Heyoooo!

I would have never imagined I'd ever write a DabiHawks fic, letting alone publishing it, but I'm so glad I managed to do it! I actually never thought I'd be posting something on AO3, and I find it amazing that my first work here is about those two. I love them too much for my own good.

This fic is an idea that popped in my mind the other day, when I got the worst fever ever (thanks, covid, really appreciated!), and got down to write it as soon as I felt better. I'm sorry if something sounds weird, English is not my first language but I tried my best!
It's short and stupid and way to fluffy and self-indulgent (I'm not this sappy usually, I swear!), but I guess it was just because of the fever lol
I'm really happy about how it turned out, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

xoxo (with a mask, I'm still positive)
Kas

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Hawks never got sick. Like, ever.

Even as a kid, despite the poor conditions he used to live in, he was as fit as a fiddle, scrawny and starved most of the time, but strong and healthy nonetheless.

However, it had been a strange couple of days and the unpleasant sensations he felt in his body haven't changed; if anything, they got worse. His limbs were sorer and sorer, his throat and nose clogged up, his mind dizzy and aching. It was easy to hide it from the press and his sidekicks - he was pathetically good at pretending and faking smiles all the time -, but he couldn't focus on his patrols and his missions like he always did, his thoughts stumbling one over the other, his eyelids heavy. Even his wings felt more stiff, and weren’t as glossy as before.

With a frustrated huff, he pushed the report he was forcing himself to write aside, threw his pen somewhere on his desk, and held his head in his hands, trying to slowly inhale and exhale, shutting his eyes and cutting off the mental connection to his feathers in the vain attempt to reduce the pounding in his brain.

It didn't work, but soon enough it made him realize what else was disturbing him: the room was too suffocating, too hot. In a frustrated rush, he wriggled out of his hero jacket and stood up, bursting the windows behind his desk open to let the chilly air of February blow on his face.

The cold sensation was an immediate relief and he instinctively sighed, breathing in and out, the noises of the city down below hushed from up there like a white lullaby. The more he relaxed under the muffled sounds and the light breeze, the more he felt his body release its tension, his legs giving in and almost making him lose his balance and drop to the floor.

Fuck. He gripped the edge of the window to ground himself, his teeth gritting, his jaw clenched, his talons scratching the metal of the windowsill. This situation was really starting to get on his nerves. What even was the problem?! What was wrong with him?! Was he hit by a villain's quirk without realizing? Did somebody drug him? If so, was there a mole in his agency?

The mere thought of a spy among his hero fellows made him laugh, and suddenly he regretted it. His giggle quickly evolved in a coughing fit, and for a hot minute he tried to regain his breath, sweating hard and itching to get out of his leotard and under an icy shower. He needed to go home. Maybe it was only sleep deprivation, maybe he just worked too hard, maybe being controlled fucking 24/7 by Skeptic's cameras was stressing him out more than he expected. Whatever. He would fly back to his apartment, drown in the shower, sleep like a rock, and tomorrow everything will be fine. Easy as pie. It had to be.

What Hawks didn't expect was to almost fly into the skyscraper facing his agency as soon as he took off after saying his goodbyes to his sidekicks in his usual cheerful demeanor - it was almost midnight, nobody should have suspected anything. He narrowly managed to drift, only lightly scraping his shoulder, but now he had two poundings to take care of, and a shoulder he strongly hoped wasn't dislocated. Great. His day just kept getting peachier by the minute.

But apparently tall buildings weren't his only enemies that night, because a couple of giant, bright posters decided to join the party and dazzle him, straining his already tired eyes and almost disorienting him. Even the wind betrayed him, the chill that relieved him before now freezing him to the bones. He sneezed, shuddered, buried his head deep in the soft collar of his jacket, and sped up. He had never wanted to come back home so badly and so quickly.

He almost tripped on his balcony when he landed, a sticky, moist veil on his skin that made his forehead burn and his body shiver with cold. He shoved the door open angrily, taking off his boots somewhere near the entrance and almost dragging himself to the bathroom, a line of the clothes he discharged trailing behind him. He didn’t even bother with turning the lights on, moving around the apartment only on sensory memory, and when he finally curled up under the stream of water in his bathtub he felt his eyes sting with exhaustion.

He didn’t even realize for how long he stayed there, nearly dozing off and only moving to switch the faucet from hot to cold whenever he felt steaming or freezing. He didn’t understand what had gotten into him, why he had goosebumps one minute and heat strokes another, but he was too spent to dwell on that. He just knew his body felt like lead now, and the mere idea of getting up and out of the bathtub was as tempting as the prospect of attending the upteenth stump speech about the ideology of the PLF.

Bad for him he had to if he wanted to recover from whatever that sickness was. So, with a final effort, he turned the faucet off and crawled out of the bathtub, already shivering when he wrapped himself in a large towel, only to shuffle towards his room and crumble on the bed. The window was askew from that morning so that the breeze could refresh the air in the apartment, the sheets balled up at the feet of the mattress. 

His muscles hurt when he reached for the blankets, pulling them over his head and curling up under them hoping to catch some warmth, unable to send his feathers to close the window. He shivered from hot and cold, his breathing shallow, so worn out he couldn’t even think. Finally, his eyelids dropped and his breath evened out, letting him fall asleep like he so desperately needed.

He woke up abruptly, after what felt like only few minutes, dripping in a pool of sweat and shuddering so hard he could have heard his teeth chattering if everything wasn’t so hazy. Every inch of his body hurt, his skin boiling, his throat hoarse. He wrestled with the sheets adhering to him with a tired, irked growl, almost tearing the duvet to shreds with his talons. He was gaping, suffocating, the room too hot and stifling. His wings batted uselessly on the mattress, shedding some of the feeblest feathers on the floor. He was barely conscious, he only knew he needed water, he needed air, he needed-

“Easy, birdie”

A soft, low voice whispered somewhere near him, and his danger instincts kicked in, making his eyes bolt open to assess the menace, his pupils blown wide, claws sharper than his gaze while slowly, clumsily retreating to the headboard, the silhouette of the man somehow familiar through the haze. The new smell in the room was familiar too, ashes and smoke, so strong it reached him despite his clogged nose and the breeze that kept intruding from the window. Comforting.

“Dabi…?” he croaked, forcing himself to focus on the villain and make out his expression. What was he doing here? When did he arrive? Why-
The confusion was making his brain go haywire.

“Yeah…” Dabi answered, ever softly, blocking his unspoken questions from running through his mind. There was some kind of hesitation in his voice, like he decided to suppress a sarcastic reply only at the last second, before he sat down on the corner of the bed with a glass of cool water in his hands. “It’s alright, birdie, just lay back and relax, ok? You need to rest”

Hawks batted his eyes idly, still dumbfounded, like he was looking for some sort of confirmation on the wanted man's face. A promise he wouldn’t go anywhere. That he would stay there, with him. Dabi reciprocated his look, not a wrinkle on his skin, his gorgeous, aquamarine eyes staring fondly right back at him, and the hero relaxed in the slightest, grabbing the glass Dabi was handing him with shaky hands and the same sluggishness that slowed down each of his movements.

He didn’t think twice before chugging down the fresh liquid, though, snorting and scrunching his face in discomfort when his tonsils blew up in his throat every time he swallowed. He was so voracious that some droplets fell on his chest and legs, but the coldness was more than welcome on his searing body.

“Want another?”. Dabi’s voice was so quiet. So soothing. Hawks weakly nodded and eased down against the cushions, now trembling a little and eying annoyed the askew window like it had personally wronged him. In a certain sense, it had.

He didn’t register the moment Dabi left the room, but the man came back soon after, another couple of glasses in his hands, an ice bag under his arm, and a blister pack between his teeth. Hawks promptly grasped one of the glasses, grateful of the straw Dabi put in it, and started drinking unhurriedly, out of breath after only a couple of sips. His foggy eyes, glinting like molten gold in the dim light (when did Dabi turn the bedside lamp on? Why didn’t he wake up sooner?) never left the other’s figure, following him as he delicately put the tablets, the ice pad and the other glass on the night table.

“Take this, it’ll help with the pain and the fever” he ordered, voice firm but not unkind, his palm open to offer him a pill. “You haven’t taken one yet, have you?”
Hawks shook his head, only to stop when the pounding worsened. So it was a fever, huh? It sucked.

Dabi addressed him with a concerned smile under his rough features as he sat back on the bed next to the hero, softly caressing his flushed cheek and putting the tablet in the blonde’s free hand. “C’mon then, just one last sip”

Hawks begrudgingly did as told. Even lifting the glass now was too much for his sore muscles, but he didn’t have the energy to protest. Then, he could finally slip again under the sheets, gawkily leaving them pulled away to make room for the other man in a silent plea, his eyelids heavy again on his honey irises fixated in Dabi’s turquoise ones.

The arsonist complied, calmy leaving his pants and worn t-shirt on the armchair in the corner, his scars bared for Hawks to admire them, to admire the body of his lover. The staples that held him together were glistening in the soft light, and Hawks’ eyes focused on their glow like hypnotized as Dabi joined him under the sheets.

“Hi” he sloppily slurred, a dopey smile on his chapped lips, the duvet somewhere on the floor, and tried to settle against the villain's chest, an arm draped over Dabi’s middle together with one of his wings, the warmth his body yearned for finally close, right where he needed it.

He should have worried about infecting Dabi, but the villain didn’t seem to be bothered by that thought. Instead, he tightened his grip on the hero without greeting him back, his thumb drawing lazy circles on his shoulder and unknowingly easing the soreness from the bump the blonde had forgotten about among all the stings of pain that washed through his heated body, while his other hand began petting his feathers carefully, sending small jolts of pleasure and relaxation through the hero’s mind. Hawks thrilled and cooed nuzzling into Dabi’s neck, his lips lightly brushing the scarred skin to indulge himself more than Dabi.

The villain chuckled, a low sound that reverberated through his throat and chest and that Hawks absolutely adored, his long, boney fingers shifting from the blonde’s shoulder blades to his hair, and the hero melted under his touch.

“You’re boiling up, angel” Dabi stated, somewhat amused despite his concern, and retrieved the thin ice bag from the bedside table. Then he kissed him on the forehead, tenderly, lingering, the tip of his nose brushing lightly against the other man's skin before gently replacing his lips with the ice. “My, my, I can’t even leave you for a week and you catch a cold”

“I’m cold” the hero retorted sheepishly, already half asleep and clinging tighter to the villain as to further stress his affirmation.

“You’re actually hotter than me now” Dabi pointed out. “Should I start calling you hot stuff?”

Hawks huffed a laugh, but stopped before it could turn into another cough, burrowing deeper in Dabi’s embrace.

“You’re s’ch a dork…” he slurred, his breathing deeper and slower by the minute. Dabi was sure the winged hero was gone the moment his clutching eased, his fingers still curled and lightly placed on his chest, and hoped he couldn’t hear his heart tighten in his ribcage.

It was so rare seeing Hawks like this, totally relaxed and limp, his jowls as scarlet as his wings, letting the villain take care of him for once. When he came back, after a long, draining week on a stupid mission with fucking Geten of all people, all he wanted to do was to lie on Hawks’ bed - their bed - and forget about everything else, their arms and legs intertwined, but when he saw the hero under the sheets, his brows deeply frowned in discomfort, something clenched at his stomach. His bird was sick, was suffering, and he wasn’t there to help and support him.

Before he could even think, he had hurried to the kitchen, filled a glass with water and went back to the bedroom, arriving just a few instacts before the hero woke up drenched in sweat and trembling like a leaf.

He had no idea why he felt that way, why everytime he was alone with him something tugged at his guts and forced him nearer, closer to him, pushing him to touch him, kiss him, linger in their forbidden chemistry, in that something that he was growing dependent on, but he didn’t have the willpower to refuse, not anymore. Not after everything that had happened to him.

Hawks somehow saw him, truly saw him even without knowing who he really was. He wasn’t scared of his scars, of his fire, of his backlashes, mood swings or secretiveness, and just cherished all of him. Made him feel needed. Wanted.

Loved.

He hated it. And he hated how starved he was for the hero’s attention, and gaze, and touches, and voice, the way he took a leap of faith without even realizing what he’d done. He hated the way he felt his heart hurled and swearled at the mere sight of the other man, the way he itched to get even closer and never let go, the way those three, dangerous words kept thundering in his head again and again since he saw him coming back home.

He wanted to keep him safe. Needed him to be safe and sound. There, between his arms.

He just couldn’t resist.

Slowly, he tilted his neck downwards and brushed his uneven lips against the hero’s, a featherlight touch that had him craving for more.

But not now. Now his bird needed to rest, to get better. They will have all the time they wanted for that, later.

It took me like thrice the time (if not more) to write this, in my native language it would have taken me two hours top, but I did really have fun working on it! Especially because the core idea was only the final part, with Hawks curled up in Dabi's arms. I just kept adding and adding and it got this long, idk lol

If you're in the mood, feel free too leave a comment, it would make my day! And don't be scared to point out mistakes or strange sentences, or to give me suggestions about how to improve, it'd be deeply appreciated!

If you want, you're more than welcome to come scream at me about DabiHawks, or My Hero Academia, or anything else really on my socials (Twitter, IG, Tumblr, TikTok). The nickname's "susykriver" everywhere!