Quincy's world🍭🍬

✧༺♥༻✧✧༺🍭༻✧✧༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻✧✧ Request is open 💖 📍 pin post for all the links 🔗 and list mostly only write for Dabi and Hawks ( yes I'm a simp) can also do other characters 🩷💜🩷💜🩷💜🩷💜🩷💜🩷

[quincys-world]

Quincy's World

link and list

one shot

Hawks x reader

million dollar man 💵🥀

Love fool 🩷🩵💛🪽

Electric love ⚡ 🪶

Dabi x reader

Fire not chemicals 💙❤️‍🔥

Care ❤️‍🩹💊

I'll always look at you ( post-war Touya )

Tamaki Amajiki x reader

It's just a crush 🪻🦋

Admiration ( soon...)

Baji Keisuke x reader

Message not delivered ✉️🕊

Denki Kaminari x reader

Kinda obvious ( soon...)

Boothill ( HSR)

Enjin x reader ( gachiakuta)

The umbrella

Fixing 🔧

It's the thought that counts

Argenti ( HSR )

Knights eternal oath 🌹🥀

A beautiful dream ❤💔

Sampo

He's kinda cute 💜🖤

18+ shot

Fuck me like you mean it — Dabi x masochistic reader 🧸⛓️

Run if you can — Dabi x tiny brat reader 🐰⛓️ (soon...)

Crack doll Sanzu Haruchiyo x reader🧸💄

It's just a shoot Hawks x photographer reader 📷 ( soon...)

Office sex kento Nanami x porn star reader( soon... ) 🩷🧸

mini series

Shoto Todoroki x Gyaru reader ( opposites attract)

part 1 , Part 2 💖🎀💄🔥🧊

Professional desires Hawks x Assistant reader 📄 ☕

Part 1 , part 2

series

support system

link to all parts Hawks x support tech reader 🪽💻❤💙🩵💛

rivals

Hawks x Pro hero reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Hiatus...

sleeping my way to victory

Katsuki Bakugo x lazy reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 5.5

Under Editing ❗❗❗ comming soon...

[dddilfs]

Just A Shotgun.

Synopsis. In which a certain delinquent gives the town’s sweetheart her first kiss with a shotgun.

Pairing. Touya Todoroki x Reader

Content. delinquent!dabi x innocent!reader, no LOV / heroes, town romance, forbidden relationship, explicit language, no smut but there’s suggestive themes.

Word Count. 1095k words

Art Credits. @sharlockart

A/N. twin sent an edit of him with a comment that said "do you think he gets high?" 🙈

Touya’s boot tapped against the gravel as he leaned back against his bike, one hand casually resting on the handlebar, the other holding his blunt. His leather jacket creaked as he shifted, pulling the blunt to his lips and taking a slow drag. The orange glow flared for a second before he let out a long, lazy exhale.

The night was quiet, too damn quiet for a town that seemed to suffocate him on a daily basis. There were no cops on patrol tonight, no nosey neighbours peeking through their blinds. Just the stars overhead, scattered across the sky like a broken bottle of glitter. It was the perfect night for trouble, for breaking away from the suffocating routine of suburban bullshit. 

And he'd finally convinced you to come along for the ride.

He glanced at you, who was standing just a few feet away, probably thinking that you so out of place in the middle of nowhere. Just the two of you, no streetlights, no prying eyes. 

Touya liked it like this; quiet, except for the distant hum of crickets and the low rumble of his bike cooling down after their ride. He’d parked his bike at some overlook just outside of town, far enough from view. It was one of his favorite spots, not that there was much to see besides a bunch of trees and a river glistening faintly in the moonlight, but he knew you’d like it.

"Hey, you ever smoked before?" he asked, already knowing the answer. He extended the blunt towards you. He wasn’t really offering out of generosity, oh no, it was more like a dare. A little game to see if you’d take it.

"No, Dabi, I haven’t smoked before. Hey, don’t put that over here—" You protested before he spoke. "Here, c’mon. Take it." His voice was smooth, with just enough edge to make it clear he wasn’t asking.

"Well—" Touya watched as you seemingly hesitated, maybe because of the fact you’ve never done anything like this or because you weren’t used to being dragged out of your comfort zone so late at night.

Either way, he didn’t give you much of a choice. Clicking his tongue, he closed the small distance between the two of you in just a few lazy steps. "Look, I’ll make it easy for you. Open your mouth."

Your faces were barely inches apart now. 

"What do you mean?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. What was he planning?

"Shut up and open your mouth, sweetheart."

Without waiting for you to comply, he took another long drag of the blunt,  holding the smoke in his mouth before he leaned in, a slow and lazy movement, and brushed his lips against yours as he slowly exhaled the smoke into your open mouth.

You pulled back, coughing. "Dabi, what the heck?" You exclaimed angrily, not at the fact that he had just kissed you, but at the fact that he had blew smoke into your mouth.

"You were supposed to breathe it in slow, you know that right? I don’t want you choking on me now." His lips curled into a shit-eating grin as he tilted his head, watching your reaction.

"C‘mon… Did you at least like it?" He teased, giving you that look that made your knees weak.

Dodging the question, you pushing at his chest. "You better hope I don’t smell like this stuff. My parents would kill me and you. They already don’t like you."

He let out a low, rumbling chuckle at your comment, the sound echoing in the quiet night air. He took another drag of his blunt, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before blowing it out slowly, letting the cloud drift between you.

"Maybe... But, sweetheart, if you’re worried about your parents catching a whiff of a little fucking weed, then you shouldn’t have come out here with me in the first place, huh?"

"But I wanted too…" You murmured, fiddling with your hands.

"Yeah, I know." He said, his voice dropping to a low conspiratorial whisper, his lips curling back into that grin. "Tell you what, if they give you any shit, just blame it on me. I’ll take the fall, sweetheart."

He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The touch lingered just a moment too long, his fingertips grazing your cheek.

"Oh, Dabi, I couldn’t do that.." You said, leaning into his touch a little. "Blame you."

Touya’s smirk only widened at your hesitation, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something more predatory. He stepped even closer, until your bodies were nearly pressed together, his hand now cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing across their your lip.

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" He murmured, his voice a low, teasing rasp. "C'mon, sweetheart, it’s not like they wouldn’t believe you." He was right and you knew he was. And you hated it,

His other hand, the one not currently holding the blunt , slid down to rest on the curve of your waist, his fingers splaying possessively across the small of your back. 

He pulled you a little closer, until you could feel the heat radiating off his body, could smell the lingering scent of leather and smoke that clung to his clothes.

"Besides, I thought you wanted to take a risk for once in your life. And trust me, that's the biggest fucking risk you can take. Letting a guy like me get this close to you."

"Is that right?" You asked, your eyes drifting down to his lips. Your parents would faint if they knew what you were thinking about.

"You fucking bet it is," He said, leaning in just a little closer. There was just inches between you. The tension was palpable.

"What was that called? When you transferred the smoke to me?" 

Touya blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden change of subject. 

"Oh, that?" he said, his voice a low, amused rumble. "That's called shotgunning, sweetheart. When one person takes a drag and then blows the smoke into the mouth of another. It's a classic move. I figured you, Miss Good Girl, wouldn't know that."

 His hand slid up your back to tangle in your hair, his fingers curling around the strands. He tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"But if you want, I can show you some other...techniques. Things that'll really make your head spin." Touya’s voice was low, his eyes glinting with a dangerous promise.

"Really?"

"Really."

[willowsslove]

Second Chances (Naoya x Reader)

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ Chap 1 - The One With The Push─ ˖᯽ ݁˖·

⁺˚⋆｡°✩ Summary ✩°｡⋆˚⁺

After years of enduring Naoya's cruelty in your marriage, one desperate push at the top of the stairs changes everything.

He falls, but he doesn’t die. He wakes with no memory of who he was, or what he did to you.

With his family desperate to hide the truth and preserve his inheritance, you become his caretaker… and his only anchor. The man who once made you flinch at the sound of his footsteps, now follows you around like a lost ghost, soft-eyed and uncertain.

You could tell him the truth. You could walk away, but guilt keeps you here, and love, eventually, makes it hard to leave.

‎‧₊˚✧ Warnings ✧˚₊‧

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Graphic descriptions of domestic abuse, Physical & emotional violence, Amnesia, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy angst, Slow burn romance, Non-con elements, Smut (More warnings will be added when full chapter is posted).

‎‧₊˚✧ Word Count ✧˚₊‧

3,271k

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨Masterlist୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

TRIGGER WARNING - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! - TRIGGER WARNING!

You have always hated hospitals, the way the antiseptic clings to the back of your throat long after you’ve left, the relentless metronome of monitors counting out someone else’s fragile hold on life, the soft mechanical sighs that never quite mask the undercurrent of grief threading through every corridor. 

They are places where hope is lost, thread by thread, where families learn in increments what grief feels like before it finally arrives, and sitting here beside Naoya, his chest rising and falling only because machines insist on it, tubes snaking beneath pale skin, an IV line taped crookedly to the back of his hand, you cannot remember a time the hatred for this place burned this hot inside your ribs.

Your fingers rest around his, as though the slightest pressure might dislodge the needle or remind his body how little fight it has left. His palm is cooler than it should be, the kind of cold that seeps in when circulation slows and life begins to feel tenuous. 

You fight the urge to pull away, telling yourself the dread pooling in your stomach is only guilt wearing a friendlier mask. 

The beeping continues, indifferent to your fears, a cruel reminder that he is still here even if the man who once filled rooms with his voice and his fury is nowhere to be found.

The door sighs open behind you, a soft pneumatic swoosh, and you turn your head just enough to see Emiko step inside. Her dark hair catches the fluorescent light in muted waves, the pale teal pantsuit she wears looks starched to the point of discomfort, as though she dressed for a boardroom rather than a deathwatch. 

She moves with the practiced quiet of someone who has spent years learning not to disturb powerful men, even when they lie unconscious.

“You’re still here” she says, not quite a question, more the gentle press of an observation against the silence.

You nod once, the motion stiff, then let your gaze drift back to Naoya.

In this stillness he could be anyone, the sharp edges of his jaw softened by sedation, the perpetual sneer smoothed away, nothing left of the hunger that used to rise in his eyes whenever your voice faltered or your shoulders curved inward. He looks almost peaceful.

The sight twists something vicious in your chest.

“Any change?” Emiko asks.

“No.” You lift your free hand, settling it over his so that both of yours cradle his cold palm, as if shared warmth might coax life back into the veins. “The doctors remain… hopeful”

She echoes the words, but it carries no conviction, only the weariness of someone who has heard the same platitudes for weeks. 

You’ve watched them peel back his eyelids on schedule, shine penlights across pupils that barely to react, murmur about stable intracranial pressure while you stand in the corner trying not to let your knees buckle. Hope, in this room, has begun to feel like another machine they wheel in and out.

The silence stretches between you, thick with everything neither of you are willing to say.

She had seen the bruises blooming beneath long sleeves, the way you flinched at the sound of his footsteps in the hall. She had watched you swallow tears at family dinners and still she said nothing, because Zenin women learn early that silence is safer than accusation.

You wonder, not for the first time, whether she ever imagined this future when she first held him as an infant, whether she glimpsed the disdain already growing in those infants eyes, or simply told herself that boys like him grow into men who command.

“Thank you” she says at last, the words scraping out as though they cost her something. She drifts closer until she stands at the foot of the bed, gaze settling on his still face with an expression you cannot quite read. Grief, perhaps, or regret, or simple exhaustion. “Thank you for staying… despite his…”

You cut her off before the sentence can finish. “What else would I do?” The lie tastes metallic. “He’s my husband.”

She doesn't argue, but the small tilt of her head tells you she hears the hollowness beneath the claim. She studies him as though searching for the child she once knew, the one who might have smiled at her without contempt, and you wonder how long it has been since she saw anything in him but the heir she was expected to produce.

“I just…” The words catch in your throat, heavy with everything you cannot yet admit. “I want him to wake up.”

The rest stay lodge in your throat.

That you need him conscious so you can finally leave, so you can sign the papers and walk away carrying only the memory of what he had done rather than the fresh stain of what you did.

You had not meant to push him that hard. You had not wanted to watch his body fall, limbs unfolding in slow, terrible arcs until he lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairs like trash.

But exhaustion had hollowed you out that night, left you raw and trembling, and when his hand rose, open-palmed, the promise of inevitable pain, you reacted before thought could catch up.

The gala had already stretched unbearably long. You were expected to sit prettily on his arm, to smile through conversations that reduced you to decoration, to pretend your mind held no opinions worth voicing.

The fixed curve of your lips had begun to ache hours earlier, the muscles protesting every fresh pleasantry. You were not made for this world, your parents’ debts had delivered you here, trading one cage for another.

All you had ever wanted was a quiet life, a small house, children who laughed without fear, mornings spent among plants that asked nothing of you except water and sunlight.

“Stand up straighter” Naoya had hissed, the words barely audible beneath the din of crystal and laughter, yet sharp enough to slice through the noise. “You look sloppy.”

You corrected your posture instantly, spine locking into place to avoid the dig of his fingers into the soft skin above your hip. His hand stayed there, possessive and punishing in equal measure, while wave after wave of admirers approached. Investors, partners, all sycophants who nodded at every word he said as though agreement were oxygen.

By the time the fiftieth couple drifted away, exhaustion sat like lead in your bones. He was mid-boast about quarterly projections, voice carrying over the room in that easy, commanding timbre that made people lean closer, he rarely noticed your absence in those moments, so you slipped toward the long table laden with canapés, pretending interest in the food while your stomach twisted itself into knots.

You sipped wine you barely tasted, hoping the alcohol might blunt the constant low hum of dread that lived beneath your ribs on nights like this, one misstep and the evening would end in pain you would be feeling days later.

“You were supposed to stay by my side tonight.”

The whisper came hot against your ear, breath ghosting over skin still chilled from the air conditioning. You forced yourself to stillness, refusing the instinctive flinch that had cost you dearly before.

His fingers closed around your bare upper arm, nails pressing crescents into flesh. Anyone watching might simply see a husband murmuring intimately to his wife, but you both knew different.

“I’m sorry” you managed, voice steady despite the tremor starting in your knees. “You seemed engrossed, and I—”

“Oh, did I?” Venom coiled beneath the soft tone, the register you had learned to dread most. “You don’t leave. You don’t walk away. And you don’t think.”

“Yes” you whispered, allowing him to steer you back to the spot you had vacated, the skin where his nails had bitten already throbbing in protest.

You knew the rest before the car even reached the driveway, the sequence never varied.

You’re brought to the master bedroom, his jacket shrugged off and draped over a chair, tie unwound and coiled around his fist, not for restraint, but to spare his knuckles the evidence. He had explained it once, almost conversationally, as though the logic were obvious.

You stood just inside the door, every muscle locked, breath shallow, waiting for the dam to break. Movement would only invite it sooner.

“I don’t ask for much” he said, voice dropping until it seemed to come from somewhere within his chest. “Just stand there, keep your fucking mouth shut, and look pretty. But apparently that’s too much.”

He crossed the room in lazy, slow, strides, as though savouring the approach, until he dipped into your line of sight, bending at the waist to bring his face level with yours. His eyes were flat, cold, amused. “Or are you simply too stupid to manage it?”

The moment your lips parted to answer, the back of his hand cracked across your cheek, broad and stinging, more a slap than a punch.

The world tilted, you're sent sprawling onto to the tile, one palm flying instinctively to the burning skin while your ears rang with white noise.

He crouched, close enough that you could smell the faint sting of his cologne over the copper taste rising in your mouth. 

“Don’t say anything” he murmured, shaking his head slowly, studying the tremor in your fingers, the way your shoulders tried to fold inward. “I can’t believe I got stuck with you.”

The words hurt more than the blow. Strange, how some part of you still craved a kindness he had never once offered, as though being wanted, even by him, might prove you were not entirely worthless.

“I’m going to have to teach you another lesson.” The words come out of him slow and tired, as though this were some unavoidable chore rather than the choice he makes every time the mood takes him.

There is no heat in the statement, only the flat certainty of routine, the same tone he might use to complain about traffic or a delayed flight.

His fingers close around the neckline of your dress, dragging you onto your feet, the fabric bunching under his palm as he begins to pull you from the bedroom.

You stumble forward a step before your balance fails entirely, your heels scrape uselessly against the cold tile, seeking purchase that isn’t there.

Instinct drives your legs to kick, small frantic motions that accomplish nothing except to make the drag feel longer, more humiliating.

The resistance seems to irritate him more than the act itself, his grip tightens, knuckles whitening against the silk, and with a sudden jerk of his arm he flings you across the hallway.

Your back meets the wall hard enough that the impact drives every breath from your lungs in a single shocked gasp.

You fold inward, arms wrapping protectively around your middle while pain radiates outward in bright, nauseating waves. He crosses the distance in two strides, loafers silent on the tile until the first kick lands against your ribs.

The blow is precise, practiced, air punches out of you again, this time carrying a sharp, involuntary cry that you cannot swallow. You twist away on instinct, rolling onto your hands and knees, palms sliding against the smooth floor as you try to put even a few inches between you.

Tears blur the edges of everything, hot and useless, spilling over before you can stop them. His hand finds your hair, fingers twisting into the strands near the scalp, yanking your head back so sharply that your neck arches and fresh pain lances down your spine.

He leans close, breath warm against the shell of your ear, voice low and intimate in a way that makes your skin crawl.

“You embarrassed me” he murmurs, almost conversational. “Everyone else’s women were all over them, clinging, smiling, playing their part. But you…” The sentence trails into silence for a heartbeat, then he drives your face downward. Not straight into the tile, he angles it, using the fistful of hair to turn your head at the last second so the impact glances across your cheekbone rather than shattering your nose.

The force still rattles your teeth, stars burst behind your eyelids. “You couldn’t even pretend.”

Another kick follows, lower this time, catching you just below the ribs where the flesh gives too easily. You choke on a sob, the sound wet and ragged. He hauls you upright again by the hair, dragging you backward toward the staircase that looms at the far end of the hall.

“Naoya.” The name slips out before you can stop it, raw and pleading. You almost never use it, he has always hated the sound of his own name in your mouth, as though hearing it reminds him you are a person rather than an object he owns. But desperation overrides caution. “Please. I’m sorry. I won’t—”

“No” he says simply, “you won’t.” His fist drives into your side again, the same vulnerable spot, and this time the pain is so bright it whites out thought for a second.

You double over, gasping, trying to lift your gaze to his face, to force him to see you, really see you. But his eyes are empty, pupils dilated with something that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with release.

This man, who once promised vows in front of witnesses, only wants to hurt until the pressure inside him eases. You see that now, clear as day.

You lurch to your feet in a clumsy scramble, legs shaking, one arm braced against the wall for balance. The front door is too far, the only direction that feels like escape is the bathroom, with its wood door and flimsy lock. Strong enough to slow him, but not stop him.

You manage three stumbling steps before his arm snakes around your waist from behind, yanking you back against his chest. In another life, with another man, the hold might have felt loving, here it is only confinement.

His other hand rises to your throat, fingers wrapping around the column of it, thumb pressing just beneath your jaw while the rest dig in like claws. Air thins immediately, black spots bloom at the corners of your vision.

“Trying to embarrass me more?” he snarls against your temple. “You want to ruin me?” You shake your head frantically, tears sliding over his knuckles, but he only tightens his grip. “You fucking Bitch.”

He begins dragging you toward the stairs again, footsteps deliberately unhurried. Your heels catch on the edge of a rug, you twist, bucking against the arm around your waist, and for one wild second his hold loosens, just enough.

You wrench free, staggering backward, chest heaving. The sudden freedom seems to ignite something darker in him, his face twists with fresh fury at the audacity of your defiance, even in this moment.

His hand comes up, open-palmed, the silk tie he had coiled around his fist earlier slipping free to dangle forgotten from his fingers. The motion is so familiar that your body decides before your mind can catch up.

Both palms slam against his chest.

The push isn't calculated, it's not measured, it's pure, animal reflex born from the desperate need to survive.

One heartbeat he is staring down at you, hatred blazing clear and bright in those eyes, the next his balance falters, weight shifting backward onto his heels.

Surprise flickers across his features, only briefly, so fast it's almost comical, eyes widening, lips parting in silent question.

Then gravity claims him.

He tips, arms windmilling uselessly for a fraction of a second before they snap out to grab at nothing. Then he's falling.

The first impact is dull, a meaty thud of his shoulder against stair tread, followed by a sickening cascade of elbows, ribs, the back of his skull, each collision punctuated by another heavy, sickening grunt.

The sound seems to stretch, echoing in the high-ceilinged foyer until the final, devastating crack of his body meeting the marble at the bottom.

After that, there's just silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

You stand frozen at the top of the stairs, arms still outstretched, palms tingling as though they remember the exact texture of his shirt.

Your breath comes in shallow, stuttering pulls, the hallway light glints off the fallen tie lying halfway down the steps like an accusation.

Below, Naoya lies motionless, limbs splayed at unnatural angles, one leg bent wrong beneath him. A thin thread of blood already darkens the marble near his temple.

You do not move. You cannot. The nausea is already rising, thick and choking, wrapping around the raw adrenaline still singing in your veins.

You did not mean to push that hard. You did not mean for any of this. And yet here you are, staring down at the wreckage, wondering how long it will take for the silence to break and the rest of your life to begin collapsing around what you've just done.

The tears come without warning this time, silent at first, then spilling hot and unchecked down your cheeks as the memory loops again behind your eyelids. You cannot stop it, the images seem to play on repeat nowadays, vivid and merciless, each detail sharper than the last. 

Emiko must read the sudden tears on your face as something else entirely, devotion perhaps, the quiet heartbreak of a wife who has stood vigil beside her husband’s broken form for weeks on end.

She cannot know the truth.

Her hand settles on your shoulder, tentative at first, the touch so light it barely registers. Her fingers are thin, almost frail, the skin paper-soft and cool despite the warmth she tries to impart. She hesitates, then presses a little firmer, kneading once, before shifting to awkward, rhythmic strokes. 

The gesture is clumsy, unpracticed, you wonder how many times in her life she has been allowed to offer solace without calculation, without the weight of family expectation turning even kindness into a strategy.

“He’ll wake up” she says softly, the words meant to soothe but, instead, feel more like a threat. Your sobs deepen, wrenching out of you as you press your face into the crisp white linen beside his unmoving hand.

They smell faintly of bleach and medical tape. “Don’t worry, dear. He’s strong. He’ll come back to us.”

The reassurance only tightens the knot inside you. You squeeze his hand harder, fingers threading through his limp ones as though the cold flesh might somehow help you focus, might keep the storm of your mind from swallowing you whole.

For one impossible second it almost feels like he answers, a faint, fleeting flex of his fingers around yours, not strong enough to be certain, but enough to jolt your heart into your throat.

You lift your head slowly, vision swimming through what remains of the tears.

The room smears into streaks of pale blue and brighter white, the monitors blurring into soft halos of green and red. Emiko’s breath catches audibly beside you.

“Oh my god” she whispers, the sound trembling on the edge of a sob. “He’s… he’s waking up.”

Your own sobs cut off mid-breath, shoulders locking as though someone has pulled every muscle taut through your spine. You blink hard, forcing the blur away just in time to see his eyelids flutter, then peel open with an agonising slowness.

His eyes are glazed, unfocused, sweeping the room in a lazy, bewildered arc that takes in the IV stand, the tangle of tubes, the pale teal of Emiko’s pantsuit, and finally, inevitably...you.

Taglist: @alebrasil0101, @sadlovergirlhere, @rentaldarling, @kingshitonly, @msxxo, @megumzs, @apsychedelicacy, @ckilhj, @ilovethemarias, @lovelymavs, @snailsolidarity, @ginibeanie, @fuckalrighty, @saltymooninternet, @actuallyshard, @reemoony, @guhyeonni, @romanticjoong, @silvyael, @jungkookwife16, @electrifiedslayersummit, @kamushekgi, @skibidiohiosigmafamuntaxrizzmew, @sonic5764, @changoman37, @vehuzzzz, @prime-vere, @kranktruther, @shenzithetitan

If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Warning: It does contain multiple scenes of domestic violence, so if that will upset you, do not read!

DO NOT FEED INTO AI, OR STEAL THIS WRITING. OR ELSE I WILL CURSE YOU!

[quincys-world]

The umbrella

Saw this theory post on tiktok and I was like

Shet I need to write a fan fiction about this

I forgot who posted it lol but if ya know pls comment.

If I remember the post was how his vital / jinki is from someone important to him / why he hates rain lol

and why majority of his team is just just kids lol

Angst ahead so ready your tissues hahahaha

Enjin x Reader

Before he became a Cleaner…

Before people followed him…

Before his name carried weight—

Enjin was just a man who hated the rain.

Not because of the cold.

Not because of the mud.

But because rain made everything feel heavier.

It soaked through clothes, through skin.

And when he's alone, rain made that loneliness louder.

But it wasn't always like that.

The Day He Met You

The rain that day had been relentless.

Not a gentle drizzle.

It poured like the sky had cracked open.

Water streamed down the streets in crooked rivers, carrying dust and scraps of trash with it.

Enjin walked through it with hunched shoulders, hands stuffed in his pockets.

He was soaked.

Cold.

Annoyed.

“Stupid rain,” he muttered under his breath.

A puddle splashed under his boot as he kicked a loose piece of debris.

Then suddenly—

The rain stopped hitting his head.

He frowned.

The sky was still pouring.

Slowly, he looked up.

An umbrella hovered above him.

He turned.

You stood beside him, holding it awkwardly between the two of you.

The umbrella tilted slightly toward him, meaning you were taking more of the rain.

Your clothes were already damp.

Your hair clung lightly to your face.

But you didn’t seem bothered.

You simply looked at him with curious, thoughtful eyes.

Not judgmental.

Not cautious.

Just… observing.

“You’ll get sick if you stay like that,” you said.

Your voice was calm and steady, like you’d already decided this was the most obvious solution.

Enjin blinked.

“…What?”

“You’re soaked.”

“I noticed.”

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Your tone wasn’t teasing.

It was factual.

Like you were reporting the weather.

He stared at you.

Most people avoided strangers in the rain.

Most people avoided him.

But you had walked right up and shared your umbrella like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“…Why?” he asked.

You tilted your head slightly.

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

You thought about it for a moment.

Not a dramatic pause.

Just genuine consideration.

“…Because it’s raining.”

That was your answer.

Like it explained everything.

And somehow—

It did.

---

The Girl With The Strange Mind

You were… different.

Not in a loud or eccentric way.

But in a quiet, thoughtful one.

Your brain worked in ways Enjin could never predict.

You noticed patterns.

Little details.

Small shifts in people’s expressions.

Things most people ignored completely.

“You shouldn’t trust him,” you said one afternoon while watching someone across the street.

Enjin squinted.

“That guy? Why?”

“He lies.”

“How do you know?”

“He doesn’t blink when he smiles.”

Two days later, the same man tried to scam Enjin.

You had seen it coming from the beginning.

Another time, you told him:

“You’ll get along with her.”

“Why?”

“She says exactly what she means.”

You were right again.

It happened often.

Too often to be coincidence.

“Your brain is weird,” Enjin told you once.

You laughed.

“i get that a lot .”

“Seriously. How do you know these things?”

You tapped your temple thoughtfully.

“I just watch people.”

“Creepy.”

“Observant.”

“…Creepy.”

You were Smarter than most people he knew.

You fixed broken tools.

You remembered which scrap dealers were trustworthy.

You could read maps made from torn packaging and faded signs.

Enjin had no idea how your brain worked.

But it impressed him.

And you were kind.

Dangerously kind.

Sometimes too forgiving.

But there was something warm about the way you looked at him afterward.

Like you found his bluntness amusing instead of rude.

You weren’t perfect.

But to Enjin, you felt close to it.

You were intelligent without being arrogant.

Kind without being naive.

Patient in ways that confused him.

You understood people easily.

But you never used that understanding to manipulate anyone.

You used it to protect.

Sometimes you’d quietly pull Enjin away from situations that might cause trouble.

Sometimes you’d step between him and someone who looked like they wanted a fight.

“You’re like an umbrella,” he said once without thinking.

You blinked.

“…What?”

“You keep things from hitting me.”

You smiled softly.

“That’s what umbrellas are for.”

---

When They Fell In Love

Their relationship didn’t start with a confession.

It started with familiarity.

With comfort.

With the way your umbrella slowly became something you both stood under without thinking.

Sometimes you held it.

Sometimes he did.

Sometimes neither of you noticed when your shoulders brushed.

Enjin had always been stubborn.

Quick to anger.

Quick to snap.

But you never reacted the way other people did.

If he snapped at you—

You didn’t yell back.

You simply waited.

Let his anger burn itself out.

Then you’d say something quiet like:

“You’re frustrated.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“…Shut up.”

But eventually he’d sigh.

And you’d smile slightly.

You never judged him for the parts of himself he hated.

You simply accepted them.

Which somehow made him want to be better.

And god—

You were hot.

Beautiful.

Not in a delicate way.

But in a way that caught him off guard.

The way you pushed your hair back when thinking.

The way your eyes softened when you smiled.

The way your laugh sounded like sunlight after rain.

He sometimes wondered how someone like you had ended up beside someone like him.

One quiet night you sat together under a broken roof while rain tapped gently outside.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked.

Enjin shrugged.

“Not really.”

“You should.”

“Why?”

You looked out at the rain.

“Because the future is the only thing we can build.”

He glanced at you.

“What kind of future do you want?”

You thought carefully before answering.

“A place where kids can grow up safely.”

“…Kids?”

“Yeah.”

You looked back at him with a small smile.

“Maybe ours.”

He nearly choked.

“You’re insane.”

You laughed.

“But you didn’t say no.”

He didn’t.

Because secretly—

The idea didn’t sound bad at all.

One day The sandstorm came suddenly.

Violent.

Unforgiving.

You had gone out earlier that day.

Promised you’d be back soon.

But the storm swallowed everything in its path.

Search teams tried.

Days passed.

Weeks.

No body.

No trace.

Just rumors.

“They say the storm ended near No Man’s Land.”

“…Anyone caught in that wouldn’t survive.”

The only thing they found was your umbrella.

Now Years later, Enjin stands beneath the rain again.

The umbrella you once held now rests in his hand.

His Vital Instrument.

Stronger now.

A weapon.

But to him—

It will always be yours.

He hates the rain.

Because rain reminds him of the girl who once stood beside him and shared her umbrella without hesitation.

Sometimes he still looks for you.

In crowds.

In storms.

In impossible places.

Because your body was never found.

And some stubborn part of him—

The same stubborn boy you once sheltered—

Still hopes.

But hope hurts.

So instead, he stands in the rain.

Holding the umbrella that reminds him of you.

And wondering—

If somewhere out there…

You might still be standing under the same storm.Rain tapped against the fabric.

For a moment, he imagined you standing beside him again.

Tilting the umbrella so it covered both of you.

"You'll get sick." you'd say.

"...Idiot."

So he stood there in the rain instead. Holding the umbrella you once shared. And wishing, just once more-That you were still there to hold the umbrella to protect him from the rain.

--- end

[quincys-world]

✨support system— New Year’s Special — Hawks x reader

note this note affect the story of support system this is just a special part go to pin 📍 post for all the links and parts

The streets were already crowded by the time you slipped out of your agency.

Early afternoon, cool breeze, and the scent of roasted chestnuts drifting between the clusters of people rushing to take advantage of the New Year’s sales.

You tugged your scarf tighter and walked with purpose.

Not for the sales—though you had grabbed a limited-edition strawberry cake box the moment you saw it—

but because you really just wanted to step outside without responsibility for once.

Just… walk.

Breathe.

Think.

Have a moment of normalcy.

But as always, normalcy was a myth in your life.

You sensed him before you saw him—

a soft gust of air overhead, the featherlight brush of warmth that only came from one annoying, persistent, golden hero.

“Y/N?”

You stopped, looked up.

Hawks hovered down slowly, visor perched on his head instead of his eyes, hair a bit wind-flattened.

He looked… relieved?

(Like catching sight of you calmed something in him.)

He landed in front of you with a grin that was too bright for someone “just passing by.”

“Fancy seeing you here. Doing anything fun?”

His tone said: Please tell me yes.

Your expression said: You already know the answer.

You held up the cake box like a tiny white flag.

“I was going to buy sweets and go home.”

Hawks blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then leaned forward slowly, eyes narrowing like he was trying to identify a cryptid.

“That’s it?”

You nodded.

“That’s… your entire New Year’s plan?”

Another nod.

His hands dramatically slapped onto his knees.

“Absolutely not.”

You frowned.

“Keigo—”

He didn’t let you finish.

One feather slipped out of his wing and gently hooked your sleeve.

“Nope. I refuse. The universe refuses. New Year’s refuses.”

He tugged lightly.

“You’re coming with me.”

You looked at the feather, then at him.

He wasn’t asking.

He was already smiling like he’d won.

He flew you only a few blocks over—didn’t even give you time to complain—

to a small, empty grassy area by the river.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky gold and rose.

On the ground?

A little convenience store bag full of tiny sparklers and handheld fountains.

You stared.

“You… planned this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, wings ruffling.

“Maybe I got lucky seeing you. Maybe I was gonna ask anyway. Who knows.”

He winked.

“Call it fate.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth lifted.

He handed you a sparkler and crouched to light it with practiced ease.

When the flame caught and crackled into a warm shower of sparks, you stiffened.

Not in fear—

just… unfamiliarity.

It had been a long time since you held something so trivial.

Something meant purely for fun.

Hawks noticed immediately.

“Hey… you okay?”

You nodded once.

“I just… haven’t done something like this in a while.”

He smiled softly.

No teasing.

No jokes.

Just warmth.

“Then let’s make it a new tradition.”

He lit his own sparkler and tapped the tip against yours.

The sparks met and danced.

The reflection glimmered in your eyes, and he looked at you instead of the fire, like you were brighter.

Later, you sat on the river steps, sharing the cake you bought.

Hawks took the first bite and dramatically clutched his chest.

“Y/N… this… this is life-changing.”

You snorted.

“It’s just cake.”

“No. It’s Happiness in Strawberry Form. Give me two more bites or I’ll combust.”

You leaned away.

“Get your own.”

He leaned closer.

“Why would I? Yours tastes better.”

You stared at him.

He stared back with eyes too golden, too soft, too… warm.

He took another bite before you could react.

When night fully fell, the distant city fireworks began.

Bright blues, reds, and silvers exploded overhead, painting the water with light.

You tilted your head back to watch.

But Hawks didn’t look at the sky.

His gaze stayed on you—

how the light softened your expression,

how the wind brushed your hair,

how your shoulders finally relaxed.

He stepped closer.

“Y/N.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, eyes still on the sky.

His voice gentled in a way that made your chest tighten.

“No matter what happens next year…”

His hand lightly brushed yours.

Warm, hesitant, hopeful.

“I’ll be with you.”

You froze.

That wasn’t flirtation.

That wasn’t teasing.

It was a quiet promise.

A vow said like he meant every syllable.

The fireworks cracked above you, reflecting in his eyes.

You swallowed.

“…You always say things like that.”

“Because they’re true.”

The next firework burst—large, gold, cascading like a crown.

Hawks shifted slightly closer, voice a low murmur:

“Let me be part of your normal.”

You didn’t answer out loud.

You didn’t need to.

Your fingers slowly curled around his.

He squeezed gently, letting the moment speak for both of you.

Simple.

Quiet.

Warm.

Something you didn’t know you wanted until it was there.

[quincys-world]

I'll always look at you Post-war Touya Todoroki x Reader

It clung to your clothes every time you visited the Todoroki estate, sinking into fabric, into skin, into memory.but you always shook your head. You didn’t mind.

Because at the end of the corridor, behind the heavy wooden doors, Touya was waiting.

Or rather—burning.

He was always burning.

You were small when it started. Barely tall enough to reach his sleeve, sitting on the engawa with him as steam rose from his skin. His hair was brighter then, red and wild, his grin sharp and proud.

“Watch this,” he’d said once, flames flaring from his hands, too bright, too hot.

You clapped anyway.

Endeavor didn’t.

That was the first time you saw Touya’s smile crack.

You came often. More often than anyone else.

The adults called it duty—an arranged marriage, decided before either of you were old enough to protest. Political. Strategic. A future already written. You loved him even before you completely understood what the word really meant .

But you didn’t hate it.

Neither did Touya.

You patched him up after training, hands steady even when his skin blistered beneath your touch. You learned where the burns appeared most, where the skin split easiest. He hissed and snapped and complained, but he never pulled away from you.

“He didn’t even look at me today,” Touya muttered once, staring at his hands, fingers trembling from overuse. “Did you see? He didn’t even look.”

You lifted his chin, thumbs warm against his cheeks, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“I’m looking,” you said softly.

He froze.

Your voice was small, but it landed harder than Endeavor’s silence.

“I’ll always look at you, even if no one else sees” you promised. “Even if he doesn’t. I promise.”

Touya swallowed. His flames flickered—unsteady, emotional.

Sometimes he was cruel when he was hurt.

Sometimes he lashed out, words sharp enough to cut.

And despite it you stayed

The day it happened, the air was wrong.

Touya came back from training shaking, teeth clenched, flames crawling up his arms uncontrollably.

“He told me to stop,” Touya spat, eyes wild. “He- He Told me I wasn’t suited anymore. That he’s focusing on Shoto now.”

Your heart broke quietly.

You reached for his arm, instinctively, to cool it, to help—

“Don’t touch me!” he snapped. Slapping your arm away.

“Touya, stop—!”

The fire exploded.

Pain ripped through you, white-hot and blinding.

You screamed.

Rei was there in seconds, pulling you away, her own voice breaking as she scolded him, hands shaking as she wrapped your burned arm. Touya stared at you like he’d just killed something precious.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t—please—”

They separated you after that.

For his sake, they said.

For yours.

That night, you snuck out anyway.

Touya sat alone in the dark, knees pulled to his chest. When he saw your bandaged arm, he broke.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, forehead pressed to the floor. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You knelt in front of him and cupped his face gently.

The scar burned faintly beneath the wrappings.

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

He did.

Even with tears. Even with guilt.

“I’ll still look at you,” you said. “Even with burns. Even if you hurt me. Even if the whole world turns away.”

The scar stayed.

You never hated it.

Then one day—

Touya didn’t come back.

Sekoto Peak burned for hours. They said his quirk had overwhelmed him. That his body couldn’t take it. That there was nothing left.

They said Touya Todoroki was dead.

Your engagement was quietly dissolved.

Your future erased with a single sentence.

You screamed into your pillow that night until your throat bled.

And still, no one looked at him.

Not even in death.

Years later, the world burned again.

You were watching the broadcast when the man with blue flames appeared on screen—stitched skin, hollow eyes, hatred carved into every word.

“My name is Touya Todoroki.”

Your knees gave out.

You knew those eyes.

The world had finally looked at him.

His family has finally seen him.

But it was too late.

He survived the war.

Barely.

Machines breathed for him. Tubes connected to him. His body was more scar than skin now.

The Todorokis came quietly, one by one.

So did you.

You wanted to held his burned hand, careful, reverent, as if touching something holy.

But you can't.

You can only look.

“You always wanted him to look at you,” you whispered. “Now everyone is.”

He didn’t say anything.

You stayed anyway.

They built an altar for him after he died.

Eight years after the war.

Shoto prayed there sometimes.

So did you.

You placed your hand over your scar, standing before his photo—before the boy who burned too bright and the man the world finally saw too late.

“I always dreamed of being with you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “But what’s the point of dreaming when you’re not here to look back at me?”

The incense smoke curled upward, smelling faintly of ash.

Just like home.

If ghosts exist, you hope he knows this:

Even in death.

Even in silence.

Even when the world finally looked and then moved on—

You never stopped looking at him.

[quincys-world]

🌞 Summer Vacation Special — support system ( Hawks x reader)

go to pin 📍 post to see all the other links / parts

Note that this does not affect the main storyline of ( support system) this is just a special part.

The request came in marked URGENT.

Y/n skimmed the details with half-lidded eyes while Jun hovered behind her chair, already suspicious.

Client: Private coastal resort

Request: Security upgrade + perimeter drones

Location: Southern coastline — private beach access

The job was supposed to be simple.

​A private client wanted security upgrades for a luxury resort near the coast — anti-intrusion barriers, drone patrol routes, emergency evacuation systems. Easy. Clean. Two days, max.

​Y/N stood at the edge of the resort’s balcony, ocean wind tugging at her coat, holographic screens floating around her as she analyzed signal strength.

​“Wave interference minimal,” she muttered. “Salt corrosion risk acceptable. Jun, log that.”

​Jun, standing behind her with sunglasses, a cold drink, and visible exhaustion, stared at her back.

​“...Boss,” he said carefully. “We are at a beach.”

​“Yes,” she replied, fingers flying. “A hostile environment with unpredictable variables.”

​“That is not what people mean when they say beach.”

​

Soon later ​They finished the upgrade by noon the next day.

​No errors.

No delays.

No explosions.

​Jun stared at the completion notice on his tablet like it had personally betrayed him.

​“...You finished early.”

​“Yes.”

​“You finished vacation-adjacent work early.”

​“Yes.”

​Jun inhaled deeply, then dropped to his knees dramatically on the resort tiles.

​“I am begging you,” he said, hands clasped. “Please. Lets stay longer Just two days.”

​She blinked down at him. “...Why.”

​Jun gestured wildly toward the resort behind them.

​“FOOD. REAL FOOD. SEAFOOD. AND FOOD.DESSERTS. YOU HAVEN’T HAD A PROPER BREAK AS WELL SINCE FOREVER .The agency can run without you for forty-eight hours, I swear!”

​Y/N hesitated.

​Her AI chimed in helpfully:

​“User Y/N has accumulated a 97% burnout index. Recommended action: rest.”

​“...Traitor,” she muttered.

​Jun smiled hopefully. “So?”

​She sighed. “ok...Fine.”

​Jun fist-pumped so hard he nearly fell over.

Leaving soon and about to take war on the buffet .

———

She was standing near the boardwalk when she felt it.

That familiar presence.

The feathers before the voice.

“Well,” Hawks said cheerfully, hands in his pockets, sunglasses perched on his nose, “this is a surprise.”

She looked up.

“…You’re supposed to be in Tokyo.”

“Meeting,” he said lightly. “Turns out it’s here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Convenient.”

He grinned. “I missed you too, Doc. ”

His wings puffed just a little.

People stared.

She realized why when her AI spoke again.

AI: “User Y/n. Multiple observers are confused by your clothing choice.”

She glanced down at her lab coat.

“What’s wrong with it?”

AI: “This environment prioritizes light fabrics and exposed skin.”

“I am exposed,” she said. “My face is visible.”

Hawks choked on a laugh.

“Oh no,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

Before she could protest, she was dragged into a nearby boutique.

She emerged minutes later in a simple summer dress — light fabric, soft color, hair loose.

She felt… strange.

Cool.

Unarmored.

Hawks froze.

Feathers puffed.

Full display.

“…You’re staring,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “I am respectfully admiring you. ”

Her AI added helpfully:

AI: “Hawks’ heart rate has increased by 37%.”

“Disable commentary,” she snapped.

Hawks cleared his throat, trying to act normal and failing. "You look- uh- comfortable."

Her Al, absolutely unhelpful:

"Visual analysis: Subject Hawks displays increased feather activity and pupil dilation."

"...I'm resetting you later," Y/N muttered.

Surprisingly... she enjoyed herself.

She didn't swim.

Didn't sunbathe.

But she ate.

Cakes. Shaved ice. Fruit parfaits.

Hawks watched her quietly demolish a strawberry dessert with intense focus.

"...You really like sweets, huh?"

"They're efficient," she replied. "Instant serotonin."

———

She sat near the shoreline.

Drones hovered over the water, scanning salinity, coral structure, historical erosion patterns.

Hawks watched her in disbelief.

“…You’re analyzing the ocean.”

“It’s fascinating,” she replied. “Did you know the mineral composition here suggests volcanic activity from—”

“It’s a vacation.”

She didn’t answer.

He sighed, smiling softly.

“This is why you need me.”

A group of fans spotted Hawks.

Fans.

Whispers.

Phones.

Y/N stood a short distance away, waiting patiently.

She wasn't jealous.

She was just... watching.

Her expression, however, was unreadable.

Calm. Sharp.

A few people noticed and quietly backed away.

He excused himself politely.

Y/n stayed where she was, calm, watching the waves.

She overheard someone murmur:

“Is that… her?”

“The tech woman?”

“They say she’s scary.”

“She looks like she’d electrocute you.”

Y/n didn’t react.

She simply adjusted a drone.

Hawks returned minutes later, quieter.

“…You okay?”

“Yes.”

“…You sure?”

She glanced at him.

“They don’t matter.”

His wings relaxed.

The beach was quiet now. Moonlight reflecting off the water.

She stood near the shore, watching the waves.

Hawks suddenly grabbed her hand.

“H-hey—”

“Trust me,” he said.

He pulled her toward the water.

She resisted.

“I do not engage in unplanned—”

They slipped.

Both went under.

Silence.

Hawks surfaced immediately, panicked.

“Y/n— I’m sorry— I didn’t mean—”

Then he heard it.

Laughter.

Soft. Real.

She surfaced too, hair wet, eyes bright.

“…That was unexpected,” she said.

He stared.

“…You’re laughing?”

She splashed him.

His eyes widened.

“Oh you’re DONE.”

She pulled him down on to the ocean water.

They laughed under the stars, waves crashing around them.

For once—

She wasn’t working.

And she didn’t regret staying here longer if it's with him.

[quincys-world]

Gimme a few days to publish this 😌🫶

Request is still open ✉️

[quincys-world]

I noticed some of y'all are avoiding the bad and alternative ending lol of support system hahahahahahga

I'mma get my payback soon and will make you guys cry 😠🫵

[quincys-world]

☀️ Child Y/N & Child Hawks — “The Boy With the Wings”

✨ support system ( Hawks x reader) note that this does not affect the main story this is just a special part ( go to pin 📍 post to see all the link and parts)

🌤️ First Meeting

He was sitting alone on the far end of the park bench, tiny red wings tucked tight to his back, like he was trying to hide them under his shirt.

You stopped when you saw him.

Then, very loudly:

“WOW! YOU’RE A BIRD!”

Keigo nearly fell off the bench.

“N-No— I’m— I mean— not really—”

You walked right up to him and poked a feather.

“They’re so soft!! Do they go ‘fwip fwip fwip’? Do they do that? Can you fly??”

He blinked.

Twice.

No one had ever approached him like that.

No fear.

No disgust.

Just sparkly excitement.

He mumbled:

“…Maybe a little.”

That was it.

You immediately sat beside him and handed him the snack you were saving.

🍪 The Snacks Tradition

Every day after school, you would run to that same bench, breathless, smiling, clutching snacks in your tiny hands.

At first, Hawks refused to take them.

He’d stare at the food like it was forbidden treasure.

“I… I’m not supposed to…”

“Why?”

You’d tilt your head.

He’d shrink in on himself.

Shoulders tight.

Wings tighter.

“I don’t wanna… owe anything.”

Your tiny hand shoved a cookie at his face.

“It’s not owing. It’s sharing.”

He hesitated for so long you thought he wouldn’t take it.

Then slowly, shyly…

he bit it.

His eyes widened.

You gasped dramatically.

“YOU LIKE IT!”

He looked away, cheeks pink, but nodded.

After that, he always took the snacks.

Always quietly.

Always grateful.

Always faster than he meant to.

“Kego, you’re a crumb monster.”

“…Please don’t call me that.”

Y/N always grabbed his hand without asking.

Like crossing the street?

Boom. Tiny fingers wrapping around his.

Going up the park hill?

Boom. Hand held again.

Keigo always stiffened first.

Always looked around like someone would yell at him.

Or take you away from him.

But he never pulled away.

Not once.

Sometimes you would swing your arms together.

Sometimes he forgot to be afraid for half a second and let himself smile.

It was the only time he didn’t look haunted.

———

Your quirk wasn’t flashy.

Just enhancement.

Strength, speed, senses—

but only in bursts.

You thought his wings were the coolest thing in the entire world.

“Kego, do they grow? Do they molt? Do they get tired? Do you talk to them??”

“…No… I think.”

“Can they hear? They look like they can hear.”

He looked at you like

why would a feather hear anything??

but he didn’t want to disappoint you.

“…Maybe?”

You gently ran your fingers through them once—

very carefully, like touching something sacred.

He froze.

Not from discomfort.

From shock.

No one had ever touched them gently before.

You whispered:

“They’re warm.”

He whispered back:

“…I like when you do that.”

🌥️ Y/N’s Routine: Waiting Every Day

You showed up every day.

Same time.

Same bench.

Same snacks.

Even when he was late, you waited.

Kicked your legs.

Counted clouds.

Held the snacks close so no one would take them.

And when he arrived—

always looking tired, always breathless, always scared—

your whole face lit up.

“Kego!! You came!!”

He would nod, ducking his head to hide the tiny smile.

That was the happiest part of his day.

Maybe the only happy part.

You waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The sun set.

The wind grew cold.

Your snacks melted.

Your feet swung slower and slower.

He never came.

You told yourself:

“He probably forgot.”

“Maybe he’s busy.”

“He’ll be here tomorrow.”

But tomorrow came.

And he wasn’t there.

And the next day.

And the next.

Eventually… you stopped bringing two snacks.

Stopped running to the park after school.

Stopped talking about the boy with the wings.

One afternoon, sitting on the empty bench, you whispered:

“…Did I do something wrong?”

Your parents told you no.

That kids move.

That things change.

But you were small.

You only knew one thing:

Keigo didn’t come back.

So you assumed:

He didn’t want to play with me anymore.

You cried for him quietly for weeks.

Maybe months.

And you never forgot the boy with the tired eyes and the trembling wings—

the one who held your hand like it was the only warm thing he’d ever known.

[quincys-world]

Hey guys since support system ( Hawks x reader) is all finished now and I'm still doing the special parts

Feel free to request a special part it ya guys want

Since its the holidays soon I have so much time again :3

Can be a requested special part of support system or just a random one shot ( any of your choice I'll try and do it)

[quincys-world]

✨ WHAT IF — HAWKS MEETS CHILD Y/N ✨

Note that this does not affect the story line of " support system " this is just a what if situation —link to the main storyline and other links/ parts

The agency was finally regaining some order. Repairs were slow but steady, staff worked overtime, and the temporary lights flickered as Y/N stayed in her lab tinkering with yet another prototype.

She muttered to herself, adjusting wires, her goggles reflecting sparks.

“Prototype 22-C: Should be simple. Should be—”

BOOM.

A flash of pink smoke exploded from the bench.

Silence.

Then tiny coughing.

Jun came running. “Boss!? BOSS—did something expl—”

He stopped dead in the doorway.

Because standing on a stool… in an oversized lab coat hanging off her tiny frame…

Was a child.

A small girl with messy hair, sharp intelligent eyes, and the same deadpan expression as Y/N—but shorter, louder, and with her hands already reaching for tools she shouldn’t touch.

Jun blinked.

“…No way.”

The kid stared back at him.

Both froze.

Then:

“WHO ARE YOU?!” child Y/N yelled, voice much louder and higher than adult Y/N’s emotionless tone.

Jun flinched. “I—what—WAIT—WHERE IS MY BOSS—HOW DID YOU GET IN—”

Child Y/N ignored him.

And immediately ran.

“HEY—HEY—COME BACK—”

But before he grabbed her, she turned around, snatched his tablet right out of his hands, and sprinted away with shockingly fast legs.

“HEY!!! THAT’S A $2,000 TABLET—COME BACK HERE BRAT—CHILD— GREMLIN!!”

Jun ran after her. She laughed loudly.

Adult Y/N had never laughed this loud in the entire time he knew her.

“im doomed,” Jun whispered to himself.

Later Jun checked the Security footage from the lab confirmed it the tiny gremlin was, in fact, Y/N.

Jun looked ready to die.

Later that day

Hawks was doing patrol, gliding lazily across the city sky, when he spotted Jun sprinting through the street like a man being chased by tax collectors.

"Kid-give me back the tablet-PLEASE-my whole life is on that-"

High above, Hawks spotted him mid-patrol and swooped down.

"What's with the cardio? You training for something?"

Jun grabbed his sleeve. "HELP ME. She stole my tablet."

"She? Who?"

Jun pointed dramatically...

At a tiny girl scavenging through a street vending machine like a hungry raccoon.

Hawks blinked.

She blinked back

“Jun?? What are you—”

“HAWKS PLEASE—HELP—SHE STOLE MY TABLET—”

“Who—?”

Then he saw her.

A small, frantic child bolting down the sidewalk, oversized lab coat flapping, holding a tablet above her head in triumph.—clearly stolen from Y/N’s lab for “study purposes.”

Hawks nearly dropped out of the sky.

“...what the...?”

Child Y/N looked up at him mid-run, eyes sparkling with unfiltered curiosity.

“YOU CAN FLY!!!! HOW FAST—HOW HIGH—HOW MANY FEATHERS—CAN I TOUCH—???”

And she just started climbing onto a lamp post trying to grab his wings .

"...Why is she louder than Present Mic?"

Child Y/N didn't wait for permission-she grabbed his visor right off his face and put it on.

It slumped over her entire head.

"Oh," Hawks said slowly, "Okay. This is happening."

Y/N took off running-again.

"WHY IS SHE SO FAST-??"

"BECAUSE SHE'S MY BOSS!! STOP HER!!"

“OKAY NOPE—NOPE—NO TOUCHING THE WING—HEY—COME BACK—”

She ran again.

Jun wheezed, bent over. “Hawks… she’s… too fast…”

Hawks landed beside him. “Why is she like this?! Y/N is not like this—Y/N is dead inside.”

Child Y/N ran in a circle around them.

“IM NOT DEAD INSIDE IM FIVE!!”

She immediately tripped, rolled, stood up, and sprinted again.

Hawks dragged a hand down his face.

“Oh my god. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Hawks finally caught her mid-dive, lifting her by the back of her lab coat like a kitten.

“Alright, gremlin. Where are your parents?”

She puffed her cheeks. “I AM Y/N.”

He stared.

Jun groaned. “Yeah. Yeah she is.”

Hawks blinked a few times.

“...No. Absolutely not. No way. The real Y/N doesn’t run. She glides. Like a depressed ghost.”

Child Y/N kicked her legs angrily.

“I’M NOT DEPRESSIVE I’M FUN now put me down chicken!!!”

“Yeah, clearly your experiment removed twenty layers of trauma.”

Back at the agency, Hawks checked the security footage.

There it was:

Adult Y/N testing a device—

A flash—

And poof.

Tiny Y/N in a heap of smoke.

Hawks rubbed his temples. “Great. I’m babysitting my crush but smaller and faster and illegally smart.”

Jun grabbed his jacket. “Hawks. Please. Watch her. I’ll try to find a way to reverse the effect or something.”

Hawks looked at child Y/N who was

climbing a shelf

reaching for a fragile drone

chewing on a screwdriver

and somehow hacking Jun’s stolen tablet all at once

“…Jun please hurry.”

Child Y/N waved at Hawks. “HAWKS LOOK!! I MADE A LASER.”

Hawks bolted across the room.

“NO—NO LASERS—NO LASERS—STOP—”

A few hours later, Hawks dragged child Y/N into the hero office, wings drooped in defeat.

Endeavor walked in and froze.

A small child in goggles was standing on his desk, vigorously poking a touch screen.

She looked up, eyes widening.

“FIRE MAN!!!!”

Endeavor blinked. “No.”

She sprinted at him full speed.

“FIRE—MAN—WHOOSH—BIG—FLAME—HOW HOT—CAN I TOUCH—”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

She latched onto his leg.

Endeavor stiffened like a statue.

Hawks wheezed laughing.

“She likes you, boss.”

“I do not like children,” Endeavor deadpanned, trying to pry her off.

Child Y/N gasped dramatically.

“WHY NOT!?”

“Too loud.”

“YOU’RE LOUD!!!”

Endeavor glared at him. “Shut up.”

Hawks eventually gave up and brought child Y/N to his penthouse.

She immediately ran inside like a raccoon entering a convenience store.

In two minutes she already:

stole his keys

climbed on his couch

hid behind a curtain

poked his feathers

opened drawers

turned on the coffee machine

and tried to escape through the balcony

Hawks chased her all night.

she outran him way too easily.

“HOLY—HOW DID Y/N SURVIVE BEING HER OWN CHILD???”

She eventually got tired at 1 AM.

She curled up on his couch with his blanket and the Endeavor plushie she stole earlier.

Hawks sat on the floor, exhausted. “You’re… adorable… but terrifying…”

The next morning, she woke up as…

Adult Y/N.

Full-sized.

Cold.

Emotionless.

Hair messy.

Blanket slipping off her shoulder.

Hawks sat across from her, holding coffee with dark circles under his eyes.

She blinked.

“…Why am I here?”

Hawks stared at her like she was a ghost.

“You climbed a building, stole Endeavor’s pride, hacked Jun’s life savings, and tried to touch my wings fourteen times.”

Jun arrived with the antidote in hand… only to see adult Y/N already back.

“Oh thank god,” he sighed. “Boss, please never be a child again.”

Y/N’s ears turned pink.

“That wasn’t me.”

“Oh it was,” Hawks said, pointing at her. “You were hyper, loud, and feral.”

Jun nodded. “A gremlin.”

“Do not call me that,” she muttered.

“You hugged Endeavor’s leg.”

Y/N froze.

“…I’m going home.”

And she walked out immediately.

Jun and Hawks burst out laughing.

"We shall never speak of this ever again."

[quincys-world]

✨ FANTASY AU support system ( Hawks x reader) — the princess who doesn't want to be saved✨

Note : this does not affect the main storyline of "support system" this is just a special part

Go to pin 📍 post to see all the other links and list

​

​Rumors spread across the kingdom like wildfire carried by mischievous imps:

​“Princess Y/N has been kidnapped!”

“She’s held in a tall, cursed tower!”

“A terrible sorcerer traps her!”

​In reality?

​Princess Y/N was sitting cross-legged on the plush, sapphire-blue velvet floor in her pajamas. She was drinking soothing tea from a cup that refilled itself . She was surrounded by a fortress of enchanted pillows that smelled faintly of lavender, strawberry cake and a spread of flaky, berry-filled pastries. Beside her, guarding the pastry was a cat who may or may not be a demon. He certainly possessed one perpetually glowing amber eye, and he purred with the rumble of a distant thunder.

​The “cursed tower” was, in fact, a masterwork of solitude. The circular chamber boasted floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with forbidden texts, soundproofing that eliminated the clatter of the capital city below, and windows that filtered the harsh midday sun into a warm, gentle glow.

​It was peaceful.

Quiet.

Comfortable.

And most importantly, it was miles away from royal meetings, the suffocating political circus, and the endless stream of suitors she’d been expected to entertain.

​She could sleep until noon.

She could eat strawberry cakes for dinner!

She could ignore the entire world.

​it's was...

Heaven.

​Unfortunately, one person refused to take the hint, possessing the heroic tenacity of a particularly loud, golden fly:

​Sir Keigo Takami, the kingdom’s golden, overly charismatic high-ranking knight, and arguably the most dramatic person that Landen in the Seven Kingdoms.

​He burst through the clouds with ruby wings flaring behind him, the metallic feathers catching the light like a divine bird of destiny.

The sound of his arrival was less a landing and more an aggressive declaration, as his armored boots hit the stone balcony with a resounding CRACK.

​He landed in a heroic pose, his enchanted sword raised high, hair blowing dramatically despite the fact there was no wind whatsoever in the sound-dampened air.

​Then he kicked open the solid door so hard it splintered at the frame, and one of Y/N’s smaller, magic teacups screamed in fright.

​Hawks cried, his voice ringing with practiced urgency, “PRINCESS! I HAVE COME TO SAVE—”

​Y/N turned her head exactly one inch, her gaze deadpan.

​Blank stare.

​Tea sip.

​Blink.

​She spoke, her tone flat, “…Can you close the door? You’re letting in cold air.”

​The knight froze mid-epic-speech.

​He checked the royal decree scroll clutched in his left gauntlet.

​Then he checked the princess, who was currently wrestling a croissant from the cat.

​Then he checked the scroll again, flipping it aggressively.

​“This says you’re in mortal peril,” Hawks stated, his heroic brow furrowing in confusion.

“I am,” Y/N replied. “The tea runs out if I forget the spell and I’m down to my last box of strawberry cake.”

“That’s not what I— you’re supposed to be crying,” he insisted, gesturing vaguely at the room.

“Nah.”

“Begging for help?”

“Nope.”

“...Screaming? Offering your hand in marriage to your rescuer?”

“Do I look like someone who screams or offers political mergers to people who kick down doors?” Y/n said raising a eyebrow at him.

​She took another sip.

​The magical teapot toddled up, refilled the cup with perfect precision, then tipped its lid at Keigo in a gesture that seemed suspiciously judgmental.

​Keigo stared at the teapot like it personally offended his ancestors.

​He tried again, his training kicking in to override the baffling reality.

​Attempt #1: The Emotional Appeal

​Hawks pleaded, stepping carefully around the snoring cat, “Your people need you! The kingdom is in chaos without you!”

“They’ll survive,” Y/N dismissed, pulling the blanket higher.

​Attempt #2: The Guilt Trip

​He tried again, lowering his voice, “Your father is worried! He sent twenty messengers and is now demanding daily reports on your digestive health!”

“He worries about everything including my posture and how many cakes I ate,” Y/N countered easily. “He’ll be fine.”

​Attempt #3: The Heroic Ultimatum

​He knelt in front of her with complete, heartbreaking seriousness, his armor clanking.

​“Princess Y/N… I cannot return to the kingdom without you. It is my responsibility. It is my duty,” Hawks declared, placing his sword point down.

“Watch me,” she responded, finally succeeding in getting the croissant from Shadow.

​The magical cat hissed a low, rumbling sound.

​At some point, the golden knight snapped. His image of the frail, weeping princess shattered, replaced by the reality of a stubborn, pampered monarch.

​Mission mode activated.

Common sense deactivated.

​With the speed only a hero of his caliber possessed, he swooped down, scooped Y/N up by the waist—blanket, pajamas, and all—and threw her over his shoulder like she weighted nothing.

​“EXCUSE ME!?” Y/N shrieked, finally showing genuine distress.

“We’re leaving!” Hawks announced, securing her with one arm.

“PUT ME DOWN! I HAVEN'T EVEN HAD MY SECOND BREAKFAST!”

“I warned you I’d resort to this. The King’s orders supersede your tea schedule.”

“ I swear by the Nine Realms I will end you when we land—!”

“Too late, we’re airbound— OW!”

​She kicked him in the ribs like she was trying to collapse his entire bloodline, aiming for the one spot.

​“Princess, stop— that hurts—! We are four thousand feet up!” Hawks cried out, fighting to keep his wings steady.

“DROP ME OR DIE, KNIGHT!”

“I’m TRYING to save your life here— AAGH—!”

​He sounded less like a legendary knight and more like a knight being attacked by a sack full of angry, well-fed ducks. The sound effects were truly atrocious.

​Y/N sounded like she was ready to commit murder and then take a long nap.

​It was extremely romantic ...?

​

​Then… halfway through kicking him for the eighth time, right as the wind whipped past their ears and Keigo was struggling to keep altitude…

​She stopped.

​Went quiet.

​Her head dropped heavily against his back. The fight drained out of her body, replaced by a devastating weariness.

​Y/N whispered so softly the wind almost stole the words, “…I don’t want to go back.”

​Keigo slowed midair, his massive wings adjusting to a gentle, almost lazy glide, holding them suspended hundreds of feet above the green plains.

​“Why not?” he asked, all teasing, all heroism, and all duty evaporating from his voice.

​Just him, hanging in the quiet air.

​She hesitated, her voice barely above the wind's rustle against his feathers.

​“Everyone expects me to be perfect,” she began, the words tasting like ash. “To smile. To rule perfectly. To attend every endless charity ball. To marry whoever they choose to solidify some pointless treaty.”

Hawks held her tighter against his shoulder. “…Oh.”

​She swallowed thickly, the truth finally escaping.

​“The tower wasn’t a prison, Keigo. It was peace. It was the only place in the whole kingdom where I didn’t have to pretend to be Princess Y/N.”

​Keigo exhaled slowly, the air warm on her cheek, his expression softening into something warmer and more genuine than sunlight.

​“Y/N… you deserve the world you want. Not the world built for you,” he said.

“Then why drag me away?” she asked, the accusation soft but present.

“...Because I thought you needed saving,” he confessed, his gaze fixed on the setting sun. “I thought I was the hero of the story.”

“I didn’t need it.”

“I know.”

​A gentler beat passed, the only sound the subtle movement of his flight feathers.

​“But maybe,” Hawks said, turning his head slightly so his cheek rested against her temple, “Maybe you need someone who just shows up and listens for once.”

Y/N shifted slightly against him, a near-imperceptible softening of tension. “…Maybe.”

​

​Keigo didn’t bring her back to the castle.

​He flew her right back to the tower.

​Then stayed.

​Not as a knight.

Not as a hero.

Not because of orders.

​But because he wanted to.

​He brought pastries from his favorite bakery in the city. He teased her into laughing over the utter absurdity of court politics. He even tried to teach her sword tricks, only to nearly poke himself in the eye with a practice blade—a moment that made her laugh so hard the teapot spilled. She taught him a simple light spell, which he promptly managed to overload, creating a miniature, blinding supernova in the middle of the room.

​He helped mend her robes after , the possibly-demon cat, before it decided they were prey.

She fixed the torn places in his flight armor that had frayed from his high-speed, reckless travel.

He called her “princess” in a private, gentle way that felt like a quiet promise instead of suffocating duty.

​He fell first, crashing to earth with heroic speed.

​She fell harder, slow and sure, like a feather drifting on a warm current.

​

​One late evening, under a glowing purple and orange sky painted by the tower's sunset, Y/N watched him land on the balcony. His feathers were dusted with gold, and he looked impossibly handsome, his wings glimmering like falling stardust.

​“Keigo…?” she began, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

He blinked, stepping closer.

“Yeah?” he asked, his golden eyes filled with quiet expectation.

“I think… maybe I—” she started to confess, the words I love you finally forming on her tongue.

​Everything shattered.

​The purple light.

The ruby Wings.

The tower walls.

The enchanted tea.

​Gone.

​

​Y/N jolted awake with a loud, inelegant gasp.

​Her head snapped off her cold, cluttered desk.

Her agency-issued tablet clattered to the floor, displaying a half-finished logistics report.

The air smelled of cold coffee and stale air conditioning.

​She realized she had a heavy, plush red blanket—one she definitely did NOT have before—draped around her shoulders.

​And—

​Sitting beside her, half-slumped in her office chair, his head propped on his hand, half-asleep with mussed hair and the faint scent of ozone:

​Keigo.

​In real life.

At her agency.

In her lab.

​He blinked awake instantly at the sound, his movements always faster than the average person.

​Hawks grinned sleepily, the smile both tired and devastatingly warm. “Morning, Doc.”

​Y/N froze, the dream world still clinging to the edges of her memory.

​“Did… did you stay here? All night?” she managed to ask, her voice gravelly.

“You passed out at 3 AM trying to sync five different reports,” Hawks replied, stretching his shoulders. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t drool on government documents and that no low-level villains tried to steal your stapler.”

​She glared half-heartedly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

​He stood, stretched, the sound of his joints popping audible, then softened as he looked down at her sleepy, confused face.

​“You were dreaming hard,” Hawks mentioned, scooping up her tablet. “You kept mumbling about towers and tea and… something about kicking me ?”

​well looks like y/n's soul left the building...

​Keigo leaned in, voice warm, gentle, and far too close for an average morning.

​“If you were stuck in a tower… I’d come rescue you by the way. ” he whispered.

​She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were hot and red.

​“I don't need saving,” she insisted, turning back to the desk.

“I know,” he agreed, his voice a low rumble.

​He reached out, brushing his warm thumb over the cold knuckles of her hand resting on the desk.

​Hawks finished softly, a quiet, modern-day knight’s vow. “But I’d show up anyways Just to bring you cake.”

​Y/N looked away, but didn’t pull her hand back.

Fantasy AU — End

[quincys-world]

Future ending- support system ( Hawks x reader) Welcome back.

Go to pin 📍 post to see all the other parts / links 🔗

Morning at Y/n’s Place

The sunlight filtered through the smart-tinted windows of Y/n’s house. Her AI drones whirred softly, tidying up stray cables and stacking holographic schematics into neat piles. Y/n herself sat at the kitchen , sipping coffee and glancing at her holo-screen, already grading her students report.

The house still smelled faintly of burnt feathers and metal polish — a leftover from Hawks’ prosthetic wing used to be. She grumbled under her breath, remembering the chaos of the war, but the sight of Hawks’ old katana lying safely in its display case gave her a small sense of satisfaction.

“Incoming arrival: Keigo.”

Her AI announced. Y/n raised a brow. “He’s late again, isn’t he?”

Within moments, the front door swooshed open — or at least, it tried. Hawks had forgotten that the house sometimes didn’t recognize him, and the smart locks hesitated before granting access. His made the motion of entering a little awkward; the sensors beeped, drones scanned him twice, and the AI let out a soft sigh.

“Y/n,” he muttered, slightly embarrassed. “It’s me.”

The doors finally recognized him and swished open fully. Y/n didn’t even look up immediately. She didn’t have to. She already knew his schedule like it's printed on her head, the way he rubbed his left cheek where the scar still ached.

“Welcome back, Hawks” she said softly.

He exhaled in relief, dropping his bag with a thud. “Traffic. Commission. The world literally falling apart. But…” He looked at her. “I made it.”

Y/n set down her coffee, giving him a soft smile, just enough to make him melt. “Of course you did,” she said, walking over to him. Without a word, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, letting him know he was exactly where he belonged.

Y/n never thought this would her future, their future. After marriage for almost 2 years if her younger self would see this she would definitely Laugh at the idea of this.

She still remembers the wedding.

— flashback ( WEDDING: A Chaotic Love Story)

No one knew what to expect. Everyone thought they were attending a normal wedding. They were deeply, beautifully wrong.

The Venue — A Floating Fortress… for Marriage?

When the guests arrived, the first thought was: “Wait… is this a wedding or are we being launched into space?”

Y/n’s chosen venue was literally floating hundreds of feet above the ground, held aloft by the same propulsion technology she once developed for the U.A. barrier. The structure featured clear floors, hovering platforms, floating lanterns. It looked like someone had managed to successfully combine an advanced hero lab, a sci-fi movie, and a soft romantic space theme.

Guarding the entire beautiful, terrifying structure were hundreds of drones, each one diligently wearing tiny, perfectly tied ribbons on its frame. They hovered around the guests like judging on every move you step.

“IDENTITY CONFIRMED. PLEASE PROCEED. DO NOT TOUCH THE RAILING. DO NOT THINK ABOUT TOUCHING THE RAILING.”

Present Mic was absolutely living for the theme, Eraserhead (Aizawa) was silently wondering why he even agreed to attend, Nezu, however, was genuinely giddy with every sight of the decorations.

“My, my… Y/n really overdoes security, doesn’t she? Quite beautiful!” Nezu observed.

Aizawa muttered, “This is a wedding, Nezu. Not a amusement park.”

Mic shouted back, “IT’S BOTH!! THIS IS SICK!!!!”

The Todoroki Family arrived soon after.

The family almost didn’t get in. The drones scanned them all, then stopped abruptly at Endeavor.

“UNIDENTIFIED. PLEASE STEP BACK. YOUR BEARD IS NOT REGISTERED IN OUR DATABASE.”

Enji insisted, “It’s me.”

“…Define ‘me.’”

Shoto calmly held up his pass. “He’s with me.”

“ID VERIFIED. QUESTIONABLE PARENTAL FIGURE ACCEPTED.”

Rei was holding Shoto’s arm, smiling at the floating view like she was witnessing magic. Fuyumi whispered, “It’s so beautiful…” while Natsuo countered with, “It’s also terrifying. I can see clouds under my feet.”

Best Jeanist strutted in like the venue was his personal runway. After scanning him for a full ten seconds—the drones clearly admiring his perfect look —he entered with a dramatic sigh. He immediately found Keigo, who was already pacing nervously up front.

“It took you long enough, I remember back in the day we used to see you hopelessly admiring her. I do say it was quit obvious, you need to work on your lying,keigo.” Jeanist said, arms crossed.

“Honestly, Keigo, I always say rumors can also be true.”

Hawks blinked. “Which rumors?”

Jeanist smirked. “That you’d never settle down. Or that you secretly married your work. Or that you and Y/n were having a scandalous lab affair. Turns out the last one was true, hm?”

“ remember when you confessed your feelings and it was definitely a internet meltdown.”

Keigo nearly choked. “WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT OUT LOUD?!?”

Jeanist merely replied, “The internet said it first.”

Mic, from across the room, yelled, “HE AIN’T WRONG!!”

Kaminari Denki arrived wearing a suit that sparkled like a lightning storm. He saw the food table. He saw Jun. They became instant best friends. After the war and years later they grow oddly and vibe with each other.

“Bro, have you ever tasted imported mochi? Y/n got the expensive kind—”

Denki was already stuffing his pockets. The drones immediately sounded an alarm.

“ALERT: FOOD INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. ALERT: YELLOW BOY IS STEALING.”

Jun grabbed Denki’s sleeve, whispering urgently, “RUN, THEY’RE GOING TO LASER US—”

A drone swooped down and smacked Jun’s wrist with a tiny metal wing.

“DO NOT. TOUCH. THE STRAWBERRY TOWER.”

Denki glared at it. “You ain’t my mom.”

“I could call her.”

The two menaces bonded instantly.

Tokoyami stood beside Hawks in a pristine suit, with Dark Shadow combed and behaving (for now). He carried the ring box in both hands like it was the Philosopher’s Stone itself.

“Fear not,” he intoned. “The rings are safe under my shadow.”

Five minutes later, he dropped them.

Dark Shadow panicked. Hawks panicked. Everyone panicked.

A drone swooped in mid-air like a pro athlete and caught both rings before they could hit the clear floor.

Mic screamed, “YOOOOO DID YOU SEE THAT??”

Tokoyami bowed deeply. “My apologies. The gravity here is… different.”

Hawks just sighed. “I love you, man. But Please don’t drop anything else.”

Y/n… Isn’t There. Yet.

Guests began to whisper. “Is she late?” “Is she nervous?” “Is she running simulations again?” “Is she fighting a villain RIGHT NOW??”

Hawks tried hard not to look like a heartbroken pigeon.

Jeanist reassured him, “Relax. She’ll show up. She always does.”

Denki chimed in, “Yeah ! Y/n’s just… Y/n.”

Jun, who was already crying, sobbed, “She’s probably adjusting the drones’ bowties—she wants everything perfect—hic—”

Aizawa yawned. “She’ll come.”

And Then—The Lights Shift.

The hundreds of drones aligned perfectly. The sky dimmed. The floating platform hummed with power. A soft, synthesized voice echoed:

“Bride detected. Please do not freak out.”

Hawks snapped his head up.

And there she was. Descending from above like some kind of futuristic goddess, her veil floating weightlessly as the drones formed a path of shimmering light behind her.

Hawks’ knees nearly buckled. Jeanist caught his elbow, muttering, “Steady, lover boy.”

Y/n touched down silently, walked toward him, looked at him, and blushed the tiniest bit. “Sorry. I was fixing a calibration issue.”

Hawks choked back a laugh—because of course she was.

The Ceremony Begins

Tokoyami held the rings with EXTRA caution now. Dark Shadow swore on its honor not to drop anything. Mic cried in the background. Nezu filmed everything. Aizawa pretended he wasn’t smiling. Jun sobbed hysterically into Denki’s shoulder.

The Vows

Hawks’ Vows

He took a shaky breath. “I remember the first time I set foot in your agency. The whole room was red—alarms blaring—drones screaming—and you snapping at me .”

The guests laughed warmly.

“You drove me crazy. You still do. And even when you pretended to be cold, you always supported me. Even when I was broken. Wingless. Hopeless.” His voice cracked slightly. “You gave me back my sky. And I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life annoying you… and calming you when rooms turns red because you’re panicking. You held onto me even when you shouldn’t have. So I’ll hold onto you now. Always.”

Y/n stared at him, wide-eyed, trying not to cry.

Y/n’s Vows

She inhaled deeply. “Well… it all started with the day you walked into my lab. You ignored every rule. Touched everything. And almost got disintegrated by my security protocols.”

Jeanist snorted. Tokoyami whispered, “That tracks.”

“I didn’t expect this to be my future. I didn’t expect you. I didn’t expect someone who would become…” She swallowed. “…my support system.”

People looked around, confused. She clarified softly:

“A support system is someone who keeps you grounded when your mind is too fast. Someone who stays with you when things get ugly or for someone is there when there's a challenge. Someone who lets you rest without guilt. Someone who sees you—the real you—and chooses you anyway.”

Jun sobbed louder. Denki patted his back, also crying.

“You didn’t run away when everything got hard. And you didn’t let me run away either. So… thank you. For choosing me. I choose you, too. Now and the future I will continue always supporting and be there for you.”

Mic yelled: “ALRIGHT LOVE BIRDS, GIVE US SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR!!”

Hawks dipped her and kissed her like he had waited a lifetime for that moment. Y/n’s drones cheered by firing confetti in lightning-fast, perfectly calibrated bursts.

“CONGRATULATIONS. DO NOT DROP THE BRIDE.”

Tokoyami nodded solemnly. Dark Shadow sobbed with emotion.

THE RECEPTION

The Tower of Strawberry Cake

Keigo cried when he saw it: an actual skyscraper of strawberry cake, created in his honor. Denki tried to touch it—and a drone instantly slapped his hand. Denki pouted as Jun dragged him away.

The dance keigo kept stepping on Y/n’s feet because he couldn't stop staring at her face instead of watching where he moved. Y/n smacked his shoulder lightly.

He whispered, “Sorry… you’re distracting.”

Jeanist watching them with amusement behind them.

Rei took photos like a proud mom. Fuyumi complimented everything. Shoto said, “Your drones are terrifying but the view is nice.” Natsuo refused to walk near the clear floor again. Endeavor was still arguing with a drone that wouldn’t let him near the outdoor heaters.

As the party wound down, Y/n leaned against Hawks’ shoulder. “Was it everything you wanted?” she asked softly.

He kissed her . “It was everything I never thought I’d have.”

She smiled faintly. “You’re home now, Keigo.”

He closed his eyes, breathing her in, surrounded by ribbons on drones, the skyscraper of strawberry cake, crying friends, and a peaceful, floating sky.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Always.”

It was...

Heaven.

End of flashback

Keigos’ new position as president of the Hero Commission meant his days were long, his schedule unpredictable, and his energy barely enough to keep up with meetings, briefings, and political red tape.

Y/n’s life was just as chaotic — she taught at U.A., handled civilian support requests, and still sometimes visit her old agency, and still managed her high-tech projects. Their schedules rarely aligned, but somehow, they made it work.

Breakfasts were often staggered. Sometimes Keigo would stumble in around noon, exhausted, and Y/n would already have half a tray of drones organizing her papers. She’d slide him a mug of coffee without a word — a silent greeting and welcome home.

Dinner often involved sharing her AI’s recipe suggestions. Hawks usually claimed he didn’t need it, but Y/n would shove a plate in front of him anyway. “Eat. Funny how you used to drag me out of my agency before just so I can " touch grass" ” she’d tease.

Nighttime was sacred. Even if he came home late, they had a ritual of sitting on the balcony, looking at the city’s skyline, letting their conversation drift from how their day was to stupid personal things —Y/n teasing him about forgetting to pay her for the prosthetic wings a few years ago. keigo mocking her obsession with strawberry cake.

Yet, even in domestic bliss, Y/n’s house sometimes didn’t recognize Hawks. Occasionally, the doors wouldn’t unlock immediately, or the smart assistant would ask,

“Guest access required for entry. Identity unverified.” Hawks would just chuckle, and Y/n would roll her eyes, muttering, “Technology’s got nothing on me.”

Lets just say there's a lot of times where keigo got locked outside and almost cried while saying " he used to be cool and the top 2 hero "

Schedules clash: Y/n has morning classes; Hawks has urgent Commission meetings. They’d wave goodbye as one leaves for work and the other crawls back into bed, only to cross paths briefly during lunch breaks.

Minor frustrations: Hawks sometimes leaves coffee mugs on the counter. Y/n sometimes messes with his prosthetic calibrations when she’s bored. Both secretly love these little annoyances.

Comfort in chaos: When Hawks comes home tired, Y/n makes him sit and lets her drones take his bags . Keigo, in turn, keeps her company while she works grades her students test papers— sometimes just holding her hand or resting his head on her shoulder.

Something when coming it was even more chaos.

“You look like hell,” she said softly, brushing a loose hair from his face.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but she ignored him.

“Sit. Let me check you. ” she said, “And stop pretending you don’t need me.”

He laughed quietly, leaning into her hands. “You’re… relentless.”

“I’m your support tech, remember? And your Wife”

He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that only comes when someone knows they’re exactly where they belong. Y/n pressed a soft kiss to his temple, and for a few moments, the chaos outside, the responsibility, the scars — all of it — faded.

Even if the world change, even if villains roamed and heroes struggled, this house is their home, messy coffee mugs, scattered schematics, and a slightly burned winged hero felt like home.

Even after everything they hold onto each other and this was their place together

Always remembering to greet each other

“welcome back”

Future end — story has officially end thank you for reading 💖

[quincys-world]

I'm sorry yall HAHAHAHAHHA i know i just posted like the happy ending but ya know it's more funny for me if i made you guys go like "awww" to " crying *"

[quincys-world]

Support system ( Hawks x reader)⚠️ Bad end —the building that always cries

( note this doesn't affect the main story. this is just a alternative ending of support system — go to pin 📍 post to see all the other links / parts)

"Y/N... he didn't make it."

Time didn't stop.

It shattered.

Her knees didn't buckle - they turned to stone.

Her heart didn't break - it froze.

Her voice didn't tremble - it disappeared.

Because what was there to say?

She should have known.

She did know.

And she ignored it.

She shouldn't have opened up.

She shouldn't have let her walls down.

She shouldn't have allowed herself those eight years of warmth that he forced into her life.

She should have stayed cold.

Cold doesn't hurt.

But now?

Now it hurt too much to even breathe.

She still worked.

Still commanded respect.

But she wasn't warm anymore.

Not in the tired, gentle way Keigo used to bring out of her.

She was quiet again.

Sharp again.

An unbreakable wall.

Some newer staff whispered that she never smiles.

Old staff knew better:

She stopped smiling the day his name went silent.

Time Skip — Several Years Later

Students whispered that they heard sobbing in the hallways when they stayed late.

Veteran heroes swore the lights flickered red and blue - soft, pulsing, like someone trying to calm a panic attack.

But there was no one.

No one to hush the building.

No one to whisper "hey hey, it's okay."

No one to slip inside late at night with strawberry cake and a stupid smile.

No Hawks.

Sometimes the vents echoed like wings.

Sometimes the glass trembled like feathers brushing against it.

But when anyone checked there's nothing.

Just silence.

And the cold.

Every hero agency across Japan had been rebuilt after the war, polished into sleek towers of reinforced glass and metal.

But y/n’s agency…

It stood differently.

It was perfect on paper — state-of-the-art, fortified, advanced tech, silent hallways, automated systems. Just like before but more... Sharper... Cold.

Yet everyone whispered the same thing:

“It’s colder than the old one. Like it’s grieving.”

They weren’t wrong.

Not a single day passed without someone mentioning it in hushed tones — that the temperature in that building dropped five degrees whenever Hawks’ picture was mentioned. That some nights the lights flickered red and blue through the whole structure for no apparent reason.

The tech teams insisted it was just a wiring problem.

The veterans knew better.

Because once upon a time, Hawks used to calm the system down — literally. He had a way of smoothing out the glitches with his presence, his laugh echoing in the halls, his feathers brushing sensors that recognized him.

The building loved him.

Y/n loved him.

And now he was gone.

Y/n rebuilt it exactly as it was before — same architecture, same layout, same training rooms, same office where Hawks used to annoy her relentlessly.

Only cleaner.

Sharper.

Quieter.

Too quiet.

The new staff avoided her floor unless they had to deliver reports. They said the pressure on her floor felt like standing under a storm cloud — heavy, electric, waiting to break.

They said sometimes they heard footsteps following them when the cameras showed no one.

And the boldest rumor of all:

“At midnight, the building cries.”

A distortion in the speakers.

A soft static.

Like someone exhaling in pain.

Y/n never confirmed it.

She never denied it.

She just continued working — methodical, composed, sharp as a blade. Her voice never rose; her expression never cracked. She trained her interns brutally, pushing them harder than necessary but still ensuring they survived.

They respected her.

Some feared her.

Most pitied her.

But they never asked what happened.

Izuku tried, for a long time, to get her to talk.

In the early months, he’d bring coffee.

Later, paperwork.

Then excuses — “Oh, I just happened to pass by—”

But y/n only ever said:

“Leave it at the desk.”

She wasn’t cold.

She wasn’t cruel.

She was simply… empty.

Izuku eventually stopped trying.

He still bowed respectfully when he saw her.

But he didn’t ask how she was.

He already knew.

For Jun whenever Hawks’ name was even hinted at in conversation, Jun shut down.

Completely.

Not angry.

Not defensive.

Just gone.

His jaw would tighten.

His eyes would go distant.

And he’d excuse himself without explanation.

People noticed.

People whispered.

People wondered, “Does he blame y/n?”

But Jun didn’t blame anyone.

He just refused to open the wound.

He was the only one who knew what y/n looked like the moment she heard Hawks wasn’t coming back.

He remembered the way she didn’t scream, didn’t cry, didn’t collapse.

She simply… stopped breathing for a moment.

She knew this would happen.

She knew loving someone — letting her walls fall, letting her orbit shift — would become her downfall.

She warned him.

She told him she didn’t do attachments.

She told him she didn’t do hope.

She told him everything warm would one day freeze and hurt and break.

And he only laughed.

“Then I’ll melt it every time.”

But he didn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

Because he died before he could keep that promise.

Y/n sits alone in her office, the entire top floor dark except for her dim monitor. Papers neatly stacked, reports precise, her desk spotless.

Outside the huge panoramic window, the city glitters.

Inside, the air is so cold it almost looks like fog forms with each breath.

A light flickers.

The system lets out a soft, glitching hum.

Red.

Blue.

Red.

Blue.

Like emergency lights.

Like feathers used to reflect.

She closes her eyes.

Not to cry — she doesn’t do that.

But to breathe.

To survive another night.

To keep going even though part of her still stands frozen in the moment they brought her the news.

What would have happened if she hadn’t let her walls down?

Would it have hurt less?

Would she have continued on, detached but intact?

Would she have been spared this emptiness?

Or…

What if he hadn’t died?

What if he had come home?

What if she hadn’t pushed him away for so long?

She’ll never know.

And the worst part?

She would open her heart again for him

every single time

even if it killed her over and over.

Jun He pauses, hearing the faint glitching hum again — like static shaped into a sigh.

He doesn’t knock.

He doesn’t try to talk.

He only whispers, barely audible:

“…We miss him too.”

Then he continues walking.

Because in the rebuilt world — perfect, bright, hopeful — there is one place no one can fix.

A building that remembers a man who isn’t coming back.

And a woman who once smiled for him and now has frozen permanently.

And no matter how many years passed...

No matter how much the world rebuilt...

There was nothing nothing that could fill the space where Keigo used to stand.

Where he used to smile.

Where he used to love her in ways she didn't think she deserved.

Some believed the building was haunted.

Others said it was alive.

But the truth was something no one ever said out loud:

It wasn't the building that cried.

It was her.

Her grief soaked into the walls, into the metal, into the shadows.

Her loneliness settled in every floor tile.

Her heartbreak became the structure itself.

The agency wasn't cold.

Y/N was.

And sometimes...

You could almost hear him again.

almost.

“you said you'd stay. ”

Bad ending — End

Link to future

Alternative end link

[quincys-world]

ALTERNATE ENDING - support system ( Hawks x reader) the path we never took together.

( note that this not affect the main plot of the story this is just another alternative or what if situation. go to pin 📍post for all the links)

From the very beginning, Y/N made it clear.

She wasn’t interested.

Not in small talk.

Not in friendship.

Not in whatever warm, bright thing Hawks kept trying to offer her.

Her office door stayed closed.

Her expression stayed unreadable.

Her tone stayed perfectly professional, clipped, and icy.

And the moment Hawks stepped too close, she shut him down.

Just like that day he walked into her lab

The moment she snaps at him.

“Hawks, I don’t have time for your games.”

“I’m working. Do not get in my way.”

“I don’t do personal attachments.”

The assistant turned sharply toward Hawks, eyes cold. "Pro Hero Hawks," he said evenly. "Please -don't ask Ms. L/n about personal matters again." He didn't respond at first. His wings were still raised slightly, feathers trembling on instinct. "Yeah," he finally murmured, lowering them. "Noted." Y/n brushed her hair back, expression returning to its mask of calm professionalism. "Your upgrades will be ready in 30 minutes" she said, voice flat again, like the entire outburst had been erased. "You can pick them up at the front desk." "Right," he said quietly. "Thanks."

And that was it .

The silence after those words had been sharp.

Sharp enough even someone as obliviously optimistic as Hawks felt it.

He Tried… At First

He still hovered around her in those early days.

Still brought stupid jokes.

Still leaned over her desk with that lazy smile.

Still tried to spark conversation even when she only replied with one-word answers.

He even found a way to bring her to his agency and thought of giving her strawberry cake since he noticed her eating one outside. And as a peace offering for making her mad.

She didn’t touch it.

She didn’t even look at it.

She simply said, “Don’t waste Commission funds on irrelevant purchases.”

And that was the moment something in him… flickered.

Just slightly.

Endeavor had told him once, in a surprisingly honest moment:

“Some people don’t want to be saved.

Don’t chase someone who has already decided not to run with you.”

Hawks brushed it off at first.

But then he looked at Y/N.

At her rigid shoulders.

At her empty desk—no personal items, no warmth.

At the way she always walked a step away from everyone.

And he finally understood.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like him.

It was that she refused to let anyone in, period.

He Stepped Back

The teasing visits stopped.

The spontaneous drop-ins stopped.

The strawberry cakes disappeared.

The jokes died in his throat before they reached his mouth.

He became… quieter.

More observant.

More distant.

And in return?

Y/N remained exactly the same.

Professional.

Cold.

Efficient.

Untouchable.

The rumors never happened.

The accidental moments never came.

The tension never built into anything more.

They were simply…

Strangers

And he was her...

Client

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Years Passed

Y/N's agency stayed the same, Sharp and cold. her logic sharp, her efficiency unmatched, her emotional detachment ironically useful.

People respected her.

Feared her a little.

Admired her control.

She never joked with the staff.

Never confided in anyone.

Never softened.

Her walls didn’t crack.

Not once.

And Hawks?

He changed too.

He built a name, then a reputation, then influence. Became the new president in the commission.

He grew older.

More serious.

Less spark, more strategy.

People whispered that the light in him had dimmed.

He never flirted with anyone .

Never showed interest.

Never tried to get close to another wall like hers.

Not after hers.

They crossed paths again in a briefing room, years older, years different.

Y/N was reviewing documents.

Hawks stood beside her, silent, professional, distant.

She said, without looking up:

She always does... She doesn't look.

“Something wrong?”

Hawks blinked slowly.

His voice was calm.

Empty, almost.

“No. Nothing’s wrong, Doc.” it slipped. He doesn't know why but something about that nickname is oddly familiar.

“ Please don't address me with that ridiculous nickname you made up. ”

“ right... Apologies, L/n. It was a mistake. ”

She nodded once and continued reading.

He looked at her, just for a moment.

At her straight posture.

Her cold expression.

Her unwavering focus.

And he thought—

If I had tried harder…

If she had let me in…

If we hadn’t shut each other out…

what would have happened..?

But the moment passed.

And he said nothing.

Because the truth was simple:

It was too late.

It had always been too late.

Someone asked Hawks if he wanted to go greet some new interns.

He glanced once at Y/N—

Still working, still cold, still alone—

and shook his head.

“No. I don’t get involved with people anymore.”

She didn’t look up.

Didn’t hear.

Didn’t know.

Didn’t realize how different the world could’ve been… if one would just look at the other way.

if she had let a single crack form in her wall.

And That Was It

No kiss.

No confession.

No strawberry cake.

No mornings together.

No living under one roof.

No ring.

No laughter.

No future.

Just two people who once stood at the edge of something—

And both chose to walk past each other.

Because one refused to open her heart.

And the other finally stopped knocking.

Alternative ending - End —

link future

Bad end Link