Hawks Special Inside!!!’ on the cover before he had consciously thought to grab it.
All that to say, it shouldn’t have been a surprise when Hawks finally showed up in Dabi’s dreams. Except that it was. A dreadful, mortifying, sticky shock. Dabi had stared, horrified and wide eyed, not really seeing the laundromat washing machine before him as he piled clothes into it and recalled the hazy dream of a warm mouth moving on his, of the insistent press of hips grinding against him, and of the far too distinct shape of a wing beyond his partners shoulder.
It was enough for Dabi to decide to put an end to this minor infatuation once and for all. He was of the opinion that he would be able to simply stop; clear his mind of any and all thoughts of Hawks and the issue would go away. Never to inflict him again.
He was laughably incorrect.
As much as Dabi presumed control over his waking mind, the same could not be said for his dreams. After that first time he no longer woke up needing to make an impromptu trip to the laundromat, but in some ways it was much worse. He woke with a desperate, building ache that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, satisfy. Something he knew he didn’t actually want. His body just hadn’t gotten the fucking memo yet.
So, Dabi continued on. If somewhat more bow-legged than before.
His tenuous control snapped in the early hours of a night in early spring, some months after The Laundromat Incident.
Despite the chill wind whistling through the crates either side of him, Dabi felt as though he was burning up. His skin was tacky with sweat and in his sleep he had thrown off the ratty blanket he slept under. It felt as though all of the blood in his body was pooled between his hips, he was so painfully hard that he could feel his pulse radiating steadily through his cock. He was exhausted and irritable and quite unable to sleep. It hadn’t been the first night he had woken in a similar state but it was starting to rag on his nerves. He was barely sleeping at all and it was making him even more snappish and prone to mania than before. Something had to be done.
Tentatively, Dabi pressed the heel of his palm to the bulge in his jeans. A guttural groan fell from his lips and his hips bucked up into the touch, his body greedy for more before his mind had a chance to catch up. With eyes screwed shut, Dabi rubbed over himself, his mind already attempting to grab at long-suppressed fantasies of Hawks.
To Dabi’s great dismay, it appeared that the quashing had done its job a little too thoroughly; he was unable to picture anything more than broken fragments. He cast about for something else, photos he had seen in some dirty magazines a few years back or some hot guy he had seen on the street earlier that week.
“Fuck—” Dabi shoved his hand underneath his waistband and gripped himself, trying feverishly to recall whatever dream had left him in this state to begin with. He moved his hand along his length, his teeth grit so hard his jaw was beginning to ache. Barely there flashes of a smile or an errant feather flitted across his mind, none long enough for him to grasp on to. It was like standing at the edge of a precipice, knowing all he needed to do was put one foot in front of the other and drop into weightless freefall, and yet something was anchoring him to the spot.
Dabi clenched his fist painfully around his cock, willing his body to just let go.
Gods fucking damn it. It was no use.
He lay still for a moment, staring up into dark nothingness in resignation. He really, really needed this to be done and over with. His eyes were gritty with sleep, exhaustion lying heavy in his bones. He just wanted to sleep, but he knew there was no rest for him until he had resolved his current problem.
With clumsy fingers, Dabi reached for his phone. The screen light was so bright he squinted against it, thumb hovering over the search bar as shame and need wrestled within him. Need quickly won out and Dabi typed “hero hawks sexy”. There was a split second where Dabi cringed away from his phone, embarrassment rising to the forefront once again, but then he was assaulted with pages of search results, photo upon photo of everything Dabi had been denying himself, and his eyes went wide.
Pictures of the hero in a seemingly endless slew of modelling campaigns appeared, selling everything from spandex to underwear. The moment Dabi’s gaze fell upon one of Hawks wearing nothing but obscenely tight boxers, one thumb hooked under the waistband to reveal almost too much, his cock gave a valiant twitch in his other hand. Dabi’s hand started to move again, pulling roughly at his length as he devoured the sight in front of him.
It wasn’t long before he was spilling across his fist, his toes curling with the force of it and soft grunts pressing against the back of his clenched teeth. Before thoughts of cleaning himself up surfaced, Dabi fell asleep, one hand still down his trousers and the other loosely cradling his phone. It was blissfully dreamless.
That following morning, over a shitty coffee and a cigarette, Dabi thoroughly intended to close the browser. The previous night had been a moment of weakness that he was promptly going to forget about. He was just having one last glance when something caught his eye; at the very bottom of the page, far away from the image results he had been looking through the night before there was a link, written in all capital letters.
[HAWKS X READER FANFICTION 18+]
Dabi blinked at it. What the fuck did that mean.
An hour later, coffee forgotten and cigarette long burnt out, Dabi knew exactly, and in copious amounts of detail, what that meant.
There were pages and pages of the stuff. Descriptions that had Dabi’s jaw dropping and pink cresting across his cheeks. It was utterly filthy.
It was also almost impossible to find one that wasn’t seemingly written by some besotted girl. All of the ‘reader’ parts were docile, submissive and exceedingly feminine, absolutely nothing like the things Dabi himself imagined when he thought of Hawks. It made Dabi feel as though there was a distinct gap in this collection of stories. Something that he was possibly uniquely qualified to give.
Ignoring his Hawks obsession was temporarily overridden by the desire to prove to the readers on that website that there was more to think about than Hawks slamming just some poor girl up against a wall. Dabi could blow their minds with the depravity that had been lurking in the back of his head for months.
Besides, Dabi thought, showing off a little might be a more diverting pastime than martyrdom. For the time being.
His first work gained traction far more quickly than Dabi had ever imagined it would, and with it came a small hoard of dedicated readers and commenters. He kept at it, writing out fantasies as they came to him and posting them to the site, and distinctly not examining the pleasure he derived when comments poured in asking about when he was going to upload next.
Dabi would rather die than admit out loud to literally anybody that this was something he did with his free time, but it made the cold nights alone in warehouses easier to bear, somehow.
It even seemed to grant Dabi more control over his Hawks Problem, giving him something to channel it into instead of allowing it to stew solely in the back of his mind. Putting pen to paper, so to speak, was a release Dabi never saw coming.
And nothing bad would ever come it, it would never permeate into his real life. Of that, Dabi was sure.
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The job at Najima turns out to be a piece of cake. It’s barely an hour until Dabi’s done and heading back over to where he’s set up camp for the time being. Pulling his phone out, Dabi swipes at the ash falling onto the screen and sends off a quick text to Giran to let him know he's finished.
Dabi’s gaze drops to his email app and his belly does an anticipatory flip when he sees that there’s a new notification.
[ThatGayChicken (Registered User) left a comment on XXX Horny Oneshots [Hawks x Reader smut]]
Hey man, great chapter as always. But who the hell is Dabi?
Fuck.