An Angel On My Shoulder and the Devil In My Heart (Yandere! Hawks x Reader)

2

The first thing you notice is how insanely tall Hawks' agency is. It must be at least 50 stories, you think, as you stroll up to the door. A tower this tall is fit for a such an ambitious bird- his own personal Tower of Babel.
The handle of the big, glass door is cold against your palm as you pull it open, giving way to the main hall of the building. It's... quiet. At least, a lot quieter than you had expected; it's not packed to the brim with heroes and office workers, hustling to get their tasks done for the day. Instead, there's a single woman behind a counter, typing away. The clicks of the keyboard echo off of the towering white walls around you, and you step quietly towards her, hoping your shoes wouldn't sound too loud against the marble floors. It feels as if you make one wrong move, those huge walls will come crashing down around you, burying you in a pile of pristine, spotless white debris.
The woman glances up from her computer as you approach, staring you down over the top of her glasses.
"Hi, I'm (L/N) (Y/N); I'm here for-" she interrupts before you can finish, pointing past you to a glass elevator.
"65th floor," she says. You nod, turning away from her, but she speaks up again. "And for future reference," she grimaces, "show up early next time. You'll be three minutes late by the time you get up." Rude, you think, but give her another nod.
"Uh, thanks, I guess." You reply awkwardly and take your leave towards the elevator.

Hawks eyes his watch impatiently as he waits, the minutes ticking by towards the time you were supposed to arrive. For someone seemingly concerned with their image, you were cutting it pretty close to your deadline.
He sighs, brushing a hand through his hair as he props himself up on his desk.
He can feel his heart racing in his chest, his fingers picking nervously at the side of the desk- ah, he finally realizes- he's nervous. When was the last time someone had made his chest flutter like this? Barely a conversation with you and he's already falling hard. Although, the nights he's spent watching you have certainly helped foster his infatuation .
He hadn't meant to make a habit out of it, honestly. A quick search in the hero database gave him your address, so by the time you were home from the sports festival, he was perched on the side of the apartment building next to your, peering into what he believed to be your bedroom. Three floors up, right side of the building, he remembers, of course- he's been there every night for the past week.
He just wanted a quick peek, that's all- a glance at you outside of your hero persona to make sure he was making the right decision, but watching you was addicting.
From what he could see from his little perch, your bedroom is pretty plain. Cream colored walls plastered with posters for movies and bands he doesn't recognize, little knick-knacks sitting on your desk, and in the farthest corner, a peek of a stuffed rabbit on your bed. He can't help but picture you in bed, arms wrapped around your fuzzy friend. Adorable.
Really, it was innocent- no harm no foul; except for the fact that he didn't leave after you came home, and didn't close his eyes as you undressed.
Hawks shakes his head, patting his cheeks as he tries to pull himself out of the memory of your body in the yellow glow of your lights, arms stretching as you pull your shirt- no, he can't think about this right now; you'll be in his office any minute now, and he doesn't want to get too excited and scare you off now, does he?

The elevator lets out a little ding as you reach your floor, the doors sliding open into a large room. Most of the walls are glass, you notice first, large panes reaching up towards a dome ceiling, showing nothing but the sky above you. It's stunning, more so than anything you've ever seen before, but you can hardly ignore the centerpiece of this room: Hawks. He's sat on a desk towards the back of the room, feet dangling and red wings spread wide, a grin on his face as he watches you try not to gawk. His arms stretch behind him as he pushes himself off and strolls towards you, white teeth practically glistening.
"Four minutes late," he clicks his tongue, letting out a tsk, "I expected more from my future sidekick." You know he's joking, but something in the way he looks at you makes you feel a bit of an obligation to apologize.
"We're jumping the gun a bit there, aren't we?" You say instead. You try to match his playful tone, but your nerves make your throat dry and you swear you hear a crack when you speak. If Hawks notices, he doesn't mention it. He waves his hand dismissively and gestures you towards the overstuffed chair in front of his desk.
"I just have high hopes for you, dear," he winks, "sit down, please; if I'm being honest, you look a bit like a deer in the headlights." You sit stiffly in the chair. How exactly does he want you to respond to that?
"Well, I have to admit- I am a little nervous." You chuckle awkwardly. He takes his place on top of his desk once more, his looming presence not doing much to calm your nerves.
"Don't be," he reaches behind him, taking a little black box in his hands, "here's a little 'welcome to the agency' present from me; I'm sure you'll do great here, kid." Your eyes grow wide at the sight of it; when was the last time someone gave you a gift? You can hardly remember. Your excitement takes over any rational thinking that would tell you not to accept the gift,- you don't need it, after all- and you swiftly pull the lid off. Inside lays a necklace. A shimmering gold chain leads downwards towards a slim and simple gold circle. In awe, you stare quietly at the gift.
"Like a halo," Hawks chimes in after more than a few seconds of silence, "to go with your hero name. I know it's a bit cheesy," A grin spreads across your face.
"Good thing I'm not lactose intolerant," you chuckle at your own joke, but the realization sets in and you freeze. You just said that to the fucking number three hero. How embarrassing can you be?
"I'm sorry, that was inappropriate. I-I'll be more professional from now on-" you ramble a bit, cheeks flushed red. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you tell yourself, regretting ever opening your mouth. You hear Hawks laugh, and god, he's laughing at you.
"(Y/N), calm down," he drawls, a lazy smile on his face as he stares at your blushing face, "it was cute. No need to apologize." Well, if your face wasn't red before, it certainly is now. Hawks just called you cute, you think. Really, that should've been a red flag, but you're caught up in it and you mechanically let out a thank you.

God, you're adorable, Hawks reminds himself as he watches you fidget in your seat. Your face is completely red at this point- only a bit of teasing and you're already a mess; would you flush like that if he put his hands on you? And exactly how far does that blush go down? He wants to bend you over his desk, has been thinking about it since the moment you stepped out of the elevator, but no- restraint is key for now. He'll make you want him just as much as he wants you, just you wait; you'll be begging him to fuck you by the end of the week.
"Can I put it on you?" He asks innocently, like it isn't just a ploy to touch you. You hesitate, thinking of refusing, saying you can get it yourself, thank you, but Hawks tilts his head and all your resolve melts away- he's just trying to be nice. So you nod in agreement and he eagerly hops off the desk, taking his position behind you. The metal of the jewelry is cold against your skin as Hawks moves your hair to the side, and you suppress a shiver that you swear is from the cold.
The clip of the necklace clicks into place, but Hawks' hand lingers, shifting downwards.
"What are you-" you begin to ask, but you're stopped by a gentle tug at one of your feathers.
"Do your wings not retract?" He asks, genuinely curious. His hand glides across the sensitive expanse of your wing as you speak.
"Not like yours do, but they tuck in pretty tight." He hums in appreciation.
"How do you get your clothes on?" A bit of a weird question, you think, but nothing you haven't heard before.
"My wings are surprisingly flexible; they can fit through pretty much anything the size of the radius bone." He hums again.
"Can you stand up? I'd just like to get a better look at them," he says, "as long as that's okay with you."
"Of course!" You reply immediately and stand up, letting him lead you to a more spacious area. He threads his fingers into the feathers, spreading your wings out like he's appraising them. His fingers card through your secondary feathers; you wonder for a moment if he knows how pleasant his touch in your wings is, if his own feel the same when someone touches them, but with the way he's prodding at you, you figure he doesn't.
"I'm not hurting you, am I?" He whispers behind you. You swallow thickly around a newfound lump in your throat and hope you can hold back a whine as you respond.
"Not at all." You hear him sigh happily, continuing his ministrations.
"They're really soft; you must take good care of them."
"I preen them every night," you respond proudly. Your wings are your staple as a hero; without them, you're nothing, so of course you're going to take care of them. Hawks' hot breath tickles your neck as he laughs.
"What a good bird, preening yourself," he jokes, "you can just say groom, you know." Your face is back to red as quick as it left, and you mutter out a little sorry.
"Stop apologizing, you're bumming me out," you pause, wondering if you should apologize again, but think better of it.
"Y'know, it really pissed me off when that guy at the festival grabbed you like that," he says out of nowhere.
"I was hoping you had missed my epic defeat," you can hardly call that one a joke, but you phrase it as such.
"You deserved to win that one; it was a cheap shot," he runs his finger along the edge of your wing, his face a bit closer to your neck now, "I'm just glad he didn't mess up such a pretty thing," it's a ghost of a whisper against your ear, and you wonder for a moment if he's really talking about your feathers.
His fingers are wrapped in your feathers one moment and gone the next as he steps behind you, clapping his hand together casually, like nothing had just happened.
"Well, I suggest we stop wasting time and jump right into training. What'd'ya say?" You turn to face him, a tint of red still on your cheeks and you nod, electing to forget the uncomfortably intimate moment you just shared with your mentor.
"Let's go."