DabiHawks or ShigaNatsu street racer AU if you’re still doing it?
clearly the only solution is BOTH
shout out to @ohmoka and her very important au I’m still waiting for someone to write a full length fic for
*
The night smells like gasoline.
And cheap booze and cigarette smoke and a thousand other things that threaten to go to Hawks’ head. He doesn’t let them. This isn’t the first time he’s visited a scene like this, only usually he’s the one busting them.
Now he’s supposed to be one of them, or at least curious enough to be invited to one of their little shindigs. That’s how he ended up here, standing on the asphalt of a back country road, still hot from the day, having traded his police uniform for street clothes. That’s how he ended up with Dabi’s arm draped over his shoulders and a red solo cup pressed into one hand. Whatever’s in it smells like it’s not too far off from gasoline itself.
.
The League of Villains have been operating an illegal street racing ring for the better part of two years now. And worse. Drugs, racketeering, gambling, assault. And for two years now, no one has been able to bust them for it, at least in any way that’s managed to stick. But that was before Hawks transferred to the precinct. Rising star of the department, crack shot, and just young enough to look like any other punk ass kid who just wants to go fast. Probably because it’s not exactly untrue.“Twice,” Dabi hollers, pulling away from him. “If you scratch that goddamn car I’m putting my boot so far up your ass you’re gonna need a flashlight to find it.”
Dabi wanders off to shoo Twice (how do you get a name like that?) away from his car and Hawks takes the moment to sweep his eyes across the scene, picking out details for his report later. The make and models of the cars, the faces of the people milling around, how much cash is passing between hands. Most of them are familiar figures in the precinct’s reports, some of them too young to even be tried as adults.
And there. Shigaraki Tomura, the leader of the group, though rumor has it that there’s some sort of mysterious benefactor sponsoring them behind the scenes. There’s gotta be, to afford the kind of cars he’s seeing. Shigaraki certianly doesn’t look like he’s got the excess cash, though looks can be deceiving, especially in the criminal world. Hawks eyes him carefully. Shigaraki is leaning close to another guy, whispering something in his ear. The guy has his back turned to him, but he looks like he belongs at a college house party than a place like this. Shigaraki’s hand is on his upper arm. Personal. Familiar. Hawks takes note. Interesting. Their leader isn’t as standoffish as the reports make him out to be.
The guy laughs (Shigaraki Tomura tells jokes?) and shifts, and Hawks freezes as the light cuts across his face. That’s not just some guy. That’s Todoroki Natsuo. That’s the police chief’s son. Well–one of them.
Looking right back at him. Oh fuck. Hawks sees Natsuo’s eyes widen a fraction of an inch, flooding with recognition. He needs to go. He needs to go right now.
And then Dabi is behind him, his chest pressed into his shoulder, and all Hawks can smell is leather and cigarette smoke and old sweat. Keys dangle from Dabi’s fingers from a frayed braided cord, the kind of thing you do in summer camp, only it looks about ten years old. The keys rattle and glint in the moonlight. “You wanted to ride?” Dabi says in his ear, husky and dark. “Let’s ride.”