#anyway hello i love fancy galas and fancy dancing and being goofy and bad at fancy dancing

[sunflower-emoji]

Wallflower (Hawks x Reader)

You're shy. Hawks isn't.

(more Hawks fluff <;3)

It didn't matter that people would kill for a job like yours, you were going to quit. It wasn't worth this nightmare called a charity ball you found yourself at. 

You were young and far down the hierarchy. You had assumed that the higher-ups would send someone with an established reputation to represent the company. 

"No, you'll be perfect. A charming young face is exactly what our brand needs," your boss insisted.

You bit back a scoff. One of the reasons you became a costume designer was so you didn't have to schmooze people. You always loved the world of heroics, knew you wanted to be part of it in some way. But large crowds and larger personalities launched your heart rate skyward. Costume design was perfect: challenging, creative, and just the right amount of human interaction. Sure, you weren’t the most sociable, but you loved working one-on-one with your clients, getting to know them slowly over time and never worrying about going blind from direct exposure to the spotlight.

None of this seemed to matter to your boss, or your colleagues, who refused to take your place even as they sighed with envy. You were beginning to think it was part of a bigger conspiracy to get you to "come out of your shell," and you resented them for it.

Still, you wished one of them were here so you could have someone to talk to. Your charming young face didn't know a single person here.

That wasn't entirely true. You recognized some of your clients, had even tried to talk to one of them, making it through a full thirty seconds of stilted conversation before someone more famous pulled them away. You immediately fled to the periphery of the room where other guests floated past, preoccupied with other things and people.

That was fine, You were really only interested in one person here anyway, and you knew the chances of actually talking to him were nonexistent.

You had caught glimpses of him throughout the night. It was hard not to, his giant red wings a beacon, standing out even more in his all-black ensemble. Never long enough for eye contact, but you held on to the hope of getting a wave or a quick smile at some point tonight.

Hawks was an established client at your company, his costume the creation of your boss's boss. The two of you met a few months ago after you had been assigned to find a new material for his visor. Something sturdier without sacrificing visibility. He visited you regularly to test out the prototypes.

At first you were terrified, unsure how to talk to the loud, gregarious hero. The energetic banter your veteran coworkers had with him wasn't something you could match. But Hawks had surprised you with a patient smile and questions about your work, listening so attentively your passion overtook your shyness. It didn't take long for you to feel at ease with the hero, even if your heart never settled into its normal rhythm when he was around.

But there was a big difference between his visits to your studio and you approaching him in the middle of a giant gala, surrounded by dozens of other heroes and bigwigs. So you leaned against the wall, checking your phone and wondering if it was late enough to leave without getting yelled at later.

"Should've known you'd be over here!" You jump at the sudden visitor, who chuckles at your reaction.

Your heart's still in your throat, but you feel calmer now that Hawks stands in front of you. Something familiar at last.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you seem like the wallflower type," he replies with a head tilt and teasing grin.

"Am not!" You said it as a reflex.  Both of you knew very well that you were a wallflower. And you had in fact spent the entire evening against a wall.

Hawks' eyes narrow, deviousness creeping into his smile. "Oh? Well in that case, I guess you won't mind sharing a dance with me."

When you fail to immediately take his outstretched hand, he pouts. "Come on, Endeavor already turned me down. Are you really gonna let me be rejected twice tonight?"

You huff out a “fine,” and he guides you to the dance floor with an eager pull of your hand, his feet not quite touching the ground. To your relief, he stops in a space off-center, his wings partially open as he brings his other hand up to your waist. 

The two of you twirl around in what you think is meant to be a waltz. Hawks can't keep a beat but insists on leading anyway, just barely missing your toes. Without warning, he spins you out before snapping you back against his chest and you feel the rumble of his laughter. You're grateful he can't see your reddened face, dizzy from spinning and the scent of his cologne.

By the end of the song, you've gathered enough wits for a little payback. As the music swells for the final time, you slip your hand around to Hawks' back and press your knee forward. His eyebrows raise in delight at your mischievous grin and he lets you dip him, throwing his arm out with a flourish.

There's a smattering of applause, some conversation to your side, but you're not paying attention to any of it, too focused on Hawks beaming up at you.

"Sooo, how about it? Up for another?"

You agree without hesitation this time. It's not like you had anything better to do this evening.