#asdh

He can't stop looking at you. Your wings glitter in the sun as you launch yourself in the air, narrowly dodging an attack from your opponent. Bits of gold are buried in those pure, white feathers, not a speck of dirt in them despite the grueling situation you're in now. The sports festival has descended upon UA's students, and Hawks is eagerly watching a new 1-A student pummel their opponent. You tuck your wings into yourself, falling fast towards the ground and your feet collide with the face of your attacker, slamming them into the ground and effectively handing you the win for that round. The crowd cheers for you, eager fans standing and shouting around him as Hawks eyes you from his seat, head rested in his palms. You wave to the crowd with a politician's smile, straightened posture and a foot still on the unconscious student that lies in the arena with you. You seem heavily aware of your image, your effect on the crowd as you blow a kiss before you exit, earning you another round of whoops and hollers. 

(L/N) (Y/N), class 1-A, Hawks remembers the announcer saying. Quirk: God's Gift; fitting for such a pretty little thing like you. He knows immediately that he wants you in his agency.

"Wow! that was amazing, (Y/N)-chan!" Mina smiles at you, clapping her hands together.

"I'm glad you think so," you let out a little chuckle and sit down, the cold metal of the folding chair cooling you off quite a bit from your exhausting fight, "I just hope the agencies agree." She laughs, lighthearted as always.

"Don't worry about it too much; I'm sure you'll get lots of offers. Didn't you hear how that crowd cheered for you?" Of course you heard it, but you still can't believe it. All that praise- just for you. It's an exhilarating feeling, having all those eyes on you, watching you, cheering you on as you put on a show for them, beating your opponent into the ground. You feel a little bad for how you toyed with them, playing a bit of leap frog as you flew around, dodging their attacks and hopping over them, but it would've been too short if you had gone all-out right away. But heroism is a popularity contest that you intended to win, and that started with the sports festival.

"Yeah, they seemed to really love you out there. You must've been pretty impressive," Jiro chimes in. You give her a grin.

"Thanks, you guys; you really helped calm my nerves a bit. I'm sure you'll do really good, too!"

The sports festival was definitely a success for you, you would say. Dozens of agencies requested you, sent you letters and gift baskets, all trying to win you over to study at their agency, but only one of them really stood out: Hawks.

He approached you on a Saturday. You were sitting in the local coffee shop, enjoying a nice hot chocolate and reading a book, when the number two hero sat himself in the seat across from you. You knew who it was almost immediately. I mean, how could you not? You're a hero student with access to the internet; you know practically everything about the man. You managed not to gawk or scream (just barely), but you couldn't help your stutter when you spoke up. Your book is forgotten on the table beside you as you say, "Uhm, what- can I help you?" You ask incredulously, looking at the man with a stare that you hoped said you were unfazed. He smiles at you, an easy, sly grin that creases the corner of his eyes. He rests his head on his hand as he stares you down.

"(L/N) (Y/N), right?" His finger taps the table, partially pointed to you. You nod.

"The one and only," you give him a smile of your own, attempting to match him. He seems so easygoing, every word falling off his tongue with a bit of a drawl. 

"Well that's good to hear," he chuckles slightly, all air, and you almost melt into your chair, "because I," he pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and slides it across the table to you, "have a proposition for you." You hesitantly pick up the sheet, turning it over to reveal a phone number.

"I want you at my agency, Angel," your hero name rolls off his tongue like a declaration of love, and he smiles again, bigger this time, his pearly teeth shining in the corner of it, "so give me a call when you decide you want to work with the world's best hero." He winks, oh, god, he winks at you before standing up, planning to make his exit before you can even get another word in. He bends down, leaning in close with a whisper as he taps a finger on the sheet, "don't let me down." He says, and with a final grin and a turn on his heel, he's out the door of the shop. You stare down at the paper in disbelief, wondering what you did to deserve such an opportunity. You don't seem to question how the hero knew you would be there.

Tomorrow is the deadline to pick your agency. You're sat criss-cross on your bed, papers sprawled out in front of you with neighborhood crime rates and agency statistics. Your brain feels fried, honestly, and you'd quite like to go to bed, but you really need to make a decision. You run a hand through your hair, letting out a deep breath. The note Hawks had given you was still sitting in your jacket pocket, untouched since your run-in at the coffee shop. It doesn't feel real, you think, as you make your way off your bed to retrieve it. Why would the number three hero want you of all people? Sure, your quirks were similar enough, but you certainly weren't that impressive at the sports festival. Your last round, your opponent had grabbed one of your wings and threw you out of the ring; definitely one of the most embarrassing moment of your life. You barely used your wings, and half the time they got in your own way, so what could he gain from having you at his agency? The more you thought about it, the more it really just didn't make sense, but he's the number three hero; you'd have to be stupid to give up such a big opportunity.

You sit back down on your bed and retrieve your phone, paper in hand. You hope it's not too late as you type in the numbers and the phone starts ringing. Only a moment before the ringtone clicks off, replaced by a familiar, sultry voice through the speaker.

"There you are, doll. I was beginning to think you forgot about me." Hawks, you realize instantly, is on the other side of the phone- not some secretary for his agency like you had expected; he must have given you his cell. You quickly pull yourself together and curate your response.

"Forget about you? Never." Your hand fidgets with the string on your pajama pants, adrenaline rushing through you as a living legend talks to you over the phone.

"So does that mean you want to accept?" He asks, and you hold your breath. This is a pivotal moment for you, one that could change your career as a hero forever. You let out a sigh as you respond.

"Of course," you say, "how could I refuse?" 

Hawks smirks to himself on the other side of the line. Perfect.

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 such an ambitious bird- it’s 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 yours, 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 too addicting to quit.

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, 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. Another part of you wants to rub it in his secretary’s face that she was wrong.

"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," 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 comfort you.

"Don't be," he dismisses the thought and 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. Your first day here and you’ve already horribly embarrassed yourself.

"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 draws out your first name, a lazy smile on his face as he stares at your flushed cheeks, "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 the experience 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, your Angel persona crumbles, 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,” he whines, tugging at one of your feathers like he’s annoyed, “you're bumming me out," you pause, wondering if you should apologize again, but think better of it.

"Y'know,” he continues without any response from you, “it really pissed me off when that guy at the festival grabbed you like that.”

"I was hoping you had missed my epic defeat," you can hardly call that one a joke, but you let out a dry laugh.

"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 wings.

His fingers are wrapped in your feathers one moment and gone the next as he steps behind you, clapping his hands 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.

"Yeah," you breathe, preparing yourself for the rest of what you’re assuming will be a long day, “let’s do it.”

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. Your 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 its 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 launches 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 in three seconds.”

"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 of it, 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.

“...alright, then,” you compromise again, following him like a dog down the road.

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 by 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.