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#PLEASE WHY IS THIS THE DIRECT OPPOSITE OF THAT PLAYGROUND HEADCANNON
mapbookboi · 1 year
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WAIT WHAT IF INSTEAD OF CUTE LITTLE CLOCKS THEY JUST HAVE BOMBS STRAPPED TO THEY THROATS AND WHENEVER THEY FUCK UP THEY GET MINUS ONE HOUR AND WHEN THEY TATTLE ON SOMEONE FOR DOING BAD THEY GET PLUS THIRTY MINUTES AND BOOGIES ARE LIKE DESIGNATED SNITCHES FOR THA DAY AND IF THEY CATCH SOMEONE THAT PERSON GETS MINUS TWO HOURS AND THE SNITCH GETS PLUS ONE HOUR
WHEN TIME RUNS OUT THEY FUCKING EXPLODE AAAAAAAAAAAA
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witchy-anna · 4 years
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Ok, so I have this idea. I want Hawks to react to a horror manga artist/writer (Junji Ito but female) who stares at him from afar (using him as a ref for her protagonist) and when he tries to confront her about it, she either ignores him or runs in the opposite direction and he thinks it’s because she hates him but in actuality she’s too anxious to deal with a confrontation and doesn’t want to have a panic attack. Headcannons or scenario, please and thank you hun!
Hawks x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 3k~
Warnings: Mentions of mental health (panic attacks/anxiety), mild cursing, mild gore
Playlist: Haunted by ADONA, Devil’s Playground by The Rigs, I See You by MISSIO
A/N: This ask is so dang interesting, this turned out much longer than I intended it to. I know everyone experiences panic attacks differently but I went with what helps me ground myself. Honestly, I’m not very confident with this one, nonetheless I hope you enjoy! 
~~~
Hawks’ stomach growled audibly. He sat far above the civilians walking and going about their daily lives below his perch. “Just a couple more hours,” he muttered to himself. 
The swollen sun dipped low in the sky, reflecting off glass windows momentarily blinding him. 
He throws his head back letting out a groan, “I’m hungry!” Coming to a decision he pulls his phone out to find recent calls and selects one. The line connects almost immediately, “This is- oh hey Hawks! Let me guess, your usual?” 
“You know me so well,” Hawks laughs loudly. 
“Give me five minutes,” the chipper voice replied.
“Great! I’ll be there,” he says ending the call. Standing, he stretches languidly eliciting a couple pops from his stiffened joints. Hopping off the building he glides easily to his destination. Making it to the empty restaurant in less than two minutes, and strolling inside like he owned the place. At this point he practically did as he was their most frequent customer. 
The young man who answered the phone waved from the counter, “Hey! I said five minutes, I’m still working on your order so take a seat over there.” He gestured to the table by the window which Hawks raised an eyebrow at. “Please? You attract customers and it’s empty in here!” the man wiggled his own eyebrows.
With a dramatic sigh he settled into his seat pulling out his phone out to absentmindedly scroll through social media. 
The young man who was the owner’s son dropped into the seat across from Hawks, “See, you do attract customers.” He slid a food tray containing Hawks’ opulent order of various types of chicken, including fried of course. 
Hawks grinned, “You didn’t have to bring this out, I could have grabbed it.” Turning to eye the growing amount of patrons queuing up at the counter to order. 
“Nah, my old man told me to sit here in case anyone tried to bug you,” he shrugged. “You’re doing us a favor anyway. Plus my sister can handle the orders.”
As Hawks ate, the restaurant gradually filled with more and more patrons. Soft whispers and chatter increased in volume. A loud shutter sound came from across the room followed by a curse. The owner’s son sighed and leveled a hard look at the offender.
“It’s fine,” Hawks said quietly. At this point people snapping photos of him was a common occurrence. 
A little kid sat in a booth openly gawking, he spared a little wave at them and got a wide excited smile in return. He felt more so than saw all of the people staring. 
A movement outside caught his attention, sitting across the street on a set of stone stairs tucked into the side of a building sat a person. 
His eyes narrowed and rapt gaze took in a woman sitting partially obscured by shadows with her head down scribbling something into a notebook. A small penlight stuck between her teeth. Every so often she would look up to stare intensely at him before returning to the scribbing. He shoveled the food into his mouth faster because of the curiosity itching at him. An edge of worry creeping along behind it, what if it was a spy or someone out to harm him. What was she writing? He felt the small feathers at the base of his wings stand on end. 
Just as he finished his meal he watched out of the corner of his eye for her head to duck back down. Shooting to his feet he startled the owner’s son from whatever was so interesting on his phone, “Woah, finished already?”
“Yep, duty calls!” Hawks gave him a cocky grin and moved to hand the food tray to the girl at the counter. He waved before slipping outside into the cool air. 
~~~
As soon as your paycheck came in you hightailed it to the local art supply store. With your eyes sparkling as you drank in the wonderful sights of shelves and cabinets chocked full of goodies. The faint scent of graphite tickled your nose and the more overpowering scent of paints.
Your phone chimes, breaking you out of your happy daze, from a Twitter page you were ashamed to follow when you first discovered it. The photo with the attached location is luckily a short walk away. 
You sigh, What an artist will do for inspiration. Rushing to ring up your purchases, you not so subtly run outside to get to the location before he leaves.
Why, why, why did your brain insist on Hawks of all heroes to use as inspiration for your protagonist. To late at this point. 
Arriving at the restaurant you internally groan, it was busy. Very busy. Excitement constricted your throat at the sight of brilliant vermillion wings showcased in the bright window he sat in. The lights from the restaurant washing over the outside street and people impatiently queuing in the growing line. 
You puff your cheeks out, What should I do now? Luckily you spot a secluded staircase across the street with a perfect view of the window. A little far but it would have to do. Unfortunately for you it’s out of the light provided from the street lamps and business windows. You make yourself as comfortable as possible on the steps and pull out a sketchpad and your favorite pencil to sketch. 
In person sketching was substantially better than using random photos from online. Taking a photo of him without permission feels a little too invasive of his privacy. 
The soft sounds of the pencil scratching over the rough paper fills your senses. His wings in person are so much more magnificent, folded behind him. Much different than the photos are red-tailed hawks you tried to use. 
“Whatcha doin’ there?” a cheerful voice chirps. 
A strangled squeak escapes your throat, Oh no. Someone caught me. 
Ignore it (Y/n), he’ll go away. You jolt when inquisitive eyes come into your view and you visibly flinch away from Hawks himself. Well shit.
“Anyone home?” you watch frozen as his hand moves towards you. 
“No!” you shout and scramble away, it echoes down the street. Pedestrians pause and turn towards the commotion. 
Hawks’ eyes widen at your reaction and his voice drops to a gentle tone, “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” He slowly withdraws his hand, eyes rapty watching your reactions. Maybe she wasn’t looking at me, he thinks to himself. 
Hurrying to fold up your supplies and go to move around his giant wings. “Excuse me,” your voice comes out sharper than intended. 
“I-, what?” his eyes follow your quickly departing form, completely dumbfounded. “That’s a first.” A soft tap of something falling from your grip diverts his attention. He bends and picks up a pencil, starting at it curiously. 
The panic sets in, breathing sawing faster and faster from your mouth. The quick intake of breath bringing dizziness along with it, hand in hand with nausea. You slip into a nearby secluded alley and press your back against the stone. 
“Okay,” you take a shaky breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. After a few moments your breathing slows and to stop sounding quite as much like sandpaper is stuck in your throat. “Breath (Y/n). Okay, I see: my shoes, a cigarette, a flyer for a restaurant, a person with an umbrella, and a leaf. I feel: the scratchy wall, the hole in my sock, the breeze, and my sketchbook. I hear: someone laughing, a bicycle chain, and a bell. I smell: something grilling, and is that trash?” You wrinkle your nose, “Lastly I taste the (flavor) candy I ate earlier.” 
Just as you are about to step out from your resting place, a small red feather drifts down the alleyway. Carried by its own invisible breeze. It stops for a moment before turning to move to you, causing your breath to hitch and panic sets back in. 
Before it can reach you, you take off sprinting into the crowd of people making their way to the train station. 
~~~
On the train home, you dig through your bag before upending it into your lap. “No no no, where is it!” 
Great, if that pencil wasn’t like an extension of your own hand it wouldn’t make much of a difference. 
Running graphite stained fingers through your hair you groan at the situation. Do you accept its gone? Or return to the scene of your “crime” and risk Hawks still being there? 
You check your watch resigning to suck it up and go back there; cursing at your clumsiness. Trains were still running so you manage to catch one back, twisting your fingers together the entire time. 
Back at the scene of your “crime” you shine your pen light searching the area. Of course, you hadn’t lost the cheap little light but too late at this point. 
“Hey you,” the familiar voice says cheerfully. 
Nope, you pivot on your heels shoving the still lit pen light into your pocket. Please go away. 
“Wait!” Hawks voice calls from behind you. “I’m just trying to return this to you!” 
Nope, nope, nope, you chant internally. 
“Gotta be quicker than that!” Hawks’ laughing voice is suddenly in front of you. 
Your yelp is muffled as you smack face first into a warm coat. His hands reach up to settle on your arms and steady you but also blocking any attempt at escape. 
Unable to look him in the eyes you instead settle on the collar of his jacket. “Please don’t,“ you say weakly. “Please let go.” This entire situation has already spent your reserves of energy. 
There’s a pause before he lets go and steps back, “You won’t run again?" 
No promises, you think but shake your head anyway. 
A long drawn out sigh comes from Hawks and you glance up at him with widening eyes. Your breath leaves you, creeping across the street was nice but standing this close is a whole different level. His eyes narrow slightly, "What were you doing earlier?" 
"Wait! You saw me?!” you exclaim, then clap a hand over your mouth. 
Hawks’ eyes study your face, seeming to settle on a decision and expression softens. “Here,” he reaches inside his coat to pull out the pencil. 
“Oh, thank you,” you say genuinely. Some pent up tension in your shoulders lessens. 
“You didn’t answer my question,” he presses.
“I was-,” heaving a sigh out you pull the sketchpad out that was tucked under your arm. “I was sketching you. I’m an aspiring mangaka.” 
“Honestly I thought you were suspicious,” he laughs wryly. “But I definitely did not expect this.”
Hawks crouches slightly coming into your line of site, another squeak escapes your mouth and you quickly raise the sketchpad to cover your face. He chuckles and raps his knuckles against it, asking, “Can I see?”
“It’s Hawks!!” someone shouts. 
Hawks turns to grin and wave in the general direction of the shout but says to you quietly, “Can I take you somewhere? I’d like to continue this conversation without interruption." 
At your look of apprehension he offers, "I’ll let you draw me in person!”
“Really?!” you exclaim and again clap a hand over your mouth. 
Hawks nods happily and moves to pick you up but stops when you flinch away. “Hmm, alright I won’t push,” he beckons you to follow. “This way.” Not waiting for an answer he turns on his heels and quickly leaves you behind. 
“Wait,” you call weakly and struggle to catch up. 
His pace slows and he spares a glance over his shoulder to check you’re following. Abruptly he takes a turn into a side alley between two stores.
“A-are you going to mug me?” you joke but your voice wavers.
Hawks spins causing you to crash into him again, which he laughs at loudly. Stepping backward he holds up his hands in a finger gun motion, “Gimme all your money!”
“Very funny,” your smile betrays you.
He gives you a dumbfounded look when you smile that morphs into a satisfied smirk. “Got you to smile, didn’t I?” he spins back around to resume the journey, weaving an impossibly strange route through alleys and streets.
“Here we go,” he says with his gaze traveling up a tall building. “Sorry, we need to fly for this bit.” 
Before you can answer he scoops you up and strong wings propel the both of you straight up into the air. A choked scream is cut off and a moment later he set you down on your feet. With shaky hands you clutch at his coat and gasp out, “You could have warned me!”
“That’s no fun!” his laugh is close enough to ruffle your hair. 
To close, you step away and try to distract yourself with the place he had taken you. 
“Oh, this is..” you pause. Cut off from the gentle but still chilly breeze is a small oasis at a penthouse suite. A small greenhouse sits beside the glass walls leading inside the house. You frown, wondering if this is his place or someone else’s. 
“No one lives here,” he laughs at your expression. “At least not at this time of the year.”
“Anyway, how do you want me?” he questions with a shit eating grin.
“Whatever is comfortable for you,” you roll your eyes.
“Oh! So like this?” he says and proceeds to strike ridiculous flexing poses.
Rolling your eyes again you settle down onto a grassy patch of the ground. Vaguely wondering how people afforded places like this, Must be a hero. Hawks follows you and plops down across from you crossing his legs with wings relaxed behind him. 
You clear your throat, “Why are you letting me do this?” 
He shrugs, “Boredom I guess. Plus you interest me.” 
“I-,” you start but shake your head dismissing his teasing. You move to take out the sketchpad and supplies and settle them onto your drawn up knees. The familiar and comforting sounds of the pencil scratching against paper fills the quiet atmosphere. 
“Why did you run?” he asks quietly, staring off at something in the distance.
You groan and he cocks an eyebrow at you, “I’m no good with confrontation.” 
“So I scared you,” his easy-going expression drops for one of worry. 
Shaking your head you say quickly, “No. No, that’s not it! I was already embarrassed to be sketching you without permission. I felt like I was caught with my hands in the cookie jar.” You smile sheepishly but it falls and you look down at your lap, “I got overwhelmed is all.”
“I can understand that,” he says with another unreadable expression. At his silence you return to your sketchpad, this time with a stick of charcoal. After some more time passes he says, "I find it difficult to believe you happened upon me by chance. How did you know I was there?" 
You duck your head down to avoid his prying eyes and admit, “There’s a twitter account people post sightings of you.” 
He hummed, “I would be lying if I said that wasn’t bizarre but I’ve seen worse.” His brow furrowed remembering something, “Much worse.”
“I’m sorry,” you say softly. 
“No more apologizing, it’s not your fault,” he said with an easy smile. “I’m used to it,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Comes with the job. Why do you want to draw me? You still haven’t told me.”
A bright smile on your face leaves him with a dumbfounded expression again, “Oh! I’m working on a horror type Manga and wings are just so much fun to draw.” You gush and point at his wings, “Your emotions show through your wings! I want to convey that in my drawings." 
"Can I see?” he asks again. “I mean, I am letting you use my body." 
Puffing out your cheeks you sigh and reluctantly hand the pad to him, "Please don’t laugh." 
"No such thing,” he tuts and greedily grabs at the pad. It starts off as simple lose sketches of red-tailed hawks, next focusing on the wings before evolving entirely to various positions of Hawks himself. He flips a page to reveal the first full body fleshed out design of your protagonist. The character stands with a cocky grin, wearing a victorian style suit and top hat balanced on his fluffy hair. Only his wings are left with a light outline and where his hands should be, are left blank. 
The last and most detailed drawing eliciting from him a soft, “Woah.” The one you were most proud of, the dark-haired version of Hawks stood grinning maniacally and pulling the coat wide open. The abdominal cavity gaping wide open, empty of organs except for the heart hanging suspended. He hums, “You did say it was a horror.” He suddenly sits forward into your space, “You have to show me when this is finished! Please!”
Taken aback at his excitement you mumble a soft, “Okay.” Hawks bounces slightly in his excitement and hands you back the notepad. Adorable, you muse. He has an almost calming personality, even for as pushy as he is. 
Focusing your attention on his face you touch up the corners of the character’s eyes. Muttering out loud to yourself, “Is it eyeliner or not?” 
“They’re natural Little Mouse,” he smiles as bright as the sun. “Why didn’t you draw my hands?" 
“Little Mouse?” you squeak. 
"You squeak a lot. It’s cute,” he winks causing you to sputter. “Again, you didn’t answer my question." 
Is he flirting? Haha funny (y/n), as if that would happen. Shaking your head you explain, "I want to draw your, I mean his fingers with talons. You sure ask a lot of questions." 
An unreadable expression settles on his face, "Talons?” His brow furrows and after a moment asks, “Promise you won’t tell anyone?" 
"Tell anyone wha-? Oh,” you watch as Hawks slips a glove off to reveal his fingers sporting sharp black nails, much like his namesake. Abandoning your art you reach out to grab him hand, running your fingers over his nails and up over his knuckles. 
“Full of surprises aren’t ya?” he quips. 
“I’m sorry!” you cry tearing your hands away from him. 
“It’s okay I don’t mind,” he hums and gestures at your hands to retake his. 
Your mouth betrays you and you blurt, “You keep making me flustered!” 
Mischief glinted in his eyes as he leaned into your personal space. His voice dropped an octave, “Afterall, my Little Mouse I am a bird of prey.”
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