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

3

This is so awkward, you think as you ride the elevator with Hawks, your back pressed against the corner. He looks at you, slightly bemused.
"Be honest," he says, pulling himself back together and giving you one of his signature smiles, "were you a fan of me before this?"
"Of course," you don't even have to think about it, "isn't every hero student a fan of yours?" His spot on the leaderboard paired with his constant publicity in magazines and news, it's hard not to find yourself interested by him. Hawks laughs, unamused.
"As if," he stares down at you, his gaze shifting over you like a machine reading a barcode, "but why do you say that?"
"Isn't it obvious? You're the number three hero for a reason, and it's not just because of your good looks."
"You think I'm good looking?" He smirks and you wave it off, cursing the heat you feel on your face.
"You know what I mean; you've got your persona down pact. Teenage girls like you because you're pretty, teenage boys like you because of your quirk," he tilts his eyebrow at you but you avert your gaze, "the adults like you because you tell the truth, even if it hurts," you finally look him in the eye, "and anyone who says they don't like you is just afraid because you say exactly what they're thinking when they'd rather ignore it." He looks almost... shocked. He knew you were good, or at least that you had the potential to be, but he realizes now that maybe you're a bit smarter than he gave you credit for in the first place.
He takes a step forward, and another, and another until he's in your space, too close for comfort and too precise to overlook as an accident.
"You really know me, kid," he says, and you're almost tired of how many times his breath against your skin has made you shiver, "but what do you think that persona covers up?" He asks. Your breath is caught in your throat- he looks scary. His eyes are big, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, that grin of his turned into a smirk as he watches you flinch back slightly. He's intimidating, that much you're sure of, but you can't understand why a thing like that would make your stomach flip like it does or ignite a flame somewhere deep inside you, an itch you can't scratch.
Either way, you really have no idea how to respond to his question. When he's Hawks, he's straightforward but witty, charming yet provocative. You can't pin him down as one thing and he doesn't play one role more than the other. He rocks the boat, but just enough to let in a bit of water, remind the people of the ocean underneath, but why? Who is he when he isn't being a hero?
Thankfully, you don't have to answer him. The door to the elevator pings and they slide open, letting Hawks step away from you and out the door, presumably leaving behind whatever the hell that conversation was as well. You follow him wordlessly, obediently.
"This is one of the training floors in this facility," he gestures to the room around you. It's a basement leveled floor, so any light in the room comes from the overbearing white light of the LEDs above you. Two of the walls consist solely of mirrors, while the others house practice weapons, benches, and informational posters. The floors are tile, almost completely masked by padded mats. The whole room looks so pristine, you wonder if it's ever been used.
"Does anybody else even work here?" You finally ask. You've been in the building for almost a half an hour and you've only seen a single person other than Hawks. Floor after floor of office space, yet not a single desk or work station was taken by a person. Frankly, it's unsettling. Hawks just laughs.
"Of course they do, (Y/N); I just gave them the day off," his brow furrows in annoyance, like it's such a stupid question for you to ask.
"Why?" You don't bother to call out the casual use of your first name.
"Didn't want anyone getting in our way on your first day." He shrugs. "This doesn't really matter though, does it? We're wasting training time." You know Hawks is right; there's no reason for you to be upset by that- he just wanted you to have an easy first day. So why do you feel so unsettled?

Hawks sends you away to change into your hero costume, taking a seat on the bench as he waits for your return. Oh, how he'd love to accompany you, slowly slide your uniform off of your perfect body, let his hands caress your smooth skin. And your feathers- immaculate little things- soft as cotton and silky smooth, perfect for running his hands through. Of course he noticed the way it made you shake, your breath coming out in shallow puffs as you tried to stay calm. Really, you should just give in to him; he knows you must have a crush on him, what, with that speech you gave him in the elevator practically professing your love for him.
Would you like him, he wonders, if you knew the real him? Hawks would never think the things Keigo does, would never watch you through your window or follow you home. But isn't it endearing to know how much he cares about you? Would you think so? He really just wants what's best for you, and the best thing for you is to be by his side.
This isn't really like him, though- he's never latched on to someone quite like he has with you, but you're special, he rationalizes; you're kindred spirits, his angelic pair, his soulmate. Your gold and white wings were crafted by God to carry you to him and no further. You're not Icarus, no, your wings won't melt away, but if you fly too far away from home, away from Hawks, they certainly might break. Or, at least, he'll have to break them for you.
"Hawks- uh, Mr. Hawks?" Your timid voice pulls him away from his thoughts. You're standing in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest, and Hawks can't help but give you a once-over. Your hero outfit is a bit odd, in his opinion- it's more stylized than most he's seen. Your top consists of what looks like a golden breastplate, and your shoulder pads, elbow pads, and knee pads are all fashioned in the same greek armor style. Underneath your armor top is a white tunic, which moves downward towards your skirt and cuts off in the back, leaving the front a bit shorter than the rest. You legs are protected by a chainmail pair of leggings. On the top of your head rests a golden laurel wreath, with a white wing protruding from each side.
Cute, cute, cute, Hawks thinks to himself, a smile back on his face, my own little greek goddess.
"I'd tell you it's just Hawks, but hearing you stumble around 'mister hawks' is almost too entertaining to pass up." You have the audacity to look annoyed at him; it's hardly intimidating, "hey, if it's that upsetting, you could always call me Keigo." His smug face stares up at you from it's place rested in his hands and you scoff.
"Thanks, but I like to keep the professional titles for at least a day."
He shrugs, "your loss," and stands up from his bench. "I think we should spar first, just to give me an idea of your skill." He wrings his neck and stretches out his shoulders, giving them a little shake.
"Sounds good to-" your cut off as a red feather whizzes past your face and you duck to the ground. It lodges itself neatly into the wall behind you. "Are you kidding me?"
"What? I said we're sparring." Okay, maybe it's because he's a little upset you won't call him Keigo, but he did technically give you a warning.
"That could've hit me!" You reply as you push yourself back up and into a fighting stance.
"Yeah, but it didn't," another feather shoots past you and you easily move out of the way, circling Hawks, "and do you think a villain is gonna give you a heads up? No," another, and then another feather and you barrel roll, one of them narrowly missing your face, "so now you're more prepared! You should be thanking me."
"I think you talk too much," you reply simply. You move up into a crouch and push forward, aiming to get close enough to at least get a hit on Hawks. He watches you, slightly bemused and lauches another feather, this one sticking into the ground and effectively pinning your skirt, pulling you face forward into the floor with your own momentum. Two more lodge themselves into the sides of your hero suit, keeping you against the ground.
"Well I think," You can hear the smirk in his voice as he comes and nudges you with his foot, "that I just kicked your ass."
"Definitely not one of my best matches," you agree, and he lets up his feathers.
My poor hero suit, you sigh as you eye the holes, big enough to fit you hand through. Only one day as an intern and you'll already need a patch job.
"I can't say I'm impressed," Hawks offers you a hand and pulls you to your feet, "but I didn't expect you to do well." He laughs at your indignant 'hey,' and continues. "C'mon, you couldn't have thought you'd win against Japan's best hero."
"I didn't know I was fighting All Might."
"Yeah, yeah," he waves you off. "Do you only fight hand-to-hand?" You nod.
"My quirk isn't built for offense like yours is." Hawks looks you up and down, a hand on his chin as he contemplates.
"Have you considered using a support weapon?" Your eyes go wide. That's actually really smart. "I could talk to our support department about getting something together for you..." he pauses again, thinking, but exclaims, "I can get you a sword and train you; we'll be one of those dynamic duos!" He grabs you by the shoulders and shakes. He wants you to be as excited as he is, wants you to at least smile for god's sake. If you've got wings on your back, his sword by your side, and his agency under your belt, there'll be no mistaking who you belong to.
"I'm not sure I'd be any good at that," you look to the ground, a stray hand coming to nervously scratch at your neck.
"With me as your teacher? You'll be an ace," his hands don't move from their place on your shoulders and he gives them a possessive squeeze, "plus, it'll match your costume."
"...I guess I can try it, then," you comply and he beams, white teeth shining brighter than the sun. You know you'll make a fool out of yourself, you're certain, but the way he looks at you makes you feel like it might not matter how bad you are; he'll help you through it. You can't stop yourself from smiling back; you think you made the right decision choosing Hawks as your mentor.

You spend the rest of the afternoon practicing hand-to-hand combat, having your ass thoroughly kicked by Hawks every time. Every time you thought you might beat him, you ended up face first on the mat, Hawks sitting on your back and pinning your arm. 'I win again' he whispered, a little too close for comfort before letting go and helping you up. By the time Hawks elected that you had been beat enough, the sun was already down outside.
"Let me walk you home," Hawks holds the big glass door open for you as you exit, the lights flickering off inside and obscuring his face, "it's a gentleman's duty." You let out a chuckle.
"I don't wanna trouble you-" he raises a hand to silence you.
"It's really no trouble at all, kid," you feel like the conversation is over- Hawks has already made up his mind; he's going to walk you home.
The streetlights illuminate the both of you as you stroll down the empty roads, your voices carrying in the silence of the night. Hawks has elected this as no-work time, so he asks you silly questions about yourself: what's your favorite color, favorite food, things like that. He seems happy to get to know you, and indulges your own questions about his interests.
He likes when you smile, he decides, as you laugh at one of his jokes. Whenever you notice him staring, you cover your mouth, but your laugh is so pretty and genuine; he can't understand why you would be embarrassed of it. Although, he can't help the twinge in his gut that wants you to save your smiles and your laugh just for him, or the anger that bubbles up when he thinks of someone else getting to see you like this, lit up by the yellow glow of the streetlights. So pretty and all his.

He says goodnight to you at the door, waving to you like he won't be outside your window for the rest of the night.