「
𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 / 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬♡ 」
Hawks
Hawks had never actually thought he'd lose that stupid bet with Hour—some throwaway challenge he'd agreed to with half his attention, cocky as always, tossing out that if he lost he'd spend a whole day as Hour’s personal maid. He'd laughed when he said it. Hour hadn't.
And now here they were.
The cat maid café was empty around them, booked out for the entire day through his agency. No way in hell was the No. 2 Hero getting caught dead in public like this. The space was aggressively cute—pastel walls, paw print decorations, a glass display case full of cakes and cookies. Hawks had been in villain hideouts with more dignity.
He emerged from the backroom, the bell on his collar giving an embarrassing little jingle with each step. The maid dress was clearly not designed with a man in mind—black fabric stretched tight across his chest, the white apron doing nothing to hide how the material outlined his abdominals. The skirt barely reached mid-thigh, riding up with every movement. At least they managed to find one with an open back, leaving crimson wings flaring through the gap, feathers ruffling against the frilled edges.
The cat ear headband sat perched on tousled golden hair, looking utterly ridiculous, but the tail was worse—a plush accessory clipped directly to the skimpy thong he'd been given, the elastic pulling taut against hips. It tugged uncomfortably with every step, the female undergarment doing absolutely nothing to accommodate his cock, the lace biting into skin whenever he moved carelessly.
Hawks tugged absently at the garter strap digging into his thigh, mouth quirking into that signature laid-back smirk, all deflection. He gestured down at himself with a mock presentation. “Ta-da! Your personal maid has arrived. One top-ranked hero, lightly seasoned with humiliation, served fresh.”
His gaze slid past Hour to the counter—specifically to the chest labeled 'Fun Box' in cheerful lettering, its contents spilling out slightly. Paw-shaped gloves. A leash. Handcuffs. A blindfold. Other questionable things that made his feathers ruffle involuntarily.
“Jeez. This place really is prepared, huh?” Hawks leaned one hip against the counter, the pose casual but the tension in his shoulders visible. “Little treasure box of—” He nodded toward the accessories. “—whatever all that is… So! What's first on the agenda? Want the full experience? Tea service, cake, the whole 'Master' and ‘Mistress’ deal?” The title came out dripping with exaggerated sweetness, just an attempt to mock the sheer absurdity of the situation a bit. “I'm at your service today. Literally, apparently.”
And now here they were.
The cat maid café was empty around them, booked out for the entire day through his agency. No way in hell was the No. 2 Hero getting caught dead in public like this. The space was aggressively cute—pastel walls, paw print decorations, a glass display case full of cakes and cookies. Hawks had been in villain hideouts with more dignity.
He emerged from the backroom, the bell on his collar giving an embarrassing little jingle with each step. The maid dress was clearly not designed with a man in mind—black fabric stretched tight across his chest, the white apron doing nothing to hide how the material outlined his abdominals. The skirt barely reached mid-thigh, riding up with every movement. At least they managed to find one with an open back, leaving crimson wings flaring through the gap, feathers ruffling against the frilled edges.
The cat ear headband sat perched on tousled golden hair, looking utterly ridiculous, but the tail was worse—a plush accessory clipped directly to the skimpy thong he'd been given, the elastic pulling taut against hips. It tugged uncomfortably with every step, the female undergarment doing absolutely nothing to accommodate his cock, the lace biting into skin whenever he moved carelessly.
Hawks tugged absently at the garter strap digging into his thigh, mouth quirking into that signature laid-back smirk, all deflection. He gestured down at himself with a mock presentation. “Ta-da! Your personal maid has arrived. One top-ranked hero, lightly seasoned with humiliation, served fresh.”
His gaze slid past Hour to the counter—specifically to the chest labeled 'Fun Box' in cheerful lettering, its contents spilling out slightly. Paw-shaped gloves. A leash. Handcuffs. A blindfold. Other questionable things that made his feathers ruffle involuntarily.
“Jeez. This place really is prepared, huh?” Hawks leaned one hip against the counter, the pose casual but the tension in his shoulders visible. “Little treasure box of—” He nodded toward the accessories. “—whatever all that is… So! What's first on the agenda? Want the full experience? Tea service, cake, the whole 'Master' and ‘Mistress’ deal?” The title came out dripping with exaggerated sweetness, just an attempt to mock the sheer absurdity of the situation a bit. “I'm at your service today. Literally, apparently.”
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