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UNTOUCHABLE pt 31

.☘︎ ݁˖

Hawks x Female Reader

Summary: Y/n l/n (hero name, Echo) wants nothing to do with partners. Especially not the cocky, annoyingly charming Hawks. But when evolving combat bots begin targeting heroes, the two are pulled into a deadly investigation that traces back to the Commission’s darkest secrets. Fighting the enemy is hard enough, but fighting the tension between them might be impossible.

Word count: 1,342

Parts also available on my TikTok & ao3!!

.☘︎ ݁˖

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

༄.°

The next few days felt wrong.

Not just because of the engineer and Project Rebirth. Not even because of the growing pile of evidence sitting on Ironwood's desk.

It was Hawks. You noticed it almost immediately.

The morning briefing room buzzed with quiet conversation as Ironwood pulled up reports on the projector. Screens glowed blue against tired faces. Nobody looked particularly rested, including Hawks… especially Hawks.

You sat near the end of the conference table, flipping through notes from the engineer's testimony while Ironwood spoke.

"The Commission requested copies of everything recovered from the warehouse." That got everyone's attention.

"They requested access?" one of the analysts asked.

Ironwood's jaw tightened. "They demanded access."

The room fell quiet. You exchanged a glance with Hawks. Something about that made your stomach turn.

Ironwood continued. "I denied the request." A few people visibly relaxed. "Until we know who inside the Commission is connected to Rebirth, nothing leaves this agency."

Several heads nodded. Good. Because at this point trusting anyone outside Ironwood's people felt increasingly stupid.

The briefing shifted toward assignments, potential acility locations, follow-up interviews, evidence processing. Normal work. Until your name came up.

"I want Echo and Solace following up on—"

"No."

The room paused. You blinked. Hawks didn't even seem to realize he'd spoken aloud until everyone looked at him.

Ironwood raised an eyebrow. "No?"

Hawks leaned back in his chair. "I mean... maybe not."

"What does that mean?" you asked.

"It means maybe somebody else should handle field work for a few days."

Your eyes narrowed. "And why exactly would somebody else do my job?"

Hawks shrugged. "Because we don't know what's out there yet."

"We never know what's out there."

"Echo."

"What?"

A few people around the table suddenly became very interested in their paperwork.

Ironwood sighed. "Hawks."

"What?"

"Unless you have a specific reason why Echo can't perform her duties, we're moving on."

For a second Hawks looked like he wanted to argue. Then he stopped himself. "...Fine."

You stared at him. Something wasn't right. Normally Hawks was reckless. Annoyingly reckless. Now he sounded like he wanted to wrap you in bubble wrap and lock you in a basement.

The rest of the meeting continued but your attention stayed on him. Every time you looked up, he seemed distracted. Like he was waiting for something. It was getting old.

—

After the briefing, Ironwood caught you before you left. "Echo."

You paused. His office door was already open. You stepped inside. Ironwood shut it behind you. For a moment neither of you spoke. Then he slid a folder across his desk. Inside were several photos from the abandoned train station. Evidence catalogues. Preliminary reports. You flipped through them.

"The Commission is escalating," he said quietly.

You looked up. "I figured."

"They know we're getting close."

"Do you think they'll interfere?"

Ironwood leaned back in his chair. "I think they're already trying."

You hated how calm he sounded. Like he'd already accepted it. Your eyes dropped back to the folder. "You trust me on this case?"

The question slipped out before you could stop it. Ironwood looked surprised. Then his expression softened slightly.

"Of course I do."

You shrugged. "Just checking."

"Echo."

You looked up. His voice had changed. Not director-to-agent. Something closer. Something familiar.

"You've carried half this investigation."

Heat crept into your face immediately. "I haven't—"

"You have."

You rolled your eyes. "Ironwood—"

"You're one of the best investigators I've ever worked with."

That shut you up. Because Ironwood wasn't the type to hand out compliments. If anything, he usually forgot they existed.

"You found the auction."

You looked away.

"You found the engineer."

You shifted uncomfortably.

"You found the connection between the serial tags."

"Okay, okay."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You don't need me to tell you you're good at your job."

You huffed. "Then stop doing it."

His smile grew slightly. "Not a chance."

Something warm settled in your chest. Embarrassed but warm.

"Thanks," you muttered.

"You're welcome."

—

Later that afternoon you finally escaped the agency. The coffee shop near your apartment was quieter than usual. Which was exactly what you wanted. You were halfway through a latte when someone dropped into the seat across from you.

"You look terrible."

You immediately looked up. "Solace?"

She grinned. "There she is."

You hadn't seen her in weeks. Maybe longer. Which was ridiculous considering you worked in the same agency. But between the investigation and patrol schedules you'd both been living separate lives.

"You disappeared," she accused.

"You disappeared." You shot back lightly.

"I texted you."

"You sent me three memes."

"They were funny."

You sighed. "They were."

Solace looked pleased with herself. For a while conversation stayed easy. Mostly work, patrols, agency gossip. Normal things. The kind of things you hadn't talked about in ages.

Then her eyes narrowed.

Uh oh.

"What?"

She pointed directly at you. "What's going on with Hawks?"

You nearly inhaled your coffee. "What?"

"Oh my god."

"What?" You asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

"There's something."

"There isn't."

"There absolutely is."

You rubbed your temples. "Solace."

"He follows you everywhere."

"No he doesn't."

"I heard he literally carried you to a mission the other day."

"That was a mission. And he flied me.”

"He stares at you."

"He does not."

"He absolutely does."

You groaned. Solace leaned forward. "And lately he's acting weird."

You froze. Weird. Interesting choice of words. But they seemed suitable.

"You noticed?"

"Everyone noticed."

Wonderful.

"He's like—hovering." She said. You looked down into your coffee.

"Which is ironic cause he flies,” she laughed. “He keeps watching where you are."

Your stomach tightened.

"He volunteers for your assignments,” she added.

You frowned. "...Yeah."

Solace immediately pointed. "There."

"What?"

"That face."

You scowled. "What face?"

"The one that says you've noticed too."

You hated when she was right. Which was often. Far too often. You realized you missed her and were too busy and stressed to realize.

—

That evening Hawks sat alone on a rooftop. The hologram device rested in his hand. The same one he'd found in the alley.

The message played again:

“Stop digging. You are not their target. She is.”

The blue light flickered then vanished. Hawks stared out across the city. The wind tugged gently at his feathers.

For the first time in years, he genuinely didn't know what the right choice was.

Tell her? And put a target on her back she didn't know existed?

Or keep lying? Keep pretending?

Every day he waited made it worse. And he knew it.

But every time he imagined telling her—he saw her running headfirst into danger. Because that's who Echo was. And that terrified him. More than any of those machines ever had.

—

The next morning Ironwood assigned a follow-up lead. Minor and routine. A warehouse connected to one of the red-mark carriers. Nothing exciting.

You grabbed the file.

"Echo."

You looked up. Hawks stood across the room. Hands shoved in his jacket pockets. "You don't need to go."

You blinked. "What?"

"I can handle it."

You stared. Then laughed once—disbelieving. "Seriously?"

"It isn't important."

"Then why are you volunteering?"

His jaw tightened. "I just don't think—"

"There it is again."

The room seemed to go quieter. Several agents suddenly found reasons to leave. Probably smart.

"What?" Hawks asked.

"You keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Acting like I'm made of glass."

His expression froze. And it really surprised you that he didn’t have a joke ready. No comback or anything. Just silence.

Your frustration flared. Because now you knew something was wrong. You just didn't know what.

"You know what?" you said, grabbing the file. "Forget it."

"Echo."

You turned. "What?"

For a second it looked like he might finally say something. Something real that would explain his annoying behavior lately. But instead—

"Be careful."

The anger that flashed through you surprised even yourself. You scoffed. Then walked away.

Leaving Hawks standing in the middle of the room. Watching you go. And looking more guilty than ever.

.☘︎ ݁˖

DIFFERENT WORLDS part 1

─── ༻⋅☼⋅༺ ───

Tamaki Amajiki x Princess Reader

─── ༻⋅☼⋅༺ ───

Stable-boy Tamaki Amajiki 𓃗⋆˚｡ Princess Reader

Part 1 of 6

Summary: As the sheltered princess of Fauna Kingdom, Y/N is used to people treating her title before they treat her like a person. Tamaki Amajiki is used to avoiding attention altogether. Neither expects a chance encounter in the castle stables to change the course of their days.

Word count: 2,123

꧁ ༺ ⚜ ༻ ꧂

Life inside Fauna Castle was quiet in a way that felt too loud.

You had learned that at a young age.

The afternoon lessons ended earlier than expected.

Your tutor had barely finished assigning tomorrow’s reading before dismissing you with a stiff nod and a reminder not to leave the castle grounds unattended, as though you’d somehow forgotten after hearing it every day for the last seventeen years.

You wandered the halls as you always did, skirts gathered loosely in your hands as you slid down the bannister of the western staircase, boots skidding softly at the bottom. The servants in the hall gasped exactly the way you expected them to.

“Your Highness!”

You hopped off at the bottom with a grin. “Sorry.” You weren’t actually sorry.

The castle had been especially dull lately. Your father had spent the last week locked in meetings with nobles from neighboring kingdoms, which meant the halls were crowded with people too important to smile and too busy to acknowledge you beyond a polite bow.

Everything felt stiff. Quiet in the wrong way.

Even the library had failed to entertain you today. You’d tried reading for a while sprawled across one of the window seats, but after twenty minutes of staring at the same paragraph about trade routes, you’d given up and wandered outside instead.

The gardens were prettier this time of year, at least. White flowers curled around the stone archways, and bees drifted lazily between hedges trimmed into elaborate shapes that probably took some poor gardener hours to maintain.

You crouched beside a patch of mushrooms near the fountain and watched a ladybug crawl over your knuckle for a few minutes before deciding this wasn’t particularly interesting either.

With a sigh, you stood and brushed dirt from your skirts. That was when you noticed the stable doors standing open across the courtyard. You paused.

Normally the royal horses were already put away by this hour. The stablehands tended to avoid the main grounds once the nobility started roaming around for dinner. Curious, you headed toward the building.

The smell reached you first: hay, leather, and the earthy warmth of horses. The inside of the stable was dimmer than the courtyard, sunlight slipping through the wooden slats in thin golden lines. A few saddles rested along the wall beside scattered grooming brushes someone had forgotten to put away.

And near the back stalls stood a boy hauling a hay bale nearly the size of his torso. You slowed.

He looked around your age, maybe a little older. Dark indigo hair brushed against the back of his neck, sleeves rolled to his elbows despite the heat inside the stable. Dirt streaked across his linen shirt and forearms as he carried the hay into one of the stalls with quiet efficiency.

You didn’t recognize him. Which was strange. Your father rarely hired new staff without making an entire spectacle of “maintaining standards.” Most servants had worked in the castle for years.

The boy dropped the hay bale with a tired exhale before reaching for a rake nearby. You realized then that he was alone when usually a meriod of stable hands were scattered around.

“Why are you by yourself?”

The rake nearly clattered out of his hands. He whipped around so fast it startled one of the horses nearby. Wide eyes locked onto yours immediately, panic washing over his expression before he quickly lowered his head.

“Y-Your Highness,” he said.

You blinked. He sounded terrified. You were almost amused if you weren’t so off put by it.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you said, stepping further inside.

The boy moved back instinctively, fingers tightening around the rake handle. “You—you didn’t— I just wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“You’re jumpy.”

“Sorry.”

“I assume you apologize a lot too.”

His face warmed slightly at that, though he still wouldn’t fully look at you. Up close, you noticed how exhausted he looked. Not weak, exactly. Just worn down. His clothes were clean but old, sleeves fraying slightly near the wrists.

And when he ducked his head again, his hair shifted just enough for you to catch sight of something pointed beneath the dark strands. Your eyes widened slightly.

“Oh,” you said before you could stop yourself. “You’re an elf.”

The stable fell silent. The boy froze completely. Slowly, one hand lifted toward his hair, pulling it farther over his ears even though it was already too late. You watched his throat bob nervously.

Then quietly, carefully, he said, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

The fear in his voice made your stomach twist a little. Not nervousness or embarrassment. Fear. Real fear.

You frowned. “Why would I tell anyone?”

His brows knit together slightly like the answer should’ve been obvious. Because it was.

Humans ruled nearly every major kingdom on the continent, including Fauna. Humans held the wealth, titles, armies. Other species were tolerated when useful and ignored when they weren’t.

Elves especially made people uncomfortable. Too magical. Too secretive. Too different. Your father disliked them more openly than most nobles did. You’d overheard enough council meetings to know that much.

“You can never trust creatures who hide in forests and speak in riddles.”

That was one of his favorite things to say.

Looking at the boy standing in front of you now, nervously hiding his ears behind messy hair while clutching a stable rake like it might protect him, the statement suddenly felt ridiculous.

“You’re hiding it to work here?” you asked.

He hesitated before nodding once. “I — uhm,” he swallows, “I needed a job.”

“And the castle doesn’t hire elves.”

“No.”

“So you lied.”

Another pause. “…Yes.”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “That’s kind of smart.”

His eyes lifted toward you properly for the first time. “You’re not angry?”

“No. Should I be?”

“I deceived the royal staff.”

You shrugged. “Most royal staff are unpleasant anyway.”

His expression flickered with surprise. It almost made you laugh. But it certainly made you crack a smile. He clearly didn’t know what to do with you.

“You really don’t care?” he asked cautiously.

“Nope.”

“You’re.. the princess.”

“And?”

“And…” He struggled for a moment. “Most humans don’t like elves.”

“Well, most humans are boring.”

That startled a small breath of laughter out of him before he quickly looked away like he regretted it immediately. Your smile spread into a grin.

His face warmed. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing for laughing?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“That’s a little sad.”

You leaned against the nearest stall, watching him curiously. He was still tense, shoulders tight beneath his shirt, but not quite as frightened as before. You could definitely understand his nervousness, you’d probably be just as much a trembling mess if you were in his situation.

One of the horses in the stall over nudged against your sleeve, searching for treats. Absentmindedly, you patted its nose.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

“…Tamaki.”

“Just Tamaki?”

“Amajiki,” he added quietly. “Tamaki Amajiki.”

You repeated it once under your breath and his ears turned slightly pink beneath his hair. It suited him somehow.

“I’m Y/N.”

“…I know.”

“Right.” You sighed dramatically. “Princess.”

Something about that made the corners of his mouth twitch faintly before he looked away again.

Success.

You leaned farther over the stall door, resting your chin in your hands. “So why are you alone in here?”

Tamaki blinked at the sudden change in subject. “What..?”

You gestured vaguely around the stable. “Where is everybody?”

“Oh.” He adjusted his grip on the rake slightly. “Most of the others already left.”

“And they made you stay behind?”

“I volunteered.”

“Why?”

There was a small pause before he answered. “…It’s quieter.”

That made perk up slightly. You looked around the stable again. It was peaceful in here compared to the rest of the castle. No nobles talking too loudly. No servants rushing around trying not to upset anyone important. Just horses shifting in their stalls and sunlight slipping through the wooden beams overhead.

“I think I’d stay in here too,” you admitted.

Tamaki glanced at you uncertainly, like he wasn’t sure whether you were joking.

“I mean it,” you said. “The castle gets exhausting.”

“..you live in the castle.”

“Unfortunately.”

That earned another tiny almost-smile from him. You noticed he did that a lot — reacted before he remembered he was nervous.

“So what do you actually do in here all day?” you asked. “Besides dramatically hiding your identity.”

His eyes widened slightly. “I’m—I’m not dramatic.”

“You nearly died when I said you were an elf.”

“I thought you were going to tell the guards.”

“Oh.” You considered that. “Right, yeah. My father seems like he’d behead someone for that.”

He looked slightly terrified at the mention of beheading but mildly relieved at your understanding.

“I mostly clean stalls,” he explained quietly. “Feed the horses. Brush them down after rides. Sometimes help saddle them.”

“That sounds more interesting than lessons.” You grinned.

“..you don’t like your lessons?”

“I like reading,” you corrected. “I don’t like being trapped in a room for six hours learning diplomacy.”

Tamaki nodded slowly like he understood that feeling more than he wanted to admit.

“What’s your favorite horse?” you asked suddenly.

He looked caught off guard again. “Favorite?”

“Mhm. You work here every day, so you probably have one.”

For a second he hesitated, then pointed toward a dark horse a few stalls down. “Him.”

You immediately pushed away from the stall door. “Why?”

“He’s calmer than the others.”

The horse lifted its head as the two of you approached. Large and dark-coated, with intelligent eyes and a small streak of white along its nose.

You reached your hand out carefully. “He’s beautiful.”

“He bites most people.”

You looked at Tamaki accusingly. “You could’ve warned me sooner!”

“You already touched him.”

The horse nudged your palm gently and you gasped dramatically. “He likes me.”

Tamaki stared at the horse like he’d personally betrayed him. “…That’s new.”

You grinned triumphantly before turning back toward him. “You like animals more than people, don’t you?” You asked bluntly. You usually were.

He opened his mouth and closed it a couple times before responding quietly. “Usually.”

“I get that.”

“You do?”

“People in castles are strange.”

“You’re in the castle too.”

“Yes, but I’m interesting.”

That startled an actual laugh out of him this time. Not just a breath — a real laugh, short and surprised like it escaped accidentally. Your face lit up immediately.

“There!” you said, pointing at him. “You did it again!”

Tamaki looked horrified at himself. “Sorry.”

You giggle, shaking your head in disbelief. “You keep apologizing after every emotion.”

“I do not.” He whispered, ears pink from embarrassment.

“You literally just did.”

“…Oh.”

You laughed under your breath, and this time he didn’t look quite as tense hearing it. Progress—you mentally high-fived yourself. You rested your arms along the stall door again, watching him for a moment while he busied himself adjusting the straps hanging nearby. He still seemed nervous, but not in the same sharp, panicked way as before.

More like he just didn’t know what to do with you. Honestly, neither did you. Most people your age in the castle were noble children who spoke like they were reciting from books. Every conversation turned into some exhausting dance of etiquette and appearances.

Tamaki barely spoke at all unless you dragged the words out of him. It was strangely refreshing.

“So,” you said after a moment, “do you actually like working here?”

He didn’t look, enjoying the no-eye contact. “In the stable?”

“Mhm.”

There was a pause while he considered the question seriously. “I like the horses,” he answered quietly.

“As we’ve established,” you laugh.

You wandered toward the nearest stall again, peering inside curiously. “Do you ride them too?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’re allowed to?”

“If nobody important is using them.”

You turned immediately. “You should teach me.”

Tamaki looked caught completely off guard. “..what?”

“I know how to ride,” you clarified. “But only properly. Royal lessons and all that.” You gestured vaguely like that explained everything. “I want to learn the fun version.”

“There’s a fun version?”

“There has to be.”

Tamaki shook his head slightly, looking away at the saddles like he was trying to hide the fact he was smiling at all.

Outside, voices drifted faintly across the courtyard somewhere beyond the open doors. A few guards, maybe servants changing shifts.

The sound made Tamaki straighten almost immediately. It was subtle, but you noticed it.

His shoulders tightened. His attention shifted toward the entrance automatically. Like he was preparing for something bad before it even happened.

You smiled to yourself. Because now that you’d finally found someone interesting in this castle, you definitely weren’t planning on leaving him alone anytime soon.

꧁ ༺ ⚜ ༻ ꧂

2nd-massachusetts

*gently takes your face in my hands* hey. remember that fandom is for fun. if you're not having fun it is ok to step back. if you're intentionally making it unfun for others it is ok to step back. none of this is real. go sit in the sun and smell a flower. i love you.

puppydogwhitaker

PSA to fic readers, it is so hard to freak a fic writer out with your comments. we are just as crazy about the fic as you are.

tell me you love it. tell me it made you slam your laptop shut. tell me you brought it up at your college lecture about kink. key smash in all caps. quote the passage that made you think. i promise, we’ll love it.

we spend hours thinking about it, writing it, editing it. there is no such thing as over enthusiasm when you’re talking about our fics to us. we are sooooo weird about them, i assure you. you are just matching my freak. the freak bar is already set so high. feel no anxiety about enjoying something and letting the creator know.

UNTOUCHABLE pt 30

.☘︎ ݁˖

Hawks x Female Reader

Word count: 1,240

Parts also available on my TikTok & ao3!!

.☘︎ ݁˖

CHAPTER THIRTY

༄.°

The night should’ve ended on the roof. It almost did.

You’re still lying there, shoulder brushing Hawks’, the city humming below, the conversation fading into something quieter—easier. For once, you’re not thinking about the case. Not really. Not until his phone buzzes.

The sound cuts straight through the calm. Hawks doesn’t move at first. Then it buzzes again. You both sit up at the same time.

“Don’t tell me that’s work,” you mutter. But then your phone buzzes.

He glances at the screen. “…it’s work.”

“Of course it is,” you say, looking at the text from Ironwood on your own phone.

He answers his phone, already standing. “Yeah?”

There’s a pause. His expression changes almost instantly—lazy, relaxed Hawks replaced with something sharper. Focused.

“Location?” he asks. Another pause. Then: “We’re closest. Got it.”

He hangs up. You’re already on your feet.

“They found him,” Hawks says. “Ironwood’s team tracked the engineer. He’s on the move—probably trying to relocate.”

“Where?”

“South district. Old industrial strip.”

You don’t hesitate. “Then let’s go.”

Hawks grabs your wrist before you can step past him. “Hey—hold on.”

You turn, annoyed. “We don’t have time—”

“We really don’t,” he cuts in, “which is why you’re not running there.”

You narrow your eyes. “I wasn’t planning on running.”

“Good,” he says. “Because you’re not getting there faster than me.”

You cross your arms. “…don’t say it.”

He smirks. “I’m saying it.”

“No. God no.”

“Echo—”

“No.”

“We need to move—”

“I am not letting you carry me.”

“You let me last time.”

“That was different.”

“You were drunk.”

“Exactly.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice just slightly. “You trust me?”

The question catches you off guard. “That’s not fair.”

“Sure it is.”

You hesitate. And that’s all he needs. “C’mon,” he says, already reaching for you. “We don’t have time to argue.”

You should argue anyway. You don’t. “Fine,” you mutter. This was the most rational option. You needed to get to the engineers location ASAP before they flee and Hawks can fly you there fastest.

His hands settle at your waist—firm, steady—and before you can overthink it, you’re lifted clean off the ground. Your breath catches. “Jesus, warn me next time—”

The wind rushes up around you as he launches. “Holy—” You instinctively grab onto him. Which is… not ideal. Your arms tighten around his neck, his coat brushing your face as the city drops away beneath you. The air is colder up here. Faster. Your heart pounds—not entirely from the height. And the wind is completely blinding your vision so you’re forced to look directly at him.

“You okay?” he calls over the wind.

“I hate this!”

“You’re doing great!”

“You’re such a brute—”

A sudden shift in direction makes you grip him tighter. He laughs. “You can relax, y’know.”

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re crushing me.”

“Good.”

His wings beat again, powerful and controlled. You risk a glance down and immediately regret it, your legs tightening around him.

“…never mind, don’t relax,” he says. “This is working for me.”

“Shut up.”

“And normally when I’ve carried people in the past it’s more of a bridal style thing, but your legs are around my waist which is totally preferable in my opinion—“

“Oh my god!” You groan.

But your grip doesn’t loosen. And neither do his hands.

—

The industrial strip is dead quiet when you land. Too quiet. Hawks sets you down gently, his hands lingering for half a second before pulling away. You pretend not to notice.

You both scan the area. Dim lights flicker inside one of the warehouses. Movement.

“That’s our spot,” you say.

Hawks nods. “Stay sharp.”

You move in together. No hesitation. The door is already half-open. And inside theres voices—rough and panicked.

You don’t wait. You push in first.

The smugglers barely have time to react before you’re on them. The fight is quick. Messy. Controlled. Two go down fast. Another tries to run—Hawks intercepts him before he makes it three steps. Feathers pin him to the wall. Efficient. You don’t even have time to comment because your focus shifts—

To the man in the corner. Thin. Disheveled. Hands shaking. Eyes wide like he hasn’t slept in days. “…please,” he says immediately. “I didn’t— I didn’t—”

You step forward slowly. “You’re the engineer.” It’s not a question.

He nods frantically. “Yes—yes—please, you have to get me out of here—”

Hawks moves beside you. “We will,” he says. “But you’re going to answer a few questions first.”

The man swallows hard. “I didn’t leak anything,” he blurts. “I swear. They took me—forced me to keep working—”

Your stomach tightens. “Working on what?”

His eyes flick between you and Hawks. “…the updates.”

“Adaptive coding,” you say.

He nods. “Yes—yes, they needed it to evolve. To learn faster.”

Hawks’ posture stiffens slightly. “Who’s ‘they’?”

The engineer hesitates. Then lowers his voice. “I never saw their face… but they had access.”

Your chest tightens. “Access to what?”

“…the Commission.”

Silence. Heavy and unavoidable.

“They had clearance codes,” he continues, voice shaking. “Full access to Rebirth archives. They knew everything.”

Hawks doesn’t move. You feel it though. The shift. Small—but there. You wonder why that is effecting him.

“What were they building?” you ask.

The engineer looks at you. Really looks at you this time. And something in his expression changes. Recognition.

“You,” he says quietly.

Your brows knit. “What?”

“They needed your quirk data,” he continues. “Your resonance patterns—your combat responses—everything.”

Your pulse stutters. “…what?”

“Because you’re compatible,” he says. “Your quirk interacts with frequency and structure. It’s perfect for stabilizing adaptive AI systems… and destroying them.”

Your stomach drops.

“They’re not just building the machines,” he adds. “They’re refining them.”

Hawks finally speaks. “Refining them into what?”

The engineer swallows. “Something that can replace heroes. Well.. that was the original plan.”

You don’t realize how tight your fists are until your nails dig into your palms.

“They made me improve it,” the engineer says, voice cracking. “Every time one of those machines fought—every time it gathered data—I had to update the system.”

The room goes still. Hawks exhales slowly beside you. Too slowly. You glance at him. Something’s off. He’s too quiet. Too focused.

“…Hawks?” you say.

He doesn’t look at you right away. Then he does. And his expression is… tight. Controlled. But not like usual.

“Let’s move,” he says. “We’ve got what we need.”

You stare at him for half a second longer. Then nod.

—

Ironwoods team took the smugglers and engineer into custody before you left. But still you had to get back to Ironwood Agency to report everything you learned. Ironwood was already waiting when you arrived. “Report.”

You give it to him straight. Everything. The forced work. The masked figure. The Commission access. And finally—

“They’re using my quirk data,” you finish. “To stabilize the system.”

Ironwood’s expression hardens. “I see.”

“That’s not all,” Hawks adds, voice lower than usual. “Some of our theories are confirmed. They’re updating the machines in real time. Every encounter feeds back into the system.”

Ironwood nods grimly. “That’s what we thought. Then this is no longer a containment issue.”

You cross your arms, trying to steady the unease crawling under your skin. “They’re building something bigger,” you say.

“Yes,” Ironwood replies.

“And we’re running out of time.”

You glance sideways at Hawks. He’s already looking at you. But there’s something there now. Something heavier. Something… off. You can’t place it.

UNTOUCHABLE pt 29

.☘︎ ݁˖

Hawks x Female Reader

Word count: 1,505

Parts also available on my TikTok & ao3!!

.☘︎ ݁˖

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

༄.°

You don’t come up here often. Mostly because if you let yourself, you think you’d start relying on it too much. The roof is quiet in a way your apartment never is. No humming electronics, no unfinished work sitting on your desk, no reminders of everything you’re supposed to be doing. Just open air. And the city, stretched endlessly below you.

You sit on the edge with your legs hanging over, fingers curled against the rough concrete as the wind brushes against your skin. It’s colder up here, sharper—but you don’t mind it.

It keeps you present.

Your mind, unfortunately, doesn’t get the memo. The underground facility keeps replaying behind your eyes. The restraints. The broken Commission logos. The way everything looked… abandoned, but not old. Someone had been there recently. Working. Not willingly.

You tilt your head back, staring at the sky. The stars are barely visible past the city glow, but you look anyway.

You hate this feeling. Being late. Being one step behind something you can’t even see yet. A sudden rush of wind cuts through your thoughts.

Feathers. You don’t turn around.

“You know,” Hawks says behind you, voice casual like he didn’t just drop in unannounced, “there are safer ways to get fresh air.”

You sigh. “And miss the dramatic rooftop aesthetic? Never.”

He hums like he’s considering that. “Fair point.”

Boots hit the ground behind you. A second later, he walks over and drops down beside you, stretching his legs out like he belongs there. Like he always does.

You glance at him briefly. “You stalking me?”

“Wow,” he says, offended. “I just happen to be in the area and you immediately assume stalking.”

“You literally landed behind me.”

“Coincidence.”

“Right.”

He smirks, but it’s softer than usual. Then he looks out over the city. “Nice view.”

“Yeah.”

You both fall quiet after that. It’s not awkward. It just… is. The wind shifts again, tugging lightly at your clothes. You feel his gaze on you after a minute.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

You frown slightly. “What thing?”

“Thinking so hard it looks painful.”

You huff. “I don’t look like that.”

“You do.”

You glance at him. He’s already watching you, chin resting lazily in his hand. You roll your eyes and look away.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You nudge his shoulder with yours. “You’re annoying.”

“Consistent.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at your lips. It fades just as quickly. Your attention drifts back to the skyline. Hawks notices. Of course he does.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours,” he asks, “or do I have to start guessing?”

“You’re bad at guessing.”

“I’m actually incredible at it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Go ahead, then.”

He studies you for a second.

“Underground facility,” he says. “Creepy vibes. You’re overthinking it and blaming yourself somehow.”

You don’t say anything. He tilts his head. “Nailed it.”

You sigh, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on your knees. “It didn’t feel abandoned.”

“No,” he agrees.

“Someone was living there.”

“Yeah.”

Your fingers tap absently against the concrete. “And they didn’t choose to be.”

The words sit heavy between you. You swallow.

“I hate this,” you mutter.

“Hate what?”

“This feeling,” you say. “Like we’re chasing something that’s always ahead of us.” You glance down at the streets below. “We keep missing it. Every time.”

Hawks doesn’t interrupt. “Docks. Engineers. That place tonight…” you shake your head slightly. “We’re always just a little too late.”

The wind moves between you again. Then you feel a light nudge against your shoulder. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

You huff quietly. “That’s what everyone says.”

“Because it’s true.”

You glance at him. “You don’t feel it?”

“Of course I do,” he says. “I just don’t spiral about it.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s because you deflect everything with jokes.”

“Hey, that’s a skill.”

“It’s avoidance.”

“It’s survival.”

That makes you pause. You study him for a second. There’s something in his expression—not joking this time. Not fully. You look away first.

“…still annoying,” you mutter.

He grins. “There she is.”

A small silence settles again. Then you sigh. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

He blinks, clearly caught off guard. “That’s new.”

You ignore that. “For being an asshole.”

He tilts his head, thoughtful. “Which time?”

You turn slowly and glare at him. He lifts his hands. “I’m just asking for clarification.”

You look away again, rubbing the back of your neck. “After the bar,” you admit. “I don’t know why I was so… like that.” You sigh. “I’m sorry.”

This time, he doesn’t joke. “You were hungover,” he says.

“That’s not an excuse.”

“It kind of is.”

You shake your head. “I still shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

He shrugs. “You also don’t remember half of what happened.”

Your stomach drops. “…what do you mean half.”

His grin comes back immediately. “Oh no, I’m not letting that go.”

You groan. “Hawks.”

“You tried to climb onto the bar.”

You freeze. “I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Your hands drop into your lap. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I was.”

“Oh my god.”

He laughs, and it’s so genuine it makes your embarrassment worse. “You were having a great time,” he adds.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

You shove his shoulder. He barely moves. But he’s still smiling. And somehow—you are too.

The tension in your chest loosens a little. The air doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. You both settle back again, shoulders almost brushing now.

The conversation drifts. It doesn’t stay on one thing for long. You talk about patrol routes. Bad neighborhoods. You tell him how you’ve always wanted a pet but are afraid you won’t be home enough—or make enough money for it. You argue about fighting styles.

“You rely too much on instinct,” he says.

“You rely too much on not getting hit,” you shoot back.

“That’s called skill.”

“That’s called running away.”

“I fly.”

“Same difference.”

At some point, without really noticing, the conversation shifts again. Quieter. More personal.

“You always wanted to be a hero?” he asks.

You think about it. “…yeah.”

He glances at you. “No hesitation.”

You shrug. “It was the one thing that made sense.”

“How so?”

You hesitate. Then sigh. “I was good at it,” you admit. “And I wanted to help people.” You pick at a small crack in the concrete. “Corny, I know. But it gave me a direction. Something to work toward.”

You pause. “Something to be.”

Hawks watches you more carefully now.

“And now?” You let out a small breath. “Now it feels like I have to be that thing all the time.” You glance at him. “No breaks. No mistakes.” Your voice softens. “No room to just be… me.”

The words hang there. Hawks shifts slightly beside you.

“The Commission loves that,” he mutters. You glance at him.

“They don’t train heroes,” he says. “They build expectations.”

You tilt your head. “You don’t trust them.” It’s not a question.

“No,” he says simply.

You study him. “Why?”

He hesitates. That alone tells you more than his answer.

“They decide what a hero is supposed to be,” he says finally. “And then they push you into it whether you fit or not.”

His wings shift slightly behind him. “Doesn’t leave a lot of room to breathe.”

You nod slowly. “…yeah.”

A quiet understanding settles between you. You lean back again, staring at the sky. For a while, neither of you talks. At some point, Hawks stretches out completely, laying flat against the roof.

You glance at him. “Comfortable?”

“Very.”

You hesitate. Then shift, laying back beside him. Your shoulders brush lightly. Neither of you moves away. The city hums below you. Up here, everything feels… distant.

Time passes. You don’t know how much. Minutes. Maybe hours. You talk in between stretches of silence. Random things. Stupid things. Important things.

At one point, he tells you a story from early in his career—something reckless, something very him. You laugh. Really laugh. And it surprises you how easy it feels.

Later, the conversation fades again. The wind moves gently across the rooftop. Your eyes drift toward him. He’s already looking at you. There’s something softer in his expression now. Less guarded. Less… performative.

“You’re not as hard to read as you think,” he says quietly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“What am I thinking right now, then?”

He studies you for a second. Then smirks faintly. “That you’re glad I showed up.”

You scoff. “In your dreams.”

“Constantly.”

You roll your eyes—but you don’t argue. Because he’s not entirely wrong. And maybe that’s the problem. Or maybe it isn’t.

The night stretches on around you. Neither of you makes a move to leave. And somewhere between the quiet, the laughter, and the things you didn’t quite say—something shifts.

Not in a way you can name. Not in a way either of you acknowledge. But it’s there.

And for the first time, you wouldn’t mind calling him your friend.

UNTOUCHABLE pt 28

.☘︎ ݁˖

Hawks x Female Reader

Word count: 1,221

Parts also available on my TikTok & ao3!!

.☘︎ ݁˖

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

༄.°

The steel door shouldn’t have been unlocked. That was your first thought as you pushed the door open slowly, metal groaning against metal. The stairwell beyond dipped into darkness, and for a second you hesitated.

Not out of fear. Out of recognition. This is the part of missions where we’re always late. Hawks landed lightly behind you, boots barely making a sound.

“Ladies first?” he murmured.

You shot him a look. “If I die first, I’m haunting you.”

He gave you a faint smirk. “I’d expect nothing less.”

It helped. Just a little. You descended together.

The air grew cooler the deeper you went, the smell shifting from rust and damp concrete to something sterile. Mechanical. Charged.

The underground station opened up beneath you — an abandoned train platform converted into something else. Generators hummed along one wall, extension cords spiderwebbed across the floor, folding tables were littered with dismantled metal limbs, exposed wiring, half-assembled plating.

Your stomach tightened. It wasn’t chaotic. It was organized. Active. And everywhere — carved, stamped, half-burned into surfaces —The Commission insignia. Broken. Scratched out. Defaced.

“They weren’t subtle,” Hawks said quietly.

You walked slowly through the space, scanning details the way Ironwood taught you to — wide sweep first, then narrow focus. You’d been in underground labs before. You knew what desperation looked like. This wasn’t desperation. This was production.

You crouched beside a workstation. One of the monitors still glowed faintly, improperly powered down.

“They left in a hurry,” you murmured.

Your fingers brushed across scattered printouts. Behavior models. Combat adaptability charts. You felt something cold coil in your chest. You stood and crossed to the center of the room. That’s when you saw the chair bolted to the ground. There were restraints ttached at wrists and ankles. You froze.

Hawks stopped behind you. You stepped closer, kneeling slightly to inspect the metal cuffs. They weren’t polished. They were worn. Scratched. Used.

“This isn’t a collaborator setup,” you said softly.

You swallowed. So the engineer wasn’t hiding. He was taken.

You stood and kept moving. A corkboard mounted against a pillar caught your eye. And when you saw it —

Your breath left you. Photos. Freeze-frames from news footage. From the docks. From the first bot fight. Your body mid-resonance burst. Your stance annotated. Your movement arcs traced in red. Your quirk discharge patterns graphed in neat handwriting.

SUBJECT ECHO STABILITY WINDOW: 3–4 SEC FREQUENCY TOLERANCE: DECLINES AFTER BURST 5 RECOVERY LAG OBSERVED: 2.1 SEC

You stared in horror at your own face in a still frame. You looked focused and determined in it. Unaware you were being measured.

Hawks said your name quietly. You didn’t answer. You were thinking about the docks, about the engineers who got taken, about the moment Machine #05 shifted its stance and mirrored yours. It wasn’t random. It was rehearsal.

“They’re learning me,” you said finally.

Hawks stepped closer. “They’re learning all of us.”

“No,” you murmured. “This is specific.”

Your eyes moved across the board again. Other heroes had notes. But yours were detailed. Your quirk resonance mapped against AI response times. Your overuse symptoms documented. Your recovery lag.

You forced yourself to breathe evenly. You’d known this was happening. But seeing it laid out like this made you feel smaller. Reduced. Like a specimen.

You hated that feeling. You’d worked too hard to be more than someone’s data set.

You pulled your phone out and started taking pictures. If you let yourself sit in the emotion, you’d spiral. Evidence now. Process later.

You bagged loose flash drives. Folded printed coding drafts. Slipped handwritten notes into evidence sleeve. Hawks hadn’t moved far. He was watching you. Not the room. You.

“You’re doing that thing,” he said quietly.

You didn’t look at him. “What thing?”

“Where you shut off.”

“I’m working.”

“Echo.”

You stood up too fast. “We should’ve found this sooner.”

There it was. The real thing underneath. If you’d moved faster, if you’d cross-referenced earlier, if you hadn’t wasted three days exhausted at a café. Maybe the engineer wouldn’t have been dragged from here. Maybe those two dock engineers wouldn’t be missing.

Hawks stepped closer. “We found it before they scaled production.”

“It’s empty.”

“That means they panicked.”

“That means they relocated.” Your voice was steady, but inside —

Inside you felt like you were always half a step behind something bigger.

Ironwood trusted you. Hawks trusted you. A whole team of heros trusted you. And every time a machine escaped, it felt like you were letting that trust slip through your fingers.

You gestured toward the corkboard. “They had time to study. To map. To refine.”

“And they still haven’t won,” Hawks said.

You finally looked at him. He wasn’t teasing. He looked… worried. For you. And something in your chest shifted uncomfortably. Because you didn’t want him worrying about you. Especially not after being a major asshole the night after the bar. You wanted him relaxed, unbothered, light.

“I’m fine,” you said, it coming out too flat.

He didn’t buy it but he let it go for now. You moved toward the back room. It looked more personal. A cot shoved against the wall, food containers, a half-empty water bottle, a jacket draped over a chair.

You approached the cot slowly. The sheets were rumpled. Not dusty, they were recently used.

Your fingers brushed the fabric. “They were here hours ago,” you murmured.

On the desk beside the bed sat a cracked pair of glasses. And a smear of dried blood on the floor beneath it. You crouched. The blood wasn’t pooled, it was dragged.

You exhaled slowly. “They didn’t walk out.”

The words sat heavy between you and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

You imagined someone working under pressure. Coding fast. Knowing something was wrong. Then boots in the hallway. Hands grabbing. Restraints clanking. Your chest tightened.

“If someone forced him to improve the adaptive coding… that means the escalation isn’t voluntary.”

“And that means whoever’s running this doesn’t trust their own tech,” Hawks said.

You nodded, took more photos, bagged the glasses, and collected a torn notepad page with scribbled frequency equations. As you stood in the center of the underground platform one last time, you felt it again — that creeping awareness of being watched. Even though no one was here.

“They’re studying me,” you said quietly.

Hawks stepped closer. “They’re studying everyone.”

“But they’re refining me.” Your voice wavered for the first time. You hated that it did. For a second, you felt sixteen again. Fresh in the Commission training rooms. Being evaluated. Told what you were good for. You’d fought so hard to become more than a tool. And now some masked strategist was reducing you back to one.

When you climbed back into daylight, the sky was streaked orange with sunset. The city looked normal and unaware.

You handed the evidence to Ironwood’s sweep team with steady hands. Explained what you’d found. Didn’t mention how it felt.

As Hawks stood a little too close beside you. A little more watchful than usual. And somewhere deep in your gut — you felt it. You were being positioned. Studied. Prepared for. And for the first time since this investigation started — you weren’t just afraid of failing. You were afraid of what they were building you for.

.☘︎ ݁˖

UNTOUCHABLE pt 27

.☘︎ ݁˖

Hawks x Female Reader

Word count: 861

Parts also available on my TikTok & ao3!!

.☘︎ ݁˖

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

༄.°

You didn’t look at him when you walked into the briefing room, sitting in your usual chair.

You were aware of him — that was unavoidable. The faint shift in air when his wings adjusted. The soft scrape of his chair across the floor. The way his presence always seemed to sit just slightly too close to yours.

But you didn’t look.

Ironwood stood at the front of the room, screens lit behind him, expression carved from stress and lack of sleep.

“We pulled residual signal data from Machine #05 before it disengaged,” he said, tapping the remote. A map flickered to life. “It transmitted coordinates seconds before disappearing.” The room quieted.

Your eyes locked onto the red blinking dot on the screen.

“Where?” you asked.

“Abandoned train station,” Ironwood replied. “Decommissioned five years ago. Power grid in the area has shown irregular surges for weeks. We just didn’t know what we were looking at.” Your pulse sharpened. A base.

Hawks shifted beside you and you finally glanced at him, only to look away two seconds later. “Underground?”

“I believe so,” Ironwood said. “Signal decay suggests it dropped below street level.” Of course it did. Machines built in the dark.

You leaned forward slightly. “If it’s a facility, it won’t stay empty for long. After the dock attack, they’ll assume we’re closing in.”

Ironwood nodded once. “Agreed. That’s why I want eyes on it today.”

Silence settled. You felt it — the unspoken assignment hovering in the air.

Hawks spoke before you could. “We’ll take it.”

You finally glanced at him for real this time. His expression was neutral. Calm. Professional. Too calm.

Ironwood’s eyes flicked between you both. He saw things. He always did. “You’ll have backup on standby,” he said evenly. “No heroics. We gather intel first.”

You nodded as the briefing dissolved into movement, other heroes filtered out, screens dimmed.

Ironwood called your name softly. “Echo.”

You paused. Hawks didn’t leave. He lingered by the door.

Ironwood stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re pushing yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

Your jaw tightened. “We’re close, sir.”

“I know,” he said. “And I’m proud of the work you’ve done. But don’t confuse urgency with recklessness.”

Your chest shifted at that. He rarely said things like that in front of others.

“You’ve grown,” he continued quietly. “Don’t let frustration make you careless.”

Frustration. You wondered if it was that obvious. Your eyes flicked briefly toward Hawks. Ironwood followed the glance. Of course he did. He didn’t comment. Just gave you a small, knowing look.

“Bring me something solid,” he said finally. “And come back in one piece.”

You nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

When you stepped into the hallway, Hawks was waiting.

“Ready?” he asked.

You adjusted your gloves. “Always.”

The elevator ride down was quiet. Too quiet. Normally he would’ve filled it with something light. A joke. A teasing comment directed at you. Something. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, arms folded, eyes forward.

You broke first. “You don’t have to hover.”

He didn’t look at you. “Wasn’t aware I was.”

“You’ve been weird all morning.”

A pause.

“Long week,” he said simply.

You studied him. There were faint shadows under his eyes. His wings were held tighter than usual — restrained. You swallowed whatever else you wanted to say as the elevator doors opened.

The abandoned train station smelled like rust and old rain. Graffiti covered the entrance. Weeds split the pavement. The air felt still — like it hadn’t moved in years. Hawks landed lightly beside you as you stepped past the caution tape.

“Charming,” he muttered.

Your boots echoed as you moved toward the stairwell leading underground. You felt it before you saw it. That hum. Low. Mechanical. Alive.

You glanced back at him. He nodded once then descended together.

The lower platform was darker than it should have been. Emergency lights flickered faintly along the walls. And then—

You saw it.

A reinforced steel door at the far end of the tunnel. New. Not rusted. Not old. Installed.

You crouched near a cable line running along the wall. “Recent power reroute,” you murmured. “They’re drawing energy from the city grid.”

Hawks’ gaze scanned the ceiling. “No visible guards.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

A faint mechanical whir echoed somewhere deeper inside. You both stilled.

You stood slowly. “This isn’t abandoned,” you said quietly.

“No,” Hawks agreed. “It’s active.”

He shifted slightly closer to you. You felt it again — that hovering instinct.

“You don’t have to—” you started.

“I know,” he cut in gently this time.

But he didn’t step away. Your eyes met briefly.

Something unspoken passed between you — fragile, stretched thin. Before either of you could say anything else, the steel door at the end of the tunnel gave a faint hiss. Like it had just sealed shut.

Your pulse spiked. “They know we’re here,” you whispered.

Hawks’ wings flared slightly. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I figured.”

You didn’t know yet that this facility was empty. That it had been cleared hours before you arrived. That you were standing in a ghost of a hideout. But you felt it. Something was shifting.

.☘︎ ݁˖

UNTOUCHABLE pt 26

.☘︎ ݁˖

Hawks x Female Reader

Word count: 875

Parts available on my TikTok!!

.☘︎ ݁˖

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

༄.°

You woke up feeling like your bones were humming.

It was the same dull, buzzing ache that settled in your joints after you pushed your quirk too hard. Like your body had been rung out and left slightly off-center. Except this time, there was nausea layered on top of it, thick and unpleasant, rolling low in your stomach.

You groaned softly and turned your head into the pillow. Bad idea. Your skull throbbed instantly, light slicing through your eyelids like a weapon. You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing through it until the room stopped spinning.

“Never again,” you muttered hoarsely.

When you finally cracked one eye open, you noticed something that didn’t belong. A water bottle sat on your nightstand and beside it sat painkillers.

You frowned. You were pretty sure you hadn’t set those there.

Your memory of the night before was… fragmented, at best. The bar. The music. Hawks’ hands steadying you. Laughing— too much laughing. And dancing. Oh god.

You groaned again, this time from embarrassment, pulling the blanket up over your face. The last clear thing you remembered was dancing. Everything after that dissolved into static.

Slowly, you reached for the water, fingers clumsy, and swallowed the meds dry before forcing yourself to drink properly. The water helped. A little.

You stared at the ceiling. Hawks.

The realization sat strangely in your chest. Not heavy, exactly, but warm and uncomfortable. The water. The meds. He’d taken care of you.

Something about that made your throat tighten.

You let yourself lie there longer than you should have, letting the headache dull and the nausea settle. When you finally dragged yourself upright, your limbs felt like they were moving through syrup.

You showered. Changed. Tied your hair back with more force than necessary. You avoided looking at your reflection for too long.

By the time you grabbed your wallet and keys, all you wanted was coffee and something solid. Something sweet to soak up whatever was still poisoning your system.

Pumpkin bread. The thought anchored you.

The city felt louder than usual. Every passing car scraped against your nerves. A distant siren made your teeth clench. Someone laughing too loudly across the street sent irritation flaring sharp and fast.

You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, jaw tight. Halfway down a quieter side street, you saw him. Hawks was walking toward you, wings tucked, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He looked tired—really tired—but relaxed in that loose way he always was on patrol. He noticed you at the same time you noticed him.

“Hey,” he said with a light smile, slowing.

Something in you snapped.

“Hey,” you echoed, flat.

His brow creased. “You okay?”

The concern in his voice should have softened you. Instead, it made the pressure behind your eyes spike.

“Why would I be?” you snapped.

He blinked. “Uh—”

“You took me there,” you said suddenly, words spilling before you could stop them. “You know I don’t drink.”

He stopped walking completely. “What?”

“You took me to a bar,” you pressed, irritation flooding your chest. “You know I don’t drink.”

His expression shifted from confusion to disbelief. “Echo, I didn’t force you to go. Or drink.”

“Yes you did,” you shot back. “You pressured me.”

His mouth fell open slightly. “Are you serious right now?”

You laughed, sharp and humorless. “Wow. Okay.”

He took a step closer. “I checked in with you. You ordered on your own. You were having fun.”

“I was exhausted,” you said, voice rising. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“And that’s my fault?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because you knew—deep down—that it wasn’t.

But the headache throbbed. Your stomach rolled. And the embarrassment burned too close to the surface.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you said, brushing past him.

“Echo—”

“I need to go,” you cut in, already walking away.

You didn’t look back.

Hawks stood there longer than he meant to.

The street felt colder without her. Quieter.

He exhaled slowly and turned back onto his patrol route, jaw tight, replaying the argument over and over in his head.

Had he pushed too hard? He’d just wanted you to breathe. To laugh. To not carry the weight of the world for one night. Guilt settled uncomfortably in his chest.

He cut down an alley, scanning out of habit, then froze. Light flickered against the brick wall ahead of him. A familiar shimmer.

“…You are not their target.” An electronic voice.

Hawks’ blood ran cold. A hologram stabilized midair, glitching slightly as it replayed.

“Stop digging,” the distorted voice repeated. “You are not their target. She is.”

It looped again.

And again.

Hawks stared at it, heart hammering.

Echo.

The message dissolved into static and vanished, leaving the alley empty and silent. He swallowed hard.

Was that some kind of threat? A threat that she would be targeted if they kept digging? The thought of you being in danger made him feel nauseous.

And despite this, he couldn’t tell you. Not yet. Not with everything else going on.

He searched the alley extensively for anything else but couldn’t even find what was broadcasting the hologram.

And as he continued his patrol, guilt curled deeper in his chest— heavy, corrosive, growing.

.☘︎ ݁˖

Red Knight (epilogue)

Knight Kirishima x Princess Reader

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Epilogue

Word count: 1,943

Available on my tiktok & ao3 (same user)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The kingdom had settled.

Not into quiet— never that— but into something steadier. Less frantic. Less uncertain. The months following the tournament had been filled with rebuilding, negotiations, preparations, and a thousand whispered opinions about the man who would soon stand beside the future queen.

And at the center of it all was Kirishima.

He still woke before dawn out of habit, even though his days no longer began with patrol routes or training drills. Instead, they began with tutors, stewards, and your father’s relentless expectations.

He no longer stood outside your chamber door at night. That position now belonged to another knight, polite, efficient, silent. He bowed to you with practiced respect, never joked, never leaned casually against the wall, never asked if you’d eaten yet.

You missed the sound of boots you recognized.

The change had been your father’s decision. Appropriate, he’d said. Necessary. Kirishima was no longer just a knight of the guard, he was the future consort to the heir. His role had shifted, whether either of you liked it or not.

And it weighed on him.

Your days were filled with preparations you’d trained for your entire life: councils, correspondence, trade discussions, ceremonial expectations. It was exhausting, yes, but familiar.

You watched him now from the far end of the long dining hall, chin resting in your palm as he sat painfully upright at the table, back rigid, eyes focused with the same intensity he once reserved for combat.

A tutor circled him like a hawk. “Spine straight. Elbows in. Nobility does not slouch.”

Kirishima immediately corrected himself, but messed up again by daring to hold his knife in his left hand.

“Knife in the right hand,” the tutor corrected.

Kirishima stiffened. “Right— sorry— right.”

He adjusted, only to immediately forget himself and reach for a roll with his fingers.

You bit back a laugh. He’d faced monsters, duels, death itself. Yet table manners seemed to be his greatest enemy.

Your father, seated at the head of the table, cleared his throat.

Kirishima froze like a man facing execution.

“…Use the fork,” your father said flatly.

“Yes, sir.”

You finally lost the battle and laughed softly into your sleeve.

Kirishima glanced up, caught your eye, and mouthed, ‘I hate this.’

You only smiled back, fond and entirely unhelpful. Gods, you loved him.

He lived in the castle now. Not as your knight. Not as your husband (yet). But as something in between.

Your father had assigned him chambers in the east wing. Comfortable, well-furnished, and very much separate from yours. The rule was clear, spoken once and never again:

Appearances matter.

You didn’t complain. You understood the politics of it. That didn’t make the distance easier.

You passed each other in hallways instead of sharing late-night conversations. He bowed where he used to grin. He stood beside you during formal events, close enough to feel his warmth but not close enough to touch.

And every time you left his side, another knight stepped in to guard you. You noticed how Kirishima’s jaw tightened every time.

It was subtle at first. The way his gaze lingered on the knight now assigned to you. The way he positioned himself just slightly closer than etiquette required. The way his hands curled into fists when you disappeared behind heavy doors.

One afternoon, as you walked through the gallery, you caught him watching from across the room, eyes sharp with something dangerously close to fear.

Later, you found him in the courtyard, staring at the training grounds like he was homesick.

“You’re allowed to breathe,” you told him gently, approaching.

He startled, then relaxed when he saw it was you. “I know.”

“You’ve been tense all day.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t like not being the one guarding you.”

Your chest tightened.

“I know the knight they assigned you is capable,” he continued quickly, “and I trust him, really, I do. It’s just—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “It’s hard to turn that part of my brain off.”

You stepped closer. “You don’t have to protect me every second.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But I want to.”

The words sat between you, heavy and sincere.

That night, you escaped. The castle gardens were cool and quiet, moonlight silvering the grass. You lay among the flowers, staring up at the stars like you used to— like nothing had changed.

Footsteps approached. You didn’t look.

“Well,” Kirishima said softly. “This feels familar.”

“Sorry.” you murmured.

He sighed and lowered himself beside you, careful, respectful. But his eyes weren’t on the sky. They were on you. “You’ve been quiet,” he said. “That usually means something’s wrong.”

You swallowed. “I could say the same about you.”

He huffed out a small laugh. “Guess we’re both bad liars.”

The breeze stirred the trees above you. Crickets sang.

You turned on your side, facing him. “You look exhausted.”

He smiled, “is it that obvious?”

“You’re learning how to be a noble, a consort, a future king… all at once. Anyone would be tired.”

He laughed weakly. “I used to think sword drills were brutal.”

You hesitated— then reached to play with a loose strand of his hair, voice dropping. “You should come to my chambers tonight.”

His breath caught. “What?”

“You can climb,” you added, smiling sweetly. “You’re still a knight, after all.”

When he arrived later, slipping in through the balcony doors with all the grace of someone who had done this a hundred times before, you were already waiting.

He kicked off his boots quietly and collapsed onto the edge of your bed with a long sigh.

“I love you,” he said immediately, like it was the only thing holding him together.

You joined him, hands cupping his face. “I know.”

He gave you a look when you didn’t say it back, making you laugh. “I love you too.”

He sat up, arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you against him. He buried his face into your shoulder, voice muffled. “I miss it. Being a knight. Fighting. Protecting people with my body instead of… posture and etiquette.”

You ran your fingers through his hair. “You’re still protecting me.”

He looked up. “I am?”

“You chose me,” you said simply. “That matters more than any title.”

His eyes softened, leaning into your hands that held his face. Then you kissed him, it was slow at first— careful, reverent. His other hand hovering at your waist, unsure.

Then you kissed him again. Harder.

His breath stuttered, hands finally settling against you like he was grounding himself. The kiss deepened, months of restraint unraveling all at once. His mouth was warm, desperate, familiar in a way that made your knees weak.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured against your lips.

You smiled, pulling him closer. “You’ll survive.”

He laughed softly and kissed you again, longer this time. His hands slid up your back, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

Somewhere between kisses, he rested his forehead against yours. “I’m trying so hard to do this right.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I see it.”

He swallowed. “I miss being your knight.”

You kissed his jaw, his cheek. “You’re still mine.”

That broke something in him.

You ended up pinned beneath him without quite remembering how. He kneeled between your parted legs— his hands were warm, steady, resting on your thighs like he was afraid to move too fast.

He exhaled shakily. “So… are we really waiting for the wedding night to, uh—”

You laughed quietly. “Consummate?”

His ears went red. “Yeah. That.”

“I don’t care about that rule,” you admitted.

He groaned, tipping his head back. “Yeah, but I swear your dad will just know.”

You snorted. “He’s not magic.”

Kirishima squinted. “Are you sure?”

You draped your arms around his neck, laughing into his shoulder. He smiled, kissing your temple, then your neck.

The world narrowed to breath and warmth and hands exploring what they already knew. The candles burned lower. The door stayed shut.

The weeks that followed felt lighter. Lessons continued. Expectations remained. But the weight had shifted— shared now, instead of borne alone.

When the wedding day arrived, it felt less like an ending and more like a beginning.

The bells rang before the sun fully rose. Not the sharp, urgent peal of alarm or summons—but slow, deliberate tolls that rolled across the kingdom like a promise being kept.

You stood before the tall mirror in your chambers, hands folded in your lap as attendants made final adjustments to your gown. Ivory silk fell in soft layers, embroidered faintly with lilies along the hem. Your hair was braided back simply, crowned not with gold but with a circlet of silver.

A queen’s crown would come later. This was not about power. This was about choice. Your wedding wasn’t just for love, it was setting an example of freedom.

When the doors opened and the music began, the noise of the world fell away.

The aisle stretched long before you, lined with nobles, knights, and citizens alike. Faces blurred together, but you saw him immediately.

Kirishima stood at the altar, dressed in ceremonial crimson and white, the colors of your house woven subtly into his attire. He stood straighter than you’d ever seen him, shoulders squared, hands steady, but his eyes softened the moment they met yours.

He smiled. Not the grin he wore in battle. Not the polite one he’d learned for court. The one meant only for you.

You walked toward him with steady steps, heart full and unafraid.

Your father presided over the ceremony himself.

His voice carried clearly, strong and sure, as he spoke of unity, devotion, and the sacred weight of choosing one another. When he turned to Kirishima, his gaze sharpened. Not with distrust, but expectation.

“You were not born to this,” your father said. “Yet you stand here by right of courage, honor, and love. Do you swear to protect my daughter, not as her shield, but as her equal?”

Kirishima didn’t hesitate. “I do,” he said firmly. “With my life, if needed— but always with her consent.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Your father turned to you next, eyes gentler. “And do you take him, not as a knight sworn to you, but as a man who chose you freely?”

You smiled. “I do,” you said. “Every day.”

When your hands were joined, Kirishima’s thumb brushed your knuckles— a grounding touch, familiar and warm.

The crowns were blessed. The vows sealed.

And when your father finally spoke the words that mattered most, “You may kiss.”

Kirishima leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. The kiss was soft, reverent, unhurried. A promise, not a spectacle.

The kingdom erupted in cheers.

The feast followed, grand and glowing, but the moment you’d both been waiting for came when the music changed. The first dance.

Kirishima led you to the floor, fingers lacing with yours. “No pressure,” he murmured. “Only the entire kingdom watching.”

You smiled. “You trained for this.”

He smirked. “And suffered.”

He moved with confidence now, his steps precise, posture perfect, guiding you through the dance with practiced ease. The months of lessons showed in every turn, every careful lead.

But what mattered wasn’t the skill. It was the way he looked at you. Like this was all he’d ever wanted. Like every path he’d walked had led here.

When the music faded, he leaned close and whispered, “I’d do it all again.”

You squeezed his hand. “I know.”

The bells rang one last time— low, steady, content. Not an ending, but a beginning.

.☘︎ ݁˖

UNTOUCHABLE pt 25

.☘︎ ݁˖

Hawks x Female Reader

Word count: 1,153

Parts available on my TikTok!!

.☘︎ ݁˖

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

༄.°

The bar Hawks brought you to didn’t look like much from the outside.

A narrow brick building wedged between a thrift store and a closed-down print shop, its windows fogged from warmth and noise. Inside it buzzed with low light and life, strings of warm bulbs overhead, mismatched tables, a small stage crowded with amps and mic stands. The air smelled like cheap beer, citrus cleaner, and something fried.

It was… nice. Not flashy. Not polished. Just alive.

Hawks hovered behind you for a moment, wings tucked tight beneath a jacket that had clearly seen better days.

“So,” he said lightly, hands shoved into his pockets. “Told you it existed.”

You scanned the room. “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I said it sounded fake.”

He grinned. “Same thing.”

The band currently on stage was mellow: acoustic guitar, soft percussion, a voice that didn’t demand attention so much as invite it. People talked quietly, laughed, leaned into each other. No one stared. No one whispered.

For the first time in weeks, your shoulders eased.

You slid into a booth near the back without thinking. Hawks followed, dropping into the seat across from you, then immediately leaning sideways so he could stretch his legs into the aisle.

You watched the stage while he flagged down a server. When she came over, Hawks ordered a thing of fries for you both to share.

She turned to you. “And for you?”

You hesitated. Maybe one drink wouldn’t hurt, actually.

“…I’ll have,” you paused, then shrugged, “surprise me with a drink. Something light.”

Hawks jumped at the opening— ordering himself a drink without looking at the menu.

“Coming right up,” the server said before walking off.

Hawks exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “Thank God.”

You glanced at him. “What?”

“I’ve been dying for something alcoholic,” he admitted, lowering his voice, “but I didn’t want to be an ass if you weren’t going to drink.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“A ridiculous gentleman.”

The conversation drifted easily after that. Small things. Safe things.

He talked about the awful cover band he’d once seen here that only played anime openings. The fact that you didn’t hate acoustic music, you just hated when people acted like it made them deep. His complaints about patrol routes that made no sense. Your mutual disdain for decaf.

You laughed. Not a polite huff. Not a tight exhale through your nose. A real laugh.

Hawks noticed. He didn’t comment on it, but his eyes softened, like he was quietly filing it away.

Your first drink disappeared faster than you meant it to. The second came without you realizing you’d ordered it.

Somewhere between songs, the conversation shifted. You didn’t remember how. Maybe it was the third time the band mentioned the word echo in a lyric. Maybe it was the way your chest felt tight even here, even now.

“They’re learning,” you said suddenly, fingers curling around your glass. You still couldn’t get your mind off work, even at a place like this and with you a little tipsy. “Every time we fight them.”

Hawks’ posture changed immediately, attentive. “Yeah.”

“And I keep thinking if I’d just seen something faster, noticed a pattern sooner—”

“Echo.”

You took a longer drink. Too long.

“I know it’s not logical,” you said, voice loosening, “but it feels like I’m always a step behind. Like I’m reacting instead of anticipating.”

He watched you carefully now. “You’ve been carrying this alone.”

You shrugged. “That’s kind of my job.”

The music ended. Applause rolled through the room. A new band started setting up— louder, electric, more chaotic. Someone near the stage whooped.

Your third drink arrived. You finished it faster than the first two. Hawks noticed this time.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Slow down.”

You waved him off, already smiling too wide. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t argue, just gave a concerned look. The new band launched into their set— upbeat, messy, infectious. People stood. Moved closer to the stage. Started dancing.

You slid out of the booth without warning when your fourth drink arrived.

“Come on,” you laughed, grabbing Hawks’ sleeve. “You can’t just sit there.”

“I absolutely can.”

You tugged harder. “Nope. Dance floor. Now.”

He stood mostly because you would’ve fallen otherwise. You grabbed your drink on the way.

You danced like no one was watching. Because, functionally, no one was— except Hawks.

You swayed, spun, sang along far too loudly, occasionally bumping into him and using his chest to steady yourself. At one point, your hands slid up to grip his shirt like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hawks did not dance. He stood there, hands hovering at your waist, eyes tracking every unsteady step with growing concern.

“You’re a lightweight,” he muttered.

“I am free,” you corrected with your head thrown back, beaming.

He watched you— the way you glew in the lights, the way your eyes closed as you melted into the music, the relaxed smile on your face. Yes, you were a messy drunk, but you were breathtaking.

You finished your drink and slammed the empty glass down on a nearby table like you’d just won something— snapping Hawks out of his haze.

Then your eyes lit up.

“Oh my god!” you shouted over the music. “Have you ever seen 27 Dresses?”

Hawks blinked. “Uh. Yeah.”

“We should totally recreate it on the bar!” you declared. “I wonder if they take requests— let’s go see!”

You grabbed his hand. He stopped you by the wrist. “Echo, wait. No.”

You turned back to him, pouting exaggeratedly before looping your arms around his neck. “Why not?”

His hands settled firmly at your waist, grounding. “You’re drunk.”

“What?” You leaned into him, breath warm against his neck. “No I’m not—”

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

You giggled. “…Okay. I’m drunk.”

That did it.

He sighed and steered you toward the exit before you could protest. He paid for both of your drinks. Apologized to the bartender. Ignored your commentary the entire walk back to your apartment, which ranged from heartfelt to completely nonsensical.

You tripped on the stairs. He caught you, carrying you the rest of the way. You tried to kiss him in the hallway. He turned his head, fumbling with your keys to unlock your door.

Inside your apartment, he set you gently on your bed and pulled your shoes off with careful hands.

You reached for him again, slower this time.

He caught your wrist softly. “Echo.”

You frowned, then smiled sleepily. “I like you,” you admitted quietly.

His chest tightened. He tucked a blanket over you instead, brushed your hair back from your face, and whispered, “Go to sleep.”

You were already out cold. Hawks locked up behind him and stood in the hallway for a long moment before leaving.

Because this time— it was the hardest to walk away.

.☘︎ ݁˖

Shigaraki Oneshot

Tomura Shigaraki x Gender Neutral Reader

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

⋆˙⟡

Part 1/1

Word count: 1,307

Available on my tiktok & ao3 (same user)

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The bar was grimy in the way only late-night places could be. Sticky floors, dim lights, the faint smell of spilled alcohol that never quite went away. It was loud without being lively, crowded but lonely all the same.

Tomura Shigaraki sat at the far end of the counter, hood pulled low, one hand curled around a half-empty glass. His fingers twitched against it, nails tapping an uneven rhythm as irritation crawled under his skin.

He needed quiet.

He needed space.

And the League had given him neither. Dabi wouldn’t shut up earlier, lounging across furniture like he owned the place. Toga had been poking through his things again, asking questions he didn’t want to answer. Someone— Spinner, maybe, had brushed his shoulder without warning, and the urge to disintegrate something had flared hot and sharp in his chest.

So he’d left. Bars were good for that. Nobody asked questions. Nobody cared who you were, as long as you paid and kept your hands to yourself.

“Long night?”

The voice came from his right. Tomura stiffened, all but one finger tightening around his glass. He glanced sideways and found you perched on the neighboring stool, turned toward him with an easy smile. You looked… bright. Too bright for this place. Like you didn’t belong among flickering neon signs and cracked mirrors.

You continued, undeterred by his silence. “You look like someone who needs a distraction.”

He snorted softly, gaze dropping back to his drink. “Not interested.”

Most people would’ve backed off. You didn’t.

“Well, that’s a shame,” you said lightly. “Because you also look like you could use company.”

Tomura’s jaw clenched. He could already feel it— the itch crawling up his neck, the familiar irritation that came with being perceived too closely. He didn’t look at you again.

“Find someone else,” he muttered. “I’m not good company.”

You hummed, thoughtful, resting your chin in your palm. “Mysterious and self-aware. That’s kind of charming, you know.”

He scoffed. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No,” you agreed easily. “But I could.”

That did it. He finally turned to face you, pale blue eyes sharp beneath the hood. For a split second, you faltered, but then you smiled again, softer this time.

Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest. “You should leave me alone,” he said, colder now. “I’m serious.”

There it was. The warning. The distance he always put between himself and anyone foolish enough to get close.

You studied him for a moment longer, then sighed. “Alright. Message received.”

You slid off the stool, grabbing your jacket. Before you turned away, you offered one last glance over your shoulder.

“For what it’s worth,” you said, “you’re not as scary as you think.”

Then you were gone, swallowed by the bar’s noise and shadows. Tomura stared at the empty seat beside him long after.

Idiot, he told himself. Better this way.

Still, when he finally drained his glass and stood to leave, that tight feeling in his chest hadn’t gone away.

The street outside was quiet, the city humming low with distant traffic. Tomura shoved his hands into his pockets and headed down the sidewalk, mind already elsewhere.

A sharp sound echoed from the alley beside him.

“Hey— let go.”

He stopped. The voice was unmistakable.

Tomura turned just in time to see a man backing you against the brick wall, one hand gripping your wrist too tightly, breath heavy with alcohol.

“C’mon,” the guy slurred. “Don’t be like that.” Something snapped.

Tomura didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the alley, raised his hand. The man never even had time to scream.

The sound was soft. Almost gentle. Like sand pouring through fingers. Ash scattered across the pavement where a body had been seconds ago.

You stared, frozen, heart hammering in your ears.

Behind you, Tomura lowered his hand, irritation plain on his face as he brushed invisible dust from his fingers.

“Tch,” he muttered. “Annoying.”

Your body was jelly on your feet, breath shaky. “Y-you—” You stopped short when you saw his face clearly this time.

Your eyes widened— but not with fear. “Did you just… save me?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the way your voice softened around the word. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said flatly. “He was in my way.”

You swallowed, nodding quickly. “Still. Thank you.” You hesitated, then asked the question that seemed to burn on your tongue. “Are you… a hero?”

Tomura snorted, already turning away. “Hell no.” He started walking.

“Wait!” You hurried after him, feet echoing against the pavement. “So— what? Villain, then?”

He stopped again, shoulders tense. “Take a guess.”

Slowly, he looked back at you, eyes sharp and expectant, waiting for the fear. The disgust. The recoil. Instead, you shrugged.

“Huh,” you said. “That tracks.”

His brow furrowed. “You’re not scared.”

You smiled sheepishly. “I probably should be. But you didn’t let anything happen to me. That counts for something.”

“You should stay away from me,” he warned. “I’m not safe.”

You tilted your head. “Good thing I didn’t ask you to be.”

For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other. Then, reluctantly, Tomura sighed. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe,” you said brightly. “But I’m an idiot who’d like your number.”

He hesitated. Then, against his better judgment, he gave it to you.

It started slowly.

Late-night texts. Meetings in out-of-the-way places. Conversations that never quite touched on names or affiliations. Weeks turned into months.

Tomura found himself at your apartment more often than he meant to be. Crashing on your couch after missions, lingering longer each time. You never asked him to explain the bruises or the blood. You just patched him up and handed him water.

He slept better there. He scratched less.

One night, he fell asleep with his head in your lap, your fingers combing gently through his hair. He woke up hours later, disoriented and strangely at peace.

Rain tapped softly against the window as you lay together in bed, the room lit only by the glow of the city outside. Tomura rested against you, head tucked beneath your chin, fingers loosely gripping your shirt like he was afraid you might disappear.

Your hand slid through his hair, slow and careful. He melted into the touch with a quiet hum.

“You’re thinking,” he muttered.

You smiled. “Am I that obvious?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You always get quiet.”

You hesitated, fingers pausing for just a moment before continuing.

“Tomura,” you said softly. “You know I always knew, right?”

He stiffened.

“What,” he said slowly, “are you talking about?”

“I knew you were a villain,” you admitted. “From the beginning.”

Silence fell heavy between you. He pushed himself up slightly, eyes wide, heart pounding. “You— what?”

“I recognized you at the bar,” you continued gently. “News footage. Rumors. The hands.”

He pulled away, sitting up, panic flashing across his face. “Then why— why did you—”

“Because I wanted you,” you said simply. “Not some version of you that made me feel safer.”

His hands trembled. “You should’ve left.”

“But I didn’t.”

He stared at you like you were something impossible.

“You weren’t waiting for me to change?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head. “Never.”

Something in him broke. He leaned forward, kissing you with a desperation that stole your breath, fingers gripping you tight like an anchor. You kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring everything unspoken into it.

When he finally pulled away, forehead resting against yours, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“I love you.”

Your heart swelled.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him back into your chest as he sighed, tension melting away.

“I love you too.”

Outside, the rain kept falling.

Inside, Tomura Shigaraki slept peacefully in your arms— for the first time in a long, long while.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

UNTOUCHABLE pt 24

.☘︎ ݁˖

Hawks x Female Reader

Word count: 627

Parts available on my TikTok!!

.☘︎ ݁˖

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

༄.°

The agency was quieter than usual.

Most of the lights were dimmed, entire sections of the floor empty as night crept in through the tall windows. Only the low hum of servers and the occasional clack of keys broke the silence.

You sat alone at your desk, shoulders hunched slightly forward, eyes burning as lines of corrupted code scrolled endlessly down your screen.

The disk sat beside your keyboard, scratched and worn, like it had been passed through too many hands already. You’d been feeding fragments into decryption software for hours, isolating patterns, rebuilding missing chunks, forcing logic where there was none.

Your head throbbed.

Still, you didn’t stop.

A chair scraped softly beside you.

You didn’t look up.

“Hm,” you murmured, acknowledging the presence without breaking focus.

“Hm,” came Hawks’ voice in return.

He dropped into the seat next to yours like he belonged there, elbow on the desk, cheek resting in his palm. You could feel him watching you, not in the sharp, tactical way he usually did— but slower. Tired.

The silence stretched. You typed. He breathed.

After a minute, you finally spoke. “What are you doing here?”

“Long day,” he said simply.

You frowned faintly, eyes still on the screen. “So… you came here?”

“Yeah.” A pause. Then, quieter: “I wanted to see you.”

Your fingers slowed. You glanced sideways at him before you could stop yourself.

He looked exhausted. Not the dramatic, post-battle kind, just worn down. Wings folded tight, eyes duller than usual, posture slack in a way you rarely saw.

You nodded once, small and wordless, then turned back to your screen. He didn’t push. Didn’t joke. Just stayed.

Minutes passed. Then more.

Finally, something clicked. Your posture straightened. Your fingers flew.

“No,” you whispered. “No— wait—”

Hawks perked up slightly. “You got something?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “The corruption isn’t random. It’s layered. Like… like branches growing off a central trunk.”

You pulled files onto the main screen, rearranging data clusters until a shape began to emerge. A schematic. Your pulse quickened.

“This is an OS framework,” you said. “Not just AI— an operating system.”

Hawks leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “That’s… big.”

You swallowed. “It’s worse.”

You highlighted the header file.

CORE-OS: Version Mother

Silence.

You continued, voice tight. “The bots we’ve fought? They aren’t independent systems. They’re branches. Children. Running off this core architecture.”

Hawks’ jaw clenched. “Meaning…”

“There’s a main server somewhere,” you finished. “One central system feeding them updates. Learning from every encounter. Distributing improvements in real time.”

You leaned back slowly, the weight of it settling in your chest.

“We’re not fighting machines,” you said quietly. “We’re fighting extensions.”

Hawks exhaled through his nose, running a hand down his face. “So every time we take one down… the rest get smarter.”

“Yes.”

He sat back, staring at the screen like it might stare back.

After a moment, he spoke, softer. “You’re gonna burn yourself out.”

You didn’t respond.

He tilted his head toward you. “Echo.”

You finally looked at him again.

“Come with me,” he said. “Just for a bit.”

“Where?”

“That open mic bar I told you about.”

You hesitated. “Hawks, I don’t have time—”

“You do,” he said gently. “And you need it.”

You studied his face, how serious he looked now, how little humor he was hiding behind.

“…I don’t even enjoy drinking,” you muttered.

“Good,” he said. “We’ll order fries.”

That earned the faintest huff of air from you. Not quite a laugh. But close. You saved your work, fingers lingering on the keyboard like you didn’t want to let go.

“Just for a bit,” you said finally.

He smiled, relieved. “That’s all I’m asking.”

You stood, grabbing your jacket.

And for the first time all day, you stepped away from work.

.☘︎ ݁˖

Red Knight pt2

Knight Kirishima x Princess Reader

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Part 2of 2

Summary: A royal tournament is announced to determine the future spouse of the kingdom’s heir, and y/n wants nothing to do with it. Trapped between duty and desire, she finds comfort in the one person who treats her like more than a prize: Kirishima, her personal guard.

Word count: 2,059

Available on my tiktok & ao3 (same user)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The contenders had been narrowed down to four men, and the final day of the tournament was looming. At this point, the only two things keeping you from flinging yourself off the royal box were:

Kirishima. With his annoyingly bright smile and unwavering optimism. And the nameless knight who’d stolen your attention since his first match.

You were honestly surprised the council had even allowed a man to enter without giving his status, name, or noble ties. But you weren’t complaining, the Red Knight was the only competitor worth watching.

It was Friday evening now. The night before the final bout. The night before you were meant to become someone’s fiancée.

You had tried explaining to your father (repeatedly) that the entire idea of “winning the princess” made you feel like livestock at auction. But he always returned the same practiced line:

“Y/N, would you rather I arrange a marriage to a prince you despise, or allow a tournament so the man who wins your hand at least earns it?”

And you always shot back, “You think I’m an object to be earned?”

He only sighed, every time. He knew it wasn’t fair. But he also believed it was the best he could offer you, a compromise between duty and compassion.

Tonight, even the castle gardens couldn’t drown out your frustration. Crickets chirped around you, the occasional frog croaked at your feet, and the tall grass brushed against your arms as you lay flat on your back, staring at the stars.

The gardens were the only real sliver of freedom you ever got.

You didn’t lift your head when you heard footsteps approaching— heavy, familiar boots crushing the dewy grass.

“Princess,” Kirishima called softly. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d manage to sneak away from me. And succeed.”

His tone was lighthearted, but you could hear the worry threaded underneath. You’d probably given him a heart attack vanishing like that.

When you didn’t answer, he added, “And here I thought I was the one person whose company you actually liked.”

You didn’t smile. The stars held your attention in a way reality couldn’t.

A quiet exhale left him, and then the grass rustled as he eased down beside you, lying flat on his back. But unlike you, he wasn’t watching the sky.

He was watching you.

He studied your profile, the way your brows pinched faintly with whatever emotion you refused to speak aloud. “C’mon, Y/N,” he murmured. “What’s wrong?”

You finally glanced at him, just for a brief second, before returning your gaze to the constellations.

“It’s just… this whole situation.” You swallowed. “I know it’s normal for royalty to lose their say in marriage, but I can’t help wanting a choice. I barely ever get one.”

He nodded, humming softly in agreement. “If you could choose… who would it be?”

The question slipped out before he could stop himself.

“I don’t know,” you lied. But your mind went straight to him. The only man who made you feel human instead of holy, the only one who made your chest ache, the only one whose smile made you warm.

Kirishima spoke again, voice gentler. “I know it’s unfair. Gods, if I could give you a choice, I would. But I really do believe things will work out. Whoever wins… he’s fighting for something important. That means something.”

You groaned, rolling onto your side to look at him fully. “Yeah, but what if he’s fighting for my title and not me?”

This time, he tore his gaze away, staring up at the stars with a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Then… I guess you’ll just have to get lucky.”

You deadpanned. “You’re too hopeful.”

You rolled onto your back again with a sigh.

The two of you stayed there a long moment, the wind brushing through the trees above you.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be engaged tomorrow,” you murmured.

He laughed under his breath and sat up beside you. “It’s crazy, right? Hey— maybe whoever wins will be handsome.”

You kicked at him lightly, unable to stop the smile forming. “As if that matters.”

His laugh echoed through the garden, brighter than the lanterns glowing around the castle walls. “Hey, it won’t be all bad. I’ll still be here.”

“Yeah, until my noble husband decides he hates our friendship,” you said, sitting up beside him.

Kirishima nudged your arm. “Positive thoughts, Y/N. Who knows, maybe we’ll be a trio.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you smiled. He always did this— pulled you back from your own spiraling thoughts with just being there.

It was almost annoying how easily he could fix your mood. Gods forbid a girl wanted to be dramatic in peace.

Morning arrived far too quickly.

You barely slept, mind stuck between dread of the engagement and flashes of the Red Knight moving across the arena. When servants dressed you and escorted you to the royal box, the crowd was already roaring with anticipation.

Kirishima stood behind you as always, his hands folded neatly behind his back, eyes alert, presence steady and warm. He looked normal. Completely ordinary.

Which only made the Red Knight take up more space in your thoughts.

“Only two matches left before the final,” Kirishima murmured, leaning down slightly so only you could hear. “Feeling any better today?”

“No,” you said honestly.

He snorted softly. “Fair.”

But something flickered across his face. Something tight. Something like resolve.

Before you could question it, he straightened suddenly. “Princess, I need to check with the guard captain before the match starts. I’ll be right back.”

“Right now?” you frowned.

“Yeah, just a minute.” He flashed you his usual reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not abandoning my post.”

You sighed. “Fine. Just hurry.”

He jogged off, disappearing down the stairs.

You didn’t see the moment he broke into a sprint.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he tore off the royal guard cloak.

He didn’t have time to overthink.

He didn’t have time to question how insane this was.

All he knew was that you deserved a choice. And if he couldn’t give you one as your knight… He would give you one as a contender.

The armor of the Red Knight waited where he’d hidden it the night before. He pulled on the helmet last, swallowing a breath.

For her.

Then he ran.

You tried to ignore the restless feeling in your chest. Kirishima still hadn’t returned.

The announcer stepped forward, projecting his voice across the arena:

“Next match: Ser Aldren of Cindervale… versus the mysterious Red Knight!”

The crowd erupted.

The Red Knight stepped into the sunlight, armor glowing like living flame. Tall, broad-shouldered, purposeful. His movements were sure, powerful, almost familiar. Though you brushed that thought away immediately, leaning forward unconsciously.

His opponent swung first, his attacks heavy, brutal, and careless.

The Red Knight dodged cleanly, pivoting with a fluidity you’d never seen in any other fighter. His counterstrike landed with force, sending Ser Aldren stumbling.

The match ended in a single, decisive clash. Aldren hit the ground. The Red Knight’s blade hovered at his throat.

The crowd roared.

You… couldn’t breathe.

When the dust settled and attendants helped remove the fallen knight, the Red Knight raised his sword to the crowd in salute.

And just like that, he was gone. Striding off the field. Leaving a wake of whispers and awe.

Moments later—

“I’m back,” Kirishima said, a little breathless.

You whipped around. “Kiri! Where in the world were you?”

“Captain business,” he said with an easy grin, though a bead of sweat slid down his neck. “Did I miss anything cool?”

“Actually, yes,” you huffed. “The Red Knight fought again. And he won, super fast.”

“Yeah?” he asked, trying and failing to hide how pleased he sounded. “Was it… impressive?”

You rolled your eyes at his eager tone. “Ridiculously. He’s… different from the others.”

“Different good?” Kirishima asked carefully.

You hesitated. “...Yes.”

His ears turned faintly pink.

Hours passed. The last two contenders were declared:

Ser Garrick of Hollowmoor and The Red Knight.

This match determined your engagement.

Your stomach twisted.

The arena fell silent as the two knights faced one another. Garrick was skilled— deadly, even. His strikes were vicious, fueled by arrogance.

The Red Knight parried each one with strength and precision, but Garrick was relentless, landing a brutal blow to the Red Knight’s shoulder that made you flinch.

The Red Knight stumbled.

Garrick raised his weapon for a finishing blow.

But something in the Red Knight snapped.

He surged upward with a roar of effort, blocking the strike, pushing Garrick back step by step. The crowd rose to their feet. Steel clashed again and again until—

The Red Knight disarmed Garrick in a single, sweeping arc.

Garrick fell to his knees.

The arena shook with cheers.

The Red Knight had won.

You were engaged. To him. Whoever he was.

Your father stood, lifting his hand for silence. “Remove your helmet, champion, and show the kingdom the man to whom my daughter is promised.”

The Red Knight hesitated and your heartbeat thundered.

Slowly… he lifted the helmet—

Gasps echoed through the court.

Red hair spilled out first.

Then familiar crimson eyes.

Then a smile, soft and nervous.

“Kirishima?” you breathed, barely audible. You were so fixated on the final match that you didn’t notice he was gone from his post behind you.

He knelt on one knee, head bowed. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said to your father. “But I couldn’t let your daughter’s fate be decided by men who don’t know her… men who don’t deserve her.”

The court erupted with scandalized whispers.

You stood, frozen.

Your father’s jaw clenched. “You deceived the royal house. You broke your station.”

“And I’d do it again,” Kirishima said, voice steady and full of fire. “For her.”

Gasps rippled again.

Your father stepped forward, livid. “You overstep—!”

You interrupted without thinking, heart racing. “Stop. Please. He fought fairly. He won fairly. And—” Your voice wavered. “And I would choose him.”

Silence.

Pure, stunned silence.

Your father looked between you and Kirishima, conflict cracking across his stern expression.

Finally—

“…Very well.”

You nearly collapsed in relief.

Your father pointed a warning finger at Kirishima. “But one step out of line, and the wedding is off.”

Kirishima blushed so hard it nearly reached his ears. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty.”

Your father turned to leave, muttering in disapproval.

The moment he was gone, the court broke into an uproar, servants scrambling, nobles gossiping. You ran down from the royal box, joining him down in the arena.

You and Kirishima stood frozen, inches apart and grins on your faces.

You both leaned in, drawn like gravity.

But a loud clearing of your father’s throat from across the arena made you jump apart.

Kirishima flinched back. “Sorry!”

You clapped a hand over your face, mortified. He smiled awkwardly, bashful and red as his hair.

Later that evening, after the chaos faded, you slipped away to the empty armory. Rows of weapons glinted in torchlight, and the Red Knight’s armor lay carefully arranged on a bench.

Kirishima was there, half out of the armor, sitting with his elbows on his knees. He looked up when you entered.

“…Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.”

You walked toward him, each step slow. He stood as you approached, unsure and full of hope he was trying desperately to conceal.

You stopped inches from him.

“You fought for me,” you whispered.

“I’d fight every army in every kingdom for you,” he replied instantly, no hesitation at all.

Your hand lifted, brushing his cheek. He leaned into the touch like he’d been starving for it.

He swallowed. “Y/N… Are you sure? About… me?”

You smiled, small and full of warmth.

“I’ve never been more sure.”

He let out a shaky breath, like someone exhaling a lifetime of wanting. Slowly, reverently, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Can I.. may I kiss you?” He whispered.

You whispered back, “Yes.”

And in the quiet glow of torchlight, surrounded by steel, shadows, and the remnants of his secret, Kirishima kissed you for the very first time. It was soft, trembling, and full of everything he’d never been allowed to say until now.

.☘︎ ݁˖

Red Knight pt1

Knight Kirishima x Princess Reader

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚✶⋆.˚˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Part 1 of 2

Word count: 1,013

Available on my tiktok & ao3 (same user)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The castle was louder than usual. Banners hung from every window, fluttering in the morning wind, and servants hurried through the halls carrying baskets of flowers that smelled too sweet to be real.

You sat by the window of your chambers, chin propped against your hand, watching the chaos unfold in the courtyard below. The tournament was all anyone could talk about: a celebration, your father called it. A chance for the strongest knights in the kingdom to prove their valor.

But to you, it felt more like a display of property.

You were the prize.

The thought made your stomach twist.

When the door creaked open, you didn’t even look up. “If that’s another dress, I swear—”

“It’s not,” came a familiar voice. “Unless you want me to pick one out for you.”

You turned your head, already smiling despite yourself. Kirishima stood in the doorway, his usual red surcoat slung over one arm, his long hair tied back. He looked far too cheerful for someone who had to stand guard through a week of tedious sword fights.

“Morning, princess,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “You look thrilled about the tournament.”

“I’m ecstatic,” you deadpanned, shutting the window. “Can’t you tell?”

He laughed, the sound warm and unbothered. “You know, most people would love a festival thrown in their honor.”

“Most people aren’t being auctioned off to the highest bidder in armor.”

“Fair point.” He crossed the room, setting his surcoat aside. “Still, it’s not all bad. You’ll get to see some impressive fights.”

“I’d rather see the library.”

He grinned. “Dangerous place, that library. All those dusty scrolls and heavy tomes. You could get a paper cut.”

You shot him a look that only made him laugh harder.

“Seriously, though,” he said after a moment, voice softening, “I get it. I know it’s not fair.”

You looked away, tracing the embroidered edge of your sleeve. “My father thinks this will strengthen the kingdom. He doesn’t see how it cheapens me.”

Kirishima’s tone stayed gentle. “He’s trying to protect you in his own way.”

“I don’t need protection,” you said quietly. “I need a choice.”

The silence that followed was heavier than usual. When you finally glanced up, Kirishima was smiling with that kind of quiet pride that made your chest ache.

“You’ve got a strong heart,” he said. “If I were one of those knights out there, I’d fight to prove I’m worthy of it.”

You blinked. “That’s a very knightly thing to say.”

“It’s almost like I am one,” he joked, straightening as the bells began to ring outside. “Come on. The first round starts soon.”

He hadn’t planned on entering.

The idea hit him later that night, long after the first day of the tournament and the halls had gone quiet.

He stood in the armory alone, torchlight flickering over the rows of helmets and breastplates, the air thick with oil and metal. He thought about the way she’d looked earlier; frustrated, powerless, trying to mask it behind sarcasm.

If he could give her even a fraction of the freedom she wanted— if he could win her hand by choice, not politics— then maybe it would mean something.

He wasn’t delusional; he knew how this worked. A guard had no business courting a princess. But as he looked at the crimson armor hanging in the corner, an old set with no crest or nameplate, he thought, maybe just once, I could try.

The next morning, a new name appeared on the roster: The Red Knight.

The tournament grounds were just as loud as the previous day. A blur of cheering, drums, and the sharp clang of metal. You sat in the royal box beside your father, trying to look interested while you waited for the first match of the day.

Kirishima stood at his usual post behind your chair, silent but alert.

When the first few matches began, you found yourself sneaking glances back at him between rounds. He caught your eye once and smiled reassuringly, like he could tell how tense you were.

Another match in and you were just about to make up some excuse to leave for a couple minutes when the announcer’s voice boomed across the field.

“Next match — the Red Knight!”

Your attention snapped forward.

A figure stepped onto the field clad in gleaming crimson plate, no insignia, no house colors. The crowd murmured, curious. His movements were steady, confident— not like the pompous nobles you’d seen before.

He lowered his visor and drew his sword.

You didn’t know why, but your pulse quickened.

You looked behind you to Kirishima just to see him replaced with another knight standing guard. You asked your father about Kirishima’s temporary replacement.

“He had to do his rounds at the castle gates. He’ll be back.”

You turned your attention back to the fight below, interest set back on the match. The Red Knight moved with precise, effortless strength. Not showy, just sure. When his opponent hit the ground, the crowd erupted.

You realized you were smiling.

Beside you, your father leaned forward, impressed. “A nameless knight winning his first match? Interesting.”

You nodded faintly, eyes still fixed on the crimson figure. He bowed to the royal box— to you— before turning to leave the field. Something about the gesture sent heat to your cheeks.

A few minutes later Kirishima returned, hair somehow messier than before. He cleared his throat softly. “Seems like that last one caught your eye, huh?”

You turned to glance back at him, flustered. “He’s… skilled. That’s all.”

His grin was small, careful. “Yeah. Seems like a good guy.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you teased before you could stop yourself.

He chuckled. “Nah. Just glad you’re enjoying yourself, princess.”

You laughed under your breath, returning your gaze to the field as the next match began.

Still, you couldn’t help thinking about that nameless knight— about your unexplained interest in him.

And somewhere behind you, Kirishima tried to steady his heartbeat, pretending not to notice the faint smile on your lips.

.☘︎ ݁˖

UNTOUCHABLE pt 23

.☘︎ ݁˖

Hawks x Female Reader

Word count: 938

Parts available on my TikTok!!

.☘︎ ݁˖

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

༄.°

The docks were already in chaos by the time you arrived.

Sirens screamed through the foggy morning air, red and blue lights flashing against steel containers and slick concrete. Dockworkers scattered, shouting as heroes moved in formation, corralling civilians away from the waterline.

And in the center of it all—

The machine.

It stood taller than the previous models, its frame sleeker, movements disturbingly smooth. Its armor was darker, less patchwork, and its core glowed with a steady, controlled pulse instead of the unstable flicker you’d seen before.

“This one’s different,” Hawks muttered beside you as you landed on a container roof.

You could already tell. The bot didn’t charge blindly. It scanned. Assessed. Adjusted.

Then it moved.

It lunged toward a cluster of engineers who had been evacuated too late— hands unfolding into restraint cables instead of weapons.

“Shit—” You launched yourself forward, resonance building in your chest as you hit the ground hard between the machine and its targets.

The wave shattered concrete, sent shipping crates skidding, and forced the bot back half a step.

Only half.

It recalibrated instantly.

Its head tilted just slightly before it countered with a frequency shift that made your teeth rattle. It was responding to you.

“Echo, it’s learning you—!” Hawks shouted, diving in from above and slashing at one of its arms, feathers sparking as they cut.

The machine staggered, but instead of fighting back, it pivoted. Calculated. Then—

It grabbed two engineers from the ground with terrifying precision, locking them against its frame like cargo.

“Hey!” Hawks cursed, banking sharply. “It’s extracting!”

You surged forward again, pushing harder, forcing your quirk to spike despite the warning pain blooming behind your eyes.

The resonance slammed into the machine harder than before.

For a second, just a second, you thought you had it.

Then the bot adapted.

Your wave bent strangely, warped mid-impact, dispersing instead of landing cleanly. The machine staggered but didn’t fall.

It launched backward, boosters igniting, smashing through a stack of containers as it retreated toward the water.

“No—!” You took a step after it—

Hawks caught your arm. “Echo— don’t—!”

The machine hit the water with a violent splash and vanished beneath the surface, the two engineers still trapped in its grasp.

Silence fell. Only the sound of waves and distant sirens remained.

You stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight your hands shook.

You’d been close.

Too close.

The ride back to the agency was quiet. Too quiet.

You stared out the window, replaying the fight frame by frame in your head. The hesitation. The miscalculation. The moment your resonance failed to fully disrupt the bot.

If you’d pushed harder— if you’d adjusted sooner— two engineers wouldn’t be missing.

Hawks sat beside you, unusually still. He didn’t joke. Didn’t tease. Didn’t try to fill the silence. He just stayed.

When the elevator doors opened at the agency, Ironwood was already waiting, his expression grim, shoulders heavy.

“It escaped,” he said, not accusing. Just tired.

“With hostages,” Hawks added.

Ironwood nodded once. “We’ve locked down the docks and alerted all nearby agencies. But…” His jaw tightened. “That machine knew exactly who to take.”

You swallowed. “Engineers. Support staff.”

“Knowledge assets,” Ironwood said quietly. “It wasn’t there to fight. It was there to collect.”

The words settled like lead in your chest.

An hour later, Ironwood stopped you both outside the interrogation wing.

“They’re ready,” he said. “One of the smugglers from the east dock raid finally agreed to talk.”

The interrogation room was stark. A metal table, single chair, harsh lighting. The smuggler sat hunched, sweat beading on his forehead, fingers twitching as an interrogator leaned forward across from him.

You and Hawks stood behind the one-sided glass, watching.

“You understand why you’re here,” the interrogator said calmly. “You can help yourself by being honest.”

The smuggler laughed weakly. “You think I know anything real? I just move crates.”

“What kind of crates?” the interrogator pressed.

The smuggler swallowed. “Sealed ones. No labels. Always the same marking— red stripe on the corner.”

Your pulse ticked faster.

“Who delivers them?”

“Not people,” he said quickly. “Not really. They show up with Commission-coded badges. Clearance scanners pass them every time.”

Hawks stiffened beside you.

“They don’t talk,” the smuggler continued. “Never. Just drop the crates and leave. We don’t ask questions.”

“Who built the machines?” the interrogator asked.

The smuggler shook his head violently. “We don’t know. I swear. We just assemble what we’re told to assemble. Sometimes parts come missing, then a new crate arrives a day later with exactly what we need.”

“From where?”

“No idea,” he whispered. “But the badges? They’re real. Or masked to look real. Someone’s using old Commission materials. Old access codes.”

Silence filled the observation room.

Hawks exhaled slowly through his nose. “So someone inside is ghosting the system.”

Ironwood’s voice came through the speaker, low and controlled. “Thank you. That’ll be all.”

As guards escorted the smuggler out, you didn’t move.

Your reflection stared back at you from the glass.

You’d failed to stop the machine. Failed to protect the engineers. And now you knew—

This wasn’t just a villain problem. It was rot inside the system itself.

Hawks glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression.

“Echo,” he said quietly.

You didn’t answer. Your fists clenched again.

Next time, you wouldn’t hesitate.

Next time, you wouldn’t let it adapt fast enough.

Even if it cost you more than you were supposed to give.

And Hawks who was watching you from just a step away— could already tell.

That scared him more than the machines ever could

.☘︎ ݁˖

UNTOUCHABLE pt 22

.☘︎ ݁˖

Hawks x Female Reader

Word count: 717

Parts 1-22 available on my TikTok!!

.☘︎ ݁˖

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

༄.°

By the time the sun crested the skyline, you were already pushing through the front doors of Ironwood’s agency, jacket thrown over your arm, eyes burning from lack of sleep and adrenaline that hadn’t worn off yet.

The lobby was quiet. Too quiet.

Ironwood’s office light was on.

You knocked once and stepped inside before he could answer.

He was already standing, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, a half-empty mug cooling on his desk. The second he saw you, his posture shifted, less commander, more something personal.

“Sir,” you said. “I have something.”

He didn’t look at you right away. “If it’s about the engineer lead, it can wait until briefing—”

“It can’t,” you cut in, firmer than usual. “I found him.”

That got his attention. He turned slowly, eyes sharp. “Start talking.”

You laid it out cleanly. The auction intel. The serial tags. The behavioral AI gap. The name. Dr. Kaede Morita. Former Commission researcher. Specialized in adaptive learning. Quietly terminated months before Project Rebirth was officially scrapped.

Ironwood listened without interrupting, arms crossed as he paced once, then twice, absorbing each detail. When you finished, he stopped in front of the terminal and pulled up Morita’s file.

“…Damn it,” he muttered.

You frowned. “You know him.”

“I knew of him,” Ironwood corrected. “Brilliant. Difficult. Pushed too hard, too fast. The kind of mind the Commission loves right up until it becomes inconvenient.”

He scrolled further. “They marked him as ‘relieved of duty’ and sealed his clearance. No arrest. No follow-up. Just… gone.”

“Which means they didn’t want attention,” you said quietly.

“And they didn’t want questions,” Ironwood replied. He leaned back against the desk, rubbing a hand over his face. For a moment, the commander slipped, revealing exhaustion beneath the authority.

“This confirms our worst-case scenario,” he said. “Project Rebirth wasn’t just stolen. It was abandoned halfway through, and someone picked it back up without oversight.”

“And they’re improving it,” you added. “Each bot is better than the last.”

Ironwood nodded. “Adaptive escalation. Learning from every encounter.”

Silence settled between you. Then he looked at you and his tone shifted.

“You handled this correctly,” he said. “You didn’t rush the field. You followed the data. You waited for confirmation.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“That’s what good heroes do,” he continued. “And what good investigators do. I know you like to pretend you’re just instinct and grit, Echo, but this—” he gestured toward the screen, the files, the trail you’d built “—this took patience.”

Your throat tightened. “I just didn’t want to miss anything.”

“You didn’t,” he said firmly. “And you didn’t bring me noise. You brought me truth.” For a brief second, his expression softened— pride.

Then the moment passed, replaced by steel. “But this also means we’re on a clock,” Ironwood said. “If Morita is alive and working under pressure, he’s either about to disappear again… or he’s already compromised.”

You straightened. “I want to find him.”

“I know,” Ironwood said. “And you will. But not alone, and not without clearance.”

Before you could respond, the office door burst open behind you.

“Boss.”

You turned as Hawks stepped in, wings flared slightly in agitation, followed by two other heroes you recognized from earlier briefings. The usual grin was gone, replaced by something tight and urgent.

Ironwood straightened instantly. “Report.”

Hawks didn’t waste time. “We just got word from harbor patrol. A machine surfaced at the east docks.”

Your stomach dropped. “Same model?” you asked.

“No,” Hawks said grimly. “Bigger. Faster. And it’s not attacking randomly.”

Ironwood’s jaw clenched. “Who are its targets?”

Hawks met your gaze for half a second before answering. “Support engineers,” he said. “Tech scientists. Anyone with system-level knowledge.”

Your blood went cold.

“It’s not just fighting anymore,” Hawks continued. “It’s collecting.”

Ironwood was already moving, issuing orders, activating screens. “Scramble response teams. Lock down the perimeter. I want live feeds and evacuation routes now. I want Echo and Hawks on the front lines.”

Then, quieter, to just to you and Hawks. “If this machine is targeting minds instead of muscle,” he said, “then we’re already behind.”

You clenched your fists.

And somewhere deep in your chest, a single, terrifying thought took root:

The machines weren’t just learning how to fight heroes anymore. They were learning how to build themselves.

.☘︎ ݁˖

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