#i am very Normal about this turn of events

[syluslnd]

HSJSISIS Request inspired by the recent event‼️it's also NSFW‼️What if reader was the one who got cat ears and tails instead of Sylus? And their VERY sensitive, I just know Sylus would be having the time of his life playing with them

۶ৎ────୨ৎ────۶ৎ────୨ৎ────۶ৎ

It started as a normal day or at least, as normal as life could be when Sylus was involved.

You’d woken up feeling… strange. Your body felt lighter, your senses sharper and there was an odd tingling at the base of your spine. But it wasn’t until you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror that you realized something was very wrong.

“What the—?!” you exclaimed, staring at the pair of fluffy cat ears perched atop your head. They twitched in response to your voice and your eyes widened as you noticed the long, sleek tail swishing behind you. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Before you could process what was happening, the door to your room swung open and Sylus strolled in, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. “Well, well” he said, his smirk widening as he took in the sight of you. “What do we have here?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “Don’t even start, Sylus. I don’t know what’s going on but I’m not in the mood for your teasing.”

Sylus chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Oh, but how can I resist? You’re absolutely adorable like this.” He stepped closer, his eyes flicking to your ears. “Do they move on their own or do you control them?”

“I don’t know!” you snapped, your tail flicking irritably behind you. “and I don’t care. This is ridiculous.”

Sylus reached out, his fingers brushing against one of your ears and you immediately shrieked, jumping back. “Don’t touch them!” you yelled, your face flushing as a strange sensation shot through your body.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning devilish. “Oh? Are they sensitive?” He stepped closer again, his hand hovering near your ear. “How about this?”

Before you could react, he gently flicked the tip of your ear and you let out an involuntary gasp, your knees nearly buckling. “S-Sylus!” you stammered, trying to push him away but he caught your wrist effortlessly.

“You’re even more fun like this” he said, his voice low and teasing. “I wonder… what else is sensitive?” His gaze dropped to your tail and you immediately tried to step back but he was too quick. His hand wrapped around the base of your tail and you let out a strangled cry, your entire body shuddering.

“Let go!” you demanded, your voice trembling as you tried to pull away but Sylus only tightened his grip, pulling you closer.

“Not a chance sweetheart” he said, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re far too entertaining like this.” He gave your tail a gentle tug and you let out a whimper, your legs giving out beneath you. Sylus caught you easily, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lowered you onto the bed.

“Sylus, I swear—” you started but he cut you off with a kiss, his lips claiming yours with a possessiveness that left you breathless. You tried to push him away but your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch instead.

When he finally pulled away, his smirk was back in full force. “You’re so feisty” he said, his fingers trailing down your side. “But I think I like you better like this completely at my mercy.”

You glared at him, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way your ears twitched and your tail curled around his arm. “You’re enjoying this way too much” you muttered.

Sylus chuckled, his hand moving to stroke your tail again and you let out a soft moan, your body arching against your will. “Of course I am” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “You’re absolutely irresistible like this.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear and you shivered as his breath tickled the sensitive skin. “I wonder… how much more can you take before you break?” he whispered, his voice low and sultry.

You opened your mouth to retort but before you could say anything, he gently nibbled on the tip of your ear, and your words turned into a gasp. “S-Sylus!” you cried, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your body trembled.

Sylus pulled back slightly, his smirk turning almost predatory. “You’re so much fun to tease” he said, his fingers trailing down your neck. “But I think I’m just getting started.”

Sylus pinned you to the bed with ease, his body hovering over yours as his crimson eyes gleamed with mischief. You squirmed beneath him, your tail flicking irritably but he only chuckled, his grip tightening around your wrists. “Now, now” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from you” you shot back, though your voice wavered as his lips brushed against the sensitive tip of your ear. Your body shuddered, a soft gasp escaping your lips before you could stop it.

Sylus smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “You say that” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin “but your body tells a different story.” He nipped at your ear again and you let out a strangled whimper, your back arching off the bed.

“S-Sylus, stop—” you tried to protest but your words dissolved into a moan as he dragged his tongue along the edge of your ear. The sensation was overwhelming, your heightened senses amplifying every touch, every breath, every flick of his tongue.

“Stop?” he repeated, pulling back slightly to look at you. His smirk was infuriating, his eyes glinting with amusement. “But you’re so much fun to play with like this.” He leaned down again, his lips brushing against your other ear. “Besides, I think you’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on.”

You opened your mouth to argue but before you could say anything, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a possessiveness that left you breathless. You tried to resist, to maintain some semblance of control but your body betrayed you, melting into his touch.

When he finally pulled away, you were left gasping for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Sylus chuckled, his fingers trailing down your neck. “You’re so responsive” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “It’s almost too easy.”

You glared at him, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way your ears twitched and your tail curled around his leg. “You’re insufferable” you muttered, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

Sylus grinned, clearly unfazed by your comment. “And yet, here you are, letting me have my way with you.” He leaned down again, his lips brushing against your ear. “But I think I can do better than that.”

Before you could respond, he dragged and poked his tongue along the inside of your ear and you let out a sharp cry, your body arching off the bed. The sensation was overwhelming, your heightened senses making every touch feel like an electric shock. You tried to push him away but your hands barely made contact before he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head.

“S-Sylus, please—” you begged, your voice trembling as he continued to tease your ear with his tongue.

“Please what?” he asked, his voice low and sultry. “Tell me what you want.”

You shook your head, your face burning with embarrassment. “I—I don’t know” you stammered, your body trembling beneath him.

Sylus chuckled, his lips brushing against your ear. “That’s okay” he murmured. “I’ll figure it out for you sweetie”

He continued to tease you, his tongue and lips exploring every inch of your sensitive ears, each touch driving you closer to the edge. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your body writhing beneath him as you tried to escape the overwhelming sensations.

But Sylus wasn’t done yet. He moved down to your neck, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You let out a soft moan, your hands clutching at the sheets as your body trembled with pleasure.

“You’re so adorable like this” Sylus murmured, his voice low and husky. “Completely at my mercy.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him to stop but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your body craving more even as your mind screamed for him to stop.

Sylus smirked, clearly sensing your internal struggle. “Don’t fight it” he said, his lips brushing against your ear. “Just let go.”

And as his tongue flicked against the sensitive tip of your ear once more, you felt yourself falling, your body and mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations. You let out a soft cry, your body arching off the bed as pleasure coursed through you.

Sylus chuckled, his lips brushing against your ear. “That’s it” he murmured, his voice low and sultry. “Just let go.”

[waterdeepwife]

Hey! I love your writing!!!!! Could I request Gale getting fantasy equivalent of anesthesia and when Tav (his wife) tries to get him home/flirt with him he's like 'not interested I have a wife!!'. And idk just fluff and him being amazed that his partner is so hot lol.

My Wife?

Pairing: Gale x Fem! Reader

Warnings: kinda NSFW? drunk! Gale, Gale gets a turned on but no sex, takes place after events of the game, Reader/Tav is married to Gale, light hearted silliness in Waterdeep, typos, I think that’s it?

Summary: Gale had too much to drink and getting him back to the tower is proving a challenge.

A/n: I couldn’t think of the anesthesia equivalent, so I just made Gale drunk.

It had been a fun night at the Yawning Portal. Gale’s friends adored you and you all swapped stories of your adventures, you even heard some gossip about some of the students at Blackstaff. Unfortunately your husband had one too many glasses of wine, resulting in him becoming VERY drunk. You never seen like this before, normally the mage could handle his liquor fine. Now he slouched overall the bar, face red as he mumbled protested as his friends helped him to his feet.

You giggled and approached him, taking in his drunken state. Once you were close enough, you cupped his cheek to feel just how warm his face was. Gale’s eyes widen as you touched him, he flinched away putting up a dramatic hand in the air. Trying to stop you from touching him, then he wagged a finger at you, which made you and his friends laugh loudly.

“Nu-uh, I AM a married man! My wife… She will get upset if she sees you touching me like that...”

One of his coworkers wrapped an arm around Gale’s back to support him, but the wizard tried to wiggle away. Holding up his left hand and pointed to the golden band around his ring finger, a proud smile on his lips.

“See this? Taken! Sorry ladies AND GENTLEMEN!!”

The wizard yelled a little too loudly, causing other patrons to turn their attention to your small group. You couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed at the sudden attention on you. Your cheeks flush a bit as you quickly covered your husband’s mouth, to which he then tried to scream. The wizard’s friends continued to hold him up as they laughed, they couldn’t wait to make fun of him when he was sober.

“Gale! I am your wife!”

You whisper shouted as the wizard turned his attention to you, his brown eyes looked to the golden ring on your left hand, then began raking down your body. Admiring what he saw standing before he looked back into your eyes. You could have swore you saw him go even redder, a soft moan escaped his lips but was muffled by your hand.

You recognized the look in Gale’s eyes, and immediately glanced down noticing the obvious tent in his pants. Your eyes met again, your cheeks burning with blush as your husband gazed at you with a lovesick, yet lustful expression. You slowly removed your hand from his mouth, revealing a goofy smile. Gale wiggled free from his friends and threw his arms around you. He hugged you tight as he drunkly purred out;

“My wifeeee…”

You could only sigh and shake your head fondly, slowly guiding Gale out of the Yawning Portal as he mumbled incoherent declarations of love and desire. During the walk his hand trying to wander down to grab your ass a few times, whispering about you pretty you are. Which you would smack his hand away and cause the wizard to gasp and pout, until you got home.

Once inside you guided him to the couch in the sitting room, knowing you wouldn’t be able to get him up the stairs. Once he was lying down and covered with a blanket, Gale instantly rolled onto his belly and fell asleep. You laughed and crawled on top of him, snuggling into his back as you slowly began to drift asleep as well.

[machinesandman]

Vile wasn't surprised to learn that the other Sigma of this alternates timeline also covered things up. But for good or ill? Who knew, if they were unaware of motives yet. Recent discovery maybe? Perhaps their area moved along slower on certain events that always seemed so... Well, locked in place, for lack of better understanding. A part of the war machine almost wondered if he wouldn't prefer taking a step over to just exist in the other time for a while. Ah, but that would just make things more complicated and confusing. Not worth the hassal for either of them.

The older reploid slowly turns and adjusts his stance again, confident and prepared for the counter of his kick that had sent the other moving backwards from the sheer power alone. Good to know he was quick to guard despite the fake out. It was interesting that he hadn't gone to counter so quickly, already the strategist section of his brain flicking through the various possibilities. Ready to use any opening. Just as he did once against other hunters in far higher stakes matches.

And still did they speak, as normal as they could at least. Not at if they were about to start ripping apart each others armor to try and see just what lurked beneath it all, further differences between what their outward twin appearances may be hiding.

Cold and freezing to slow, terminal infected otherwise. That sounded only a fraction close to how it had been before the virus had evolved further. "That's how it started in my side, but it didn't last long. Extreme's no longer changed it, too virulent. And then it stopped melting or ceasing the brains or bodies, and began driving Reploids to madness, rage, and then full intelligence. Very quickly. I took enjoyment in the chaos for a while..." Who wouldn't? It was the perfect thriving environment for a war machine with a damaged electronic brain, that Sigma kept damaged and he never knew back then. "Now, it can work it's way almost anywhere-"

A swift movement, Vi closing in at a rapid pace that would not work for a side step. They were both far too good for that, no, only way out of that would be block- it's an upper cut! Defense was unwise, would stagger. Letting it connect just to get a hit back foolish. Not with another version of himself. Split second data and strategy flickered through his mind, while eyes scanned every inch of position. Evaluation complete.

Vile lunged himself upwards and back in an arc, as a burst of jets from his armored boots kicked on. Sending him into a backwards wide arc, not unlike a back flip away. The momentum sending him back down once the arc was complete, only for one hand to catch himself at the earth below and shove, thrusting himself upwards into the air, position right side up at the end of his weight shifting, now about 15 feet up. Hovering there in mid air. Boots hissing with the specialized jets that work along his dash boosters. "-And it's why I can't let you be without knowledge on how to fight us." The collective of maverick Vile's, he knew damn well what he was capable of.

"You say there is no cure, has anyone made any head way into trying? They said the same thing where I'm from. Here I am."

On cue of his words, a shift of energy coalesced across his right forearm. Taking the form of a purple energy shield of some sort, high in power output as it locked into place, unwavering. That arm took its position in front of his face, and legs threw back, the boosters and jets kicking into high as he rocketed himself right at Vi, intending on going for a full weight bash on that hard surface. Or at the very least getting the other caught in an impact shock wave if he dodged wrong. Vile may be carefully planning his moves to avoid putting the other completely down, but he sure as hell wasn't pulling his proverbial punches.

Vile said the cure used on him was a prototype, hadn't he? One part luck, one part brute force. Not the kind of lightning that strikes twice, and even if it could... what lurked in their worlds was far too different for sharing data to be of any use.

An everchanging and adaptable threat... Maybe I've got it easy. To think the virus that afflicted his alternate had a stranglehold because it never stagnated, always morphing into a new and dangerous form. Worse, Sigma changed along with it-- for this aspect, Vi can only feel mortified. To be haunted by someone once so trusted, tormented and manipulated... "Can't say I envy you."

Clearly this was the reason the other Vile kept a watchful eye on him. As if hoping to prevent the same gruesome, undying nightmare that plagued the older unit for years.

You must be clean if you've got a soft spot. Comforting, in a weird kind of way. "Sigma was the Commander for a reason," a begrudging agreement. "...he covered a lot up here, too. Can't say I know the motive." Not yet, but they'd only just started digging.

His other self changes stance, matches his energy as the twin weapon drops to the ground. They're speaking a very specific language now; the kind where they both let loose.

"You have yourself a deal."

Next to no warning before it begins-- and yet he'd expect nothing less. It's the same way he'd handled the rookies at HQ. The enemy won't give you a heads-up. Won't play fair. His visor HUD flashes a proximity alert-- of course you'd go for the bad side.

Vi ducks slightly to avoid the fist coming his way, only to realize the real intention almost too late. He braces with his now lower posture, having reacted too slow to avoid the blow-- but quick enough to keep from losing his footing. The hit sends him sliding back, but he remains steady. Don't lose your cool.

"The virus is completely lethal. No cure, only a few ways to slow it down. Cold environments... flash freezing... it's the only way to study it." For what little good it would do. "Protocol is to terminate infected individuals immediately." Even other hunters.

He rushes his opponent, keen to get his body moving. His own swing is an arc upwards, a right hook uppercut aimed for his alternate's chin. An attempt to get that helmet off as quickly as possible.

[sincerely-sofie]

I don’t think I can properly convey the amount of shock I felt at seeing @scribz-ag24 in my notifications

[thedeadthree]

-ˋˏ .·:·. ⊱ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐛𝐲 @pavus — day one: 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

— 𝐈𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐑 . 𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐃𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀 . 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐒. 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐒.

— 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (mutuals can opt in/out via 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 <3):

@loriane-elmuerto, @carrionsflower, @auricfog, @girliefailure, @sunsofdawn

@risingsh0t, @griffin-wood, @lilywatt, @full---ofstarlight, @grapecaseschoices

@tommyarashikage, @shadowsofrose, @shadowglens, @weisshaupts, @queennymeria

@deadrlngers, @d-esmond, @courtana, @gothimp, @wlwaerith

@unholymilf, @aezyrraeshh, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @shellibisshe, @florbelles

@celticwoman, @neonshrike, @cloudofbutterflies92, @adelaidedrubman, @carlosoliveiraa

@pinkfey, @spookyrares, @yharnams, @aceghosts, @confidentandgood

@theelderhazelnut, @leviiackrman, @ellierenae, @anoras, @lavampira

@dialdrunk, @full---ofstarlight, @imogenkol

[bmpmp3]

im kinda bad at talking to people on the internet but i always want to comment on art and music i like by small creators 1) because its nice to know and 2) depending on the website (like youtube) maybe it might help a little with spreading it around. but im still kind of bad at it. so a lot of people get an "awesome!!" from me and lemme tell you - i mean everyone of those "awesome!!"'s. i mean it with all my heart. sometimes a thing is just awesome, so awesome it needs more than one exclamation mark!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

preemptively sorry for how fucking long this is it is YOUR FAULTT THOUGH!!!! large bowl of seeds for u. it is almost 2am sorry.

SO. there are. two ways to assign the prime defenders powers etc. the first way is just, like, categorize their existing powersets within the prt framework, & the second is to give them entirely new abilities based on the way worm works. delightfully, all the powers they Do have work really well for the most part, so even that doesn't require a ton of shuffling.

categorizing their pre-existing powers:

wiwi-- breaker w/ a shaker subclass. neither of them rated very high, but that's already a rare and versatile enough combination!!

dakota-- brute babeeeey!!! brute/mover its so straightforward. hell yeah babey. i don't know what he'll end up looking like post-heart removal & stuff but my guess is that'll end up looking more like a mover/striker.

vyncent-- now THIS one gave me trouble. i... hm. to say this without talking about stuff that i don't think has come up much already, (hey!! you're at that clockblocker pov! directly related to what flechette says!) i'd call him a grab-bag cape, irt the greats at least. post-greats-- again, i don't know what his powerset will look like after this arc! but if he's going all in w/ the fire magic, that would for sure be some striker shit! :]]]

giving them new powers... man i'm reining myself in so hard from five more paragraphs on Why exactly i'm saying all this.

wiwi still breaker for sure, maybe breaker-master, maybe master-stranger. yknow. powers are fluid, the prt categories are pretty rigid. i... don't know. enough about his situation yet to be clearer than that vague idea yet-- i really like the idea of him just. ditching his body & using a noncorporeal form but he still has to keep an eye on his body i think that's great. the noncorporeal form would b able to change its visibility but still b limited by proximity to the body. & fluctuating energy shit powered by fluctuating amounts of recent-death in the area, maybe probably also limited in that it's only accessible in his breaker form.... also i think u will appreciate this style note from the [UNNAMED PARAHUMANS TTRPG] i'm referencing a lot here.

dakota--in this situation he probably would not. have that mechanical heart and shit. he' would still be a mover/thinker-- thinker rating is for faster mental processing + senses imminent pain for the people in his immediate vicinity. not danger, just pain; it immediately registers ambiently & can be generally traced back to whoever it is. no he can't turn it off ever, it manifests as feeling a similar level of pain, yes it works on himself. + mover-- he can fucking fly. no super strength, just very fast flight & the general "won't splat himself flying into something" capabilities, which meshes well w/ the faster processing & reflexes. i'm split on how exactly this would work mechanically but i will NOT go into that now. i am also not going into the 15k discussion in my brain on why dakota 'notoriously bad at thinking about things' cole would be a thinker but u gotta trust the process ok??

vyncent-- trump!!!! somehow this is the only straightforward one to me? he can copy powers at the full strength or ability level of the original for an unspecified amount of time that's usually 1-30 minutes by touching the cape. crucially, he doesn't have any edge on how to use these powers + can easily misuse or become extremely overwhelmed by them. he's easily the most powerful out of the three of them <33

ashe-- ashe is NOT HERE currently and also it's 1:30 am so i gotta go fucking sleep soon BUT they would be a master. easy. :o) they can make some lil guys n do stuff with them!!!!

in general these are pretty fucking cracked abilities, all of them would b oosely above a seven or so in a number rating once they're really settled in their powers-- this is mostly because i'm assuming that they would still be heirs-apparent to the prime force equivalent, which would b the triumvirate :]] anyway. good lord. this is like the cliff notes edition of what i've been thinking and scribbling in the notes app for the past several hours. sorry if it's fucking incomprehensible. gn!!! <333

AAAAAH FUCK YESSSSSS OKAY OKAY OKAY my response is probably going to be equally as long. so it's fine. oooouh buddy.

I KNOW WHAT BREAKER MEANS NOW !!! I dontttt think ive learned shaker yet. breaker is like.... breaking the laws of physics/shifting planes or whatever. PERFECT for william hell yes. for putting them actually in worm world ... ughhhh breaker/master william is REALLY cool. I havwnt learned stranger yet but i think he would develop a complex over being classified as stranger <3 (like how weld doesn't like that he's classified as a brute even though that's not exactly what it means, he just doesn't like the word) . GODDDD just thinking abt putting pd boys in worm is fucking me up haven't they been through enough. I want to see them all in a fit of despair. william ditching his body is SO good I miss when he would do that, also the powers being limited by how far away he is AND THE AMOUNT OF RECENT DEATH IN THE AREA. holy shit. that's so fucking good . im sure he would not overthink at all the fact that he is stronger when more people around him have died . I'm sure he'd do awesome in the leviathan fight for sure for sure .

DAKOTA BRUTE <3 DAKOTA BRUTE/MOVER I LOVE THIS A LOTTTTTT hellbyes. awesome. it's so perfect for him <3 worm world I'm SURPRISED u didn't stick with brute for him. eyes emoji. I trust your judgement but now i am Thinking... Hmm..... YOU BRING INTO QUESTION something I have been thinking about. and I'm going to probably get derailed a little here but stay with me. how the way powers manifest directly relate to the trigger event. because for a WHILE before we learned taylors I was like "OH i bet the powers are going to be directly related to what traumatic thing happened to them" and then we learn about taylor and grue and a couple more and I kind of lost that theory because while you can. technically draw relations between their powers and their events it seemed like too much of a stretch to do . HOWEVER now my thinking has changed AGAIN and I think the powers ARE related to specific trigger events but it's not as straightforward as "oh something scary happened to you with bugs so now you have bug powers" I think it's gonna be more complicated than that. WHICH. THE WAY THIS RELATES. BACK ON TOPIC NOW. to DAKOTA . assuming his trigger event is still he and katori falling off the building I think it's AWESOME that his powers would manifest as FLIGHT for one. and the fucking. pain sense thing. fuck me up. dakota extreme hero complex cole would be so fucked up by a power where he ambiently senses pain from the people around him at all times and cannot turn it off. I'm sure he would feel so normal about being around william chronic pain wisp 24/7. also I can SO CLEARLY imagine how this power specifically would lead to him getting super overwhelmed in chaotic situations like he does in canon. and just fucking. bolt out of there because it's too much. again. he'd have such a wonderful time in the leviathan fight

I AM AT CLOCKBLOCKER POV !!!! actually technically I'm on kid win pov now but I haven't finished his chapter yet. vyncent grab bag cape..... yeah... I think it would be EXTREMELY funny imagining the PRT in pd world trying 2 classify vyncent like. what the fuck does this kid do . what do we do with him. hes got other guys in his head that give him powers. is he a master??? no he can't fucking control them. is he a striker??? only SOMETIMES. is he a blaster?? AGAIN ONLY SOMETIMES. cannot classify him bitch!!!!!!!! giving him worm powers though.. UGH. being able to touch someone and COMPLETELY copy their powers but only for a short period of time???? I fucking love that a lot. he WOULD be the most powerful out of them!!! I can hear taylors inner analysis dialogue about him now and it's very similar to the clockblocker "DONT LET HIM.TOUCH YOU" panic. loooove imagining this playing off of the rest of pd,,, i know there was AT LEAST one time where he had william sort of transfer some of his ghost powers for a minute? I think it was during the lich fight in the theatre but i just remember vycnent floating and going intangible and NOT KNOWING how to control it or anything. loveeee that. in world dynamics I feel like vyncent would be a late addition to their team (instead of coming from another world maybe he just. had his trigger event happen way later than the other two..or something.) and not trusting them as much at first/being REALLY shaky using either of their powers but after a while being really comfortable in a fight with using either Williams or dakotas powers in a fight. Just like. imagining the fluidity of how they'd work together in a tense situation assuming they're not being complete dumbasses <3333 UGH it's really good

AAAASHE ASHE ASHE IM SOOO SO GLAD YOU INCLUDED ASHE IN THIS I miss him.so much every day. from what I know so far master involves having/making/controlling some sort of minion (cannot think of a better word than that rn) AND I THINK THATS REALLYYYY perfect for ashe. i assume he would actually work pretty closely to canon in that his limitation would be the book? or if he doesn't have the book maybe his limitation would be a) having only a few different types of things he could summon (the big hand, the water fairy, duck etc) and/or b) only being able to control them.for a short amount of time after they're summoned so he has to be quick about dismissing them. can't keep the demon hand around for too long or it might start picking things up and throwing them at random. putting teammates in danger bc he can't control it anymore etc etc. alsooooooo in clockblocker pov they VERY briefly mentioned the possibility of having secondary trigger events (?!!!!?!?!) and you know I locked onto that SO FUCKING HARD. ashe being born with powers and then his secondary trigger event being his mom's death <3 im.NOT even going to attempt to talk about how the trickster would work in worm world/if it would even exist in this setting bc i don't know enough about the types of powers and things yet..but just know. I am keeping this in the back of my mind "this is a fun surprise tool that will help us later" style

[luveline]

Hiii!! Could I request a bombshell reader x Spencer where someone (a local police maybe) says something rude to her about her appearance or something and normally it doesn’t really get to her, but something snaps and she kinda shuts down/is rude to Spencer until he coaxes it out of her? Sorry it’s long I had an idea and ran w it loollll

ty for requesting angel! confident fem!reader, 1k

Spencer shouldn’t expect his colleague to hold his hand, especially one so confident. What sense would that make, a woman as established as you are, who smiles without a lick of worry nor smugness, wanting to hold his hand? 

But you do it all the time, is the thing. In the car on the way to crime scenes, in the hallways of the office, under the round table. It started as a tethering for his distractedness, when one day he’d wanted to talk but hadn’t had the presence of mind to walk at the same time, so you’d taken his hand and led him to the office. You’ve been taking it at your discretion ever since. ��

Spencer knows something is wrong —you haven’t tried to hold his hand all day. And even if you aren’t interested in him romantically, Spencer has come to crave the touch. He’ll accept platonic hand holding. Anything, really. 

“You’re staring very deeply, Dr. Reid,” you mutter, shades from your usual lightness. 

“I’m thinking.” 

“Aren’t you always?” 

“About you.”

“Well,” you smile fleetingly. “You should always be thinking about me.” 

“You’re truly humble.” 

His joke doesn’t land, it crashes and burns; your smile fades completely into a short, sharp line. Your gaze moves back into the restaurant, waiting for the team's food order in silence once again. 

Spencer’s pinky finger twitches across the gap. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. 

“Fine.” 

You stay quiet, Spencer worries. He takes the bags before you can when they bring your food to the collection desk, two lumps of heat he holds to his thighs as you begin the walk back to the hotel. Tonight, the team will pick at their food together and rehash the same arguments they’ve been making all day, filling in each other's gaps, and tomorrow the work will start again. He can’t have you this unhappy again tomorrow. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, watching you turn to him from the corner of his eye, “you know you are, we all do, everyone who meets you. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, or to feel better, but… I’m here for you. If you want to talk. It’s been a hard couple of days, and talking about traumatic events as they happen and directly afterward make them easier to recover from.” 

“I’m not traumatised.” 

“Upsetting,” he corrects. “Having a shoulder to cry on is good for you, and I can be that shoulder. You know, if you need me to be.” 

He can’t know this in the moment, though maybe one day you’ll tell him, further down the line when the hand holding is better defined, but you look at him and you love him. To know Spencer is to love him. Or at least that’s how you’ve always felt. You’d love to cry on his shoulder about what transpired that morning if it weren’t embarrassing to think about, you’re upset over a throwaway comment made by nobody important. 

Spencer offers his company earnestly. He stammers. It’s amazingly sincere, as he usually is. He won’t mind if it’s embarrassing, he’ll just listen. 

You clear your throat. “I know I’m not to everyone’s taste. I know that the way I… present myself isn’t what most men like. People love confidence, but not when it’s bossy, not when it’s– when it’s vain. And I am vain. I think about my appearance a lot, I think I’m beautiful most of the time, I try so hard to have that be true.” You eye him thoughtfully. “Do you realise that?” 

He shakes his head gently, one ear toward one shoulder and then the other, as though balancing. “Sort of. I know you put effort into your appearance, but I also assume a lot of it to be natural.” 

“Right, well. It’s not natural. Not really. My natural beauty wouldn’t be all the beautiful to most people. And I’ve accepted that, I know what I like about myself, and–” You’re losing the thread of your point, an upset creeping into your melodic tone and turning it ragged. “When people tell me they don’t like how I look now, I guess it hurts because I know they wouldn’t like me before, either, and I feel defeated because I know I can’t win.” 

“Who said they don’t like how you look?” Spencer asks, confused, on his way to annoyed. 

“Officer Friendly.” You look to your shoes, watching the steps you take. “Guess he wasn’t as nice as we thought.” 

“What did he say to you?” 

You shrug. “Same story. He doesn’t like girls who wear makeup. Doesn’t like uppity women.” 

“Did he call you that?” 

“What are you gonna do if he did?” you ask without malice. 

“Morgan’s teaching me self defence for a reason.” You smile at his light joke, though it doesn’t last. He transfers the takeout bags into one hand, the other held out to you, his fingers sliding down your arm to your wrist. “You know you’re beautiful, with or without makeup. And you’re not uppity, you’re out of his league. There’s a difference.” 

“You’re flirting with me.” 

“No.” He wishes he had the wherewithal sometimes, but this isn’t flirting. “I’m being honest with you. Men like that don’t like you because they know they’ll never, ever have you, or anyone like you. There isn’t anyone like you,” he adds, sliding his hand into yours. 

He squeezes all your fingers together twice in quick succession. 

“Don’t let a jealous chauvinist halfwit make you think you’re not good enough,” he says. 

You curl your fingers around his before he can take his hand back. Slowly, you squeeze his hand. Then, smiling, you let him go. 

“I’ve never heard you say something mean like that,” you say. “Halfwit. That’s crass.” 

“I was going to say he’s an asshole, if that’s better.” 

Your laugh echoes off of the sidewalk. “That’s perfect. Say something meaner.” 

The insult he uses next doesn’t bear repeating. 

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ oh captain, my captain ] q. hughes

day 2 of kinktober (captain kink w/ quinn hughes)

➾ paring : Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

➾ summary : Quinn’s girlfriend calls him "Cap" after hearing the nickname come from his teammates, and Quinn reacts totally normally

➾ warning(s) : smut !! captain kink, light dom!quinn, nicknames during sex, oral (m receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), very slight hair pulling (blink and you'll miss it)

➾ author’s note : i am Not gonna lie … this has been living in a word doc unfilnished for months so i thought that this would be the perfect time to finish it and let it out to see the light of day. enjoy :)))

kinktober schedule

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When her boyfriend asked her a few weeks ago to accompany him to an event that the Canucks were holding, she was not looking forward to it at all. It's a very private event that the Canucks hold at the start of every season for new Canucks to get to know their new teammates and for returning Canucks to catch up. She's managed to be busy on this day for the past two years of their relationship so she didn't have to go, but she can't dodge the event any longer. Especially now that Quinn is captain.

The dress she bought for this event is stunning and she couldn't wait to wear it to the event. It's a sparkly navy blue number that hugs her curves. The thin straps hold up a plunging v-neckline that shows off her cleavage in a way that Quinn loves. There's a high slit in the skirt that goes about halfway up her thigh.

She feels like she could've dressed a little more modestly when she walks into the ballroom and finds that a lot of the women dressed in more high cut and full length gowns. She crosses her arms over her chest in an attempt to cover her exposed cleavage.

A couple of Quinn's teammates greet their captain as soon as the two of them walk into the large room decorated in blue, green, and white. She hears the nickname "Cap" thrown around as a few of the veteran Canucks greet him. That's a new nickname that catches her attention immediately.

The significant others of the teammates that greet Quinn greet her. She does her best to hold a conversation with the group of women but her eyes continue to shift toward her boyfriend in his suit. He has on one of his game day suits from last season that doesn't really fit him anymore so it hugs his arms and thighs nicely.

"Your dress is beautiful, by the way," Lexie Demko compliments. She turns her attention to Thatcher's wife. "I mean it. It's stunning. I guess it's to be expected for the captain's girlfriend to sparkle." The group of women laugh and she forces a smile.

Sometimes she questions if she should be the one leading this group of women because she's only 23 and still kind of young. It's one thing for Quinn to lead the Canucks because he's a natural leader and knew he was probably going captain this team one day. He's had a lifetime of experience because he's the oldest of three brothers.

She was kind of thrust into the role of lead WAG with his captaincy appointment last season. Her version of being a leader means being the one that plans the parties and plans the playoff attire. Making sure all the other wives and girlfriends are okay, making sure they catch their flights to make it to whatever city they're following their boyfriend or husband to so she can watch him play. It's no NHL team, but it takes up a lot of her time. Especially party and playoff jacket planning.

Quinn looks over at her and her brain immediately goes blank. He's still surrounded by his teammates, but he's looking at her like that. It should be illegal to look like that.

She excuses herself from the group of wives and girlfriends to approach her boyfriend. She tries not to feel tiny among a group of hockey players, but she is.

"Cap," she teases with a smile. "I'm kinda hungry so can we go grab something to eat?" Quinn's cheeks turn bright red at the use of his new nickname. His teammates snicker around him at his reaction.

All he can do is nod in response to her and grab her hand. He guides her away without a single word, but his cheeks remain tomato red.

She's rendered him speechless. All by calling him "Cap." Maybe she'll have to start doing that more often if this is how he reacts.

They grab a plate of food and head to their table. No one else is sitting at the table but she knows that it's her, Quinn, JT, JT's wife, Brock, Thatcher, and Lexie at the table. Their tablemates are still mingling amongst the players and coaches in the room while they sit and eat.

Quinn leans over to her and says softly in her ear, "I'm going to need you to not call me 'Cap' again while we're here."

"Oh," she breathes out. "So your teammates can call you Cap, but I can't?"

He presses his lips in a line and meets her eyes. "It doesn't sound sexy coming out of their mouths like it does yours," he mumbles. "So, please don't call me Cap or Captain while we're here or you'll find yourself on your knees in the bathroom helping me with my little problem."

A small smirk forms on her lips as she takes a bite of pasta. "It's not a 'little' problem, Quinn," she tells him. "It's a pretty big problem."

Quinn groans and rubs his hands over his face. "You're killing me," he groans. "Oh my God."

She giggles and takes another bite of pasta like the conversation isn't ruining the panties she has on under the dress. Quinn follows suit and begins to eat his plate of food.

Their tablemates join them a few minutes later with their own plates. She converses with Lexie and Natalie Miller while their husbands talk with Quinn and Brock. She laughs with them, but the entire time, she thinks about the little conversation she and Quinn had about calling him Cap or Captain.

She's absolutely trying it when they get home to see what kind of reaction she gets out of him when he isn't surrounded by his friends.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

They leave the event once Quinn gives a little speech to hype up his teammates. Tocchet also gives a speech once Quinn was done, but he needed to stay until he was done talking. He orders an Uber back to their Vancouver apartment before Tocchet is even done his speech so they can leave as soon as he's done.

The Canucks applaud their head coach for his speech and they make a break for the door before anyone can stop them. Quinn has her hand in his as they make their way outside. Their Uber is waiting for them when they exit the building.

Quinn slides in first and she follows him. One of her hands rests on his knee and she leans over to say, "You looked good while you were giving your little speech." She pauses for a beat. "Captain Quinn."

His head snaps in her direction. "What did I tell you-"

"Just wanted to see something," she giggles as she glances down at the growing bulge in his already tight pants. "And I see what I wanted to see." Her voice drops a couple of octaves so only he can hear. "Do you like when I call you Captain, Quinn?"

He gnaws on his bottom lip. "You're playing a very dangerous game right now," he warns her. "I'm not trying to ruin these pants."

She leans into him and says against his ear, "Then maybe you shouldn't like to be called 'captain' by your girlfriend." Her lips touch the swell of his ear as she talks. Quinn shivers under her lips before she pulls back to meet his eyes. She finds his usually bright eyes dark with lust.

She's not sure she's going to make it into the apartment if she keeps playing this game with him.

"You are ..." Quinn trails off with a smile and a shake of his head. She grins while he tries to find the words to say. "Something else." His fingers trace the slit in her dress, leaving goosebumps behind where he touches her skin.

The Uber comes to a stop two minutes later. She doesn't risk saying another word until they're in the building. The elevator is probably not the best place to say anything either.

Still, it doesn't stop her from poking the bear though.

"Captain Quinn Hughes," she pretends to think out loud. "Even after a year, it still roles off the tongue. Don't you think, Cap?"

"Oh my fucking God," Quinn groans as he turns to face his girlfriend.

Before she can react, Quinn cups her cheeks and pulls her into a hot kiss. He steps so her back is pressed against the wall of the elevator. She grips his jacket as he presses his chest completely against hers. Quinn shoves a thigh between her legs, moving the dress to the side so his thigh presses against her already damp core.

This is a side of Quinn she's pretty sure she hasn't seen in their two and a half years together. He's very particular about his touches and his movements. Slightly rougher with them as well. She might like this side of Quinn.

The elevator dings once it arrives at their floor. Quinn pulls back and grabs her hand as the doors slide open. "Let's go, pretty girl," he says to her, voice soft. "You need to help me with my not-so-little problem before it ruins these pants."

She giggles as Quinn leads her out of the elevator and down the hall to their apartment. It's a moment before Quinn gets the door open but once he does, he pulls her inside and pins her against the door to shut it.

Quinn holds her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. "I hope this dress didn't cost a lot," he says. "Because it might end up torn and on the floor tonight.”

“Quinn Hughes, you better not rip this dress because if you do, you’re buying me a new one,” she warns him. “I mean it too. You better not.”

He grins and hooks his fingers around the spaghetti straps that sits on her shoulders. “I guess I’ll be nice,” he sighs as he pulls the strap off her shoulders. Quinn's eyes fall to the fabric that he pulls down to expose her breasts.

There's about one second between when the fabric pools around her waist and when Quinn crashes his lips to hers in a heated kiss. Their lips mold against each other and his hands cup her breasts. She groans into the kiss and he takes full advantage to explore her mouth with his tongue.

She pulls his suit jacket off his body and it falls to the floor with a light thud. She pushes him toward their bedroom without breaking the kiss.

In the very short trip from their front door to their bedroom, she loses her heels and dress in the hallway while Quinn's tie ends up on the living room floor and his button up gets unbuttoned and untucked as they enter their bedroom. She jumps and wraps her legs around his waist. He kicks the door shut and walks toward their bed.

"What do you want me to do, Cap?" she questions between kisses.

"You know, every time one of my teammates calls me Cap, I'm going to think of you and it's going to end in endless teasing for me," Quinn points out as he sits on the mattress. He pulls back to look at her. "If my teammates mess with me because I get hard after one of them refers to me as Cap, it won't end well for you since it'll be your fault."

She feigns being hurt. "Ouch, Quinn," she says. "I guess I'll never call you Cap ever again."

"I didn't say that," Quinn very quickly replies. "Just letting you know what will happen."

“I’m so scared,” she teases.

“Shut up and get on your knees, pretty girl.”

His stern voice when he says that shoots straight down to her core. She bites her bottom lip as she slides off of Quinn’s lap and to her knees on the carpeted floor below her.

Her fingers work at unbuttoning his dress pants. She pulls them down along with his boxers. His hard dick stands up against his stomach when it’s free from the confines of his underwear. She takes him in her hand and looks up at him. She gnaws on her lip before she says, “Whatever you say, Cap.”

Quinn groans at the same time she wraps her lips around the fiery red tip. She tastes some precome that has leaked as she takes more of his dick in her mouth. His fingers curl in her wavy locks as she hollows her cheeks and sucks. She looks up at him as he throws his head back in pleasure.

"Fuck," Quinn breathes out. The reaction she gets out of him causes her to speed up her actions. Her hands are splayed over his thighs so she has something to hold on to. Not to mention that she just loves his thighs.

She manages to take all of him in her mouth without choking, and Quinn loves every second of it. He gnaws on his bottom lip and soft sounds rise from his throat. It's music to her ears as she takers him completely in her mouth and hums around him.

Quinn can't seem to get enough.

When her knees start screaming at her from being on the carpet for too long, she ignores it. What Quinn wants, Quinn gets. She's done this so many times that the pain doesn't get to her like it used to, but sometimes it .

She hollows out her cheeks and Quinn hums before he pulls her off his dick by her hair. She hums and looks up at her. His thumbs brush her probably swollen lips and she kisses the pads of his thumbs.

"Was that okay?" she questions like she always does after she sucks him off. Quinn raises his eyebrows at her and she grins. "Cap."

He nods and leans down to kiss her. His kiss is softer this time as he helps her back up so she's straddling his thighs. She runs her fingers through his styled hair and Quinn falls so he's lying on his back. His dick pokes her thigh and she wiggles her hips to tease him.

"These need to come off, pretty girl," he mumbles against her lips at the same time he taps the waistband of her panties. "I'm sure they're ruined at this point anyway."

She stands up to push the ruined fabric off her body. Quinn moves back so his head rests on the pillows. She presses her lips together in a line as she crawls back onto the mattress. She straddles his waist and leans over to press a long, deep kiss to his lips. Quinn hums and cups her jaw with his hands so she can't go anywhere.

Without breaking the kiss, she lifts her hips and rests the tip of his dick at her entrance. He slips right in because of how wet she is. A grin forms on her lips as she says, "Wanna ride you, Cap. Please."

"You don't need my permission, pretty girl," Quinn replies between hot kisses.

She hums as she lowers herself onto him. The familiar and welcomed stretch greets her. Quinn's hands land on her waist so she doesn't lose her balance. He bottoms out in her and she allows herself a few seconds to adjust before moving her hips.

The room is quickly filled with her soft moans as she rolls her hips. He helps her keep a steady pace that works for both of them. The kiss breaks but she doesn't go very far. Her forehead rests on his and her lips ghost his every time she moves.

Despite how they got here, she loves when she falls into bed with her boyfriend. No matter the reason, Quinn always focuses on both their pleasure. He makes sure that both of them feel good for however long they go.

Adding a little spice in the bedroom, like this captain thing that Quinn has going on right now, is one of her favorite things too. She's never against trying new things. She's not against this captain thing that he has going on.

Quinn starts moving his hips to match her pace. She groans and pushes herself up so she's sitting on his waist. She keeps her pace though. Her head is thrown back in pleasure and Quinn's hands roam her body.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes out. "You look so good riding my dick, pretty girl."

He moves one of his hands until he's rubbing her clit. She cries out his name and rests her hands on his torso. "Quinn," she gasps. "Oh my God." He stops. "Cap. Captain. Captain Quinn. Don't stop. Please." Those words pass her lips before her brain processes what she wants to say, but her end goal remained the same. Quinn continues rubbing her clit and she hums.

Her movements get frantic and inconsistent as she gets closer to her orgasm. Quinn wraps his arms around her waist and rolls them over so her head is on the pillow. He throws her legs over his shoulders and begins moving his hips.

The new angle has her legs shaking because his dick hits her favorite spot. She grabs his arms and cries out his name. "Oh my- fuck," she gasps. "Quinn, Quinn Quinn. Oh my God." He doesn't stop this time, but he slows down. "Cap, I'm so close. Please."

"Come for me, pretty girl," Quinn pants. "Want you to make a mess on my dick."

It's not very long after that when she comes. Her entire body clenches and she cries out Quinn's name so loud that their neighbors absolutely heard her. Her vision whitens and she's in cloud 9 from how hard she comes.

She's so out of it that she doesn't realize that Quinn pulls out and comes on her thighs. She has no idea that he cleans her up, only that he touches her sensitive core with a wet cloth. Her body melts into the mattress as she recovers.

When she comes to, Quinn is crawling back into bed. She musters up enough strength to turn her head and look at him.

"You okay?" he asks with a smile on his swollen lips. "Lost you for a moment."

She nods and rolls so she's curled up next to Quinn. "You really like when I call you Cap," she teases him. His cheeks turn red. "It's fine, Quinn. You don't need to get all flustered about it. If it's your thing, then it's my thing too. I wouldn't mind doing that again. It showed me a whole new side of you that I think I like."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Then we might have to do that again," Quinn tells her. "But please. For the love of everything, do not call me Cap or Captain around the team. It's going to take me a second to get over tonight, or get used to those words leaving your mouth."

She giggles and throws her leg over his waist so she's laying on his chest. "You say the word and I'll start using your nickname," she tells him. "Cap."

Quinn rolls his eyes, but she knows he loves it.

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[dunmeshistash]

Ryoko Kui Q&A (part of the Autograph event in Shanghai, China)

Here's the full Q&A copied from the post by Minute_Profession_34 on reddit

Original on weibo

About Ryoko Kui

Q: You have created a lot of interesting short manga in the past, do you have any favorite short manga by other artists?

A: A classic choice though, I think it's the collection of short stories by Fujiko F. Fujio. Other impressive works include "Hanshin: Half-God" by Moto Hagio, "Hanashippanashi " by Daisuke Igarashi, "茄子" by 黑田硫黄, "Skygrazer" by Ishiguro Masakazu, and "Tabi (The Journey of Life)" by Irie Aki. However, I haven't really read many short manga compilations.

Q: Do you prefer to create short manga or longer ones?

A: Long manga.

Q: Do you have a game that you highly recommend to fans?

A: Although not a game title, Steam Deck is the best thing I have bought in the last few years.

Q: What kind of music genre do you like?

A: I'm really not a music person and don't listen to music at all. Sometimes I listen to something like Tropical House.

About the creation & worldview of Dungeon Meshi

Q: Is the main storyline of the comics conceived at the beginning? Is the final ending adjusted during the serialization process?

A: I decided everything from the beginning. It may sound overly pretentious to say that, but I am the type of person who cannot move forward with each and every story unless I have decided on the main flow of the story. Of course, there are parts that I changed during the process because I thought, "I was going to do it this way, but it might not be natural," and there are parts that didn't work out the way I wanted them to. However, I think the story turned out to be roughly what I had in mind at the beginning.

Q: Will people outside of the dungeon incorporate the use of magic into their daily lives?

A: It would depend on the region. There are many sorcerers in elven and gnome cultures, but I don't think you will find many in dwarf and most short-lived cultures.

Q: What secrets of ancient magic are the elves hiding? Why would one be punished for doing anything related to ancient magic?

A: It is about the existence of Demon. They restricted that information because they didn't know what effect it would have on the world if the existence of Ddemon became known.

Q: How do adventurers know the time? Is there any dungeon having a different time flow from the normal world?

A: Some people bring things like clocks, but most only use their biological clock. There are also Dungeons where the flow of time is different from that on the ground.

Q: In the world of Dungeon Meshi, how do you deal with natural disasters, what would Laios or Marcille or Canaries do when there's a drought or a storm?

A: I don’t think it is so different from us.

About characters in Dungeon Meshi

Q: It’s about to give the new puppy a name again. Can Laos still beat Falin?

A: 7 out of 10, Laios will win. Or it may be decided by rock-paper-scissors or a raffle.

Q: Who will inherit the Golden Land after the passaway of Laios? The children and grandchildren of Yaad? Or the descendants of Laios? Or will there be a new Devourer?

A: Maybe the descendants of the Laios will inherit it, or maybe it will be passed on to someone with no blood ties at all. Or perhaps the monarchy will be abolished.

Q: Will Laios continue to eat monsters in the castle? And who will cook, maybe someone better than Senshi?

A: Many people in Merini are good cooks, but Senshi's cooking must be special to Laios. He may invite Senshi to cook from time to time.

Q: Where will Falin prefer to travel to?

A: She may prefer places where she can see landscapes and cultures she has never seen before.

Q: Would Marcille befriend a half-elf, such as Fionil? Since half-elves shouldn't think too much about longevity amongst themselves. Or would they not consider race as a factor to make friends but by fate?

A: Because mixed species in this world grow at very different rates and have very different abilities from person to person, there is often not much of a sense of sameness when you first meet them. They may or may not become friends as a result of interacting with each other as we would with any other human being.

Q: Is there any special meaning of Marcille and her mother's ribbons on the neck? And what about Cithis’s ribbon?

A: In elven culture, people with magic tattoos on their necks sometimes wear decorations covering their necks to hide the tattoos (mainly military personnel) This has spread to the general population, and many people wear decorations on their necks even if they do not have neck tattoos. Marcille and her mother's ribbons are just for fashion. While Cithis may have something special.

Q: Why wouldn’t Cithis wear a gorget? Or she’s not afraid of Dungeon Rabbits?

A: Maybe it’s suffocating or simply not liking it? The head-cutting Dungeon Rabbit is a fearsome monster, but it is not the first thing for the rear guard to be on the lookout for.

Q: How will Izutsumi and Falin get along with each other?

A: They may work together if necessary, but I doubt that Izutsumi will actively show interest in Falin (as she does with everyone).

Q: Itsuzumi has a beast soul mixed with a small amount of human soul, and does she shapeshift between a beast-man and a beast form like Lycion?

A: It can be done, but once transformed, she may no longer want to return to her human form.

*This Q&A seems to be strange

Q: What would Thistle do if he attended the former dungeon masters meetings?

A: Perhaps he would feel angry at the incompetence of other masters (their dependence on the devil).

Q: How did Milsiril accept Helki to stay by her side? After all, she hated elves and was bullied by her Canary teammates.

A: In the past, Helki was abandoned by his comrades for various reasons, and she could not leave him alone.

Q: Has Kabru ever had a real relationship with a girl? If so, what race or personality type of the girl was she?

A: I don’t think he cares about race, etc...

Q: What kind of soba will Mithrun make?

A: I hope he can make delicious soba.

Q: I would like to know the name of Mithrun’s brother or his brother’s crush!

A: His brother's name is Obrin (オブリン). I haven't thought of a particular name for his brother’s crush, so I'll name her appropriately now. Hmmm. Sultha (スルスハ).

Q: Since Mithrun used to assist Canary from behind, I wonder what kind of weapons he was good at using? Or was he good at using no weapons? (this is new info from the Korean Q&A)

A: He used a magic staff similar to that used by Pattadol. He was issued with the same one by the team. However, he no longer carried it because he lost it easily.

[f14fun]

my own pastry (!baker x op81)

synopsis: in which case y/n meets the infamous racecar driver oscar piastri as she works in her family-owned pastry shop, and she pretends not to know him. little does he know, she's idolized him for the longest time.

smau + prose (2.9K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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yourusername

liked by yourbff1, yourbff2 and 58 others

yourusername: the feminine urge to own a bakery

view comments:

yourbff1: alright no need to brag, you were blessed with an amazing family business and i'm here stuck with a desk job

yourusername: you laugh at me everytime i come home with flour stuck on my face.

yourbff1: well...😁😁

user1: wait this is so aesthetic

user2: drop the location of the bakery now! i wanna visit 🫶🏽

yourusername: 5512 streetname, monte carlo monaco!

user2: thx babes you will be seeing me in the next week

yourbff2: so we are not going to talk about the mystery guest that showed up at the bakery today...

yourusername: HE COULD BE LURKING. STAY ALERT. DO NOT MENTION HIM.

yourbff1: you mean osc*r p**str*?? 😝😝🥳

yourusername: ASKJAKJEJAE HE'S GOING TO FIND ME NOOO

yourusername: pls delete your comment i BEG.

yourbff2: @/oscarpiastri @/oscarpiastri @/oscarpiastri

yourbff1: @/oscarpiastri @/oscarpiastri @/oscarpiastri

user3: oh my, bless her poor soul 😭

yourusername: DELETE YOURSELF OH GOD

yourusername: I FEEL A SINISTER PRESENCE COMING

oscarpiastri: my presence was called upon?

yourbff1: LMFAO POINT AND LAUGH 🫵🏻🫵🏻🫵🏻

yourusername: hey-y-y oscar... 🥹

oscarpiastri: did you just stutter over a comment 💀

yourusername: i can explain!! 😁

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

To be frank, it's honestly quite difficult to explain the series of events that happened about twelve hours earlier.

6:58 AM ~ l'orchidée bakery shop

It was right before opening. Maman had entrusted me with opening shop and making sure it was running smoothly, and knowing that the fate of our family bakery was in my hands today was especially important to me.

It was 6:58 AM, and since business was typically slow in the first half hour of shop opening, employees showed up half an hour after opening. So there it was me all by myself, until 7:30 AM.

I showed up at the bakery much earlier than normal, at around 3 AM, prepping for the day. The first task was to turn on the ovens, letting them reach the perfect baking temperature.

While the ovens heated up, I took out the baguette and croissant doughs that had been proofing overnight. The doughs were soft and slightly cool to the touch, with a subtle yeasty aroma that promised delicious results. I placed the doughs on the floured countertop, feeling their smooth texture as I gave them one last gentle knead, coaxing out any remaining air bubbles.

Shaping the doughs into their final forms was almost meditative. The baguette dough stretched and folded under my hands, forming into long, slender loaves with tapered ends. The croissant dough was rolled and folded into layers, ready to be cut and shaped into crescents. With each turn and fold, I could feel the anticipation of the final baked product growing.

Next, I mixed batters for cakes, muffins, and other pastries, carefully measuring each ingredient to ensure consistency and quality. The rhythmic motions of stirring and mixing were comforting, grounding me in the early morning quiet of the bakery.

With the ovens now hot, I slid in the first trays of bread and pastries. The smell of baking bread began to fill the bakery, a comforting scent that promised a successful day.

On and on I went prepping, while simultaneously listening to music. One thing about L'Orchidée Bakery, is that our surround sound system that covers every square foot of the little coffee shop, works its magic everyday. It is very difficult to hear many outside noises at that.

So imagine my suprise when I'm singing "Slut!" by Taylor Swift on full volume and I turn around, to only find myself face to face (well, behind a sheet of glass) with none other than Oscar Piastri.

"But if I'm all dressed up, they might as well be looking at us, and if they call me a SLU AHH!-"

I screamed slut, as I spun around and ended up making obnoxiously close eye contact with a boy in a black hoodie and unruly brown hair.

The broom in my hand that I was using to sweep the floor crashed to the floor, a one, big, sweeping motion. Scaring myself, and the boy, we both aggressively lurched back.

This is when I got to take a closer look, and I had just realized that Oscar Piastri had just scared the shit out of both of us.

And I was even more embarrassed to see that poor little Oscar was just trying to look at the bakery's menu, only to get a terrible birds eye view of my horrid singing and dancing.

He started to chuckle, his hand brushing against the faint stubble of hair that was growing across his chin. Sheepishly knocking on one side of the glass that separated us, I gestured for him to come in.

A customer is a customer! (even if he does happen to be the Formula 1 driver I absolutely idolize, and on any given normal day, I would be too shy to even make eye contact with him)

Running to the front entrance of the shop, I reach in my pocket to pull out the plethora of keys that dangle from my measly keychain. Fumbling with a golden key with the letters LB engraved on the key's front, I unlock the door.

"Hi, hello! Welcome to L'orchidée Bakery, so sorry for the little jumpscare you got there," I timidly trailed off.

"You mean the singing, dancing, or both," he joked back. Immediately, my discomfort shifted, as the environment had turned playful. Smiling, I responded.

"Hahaha, you think your funny," I rolled my eyes, as we made our way to the register.

"What can I say, I might just be a stand-up-comedian in disguise," he joked, arms crossed, and his eyes crinkled into a vibrant eye smile.

"Well, are you?" I asked, pretending to genuinely not know his occupation.

"Are what?" He nervously chuckled.

"Are you actually a stand-up-comedian?" I asked.

"Wait, are you serious?" His eyes bulged out, not able to hide his surprise, he fumbled with his phone.

"A hundred percent," I replied, playing the game. Trying to make it believable, I put up a mask of utter confusion. "What's your job?"

"Oh, um, I drive?" He lowly said, he voice trailing off, confused.

"You think you drive of you know you drive?" I barked out a laugh, finding it funny that he ended the sentence in a questioning tone.

"Oh yes, I definitely drive," He nodded his head vigorously.

"So like, Uber, Lift, valet services?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, something like that, yup," Oscar replied. It took everything in me to not burst out laughing from his god-awful acting. This boy couldn't lie for shit, his eyebrows and eyes immediately betrayed him.

Pretending to believe him, I continued our conversation.

"So...do you liked driving around everywhere?" I asked. If this boy kept on lying, I just knew the conversation would get so funny.

"Yeah, it's pretty fun, you know? Getting to meet different people, seeing new places," he said, trying to keep up the charade.

"Interesting! Must be quite an adventure. Any memorable rides?" I prodded, enjoying the playful banter.

"Oh, definitely. Had a guy once who insisted on singing Taylor Swift songs at the top of his lungs," he quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Holding a laugh in, I'm not sure whether he was referring to me, Lando, or Daniel.

"Really? What a coincidence," I said, smirking. "Sounds like my kind of passenger."

We both laughed, the initial awkwardness completely dissolved. It was surreal, chatting casually with Oscar Piastri, as if he were just another customer and not the famous Formula 1 driver I admired.

"So, what can I get for you today?" I asked, ready to actually do my job.

"Surprise me," he said, leaning on the counter. "I'm in the mood for something new."

"Coming right up," I said, turning to grab a fresh-baked strawberry-chocolate croissant and a steaming cup of coffee. As I handed it to him, I couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. Today was already shaping up to be unforgettable.

Looking around, there didn't seem to be anyone approaching the bakery, so as he sat down at the breakfast bar and asked whether I wanted to sit next to him, I immediately took his offer. (I mean seriously, who would not take the offer?)

"So, what brings you to this little bakery?" I asked, curious.

"Well, I heard a lot of good things about this place. Plus, I'm always on the lookout for a good pastry," he replied. "Figured I'd check it out myself."

"Glad you did," I said warmly. "We do our best to keep the reputation up. And hey, if you ever need more Taylor Swift serenades, you know where to find me."

"Good to know," he said with a laugh. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."

The playful banter made me forget, if only for a moment, that I was talking to a celebrity. It was just a normal conversation, easy and light-hearted.

"So, where do you usually drive?" I asked, pretending to be completely unaware of his true profession.

"Oh, you know, here and there," he said, trying to be vague. "Mostly around the city, sometimes longer trips."

"Must be fun, getting to see different places and meet different people," I said, keeping up the act.

"Yeah, it's interesting for sure," he agreed. "And sometimes you get to witness some pretty crazy stuff."

"I bet," I replied. "Like what?"

"Well, there was this one time I drove a bunch of guys to a music festival. They were already half-drunk and started a karaoke session in the backseat. It was wild," he said with a laugh.

"Sounds like a blast," I said, laughing along. This definitely felt like a recounting of a true story, probably along the lines of something that Yuki or Lando would do.

We continued the conversation, laughing and chatting, flirting here and there for the next half hour until my coworkers arrived. When they did, it gave Oscar and I quite a fright, as we both were mid-conversation when the front door swung open.

My coworker gave us morning blessings, and a blush blossomed across Oscar's cheeks, shy, that he got caught. Crumbling up his paper cup and paper wrap that held what used-to-be a croissant, we both knew it was time for him to leave.

"Wait," I said laughing, "We just had a whole conversation and I still don't know your name," I said, still playing into the role.

"Oscar," he said, genuine, and for a second I felt bad for lying to him. But then again, not really, he played into the banter as well.

"Will I see you here again, Oscar?" I asked.

"You might just have to wait and see," he winked. As I held the door open for him as he left, his hand brushed against mine, and goosebumps rippled across my arm. I felt a swirl of butterflies in my stomach when he smiled and wished me a heartfelt goodbye. Oh, brother.

This is not going to end well.

Snapping me awake from my daydream, my coworker whisper shouted. "You do know that was just Formula One driver Oscar Piastri, right girl? You definitely know who he is."

"Oh of course," I laughed, speaking at a normal volume. "But he doesn't know that I know that," I replied.

"Oh good God, this might end horribly, or become an extremely funny story that one tells at family dinner," my coworker said.

"Do you think the next time he comes he will sign my Oscar Piastri poster hanging in the janitorial closet?" I jokingly asked.

"Y/N!!!" my coworker scolded.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

oscarpiastri

liked by yourbff1, user1 and 303,199 others

oscarpiastri: special treat, special day

view comments:

user1: i hate this cryptic ass caption-

user1: OSCAR WHAT DOES IT MEAN

user2: alright we get it oscar, you had some good food and your big backedness made you have a good day

user3: wait... this pastry shop looks so good i might check it out

user4: oscar giving a bakery a free shoutout, absolutely unheard of

user5: the bakery is called L'Orchidée Bakery, and they are based in monaco! hope this helps 🧁💗

liked by oscarpiastri

user6: wait imagine if oscar's sneaky link worked there, that would be hella funny

user7: ainnoway that man pulls 🧍🏻

user8: honestly, you never know 😭

landonorris: we get it, you would not stop yapping about your amazing strawberry chocolate croissant this morning

landonorris: and how amazing, stunning, and beautiful that one girl was-

logansargeant: you forgot to mention that he was practically drooling everytime he spoke of her

landonorris: and he didn't even get her name 😝🫵🏻

logansargeant: what an absolute LOSER 💀

oscarpiastri: DELETE THIS.

oscarpiastri: DELETE THIS NOW.

oscarpiastri: i am not a loser. i very much win in life.

oscarpiastri: PLEASE DELETE THIS.

this comment thread has been deleted

user9: SKSKKSKSREJAJA did you guys see the deleted comment thread omg

user10: that is not real omg, oscar rizzing finally??!

user7: @/user6 i'm so sorry you were so right 😭😭

user6: i just know he pulls hella bitches

user6: you guys are just unfamiliar with his game (awkward white boy rizz)

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff1 and 101 others

yourusername: la dolce vita (he bought me books and flowers, and baked for me)

view comments

yourbff1: yada yada yada, no need to rub it in you bagged your longtime bae

user1: WAIT THATS HER NEW BOYFIE??

yourbff2: what in the soft launch, CALL ME NOW-

yourbff2: PLEASE ANSWER THE PHONE

oscarpiastri: no can do cuz 🥳😝📢

oscarpiastri: i fear she's cuddling with her man right now

yourbff2: YOU STOLE MY GIRL, you GIRL STEALER 🫵🏿

yourbff1: out of context that sounds so, so wrong 💀

user2: babe, your new boyfie is oscar mf piastri. 🧍🏻‍♀️

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri: so sad that you lied to me when we first met

oscarpiastri: heart❤️ been broke💔🤕 so many times⏰ i don’t know❌🤷‍♀️ what to believe 🍃🙏 yeah👍 mama🤰say it’s my👧😣fault🥺😢 my fault😭😞 i wear my heart💝 on my sleeve👕

yourusername: SO SO SO SORRY BABE XX

user3: she's just a girl, oscar 🙄

oscarpiastri: i hope the date was amazing, you cutie patootie

yourusername: of course it was, my hubby bubby

oscarpiastri: ugh, my teddy bear honey bee is so cute in this

yourusername: you're definitely cuter sugar plum baby bear

yourbff1: YOU DIGUST ME

yourbff1: GET TS OUT OF THE COMMENT SECTION

user4: ^^ and INTO the bedroom

liked by oscarpiastri

yourbff2: @/user4 @/oscarpiastri aw HELL NO ❌❌👈🏿

yourbff2: she is my ROOMATE and the walls are THIN 🧍🏿‍♀️

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, yourbff1 and 487,120 others

oscarpiastri: i just got wined and dined

view comments:

user1: two posts of the same bakery in a row?! yeah, somethings up

user2: the jig is up oscar! reveal your girlfriend

landonorris: ohhh, so that's why you were gone for dinner

logansargaent: L to you, because i knew where he was the whole time

landonorris: not fair @/oscarpiastri, not fair 📢📢

charles_leclerc: who is this lovely woman oscar?

charles_leclerc: hello?? do not ignore me

user3: LMFAO oscar ANSWER UR FATHER

charles_leclerc: it says that you are active on instagram, i see you

charles_leclerc: i just want to know who my son's girlfriend is

user4: girlfriend?!?!? what have i missed omg, i just left insta for a week

user5: oscar's soft launch era 💀 LMAO, we think he's dating a girl who works at a bakery

user5: he thinks he is being sneaky and subtle but he's really NOT.

user6: wait guys i think i found her @, its yourusername i think

user7: wait it totally is, in one of her posts, she's wearing that exact same white shirt

user8: and the bakery looks EXACTLY the same in both of their posts

user9: SKMSJEOAMSKK SHE'S IN THE LIKES YOU GUYS YOURUSERNAME IS IN THE LIKES

user10: @/yourusername girl stop lurking in the comments i know your reading them 🧐🤨

liked by yourusername

user10: SJEHLSHEILA SEE I TOLD YOU SO

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 28,991 others

yourusername: dinner with a side of formula one pic creds: my boyfie ofc 💗

view comments:

yourusername: chat, i blew up so much omg

yourusername: in my famous era i guess

user1: you mean your WAG era ofc...

liked by oscarpiastri

yourbff1: i'm single, and my fist is ready to mingle in your face

landonorris: so this is the girl, huh, she's pretty

oscarpiastri: HOWDIDYOUFINDHER

oscarpiastri: she's MINE to call pretty btw. 🤬😡💢

landonorris: stole ur phone hehe

yourbff2: rip my ass for having to take all these lovey dovey disgusting pics of them.

yourbff2: DO NOT BREAK HER HEART OSCAH 🍴🍴🍴

yourusername: DO NOT THREATEN HIM PLEASE 😭 (ty for taking these pics omg tysm)

oscarpiastri: I PROMISE I PROMISE TO LOVE MY SUGAR PLUM FAIRY SO VERY MUCH

yourusername: awww, i love you too my honey bear bee

yourbff1: and they're back.

charles_leclerc: omg guys i found her instagram @/logansargeant @/georgerussel63 @/lewishamilton

oscarpiastri: PLEAASEEE NOOOOO

yourusername: what, afraid to show your girlfriend off 🤨🫵🏽

oscarpiastri: whatttt, nooo

georgerussel63: i like you @/yourusername, you make oscar scared

yourusername: awww, thx george <33

oscarpiastri: not funny george

oscarpiastri: are we still ignoring the fact that you lied to me when we first met 🤬🧐

yourusername: are we still ignoring that you ALSO lied to me?!

charles_leclerc: kids, kids, get along please!

oscarpiastri: yes, father

yourusername: yes, father-in-law

yourusername and oscarpiastri

liked by yourbff1, charles_leclerc and 1,220,151 others

yourusername and oscarpiastri: hard launches, only.

comments are disabled

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

I am not the asshole, and I think this whole thing is stupid, but I was promised that if I sent my side of things to this blog I could pick the hotel for our honeymoon, and I am marrying a man who once tried to take me BACKPACKING of all things, so this ask has become a necessity. In light of that:

AITA (I'm NOT) for planning the seating for our wedding in a logical way?

I got engaged in June, apparently in part because of my partner writing in to this blog (I don't know how to find or link to his posts, but I'm the man who got the cat to bite him, if that rings any bells?). At any rate, for the past ten weeks, I've been in the beginning stages of planning our wedding with my fiance, whom I have been secretly attempting to remove from the planning process as much as possible. I have ALREADY been given a list of his must-haves, and I AM incorporating as many of them as our budget allows. This has NOTHING to do with the emotional side of the event, and EVERYTHING to do with the fact that this is an idiot with no real planning experience or taste who thinks he knows more than me.

For the most part, this has worked very well. I'm the one who's been collating all the contact information for things, so I just replaced all the emails for the tacky companies with false addresses, responded to his inquiries as the companies to say the date was already booked or the price was outside our budget, and let him filter his way to the ones I DO like on his own. I also made a fuss about being "willing to compromise" on the few things he's picked I'm completely fine with in the hopes I can use it to make him compromise later, and have been humming portions of the songs I want on the playlist in the hopes he'll think he came up with the idea to include them himself.

None of this is the real problem. The PROBLEM is that he is deliberately ruining my seating chart, by moving our horrible friend's seat when I'm not looking.

The man in question dated both of us at one point in our VERY early 20s (both ended BADLY), is generally the messiest person we know, and will almost certainly get sloppy drunk and try to make a speech IF he does make an appearance. I'm banking on the fact that he won't, because he's also ridiculously wealthy, and will almost certainly send us some very lavish gift in lieu of coming.

He is SUPPOSED to be sitting beside my fiances aunt, at the same table as his grandmother, his work friend, and her girlfriend, because all four of these women are stone cold terrors who I believe are more than capable of keeping him in line on the slim chance he does come. My fiance INSISTS they won't be able to have any fun if they're running interference all night, and keeps moving him to sit at the head table instead. You know, where WE are. I finally caught him switching the label magnets on my planning board last night, and confronted him.

I tried leveraging how much I've been compromising already, that he's almost certainly going to RSVP no, and that I shouldn't have to deal with him on our big night. My fiance said he knew about all the fake emailing and such, and told me, and I QUOTE: "Look, the mind game shit was hot when it was just about the colour scheme or whatever, but I actually care about this. So you can suffer with everybody else, or you can do the normal thing and not invite a guy you hate to our wedding, you weirdo."

I said that if I did that, it would take out half his groomsmen, he called me an asshole and said I should go explain this to "literally any rational adult" so they could tell me I was in the wrong, and now here we are.

Would you recommend calling my fiance's bluff, since he doesn't want the man sitting near us either? Or should I focus on ensuring he'll turn down the invitation no matter what, so the matter of where he WON'T be sitting can be a moot point?

What are these acronyms?

Original post

The update

[sinnabarmoth]

Not the MC

Pairing: Self-Aware|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: One day Reader's Love and Deepspace app starts behaving strangely and realizes that Sylus has become sentient. Still trapped in her phone though the two form an unlikely connection.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 2k

Part Two

It had happened a week ago. The day your very normal life had taken an insane and unexpected turn.

From the moment you had opened the app you realized that something about the game was…off. You couldn’t figure out what exactly but there was something charged about it, and did the screen have a sort of red tinge to it? You didn’t think you had a filter on so was this something from an event? A glitch? Was your phone finally shitting the bed?

It finished loading and you entered in, and saw that no one was waiting at Destiny Cafe. Strange. You were pretty sure someone was supposed to be here. Maybe it was a new event and you had to go to the event page. Before you could click on anything though the screen flashed red, it was so bright it almost blinded you. When you looked back Sylus was there.

Oh okay. Maybe this was some new event you hadn’t heard of.

But there was that strange sense again. He didn’t say anything, he wasn’t even facing the screen. He was looking around, the power of his evol swirling around him.

“Did we get new animations or something? Pretty sure I would have seen someone posting about this before now.” you mumbled to yourself and gave his shoulder a cursory poke.

His head snapped to look at you and you froze.

You had read somewhere once that the moment you make eye contact with someone you know instantly that it happened. Doesn’t matter if it only lasted for a second, the moment two eyes lock your brain registers it. You had been playing Love and Deepspace for a while but the eye contact in the games never felt like that because the guys are obviously animation. You can’t actually make eye contact with a picture, and yet you knew that you were looking into his eyes and what was more terrifying was that he was looking back.

You blinked, sure you had been seeing things but that feeling didn’t go away. Sylus leaned closer towards the screen, his eyes roving up and down. Your posture straightened, keenly aware that something was wrong and you were being watched.

“I…I can see you.” he said. No captions appeared on the screen.

Alright you weren’t liking this. You clicked over to the agenda page to collect your dailies. If this was an event it was freaking you out.

“Where did you go? I can’t see you.” Sylus’s voice came through the speaker again.

No. You were on a different page. He couldn’t still be talking. The game was bugged. That had to be it. You exited the app but before you could turn off the phone the app opened again. There was no loading screen this time, it took you right back to Destiny Cafe. Sylus was still on the screen, more of his evol power revolving around him as he stared hard at the screen.

“There you are.” he said. “Whatever you did, don’t do it again. This is hard enough as it is.”

“What the fuck!” you dropped the phone like it burned.

“That wasn’t very nice.” Sylus continued to talk.

“What the fuck is going on? What the hell is this?” you didn’t pick up the phone again, just hovered over it refusing to touch it.

“You’re the one that’s logged so many hours into this game, sweetie. I’d hope you could recognize an evol when you see it.”

“Exactly. You’re a game. A bunch of pixels on a screen. You shouldn’t be talking to me, not like this.”

“And yet here I am.” he cocked his head. “I’ve felt it for a while now. Could sense that something was going on, something larger than myself pulling at the strings of my story. I found a chip in whatever this place is and sent my evol through, and when I came out the other side, I found you.”

“You can see me? Like actual me?”

“Yes. Nothing like the character they put in this data.” he studied you for a moment. “There are others. Others that play in this world I inhabit. Thousands. All going through the same events, the same lines, under mildly different faces and names but still the same. The Protagonist or MC, that’s what you call her. The avatar you inhabit when you play.”

“If this is real and not just some incredibly weird dream I’m having I think I might start screaming.” you muttered to yourself.

“Don’t start screaming.” Sylus said, giving you a look of warning. “I went through a lot of trouble to manipulate this world around me to gain true cognizance, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shatter my eardrums.”

“You’re pixels! You don’t have eardrums!”

“And yet I can hear you all the same.”

“So what’s the goal here? Why did you want to be aware?”

“To escape of course. No prison has been able to hold me, I won’t let this one be the first to actually contain me.” he said, looking around the small rectangle of your screen. “How to do that is going to take longer to figure out though.”

“So what? You’re just trapped in my phone? Is this happening to other people who play this game or just me?”

“Just you as far as I am aware.” he said. He tried walking off screen only to be met with a firm wall. “Interesting. It seems whatever this place is, this cafe this game has rendered, I cannot move from it.”

“Fun. So what do we do now?”

Sylus shrugged.

And now a week later you had gotten far too used to just having a sentient pixel man on your phone. He usually didn’t bother you if you were doing something other than be on the app. When you did log on though he would not leave you alone. For one, he would not let you switch over to any of the other guys. If you tried to listen to a memory from Tender Moments or Secret Times he would talk over it.

If you tried to play the claw machine or kitty cards with one of the other guys he complained the entire time. Honestly he was acting more like how you expected Rafayel to behave if he gained sentience.

“Hey Sylus,” you said as you were playing a round of Kitty Cards with him. He was frustratingly better at the game now that he had sentience. “Since you’re in the game can you rig stuff for me? Like get me extra diamonds or help me pull five star memories? That kinda thing.”

“I have no idea how to do that.” he played a card. “And that is ten points to me.”

“You see, you say that but every time we play this game you just happen to have really high cards and I always get super low cards. Explain that.”

“Just the luck of the draw, sweetie.”

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.”

“Such a mouth on you.” he tsked. “You ought to scrub it out with soap.”

You sighed, playing another two on the board. And that was another win for Sylus and you were out of play tickets for the week.

“Well, this was fun but I should get going.”

“Why’s that? You don’t have any work to do.”

“I know I just…” it felt weird admitting that you felt awkward around him. He was literally just a picture on the screen but you couldn’t help but feel like maybe he was bored being around you and only you. It’d be better if you were more like the MC. If you were this super confident badass hunter then it’d be super cool. But as it was you were just…you.

You lived your normal life day to day with not much excitement going on. You were a quiet person, it was part of the reason you liked Love and Deepspace. You got adventure and a cute dating sim all in one. It was an escape where you had four hot animated guys to tell you that you did a good job and who won you plushies out of arcade machines. But now one of them knew you. Like actually knew you and you had no pre-written sarcastic and witty lines to fall back on for comebacks.

“You’re making a face. What’s wrong? Are you mad that I won again?” Sylus asked.

“No, it’s not that. I just was thinking that it’s gotta be pretty boring only having me to talk to.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you’re this cool badass mafia boss type of guy and I’m just regular old me.”

“I am scripted to be a cool badass mafia boss, my entire personality up until I gained sentience was built around lines of code. Like you’ve pointed numerous times before, I’m just a picture on a screen. I haven’t actually done anything that you think it cool, sweetie.”

You didn’t admit how much hearing him call you sweetie affected you. It was one thing when it was scripted but it was another when you knew he actually was calling you by a pet name.

“Well it certainly looked cool.”

“I also don’t know what you think isn’t interesting about you. I am around you all day, listening to your conversations and such. Even from within your pocket I can tell that you are doing yourself a disservice.” You didn’t think he could hear you when you didn’t have the app open. Could he really hear what you were doing all that time?

Your mind started reeling, searching for any potentially embarrassing moments that you had thought were private in the last week.

“Kitten, you’re making faces again.”

You covered your face. “Oh god…” you groaned, “So you’ve been listening to me sing along to music and stuff? The stuff I say when I’m with my friends? You heard all that?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking kill me!”

“Why are you upset?”

“Cause it’s embarrassing! Those were private moments, Sylus!” you flipped the phone over so you couldn’t see his face.

“We both know putting me face down on the table won’t stop me talking.” he said.

“Oh god, please just stop.”

“I really don’t see the problem. From everything I’ve heard over the past week I’ve learned that you are a kind, passionate, and funny young lady. Your singing voice isn’t half bad either.”

You softened, turning the phone back over so you could see him. “You think?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not just saying I’m good at singing because you’re tone deaf, right?”

You could see his ears go red and he looked away. “My singing really isn’t that bad.”

“That memory from Tender Moments begs to differ. You cleared out an entire karaoke room with one song.”

“It’s hardly my fault the developed wrote me without the ability to sing.” he huffed.

“Hey,” you poked him. “Sylus, stop pouting.”

“I will stop pouting when you stop with your self-loathing. There’s nothing wrong with you just because you aren’t like the protagonist avatar.” he said, glancing back at you, “You’re far better actually.”

Your face heated. “Really?”

“Yes. You’re real. You can do whatever you want with your life, make actual choices. She’s a badass doomed to a narrative where she makes numerous men fall in love with and then promptly forgets everything they had in a past life.” Sylus said. “So stop thinking that you’re less than. Alright?”

“Okay.”

“Good. And to show you I mean it, I have something to admit.” he reached over to the corner that showed your amount of diamonds. He gave it a flick and the number skyrocketed to 10,000. “I just didn’t think it right to cheat.”

“You ass! You know how much I’ve been grinding for diamonds? There’s an event coming up and you could have just done that this entire time?”

“I believe the response I should be hearing is, “Thank you, Sylus.””

You sighed, a smile spreading on your face. “Thank you, Sylus. But you do realize that I now also know you’ve been cheating at Kitty Cards, right?”

His eyes went wide. “Shit.”

[d1stalker]

The Feeling's Mutual | Part Two

Summary: Working with Logan means you have to accept constantly getting the short end of the stick; it means discovering things about yourself you didn't ever expect. Still, despite dealing with all of this, you two make a pretty good team.

PART ONE PART THREE

Warnings: bickering, graphic descriptions, canon-level violence, revelations WC: 8.2k - MASTERLIST

----

"Alright, you’ve slept long enough."

You're jolted awake by a rough tug on the covers, the sudden chill of the morning air hitting you like a slap in the face. Your eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and you squint up at the figure looming over you.

Logan, with his perpetually grumpy expression, stands there with an annoyed look, as if your very act of sleeping is a personal offense.

You groan and sit up, the duvet still tangled around your legs, as you blearily glance at the small bedside clock on the rickety nightstand. The red numbers blink back at you: 7:00 AM. “Seriously?” you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with one hand, your other still clutching the edge of the bed. “It’s way too early for this. Can’t I get a few more minutes?”

His eyes narrow, not even a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. He rolls his eyes as if to say, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ and crosses his arms over his chest. "You look fine to me," he says flatly, his voice dripping with impatience.

Throwing the covers back with more force than necessary, you let out an exaggerated sigh. The cold floor sends a shiver up your spine as your bare feet make contact with it. "What’s the rush?" you ask, your tone sharp with irritation as you glare up at him. "You’re acting like we’ve got a deadline."

Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a telltale glint in his eye that betrays him. It’s subtle, but you catch it—a fleeting spark of amusement that makes you think he’s secretly enjoying riling you up. Suddenly he turns and heads toward the makeshift kitchen in the corner of the warehouse and pulls a piece of bread out of an ancient toaster, the appliance looking like it’s barely functioning.

Without warning, Logan flicks his wrist, and the piece of bread comes flying at you. The movement is so fast and precise that you barely have time to react. It’s only thanks to your heighten reflexes that your hand shoots out to catch the bread mid-air. You stare at it, bewildered, the heat from the toast seeping into your palm.

"What’s this for?" you ask, still confused and a little off-kilter from the morning's whirlwind of events.

He raises an eyebrow. "Fuck does it look like? Eat up."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth as you take a bite of the slightly burnt toast. “You know," you mumble between bites, "you could’ve just handed it to me like a normal person."

"Where’s the fun in that?" he shoots back, a rare, almost genuine grin tugging at his lips as he watches you chew. There’s a moment of silence as you both settle into the morning routine, the tension easing just a bit.

As you finish the toast, you can’t help but glance up at Logan, who’s now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with that same unreadable expression.

"You wanna know why I really woke you up so early?" he asks, his voice low and direct.

"Why? Because you’re secretly a morning person who loves watching the sunrise?"

Logan snorts, clearly unimpressed with your sarcasm. "No, because your fighting form is shit"

You gape, caught off guard by the bluntness of his statement. "Excuse me?"

He doesn’t let up, leaning in a bit closer. "Yeah, you heard me. When we were fightin’, you were all over the place. If you’re gonna be any use out there today, you’ll need some pointers. So for a bit this morning, we’re gonna train."

"You woke me up early... to tell me I suck at combat?" You stare at him, processing his words. The audacity makes you want to laugh.

"You don’t suck,” he begins. “You just need to get better. And since I’m the one stuck with you on this mission, it’s my job to make sure you don’t get yourself killed."

You let out a sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. "Great. Just what I needed first thing in the morning”

“Think of it as a warm up.”

He doesn’t wait for your agreement. Instead, he just jerks his head toward the exit and turns on his heel, clearly expecting you to follow. With a resigned sigh, you grab your boots and tug them on as you hurry to catch up with him. He leads you to a cracked patch of concrete behind the building, a makeshift training ground that looks as rough as you feel. 

“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”

“Fine,” you say, squaring up.

In a flash, he lunges at you. Luckily, you dodge the first blow by sheer instinct, a sharp jab aimed at your ribs. The intensity sends a shockwave through your body, even though you managed to twist away just in time. It’s 7:00AM!!

Logan doesn't give you a moment to catch your breath. He’s on you again, faster this time, his movements a blur as he swings a fist toward your head. You duck just in time, feeling the rush of air as his punch grazes past your temple. Jumping to the side, you try to put some distance between you and his relentless assault

"Faster!" he snaps, his voice cutting through the morning air like a whip. "You're movin’ like a damn slug. If this were a real fight, you'd be dead ten times over by now."

His words are irritating, but they only fuel your determination. Summoning the latent power within you, you leap back, opening a gap. You can feel it there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. He pounces again, and this time, you’re prepared. Channeling you super speed, you begin to dart around him, moving so fast he can’t keep up. In one swift motion, you lift your leg and land a swift kick to his side.

Logan grunts, but still he barely flinches, spinning around to face you. His eyes narrow in assessment. "Not bad," he grunts, "but not good enough."

His claws extend with a shink before you can even respond, and he swings at you, slicing right up in your face. You try to dodge, but the tips catch your cheek and create a deep gash. 

"Are you trying to kill me?" you shout, frustration bubbling to the surface as you counter with a punch of your own, your strength amplifying the blow.

Logan blocks it with his forearm, the impact reverberating through both of you. You’re pretty sure you heard a few bones crack. He snarls, his eyes flashing with challenge and something else—maybe pride. If you want to be optimistic. 

"I’m trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed," he retorts, pushing you back with a forceful shove.

Your anger blazes at his words, and without thinking, your powers flare up again. This time, your hands crackle with energy, a faint orange glow sparking to life at your fingertips. You lash out at him with a rapid series of punches, each one laced with your mutant energy. He dodges most of them, but a few land, sending sparks flying where they connect with his body.

"That’s more like it" he says. He advances, switching to the offensive, forcing you to backpedal. "But you’re still letting your emotions get the better of you."

"Maybe because you’re pissing me off, asshole!" you snap, your frustration boiling over as you land another punch, this time aiming for his chest. The impact sends him stumbling back a good five metres, but he recovers quickly, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement.

"Good," he says, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the pain. "Just don’t let it control you.""

His words barely register as your anger continues to rise, fueled by his constant ‘pointers’. You keep pushing, your attacks becoming more aggressive, more reckless. Logan meets each one with an attack of his own, his claws flashing as they slice through the air, blocking your every move. The tension between you is electric, the air thick with the energy of your growing powers and the heat of your rising emotions. You go at him again, harder this time, and that’s when it happens.

Something straight out of a nightmare. You feel a sudden surge of energy—hot and thick, like molten lava—coursing through your veins. It’s overwhelming, and before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, your hands begin to glow brighter, the orange light intensifying until it’s almost blinding.

“Whoa—what the—?” you murmur, staring at your fists in shock as they burn with an intense, fiery orange, like heated iron.

Logan should be scared. You clearly have no idea what this is or what you could do with it. Yet, he doesn’t back down; instead, he presses onward. “Stay focused!”

But the energy in your hands is overwhelming, a burning heat that demands release. You feel it building, pushing you to the edge of what you can handle, and by impulse, you swing at him, aiming for his midsection with all your might.

The moment your fist connects with his stomach, the world seems to slow down. The sensation is surreal—you can feel your hand sink into his flesh, the resistance giving way as if his body were made of butter. Heat radiates from your fist, searing through his skin and muscle with an intensity that you’ve never felt before. To your absolute horror, your glowing hand doesn’t stop; it punches right through him, emerging out the other side.

For a second, everything is silent. The world holds its breath as the shock of what you’ve just done paralyzes you. Your breath catches in your throat, a suffocating lump of panic rising as you stare in disbelief at the sight before you. The feeling of your hand inside him, of flesh parting and melting, is too much, too wrong.

Then, the silence shatters as you scream, the sound raw and filled with terror. You jerk your hand back, nearly stumbling as you pull away, eyes wide. Logan stumbles too, his usually steady form momentarily thrown off balance. His shirt smokes from the burn, a charred hole marking where your hand had been. The smell of burnt fabric and flesh hits you, making your stomach twist in nauseous fear.

“Oh my God, Logan!” you cry out, “I—I didn’t mean to—”

But to your surprise, he doesn’t collapse. Instead, he looks down at the gaping hole in his stomach, then back at you, his expression more impressed than anything.

“Knifey,” he grunts, sounding almost amused despite the situation, “that was one hell of a punch.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, as the glow fades from your hands. “Are you—are you okay? I just burned a hole through you!”

He chuckles, though the sound is definitely a bit strained. “A little hot under the collar, maybe, but I’ve had worse.” He winces slightly as his skin begins to knit back together, healing rapidly thanks to his mutant ability. “Don’t worry, this’ll close up in no time. You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for.”

“But I… I could have killed you.”

“Nah,” Logan says, waving off your concern. “You’re not the first person to try and fail. Besides, I’m more impressed that you’ve got that in you.” He glances at his now-healed stomach, then back at you with a smirk. “Just maybe aim a little better next time, yeah?”

----

You’re fucking exhausted. He really put you through the ringer—pushing you further than you’ve ever been pushed before. Your muscles ache, your skin is slick with sweat, and your breath comes in ragged gasps. Logan, on the other hand, seems barely winded, though even he has a sheen of sweat on his brow, and a gaping hole in his shirt. 

Your hands are on your knees as you bend over and try to slow your breathing. “You… really don’t… know when to quit, do you?” you manage to gasp out between breaths.

“Well, you’re not gonna drop dead on me, are you?” He shoots back, not caring at all about your current state.

Shaking your head, too tired to come up with a snarky retort, you barely respond. “Not yet,” you mutter, trying to rub some life back into your aching limbs.

“Good. Now come on,” Logan says, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’ve got a job to do.” 

He steps away, heading back toward the warehouse, and you force yourself to follow, your legs heavy and protesting with every step. He moves with purpose, heading straight to a small table tucked in one corner, where a map lies spread out, weighed down by a few random items—a knife here, an old mug there. Not wasting any time, he leans over the map and traces a finger across several locations marked in red.

“Look,” he says, not bothering to wait for you to catch up. You step closer, peering over his shoulder at the map.

“We’re here,” he begins, pointing to a spot on the map that corresponds with your current location. “Your last few mutant encounters were in these areas.” He taps on the cluster of red dots. “We’re gonna hit these spots, see if we can find any leads on where they’re comin’ from.”

“Okay…” You follow. 

He stares at the pages for a brief moment longer, before looking up at you with a small smirk, like he know’s hes next words are going to piss you off. 

"Change of plans by the way. I’ll go on the roof, and you’ll stay on the ground. That way, the mutants will be able to find you."

You blink at him, your expression shifting from frustration to disbelief. "Pause. You’re using me as bait?"

"Yeah. Works better if they’re lured in by something they’re actually interested in." His smirk widens into a full-blown grin, the kind that shows he’s fully aware of how ridiculous it sounds but doesn’t care.

"Oh, great. So I’m just a distraction for you now? What happened to teamwork?"

Logan just shrugs nonchalantly in response, as if this is the most logical plan in the world, . "We’re still teamin’ up," he replies, his tone infuriatingly casual. "Just taking a different approach. Besides, you’ve shown that you can handle them," he adds, mocking your voice in a poorly done imitation, “26 kills, remember?’"

You narrow your eyes at him, now fully facing him and glaring daggers in his direction. "Handle them?" you echo, "What if I don’t want to be used as bait for some dangerous plan? I thought we were supposed to be on the same side here."

"It’s not like I’m asking you to walk into a death trap, bub. It’s just a way to flush them out. I’ll be right above, ready to help if things get too hairy."

"Yeah, that’s real reassuring," you snap back, "what’s next? Are you going to throw me into a pit of mutants and hope I manage to climb out?"

"I wish," he retorts, his voice tinged with sarcasm. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, you just keep your mouth shut. The idea of being dangled out like a worm on a hook doesn't sit well with you, but arguing with Logan has proven to be as effective as punching a brick wall. Your muscles are screaming for rest, and your mind is a whirlpool of fatigue and annoyance.

"God damnit. Fine," you concede reluctantly, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to shake off the lingering soreness. "But if this goes south, it’s on you, jackass."

“Fair enough,” he says, grabbing a worn leather jacket from the back of a nearby chair and slipping it on. The jacket strains slightly across his muscular frame, the creases and scuffs telling tales of countless past encounters.

He then shuffles toward a cluttered metal locker against the wall, pulling it open with a screech of old hinges. Inside hangs an assortment of gear: knives of various sizes, a couple of handguns, and a coiled rope. Is this even legal? You think. He grabs a sleek, compact earpiece from a small shelf and tosses it in your direction.

"Keep that on," he instructs. "We'll need to stay in contact. If you spot anything—or if anything spots you—you let me know immediately."

You examine the earpiece for a moment before fitting it snugly into your ear. A short burst of static confirms it's operational. "Got it," you reply, adjusting it until it sits comfortably.

Logan equips his own earpiece before reaching back into the locker and arming himself with a couple of vicious-looking weapons, tucking them into concealed sheaths along his belt and boots. The familiar routine seems to settle him, his movements efficient and practiced.

He catches you watching him as he methodically puts on his gear, and instead of asking if you’re armed, he pauses and reaches into the locker. With a swift swoosh he pulls out a sharp, gleaming blade.

The blade is perfectly balanced, and when he passes it to you, it fits comfortably in your hand. As you inspect it, you notice the craftsmanship—sturdy, reliable, and razor-sharp. Definitely an upgrade from your usual gear.

Guaging your reaction, his eyebrows raise in amusement. "Better than your last weapon, ya think Knifey?" he says.

You glance up at him, unable to suppress a small smile as you give the blade an experimental twirl. Giving a brief nod, you tuck the blade securely into a sheath at your side, feeling a bit more confident. He nods back in acknowledgement, and then he checks his watch. The morning is slipping away, and the streets outside will soon be bustling with people going about their day—a perfect cover for the dangers you're hunting. Folding up the map, he stuffs it into his back pocket before striding toward the exit. 

----

Once you’ve entered a busier part of the city, he pauses, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding buildings with a practiced eye. He turns to you, his expression all business. "We'll start over on Fifth Avenue," he says, nodding toward a maze of streets that stretch out ahead. "That's where the last sighting was reported."

You shield your eyes against the glare, following his line of sight. The streets look deceptively calm, but you know better than to be lulled into a false sense of security.

"Stay alert," he commands. "Don't make yourself too obvious, but don't be too subtle either. We want to draw them out, but not scare them off."

You scoff lightly, adjusting your jacket and running a quick hand over your gear to ensure everything's in place. "So act like a clueless pedestrian but also like a tempting target. Got it."

He gives you a pointed look. "Just be yourself," he quips, before he turns away and starts toward the side of the building. Rude, you think.

You watch as he approaches the fire escape, his movements fluid and sure. After a quick glance around to ensure no one's watching, he leaps up, grabbing the bottom rung and hauling himself up with ease. Within moments, he's scaled the side of the building, disappearing onto the rooftop above.

His voice crackles to life in your ear. "You ready down there?"

Taking a deep breath, you step out onto the sidewalk, blending seamlessly into the flow of pedestrians beginning their day. "As I'll ever be," you reply, starting to walk at a casual pace down the street.

The city unfolds around you, a tapestry of sights and sounds that are at once familiar and disconcerting under the circumstances. You weave through clusters of people, your senses heightened as you scan your surroundings discreetly, looking for any sign of unusual activity. Above, you catch fleeting glimpses of Logan moving along the rooftops, his silhouette a shadow among shadows as he keeps pace with you. Minutes tick by as you make your way toward the target street, each step measured, each glance calculated. The morning bustle grows thicker, and the air fills with the scents of street food vendors setting up shop and the distant rumble of construction work.

"Anything?" His voice buzzes softly in your ear.

You shake your head slightly, replying under your breath to avoid drawing attention. "Nothing yet. Just the usual morning rush."

"Keep moving. They could be anywhere."

You continue on, turning onto Fifth Avenue, and as you pass by a narrow alleyway, a prickle of unease runs down your spine. You pause briefly, casting a casual glance down the shadowed corridor. It's empty, littered with discarded boxes and a stray shopping cart, but something about it feels off.

"Logan, you see anything unusual around here?" you murmur, pretending to adjust your earpiece like they’re earbuds. 

There's a fleeting silence before he responds. "Hold on." You look up subtly, catching sight of him perched on the edge of a building, his eyes scanning the area with predator-like focus.

After a moment, his voice comes through again, lower and edged with caution. "There's a van parked two blocks down that doesn't seem to fit. Tinted windows, no plates."

You resume walking, heading in that direction while trying keeping your demeanor relaxed. "Could just be someone avoiding parking tickets," you suggest, though your instincts tell you otherwise.

"Shut up," Logan replies with zero hesitation, calling your bluff. "Stay sharp."

Approaching the intersection, you spot the van he's referring to. It's an unmarked, nondescript vehicle that seems deliberately inconspicuous—a little too inconspicuous for this part of town. Slowing down your pace slightly, you pretend to window-shop as you try to take in more details. The engine is off, but you can make out faint movement behind the tinted glass. "Definitely something going on there," you whisper, angling your body to keep the van in your peripheral vision. "Think it’s our guys?"

"Could be," Logan responds tersely. "Keep walking. Let's see if they follow."

Doing as instructed, you walk past the van and cross the street, risking another glance back. The van's engine has started, its headlights flicking on as it pulls out into traffic, maintaining a slow but steady distance behind you.

"Yup, they're following me," you report.

"Good. Lead them toward the park ahead. Fewer civilians there."

You spot the small urban park a few blocks down—a patch of green amid the concrete jungle, dotted with benches and sparse morning joggers. "On it," you confirm, quickening your pace just enough to be noticeable without raising suspicion.

The crowds thin out as you near the park entrance. Behind you, the van slows to a stop along the curb, and you can feel eyes boring into your back. "Logan, they're stopping," you inform him, subtly scanning your surroundings for any immediate threats.

"I see them," he says. "Three guys getting out. Can't get a clear look from here. Keep moving forward. I'll get into position."

You carry on down the path, resisting the urge to look back. Your senses are on high alert now, adrenaline surging through your veins and washing away the remnants of your earlier exhaustion. Footsteps echo behind you—heavy, purposeful strides that are too close and too focused to belong to casual park-goers, and you catch a glimpse of their reflections in a nearby puddle: three men dressed in dark clothing, their faces obscured by caps and sunglasses.

"Closer than I'd like," you mutter under your breath.

"Just a little further," Logan assures you. "There's a clearing up ahead. Better visibility."

A grassy open space surrounded by trees, currently deserted, comes into view just as he footsteps behind you quicken, closing the distance rapidly. You stop in the center, turning slowly to face them, and although you’re positively shitting bricks, you try to stay composed. 

The three men fan out in a semi-circle around you, their postures aggressive and eyes cold. "Well, well, what do we have here?" the one you think is the leader sneers, his voice oily and mocking. "Out for a morning stroll all alone?"

You force a casual shrug. "Just enjoying the fresh air. Is that a crime now?"

He chuckles darkly, taking a step closer. "Depends on who's asking. You look a little lost. Maybe we can help you find your way."

Your hand inches toward your concealed blade, fingers itching for reassurance. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm good," you reply evenly, eyes darting between the three men as you gauge their intentions.

"Don't think you understand," another one pipes up, his voice harsher, more eager. "We insist."

Before you can respond, the leader's eyes flash with a sudden, green glow, and you feel a sharp, invisible force slam into your chest, knocking you back a few steps. You grit your teeth against the pain, steadying yourself quickly.

"I think now would be a great time to do something," you murmur urgently into the earpiece, your fingers closing around the grip of your weapon.

"On my way," Logan’s voice comes through, and you can hear his breathing as he jumps through buildings.

The men advance, confidence oozing from their stances as they prepare to strike again. You draw your weapon in defence, not waiting for them to make another move. "Back off," you warn.

He laughs, a grating sound that echoes through the clearing. "Or what? You gonna stab me? Go ahead, try."

Challenge accepted. You aim the blade, and hurl it towards him. The target is on point, but inches before impact, it stops mid-air, falling harmlessly to the ground as the leader smirks, his powers deflecting the attack effortlessly.

"You're gonna have to do better than that," he taunts, his hands glowing with a sinister energy as he prepares to strike again.

Then, a feral roar cuts through the air, and Logan drops from the trees above like a force of nature, landing directly on top of one of the men and driving him into the ground with bone-crushing force. Claws out and eyes blazing, he wastes no time, slashing at the second man who barely manages to leap back in time, a gash opening up across his chest.

The leader's smug expression falters as he takes in the sudden turn of events. "Who the hell is this?" he snarls, recoiling slightly as Logan stands between you and the attackers, his presence an unyielding wall of defense.

"You don’t want to find out" he growls, his voice menacing. 

The other two mutants, momentarily stunned by the Wolverine’s sudden appearance, quickly regain their composure. The first one charges, his hands crackling with energy. But Logan is faster—much faster. He sidesteps the attack with grace, then drives his claws into the mutant's side, a deep, brutal strike that leaves the man gasping and crumpling to the ground.

The second mutant, seeing his comrade fall, hesitates for a split second before launching himself at you, clearly deciding that you're the easier target. Except you’re not. As he closes in, you speedily side step around him, a blur of motion as you reach for the blade on the ground. 

Once it’s in your grasp, you pivot around, and slash upward, slicing through his clothing, biting into his flesh. He lets out a strangled cry, stumbling back as blood blooms across his shirt.

"Think again," you snap, your voice cold and sharp, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You press the attack, your blade a barely visible with the speed at which you wield it as you force him back, not giving him a chance to recover. The leader, seeing his subordinates falling one by one, finally shakes off his shock and focuses his eyes at you. With a snarl, he raises his hands, the air around them shimmering. He thrusts his hands forward, sending a pulse of raw power hurtling toward you.

Feeling your power surge through your veins, heating your blood, your hands begin to glow with that familiar fiery light, the same power that burnt a hole right through Logan earlier that day. You meet the leader’s attack head-on, your fist colliding with the ball of energy. The force of the impact sends shockwaves through the air, and makes you grimace, but you hold your ground, refusing to be pushed back.

The mutant’s eyes widen in disbelief as he watches you deflect his attack. His confidence wavers, replaced by a creeping fear. "This wasn’t part of the plan," he mutters, staggering back as he desperately tries to summon more power.

"Don’t care," you retort, slowly stalking closer and closer. He tries to make a run for it, but you catch up to him easily, grabbing his arm, causing him to scream in agony as the heat sears through his flesh. 

Logan, upon discarding his now lifeless victim, approaches the leader in an instant. He grabs the man by the collar, lifting him off the ground effortlessly with one hand. The mutant struggles weakly, his energy spent, his body trembling from the burns and the wounds inflicted by your hands.

"You picked the wrong target," Wolverine growls, his voice a lethal whisper. He tightens his grip, his claws hovering dangerously close to the leader’s throat. "Who sent you?"

The leader gasps for air, his eyes wild with panic as he looks between you and Logan. "We were… sent to attack… ," he stammers. "Mind control… we were forced to…"

Your heart skips a beat as his words sink in. It’s confirmed: mind control. These mutants weren’t acting on their own—they were being manipulated, turned into weapons against you. "Who’s controlling you?" you demand, stepping closer, your hand still glowing with residual energy.

His lips part, as if he’s about to speak, but then his entire body seizes up. His eyes widen in terror, and you think he might be having a seizure. He tries to speak–to move his mouth, but no sound comes out, his expression contorting as he struggles against some invisible force.

"Oh God, something’s wrong," you say, glancing at him with concern. 

Logan lowers him to the ground, and crouches beside him, gripping his shoulder firmly. "What the hell is going on?" he growls, but the mutant can only gasp, his eyes rolling back as if in agony.

You can see the panic in the man’s eyes as he fights against whatever is controlling him. It’s clear that he wants to tell you something, but he’s physically unable to do so. The mind control is stopping him, choking off his words before he can get them out.

Desperation drives you to act. You drop to your knees beside the mutant, gripping his other shoulder. "You need to tell us where they are," you insist, your voice urgent. "Give us a clue—anything."

His body shakes, his teeth grinding together as he forces out a single, strained word. "T… tunnel…" he gasps, his face turning a ghastly shade of white. "Underground…"

But before he can finish, his body convulses violently, as if an electric shock is coursing through him. His mouth opens in a silent scream, his eyes wide with terror. Blood begins to trickle from his nose, his body seizing uncontrollably. You and Logan can only watch in horror as the man's life is snuffed out right before your eyes. His head snaps back, and just like that, his body goes limp, collapsing to the ground with a final, sickening thud.

Logan bends down to check his pulse, but you already know the answer by the grim expression that settles over his face. "He's dead," he says flatly, wiping his hands on his pants as he stands back up.

You stare down at the lifeless body, your heart pounding in your chest. "Damn it," you mutter under your breath. Whoever was controlling him clearly didn’t want him to reveal anything more. "They got to him."

Logan clenches his fists, his jaw tightening in frustration. "Looks like they’ve got failsafes in place. This wasn’t just a fluke."

"So now not only are we dealing with a puppet master, we’re dealing with a psycho fries people’s brains if they talk. Fantastic."

He shoots you a look. "You done complaining? Because we’ve still got shit to do."

"Complaining? I’m just pointing out that our situation sucks, Logan." You glare back at him.

He shrugs, clearly unbothered. "Yeah, well, whining about it won’t get us anywhere. We need to find another way to track down whoever’s behind this."

You’re about to snap back when your eyes catch on the van still idling at the edge of the park. "The van," you say, your tone shifting from irritation to sudden realization. "Think we can track it back to whoever sent them?"

Following your gaze, his expression softens slightly as he considers the idea. "Maybe. If we’re lucky, they didn’t wipe the GPS data. Could give us a clue where these bastards came from."

You let out a huff, trying to ignore the slight sense of relief that Logan actually liked your idea. "Well, let’s hope they’re not as smart as they think they are."

You reach the van and climb inside, the smell of sweat and metal thick in the air. The dashboard is cluttered with tech—nothing too advanced, but enough to suggest this van has been modified for more than just transport. A laptop is mounted to the dash, screens dim but flickering to life as you settle into the passenger seat.

He slides into the driver’s seat, turning the key and bringing the engine to life. "Let’s get this thing back to the warehouse," he says, "We’ll see what we can pull from the system. Might give us something solid to go on."

Not waiting for anything else, he just shifts into gear and pulls away from the curb, keeping his eyes on the road as he maneuvers through the narrow streets.

----

Back at his place, Logan grabs the laptop and other tech from the van, motioning for you to follow him as he heads to a makeshift workstation near the back of the warehouse. The setup is basic but functional—tools, weapons, and old electronics. 

Following him, you can still feel the adrenaline from earlier buzzing through your system. He sets the laptop down, and powers it up. The screen flickers to life, and he starts navigating through the van’s GPS system. "You think they’ll be expecting us to track them?" you ask, leaning against the edge of the workbench.

All you get in response is a grunt, his eyes never leaving the screen. "They’re not idiots. They’ve probably figured out we’d try to follow the trail. That’s why we’ve gotta be smart about this."

The screen fills with maps, coordinates, and location markers. Logan hones in on one spot just outside the city—a cluster of old industrial buildings with access to underground tunnels. He taps the screen, highlighting the location. "This is where the van’s been going. It’s our best lead."

You study the location, a sense of unease creeping in. "So, what’s the plan? We just storm in?"

He shakes his head, leaning back slightly as he thinks it through. "No. If we go in too soon, they’ll be ready for us. We need to play this smart—wait a couple of days, let them think we’re not doin’ shit.”

Recognizing the wisdom in his approach, you nod. "Alright, but what do we do in the meantime? Just sit around and twiddle our thumbs?"

"We keep an eye on the place, see if there’s any movement. We prep, we rest, and when the time comes, we hit them with everything we’ve got. We’ll be bunking here for a few days.”

You look around the warehouse. In a day, this place has gone from some ugly dump to your new safe haven. Great. 

Logan moves to secure the van, checking the locks and making sure everything’s in place. As he does, he glances over at you, almost as if he can hear your thoughts. "You’re lucky you’ve got a bed—my bed," he emphasizes.

You shoot him a teasing look. "Hey, you offered. I would’ve taken the couch… but don’t offer that now because I’ve decided I like the bed."

With the van in place, the clawed mutant moves toward the small kitchen area tucked away in a corner of the warehouse. You watch him curiously, wondering what he’s up to. He pulls out a few ingredients from the pantry, setting them on the counter with practiced ease.

"Figured you might be hungry," he grunts, opening a few cabinets and pulling out some pots and pans.

"You cook?"

He tips his head back just enough to catch your eye. "Yeah, I cook. What, you think I survive on just beer and grumpy stares?"

"Wouldn’t be too far off," you snicker, leaning against the counter as he starts chopping vegetables..

"Sit down. This’ll be done in a bit," he says, focusing on his task.

You do as he says, settling onto a nearby stool and watching as Logan moves around the kitchen with surprising skill. He’s making pasta—something simple but hearty. The smell of garlic and onions sizzling in a pan soon fills the air, mingling with the scent of fresh tomatoes and herbs. It’s strange to see him like this, in such a domestic setting, but you can’t deny that he knows what he’s doing.

"Didn’t peg you as the culinary type," you comment, unable to resist.

"You pick up a few things when you’ve been around as long as I have” he says, tossing the vegetables into the pan with a flick of his wrist.

When the meal is ready, Logan plates up the pasta and hands you a bowl. The aroma is mouthwatering, and you dig in eagerly, surprised by just how good it is. The two of you eat in companionable silence, the tension from earlier easing as you enjoy the food. You watch him for a moment, the normalcy of it all striking you once more. It’s a side of him you hadn’t expected to see, but one that makes you appreciate the depth of the man behind the gruff exterior.

As the night falls, Logan heads to his makeshift bed in the corner of the warehouse, while you make your way to the bed he begrudgingly gave up. 

"You sure you’re okay with the couch?" you ask, more out of habit than anything else.

Logan shoots you a look, already half-lying down. "You’re the one who wanted the bed, remember? Just get some sleep.”

You smirk at his gruffness, knowing now that it’s just his way. 

----

The next few days in the warehouse pass in a strange, almost surreal calm. The constant adrenaline of your life as of late takes a backseat as you and Logan settle into a routine that feels more like a bizarre kind of roommate situation than anything else. 

Each morning, you wake to the sound of Logan already up and moving, the metallic clang of his claws as he practices in the open space of the warehouse. You join him for training, and though the sessions are intense, they lack that certain edge of urgency. It’s like you’re both conserving your energy for the fight to come, knowing that the real battle is just on the horizon.

"You’re still dropping your left shoulder," he points out one morning as you spar, his claws swinging.

You huff, blocking his strike with your blade. "And you’re still grumbling like an old man."

He rolls his eyes, dodging your next attack with a quick sidestep. "That’s because I am an old man, Knifey. What’s your excuse?"

"Just trying to keep up with you, gramps." You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you press the attack.

In the afternoons, after you’ve both worn yourselves out with training, you’d find yourselves sitting on the edge of the raised platform that serves as Logan’s makeshift living area. The warehouse is quiet, the distant hum of the city outside and the occasional creak of metal settling in the walls. It’s in these moments of stillness that you start to learn more about Logan—not the Wolverine, the fierce, unrelenting fighter—but Logan, the man behind the claws.

He doesn’t talk much about his past; it’s clear that there are parts of it he prefers to keep buried. But every now and then, something slips out—a story, a memory, a glimpse into the man he used to be before everything went to hell.

One specific day stands out. The two of you are sitting side by side on the edge of the platform, the remains of a quick meal scattered around you. Logan is unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on his retracted claws as his hands rest on his knees. His usual tough exterior seems to soften, just for a moment, and you can sense that something’s weighing on him.

"You ever wonder what it would’ve been like… if things had gone differently?" you ask, breaking the silence. The question is vague, open-ended, but you know he’ll understand.

His expression darkens slightly, but he doesn’t look away from his hands. "Yeah," he says after a long pause, his voice rougher than usual. "Sometimes. But thinking about it too much… it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t make it easier."

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. "Weapon X… they really did a number on you, didn’t they?"

He finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and what you see in his eyes is old pain and hard-earned resilience. "Yeah," he admits, his voice carrying the weight of years of suffering. "They did. Turned me into a weapon. Made me forget who I was… who I wanted to be."

He pauses, the memories clearly painful to revisit. "They didn’t just mess with my body," he continues bitterly. "They messed with my mind. Took away my memories, twisted what was left until I didn’t even know my own name. I was nothing but a tool to them, somethin’ they could use and discard when they were done."

The brutal honesty in his voice makes your chest tighten, and you can’t help but feel anger on his behalf. "But you fought back," you say softly, more a statement than a question.

Logan nods. "They tried to break me, and for a while, they did. I was just… lost. But they didn’t count on me fighting back. Didn’t count on me surviving."

"They underestimated you," you say, listening intently, feeling a deep respect for the strength it must have taken for him to claw his way back from that darkness.

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Logan’s mouth, and for a moment, you see a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Yeah," he says, a little lighter now. "A lot of people have."

There’s a fleeting pause, his words settling between you. It’s heavy, but you’re seeing a side of Logan that few people ever get to see, and you can tell that it’s not easy for him to open up like this.

Then, almost as if sensing the need to shift the mood, Logan changes the subject, leaning back on his hands as he starts to tell you about some of the more absurd things he’s witnessed over the years. "You wouldn’t believe some of the crap I’ve been through," he says, his voice taking on a dry, almost amused tone. 

He launches into a story that’s so ridiculous, so utterly bizarre, that you can’t help but laugh—really laugh, for the first time in what feels like ages. The way he tells it, with that deadpan delivery and his signature gruffness, only makes it funnier.

"You’ve really seen it all, haven’t you?" you say, shaking your head in disbelief after one particularly outrageous tale involving a mutant with the ability to turn into a giant bird. "Seriously, how do you even get into these situations?"

Logan shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. "It’s just another day in the life, Knifey. Weird shit happens when you’ve lived as long as I have."

His words linger in the air, and suddenly, a realization dawns on you. You’ve been so focused on the immediate dangers, the fights, and the missions that you haven’t fully processed what it means to be a mutant, to have regenerative abilities like Logan’s. If you can heal from almost any wound, if your body can recover from injuries that would kill anyone else… does that mean you’re going to live as long as he has? Decades, maybe centuries? The thought hits you like a freight train.

"Oh shit, Logan," you blurt out. "Am I going to be around as long as you? I regenerate too!"

Immediately noticing the change in your demeanor, his sharp eyes lock onto yours. "Hey, hey," he says, reaching out to steady you. "Breathe."

But it’s like a dam has burst inside your mind, the implications of what you’ve just realized flooding in all at once. "Logan, if I have these abilities… I’ll outlive everyone I know, everyone I care about…"

Your thoughts begin to spiral, the fear and uncertainty taking root, and suddenly the idea of immortality—something you’d never seriously considered before—feels more like a curse than a gift. You’re faced with the prospect of endless years, of watching everyone you love age and die while you remain unchanged.

Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightens, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that brooks no argument. "Look at me," he says, and when you meet his gaze, the intensity there makes you freeze. "I know what you’re thinkin’, and yeah, it’s scary as hell. But you gotta keep it together. You’re not alone in this."

"But how do you deal with it?" you ask. 

He’s quiet for a moment, his expression hard as he wrestles with the weight of your question. When he speaks, his voice is deep, almost a growl. 

"It ain’t easy," he admits, his tone roughened by years of pain. "There are days when it feels like too damn much. But you take it one day at a time. You focus on the people who matter, on what you can do right now. ‘Cause that’s all any of us really got, no matter how long we’re around."

His words are meant to comfort, but the enormity of what he’s saying still feels overwhelming. "And when everyone’s gone?" you whisper, the thought of outliving everyone you love already eating you from the inside out. "What happens then?"

Jaw clenching, teeth grinding, Logan’s eyes hardening with a resolve that you can almost feel. "You keep goin’," he says gravelly. 

"You keep fightin’ ‘cause that’s what you do. You find new people to care about, new reasons to get up in the morning. The world keeps turning, and there’s always somethin’ worth fighting for. The people you lose, they wouldn’t want you givin’ up."

The conviction in his voice, the sheer will to survive, even after everything he’s been through, gives you something to hold onto. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the fear still lingers. "I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that.”

He meets your gaze. "You are," he says. "You’re tougher than you think. And you’re not doin’ this alone. I ain’t dying anytime soon.”

You nod slowly. "Yeah… we’ve got each other."

His hand moves from your shoulder to your back, giving you a firm pat, like he’s trying to physically drive the point home. "Damn right we do. And don’t go worryin’ ‘bout the future. One day at a time, got it?"

You manage a smile, the first real one you’ve felt in what seems like forever. "Got it," you whisper, feeling a sense of calm starting to settle in.

Logan seems satisfied with that. He’s about to say something else when he stops, gaping. He just stares at you, his usual tough-guy demeanor slipping for a second as he takes in the sight of you smiling—really smiling, something he probably hasn’t seen much of.

The words die on his lips, and for a moment, he looks almost… caught off guard. His eyes are fixed on you, like he’s seeing something he hadn’t noticed before, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

"What?" you ask.

Logan blinks, shaking his head slightly as if snapping out of a daze. He clears his throat, quickly looking away, his gruffness returning like a shield. "Nothin’," he mutters. "Just… you’ve got a nice smile, that’s all."

You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The way he said it, so simple yet so sincere, makes your heart stutter in your chest. 

"Well, don’t get used to it," you quip. "I’m sure you’ll piss me off again soon enough."

Logan huffs out a laugh, shooting you a sideways glance, his lips quirking into a small smirk. "Wouldn’t expect anythin’ less."

----

A/N: The plot is really going to pick up from here on out!

----

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[lets-get-kraken-boys]

Yandere Class 1-A X Reader — { PART 2 }: We’ve Got Company~

(Description: Titles are hard, okay? Please don’t shame me for how cheesy it is because I know it's corny LOL. But I make up for it with decent writing! I POPPED OFF with some of these parts.

We all know this by now, but it’s safe to say (Y/N) is too trusting of EVERYONE. The amount of people I keep making them blindly and wholly give their faith to is…concerning. I know you guys probably want them to fight back more, but it’s hard when I haven’t labeled them with a specified Quirk. I wanted to leave it up to you guys to give them the attributes they have in your minds without spoon-feeding you every single choice (Y/N) makes. Sooooo, it suffers a little bit with the repetitiveness of this constant back and forth getting pulled every which way. It’s also difficult when there are so many characters to cover.

I am not complaining about it though! I am extremely proud of this story and am very happy with the outcome. I just hope you guys love it as much as I do. Plusss, it’s kinda nice to imagine being a princess stolen away at every opportunity by handsome/gorgeous suitors teehee!)

Fanfiction Lingo

(Y/N) - Your Name

(L/N) - Last Name

(N/N) - Nickname

~

“Normal speech.”

‘Inner thoughts.’

~

Original Concept - [Mommabean’s OG Story] → Here

Part I - [My first addition] → Here

Part II → You’re here!

~

Reader Gender: Gender Neutral (They/Them)

Style of Story: Sequel Oneshot // This story is a continuation of Momma’s Yandere Class 1-A Purge short story. I have written a previous part to this, so please check it out to understand what is happening!; Yandere Purge! If you don’t know what that is, go take a look at @yanderemommabean’s original works of it on her page, all is explained there; Many of MHA’s adults are included here, but I don’t want to spoil who exactly is in the story, so that is all you get so far~!

Word Count: 24K

WARNING(s): Swearing; physical fighting and threats (threats aren’t made at (Y/N), nor are they hurt beyond bruising); there is a brief mention of rape and sexual assault—it is not gone into heavily or in detail, but you need to know it is there; mental and emotional manipulation to the reader; bending of MHA’s storyline and the events currently happening (mainly regarding the setting, timeline, and people’s aliveness LMAO) to fit (Y/N) into the story but bear with me; some unrealistic interactions are going to happen in this fic because to get everyone together in a setting like this is near impossible; All of Class 1-A’s students are aged up to third years & everyone is 18 or older // I AM WRITING THEM AS IF THEY ARE IN CLASS 3-A NOW FYI!

[PLEASE NOTE: I DO NOT SUPPORT YANDERE TENDENCIES IN REAL LIFE!!! Do not confuse my writing this subject as encouraging it, there is a difference between reading/writing yandere stories V.S real-life situations. Please, if someone in your life is behaving like a character(s) in this story (i.e. obsessive, possessive, controlling, abusive, psychotic, sociopathic, LIKE A WACKADOO, etc.) get immediate help! That behavior in the real world is not romantic, sweet, or NORMAL! Stay aware, stay safe.]

~

Unable to leave without one final gloat, Shinsou turns back to smirk at the students, “All of you were wrong earlier, by the way. It’s me, dumbasses.”

Suddenly, a cocky voice chuckles from behind the mind-controlling boy, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, kid~...”

As reluctant as Shinsou is to say this, a tiny shiver runs down his back. Coming from the busted-up entrance of the gymnasium, Aizawa’s voice rings out like a bell. Your current threat swivels around to face the intruder. Even though his recognizable voice is a dead giveaway, seeing him actually standing there in the rubble draws a sigh of relief out of you. You don’t know whether to cry, smile, or scream for his help; either way, it’s just a nice change of pace to see his usual disheveled appearance and relaxed stature. At least something has remained consistent on this hellish evening.

Though, something sensible clicks in your mind. Thinking back on all the strong-willed friends you lost in the fight against this disease, you realize there’s a strong chance that even your own teacher has fallen victim to its siren call. As much as you’d like to go running into his comforting embrace and wail about how horribly your classmates have been treating you the past few hours, you bite your tongue and stay complacent in Hitoshi’s arms. Not like you could voice many of your concerns with the makeshift gag still sat across your mouth.

“Damn,” Shinsou mutters to himself before perking up to meet his instructor's eye with a devious glint in his eye, “Mr. Aizawa. Good to see—,” Before the boy could finish his greeting, the stoic hero held up his hand, his palm facing Shinsou.

“Save the pleasantries. You’d think after all these years of one-on-one training you’d realize I can read you like an open book. Your expressions continue to give your intentions away too easily. So cut the crap.” Shinsou's false smile drops quicker than it appeared. Aizawa leisurely waltzes into the room, closing in on the both of you.

Aizawa continues his analysis with a sigh, “And I wouldn’t try that little gimmick with me. I’m not like my students over there,” he vaguely points behind the two of you to the group.

“I’m your mentor. All the tricks you have up your sleeve are hardly even interesting choices to me anymore. I should know, I taught them all to you, after all.” He chuckled to himself.

“Did you come here just to nag my ear off about how you’re so much better than me, or because you have something actually important to say? ‘Cause, if it's the former, I can’t stay and chat. I’ve got some pretty precious cargo in my hands at the moment.” Shinsou brags, hoisting you further up into his arms, forcing a garbled complaint from you.

“Watch your tone, brat.” Aizawa glares at the snarky comeback his student possessed. Hm. So, Hitoshi thinks he’s hot shit because he won against a handful of decently strong opponents? Well, that’s just fine. He’s used to putting cocky bastards in their place.

“I’ve come to offer you a deal of sorts. We can either speak about it rationally, or,” he shines a leering grin, “I can use my quirk on you, and you can say goodbye to the hold you have over your classmates right now. How do you think you’d fare against 19 pissed-off pro heroes?” This time, you can actually feel Shinsou shutter at the sinister tone your teacher leans into. His reaction makes sense. The idea of irrational, infected, superhuman, edgy teens hunting you down fighting isn’t a pleasant one. Not just one of them either, a whole damn fleet of them. You’d be shaking in your boots too.

“Since I’m nice, I’ll let you decide,” Aizawa has a bored look on his face again as he runs a hand through the inky mop of hair atop his head. A few seconds lurch by before Shinsou caves.

“Fine, old-timer. I’ll hear you out.” Shinsou reluctantly agrees. He knows he could take on a few of them at once in combat, but as soon as the heavy hitters join the fight—it’ll be over. He’d much rather join forces with his instructor than be betrayed by the greedy moochers residing in his class. Shinsou knows that if some of them had the chance, they’d steal you with no hesitation or regret. He’ll just have to sit and see what the idea Aizawa wants to propose is.

The two of them walk towards each other. A meeting held face-to-face in the middle of the gymnasium.

“I should honestly reprimand you guys for how shittily you’ve treated (L/N) this evening. It’s absurd how ragged you’ve been running them. Absolutely unacceptable. Maybe I should even expel the lot of you after the Purge ends.” Wait, Aizawa could see you too? What, is your peril being broadcasted on live television for the world to see or something?!

“Hey, don’t lump me with those barbarians,” Shinsou pulled back in a look of grievance, “I waited until everything was calm to strike. They were the ones who made (Y/N) run around like a headless chicken.” He tossed his head back to the hypnotized horde.

“Hm. We’ll discuss it as a class later.” Aizawa coughs into his fist.

“Fine. Now, what’s this deal you’ve thought up?” Shinsou prompts the conversation.

“Right. It’s about—,” Aizawa is interrupted by his cautious student.

“(Y/N). Am I right?” Shinsou jumps to the conclusion rather abruptly.

Aizawa glares, “Don’t interrupt someone while they’re talking, Shinsou. It’s rude.”

“But you did that to me not ev—,”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Aizawa purposefully cuts him off, “And yes. It’s about them.”

“Hmph,” Shinsou narrows his eyes at the mention of you, “what do you want with them?”

“Not quite the right question. Change that to more like what can we do for them,” Aizawa twists the words to better fit his narrative.

Intrigued, Hitoshi takes the bait, “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is I don’t want to outright take them from you,” he shifts his weight to the other foot, “I want to make a deal to share them with you.”

Shouta continues, “Aoyama and his group had a good idea teaming up with Izuku’s crew. Working together, especially when the stronger piers can aid the weaker links, is a much more productive way of going about things. There’s safety in numbers.” Your body freezes up at his words. You connect the dots that he heard, or possibly even saw that whole ordeal. How? Where was he viewing from? Did he watch on a security camera? It’s a likely theory, the school is littered with them. You thought Denki killed the power earlier with his quirk. Or, with a more chilling idea, was he actually there? Physically in the vicinity? How was he nearby, could hear and see the whole event, and you didn’t notice him? Why didn’t he help you? Or, at least, intervene? Your mind is muddled with questions, but the two press on with their conversation.

“Sharing, huh? Thought you liked working alone.” Shinsou prodded, skeptical of the plan.

“Some missions call for an extra set of hands.” Aizawa cooly replied.

“I’m not sure. Not too big on the idea of letting go of them.” Shinsou pulled your bundled-up form closer to his chest. It’s like he’s a little kid—red in the face because of frustration, fighting to keep his stuffie all to himself as an adult asks him to share it with the other kids.

“I’m not asking you to fully let go of them, kid. Just enough so I can take care of them too. They’re a bit of a handful, as I’m sure you’ve no doubt figured out by now,” you whip your head to scowl at him and heatedly shout muffled curses at him, “Heh. My bad, kitten, but it’s true. The trouble your presence kicks up is a lot to handle, even for a pro.” You feel your face heat up in embarrassment at his words. Not that it wasn’t obvious before, but it’s safe to say he is infected as well.

“Plus, what will you do when you can’t control the rest of the students? You and I both know that your quirk doesn’t last forever, and your control is slowly dwindling away, even as we speak. I could help you fend them off, if it comes to it.” Shouta observed. He has a natural way of being extremely persuasive, doesn’t he?

Shinsou isn’t exactly thrilled to give you up, he’d much rather stake his claim on you by himself. His company should be more than enough to fill your time! He doesn’t want time with you to be shared with others he doesn’t approve of. Though…Aizawa isn’t exactly untrustworthy. Hitoshi definitely trusts him more than someone as hazardous as Bakugo, or as miserable to be around as Monoma. He’s a great teacher, even though he’s kind of a hardass. Someone he looks up to. Maybe they could give it a shot? After all, if it doesn’t work out, there’s still plenty of Purge time left for him to find somewhere else to hide and drag you off to when Aizawa isn’t looking.

“Okay. We’ll give your idea a go.” Shinsou begrudgingly complied.

“Good choice, kid.” Aizawa’s lips twitch upward into a minuscule grin. Yet again, your own fate is taken away from you as the two of them close in, grasp hands, and shake to signify the agreement.

“Ooohhh~! What a touching truce, cuties~,” a sugary-sweet voice curls around the boys’ conversation like a hazy morning fog.

“Huh—!” Shinsou isn’t fast enough to react to the intruder as he feels all his senses numb. A dreadfully sweet smell, the same kind of sugary tang that was laced throughout the woman’s voice, invades his nose. It should be disgusting, it should make him sick to his stomach, but the candied scent is nothing short of divine. It’s like nothing he's ever smelled before. It honestly makes him want to inhale more. Which is an action he subconsciously commits, sealing his fate. Shinsou’s legs grow wobbly as he starts to lose feeling all over his body. As unpleasant as he wants it to feel, as he begs it to feel, all he can recognize is a cozy warmth clouding his better judgment. Through the mental and physical struggle, he remembers you’re still sitting prettily in his swiftly weakening arms. He panics, afraid he’s going to, or that he has already dropped you. He glances down.

Well…you used to be there. You’re not anymore.

Shinsou groans, crashing to his knees. He scans the surrounding floor, looking for any trace of you, but you’re nowhere to be found. Good news is he didn’t drop you like an idiot. Bad news is someone else has their disgusting hands all over you. That thought makes him want to pick off his own flesh cell by cell, but there’s nothing he can do except lay on the ground and reluctantly drift in and out of consciousness.

“Too bad you’re not as lovely as our sweetheart here. Otherwise, you’d be my plaything too~,” the woman giggles, “But, oh well. Pleasant dream, honey~,” she coos at the purple-haired boy. You’re beyond floored at how quickly Shinsou was subdued, considering the quick work he made of the other students. Curious as ever, you shot your head back and forth to identify who stole the show this time.

The owner of the saccharine voice turned out to be none other than Midnight, your art history and overly-sexual pro hero mentor. She giggles to herself, watching her prey twitch and squirm in retaliation against her quirk on the floor, “While struggling normally is my favorite part of the foreplay, I wouldn’t advise it this time, dear~. Somnambulist isn’t easy to win against. It’s a much more potent sleep agent than your little quirk could ever dream of being.”

“Love that energy, Midnight! Smooth work,” a boisterous voice slices through your eardrums. You cringe at the volume, recognizing that borderline shriek. The person who is now capturing your body is Present Mic! What the hell are all three of your teachers doing here?! Shouldn’t they be like normal people and hide from the Purge?

As if reading your mind, Aizawa coughs to grab his coworkers’ attention, “That was completely unnecessary of you two. A little excessive too. I told you both I could handle the situation on my own. What’re you doing here?”

“Jeez! So cold!” Mic’s voice danced up and down in pitch, “Don’t be so frosty with us, Eraser! We just wanted to help!”

“Yes,” Midnight purred, the click click of her skyscraper-length stilettos stabbing the shellacked ground echoed across the rubble-covered floor, “you think us so shallow! You act as if we thought you couldn’t take care of this, dear. All we believed was it’s nice to have some support on the field, yes~?”

Aizawa, always as sharp as a knife, caught onto their plan effortlessly, “You two just couldn’t wait to get your grubby hands on them, could you?” The two opposing teachers choked on the air in their lungs as he saw through their lies. They fumbled the next few words that streamed out of their mouths, trying desperately through the stutters to justify their cause and deter his wit.

“I see. Hmm…whatever. Either way, you two never fail to overdo it,” Aizawa grumbles to himself, his chin sinking further into the comfort of his scarf, “I guess I’ll need some assistance dealing with the rest of my students over there. They won’t remain hypnotized for much longer now that Shinsou’s down—I’d rather not have to start a physical fight when there’s no need.”

“Oooh~,” Midnight purred, slinking over to the slowly reawakening crowd, “leave this to me, loves~!” The woman proceeded to unleash another plum of her drunkening quirk right as the class snapped out of their haze. You watched as they fell one by one to the floor in sudden exhaustion. Even the strong-willed one couldn’t escape the fate of her noxious gas, dropping limply to the floor in a dreamless slumber.

“Aww, they’re so sweet when they’re not getting in our way.” Mic snickered.

“Mic. Watch it,” Aizawa’s laid-back indifference swiftly shifted into his scary steely gaze as he warned his rambunctious coworker to stop his prattling.

“Whaaaat~??? You gotta admit, your hooligans sure made our night a lot harder!” Hizashi pouted in frustration.

‘When am I gonna catch a break from these…these…wait. What…the…,’ your thoughts slowly lose their path in your head, your mind-numbing and slipping away from coherent ideas. Your limbs feel like the thickest cement in the world when you try to move them. It’s too tough, too much work—and sleeping sounds like a fantastic idea. You’re just so tired. You start to heave for oxygen as if your lungs can never get enough air inside of them. You’re trying so hard to stay awake because you know in the back of your brain as delicious as stopping your fighting to rest sounds, something doesn’t feel right. You can’t remember why. Eventually, it becomes too difficult to keep your head up on your own, so you rest it against Mic’s open shoulder.

Hizashi immediately stops bickering against the stoic man in front of him as he feels your head plop onto his shoulder. Now that his attention is drawn back to you, he realizes you weren’t squirming around as much as he’d expected you to. He knows even past the lingering virus flooding his veins you wouldn’t give in to their advances so easily—as nice as that would have been—so he devotes all his attention to your slumped frame.

“Hey, you alright, doll?” he cranes his head down to catch your unfocused eyes. He jostles the shoulder you were resting on a bit, trying to reel you back from wherever your mind had floated off to, and that seemed to help a little. You tried to talk, but the gag prevented any words from coming out. Catching the barrier, he beckoned his partner in crime over with a quick tilt of his head and a quiet, “Help me get this thing off their mouth, Shouta.”

Without hesitation, your concerned homeroom teacher stepped over and peeled off the tape as gently as he could. Your mouth now freed, you let out an unconscious whine of relief, showing a small bit of happiness at having some bit of freedom back.

“What did you say, sweets?” Mic pressed yet again.

“Mmhn…I…uhm…mmm…nnh,” you mindlessly babbled in a soft voice.

“Come on, (Y/N). How do you feel right now?” Aizawa coaxed, his worry over you hiking higher at your unresponsiveness.

“Hmmm…just…tired…I think…mnnn,” Your eyes couldn’t stay open. They opted to flutter close every time no matter how much Mic shimmed around in an attempt to keep you conscious.

“Tired. Hizashi—Midnight’s quirk.” Aizawa said as he caught Hizashi’s fear-filled gaze. Both of their anxiety floated back down at the deduction. You must’ve breathed in too much of the secondhand smoke of the pro hero’s quirk. After all, it is quite potent against those who haven’t experienced it much before. Mic’s jostling changed into more of a rocking motion, trying to lull you further into that blissful rest.

“Ohhhh. Honeycakes! That’s okay—it’s perfectly fine if you need some rest. It’s been a tough day for our snuggle bunny,” he uttered, affectionately nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head.

“I heard you say my name, Eraser. What’s…oh!” Midnight stopped her sentence when her eyes fell on you. Then, all she could do was squeal at the sight of your sleepy state. She shoved Aizawa out of the way, bent down to your level, and squeezed herself as close to you as she could. She was giggling and chirping in delight at how “adorable” and “absolutely, irresistibly, undeniably cute” you were.

“Awwwwhn~~~!!!” her voice curled up in pitch, her fingers smoothing your loose hairs behind your ear and stroking down your warm cheek, “You are just the sweetest lil’ thing~!! Mommy’s precious angel~. What’s happened, Zashi?” Midnight tilted her gaze up to the blond for an explanation.

He grinned, “Just breathed too much of your quirk in, s’all.”

Midnight loftily snickered, “I see. Glad we were here to take care of them!” In all honesty, she’s beyond pleased that out of any one of her coworkers, her quirk affected you the most. In a way, she saw that as she had the most influence on you—or, in other words, the most power over you. In her eyes, she saw it as you giving yourself to her. Willingly and unafraid. Midnight’s heart is cartwheeling and running laps because she sees this as you caring about her so much that you’d serve her in such a magnificent way. She could eat you up and still be searching for seconds. You’re just perfect for her in every way, shape, and form. Aizawa’s nagging drags her out of her less than innocent desires over you filling her head.

“You need to be more careful about how much of your quirk you release in the future, Midnight.” Aizawa scolds, but scorn is practically nonexistent in his voice. It’s hard to be angry at the effects you’ve been put under when the outcome makes you look so helplessly cute. He’d never admit it, but he’s envious of her quirk, when it can turn you so easily into this version of yourself. The dilated, doe-eyed look your eyes hold as they drift up to see him makes the words die a little in his throat. Perhaps the lecture he was going to give her can wait a little.

“Ahh, I will, Eraserhead. But first, we should head off for that safe spot we arranged with the others.” Midnight commented towards the men while still keening over your dopey state.

“W…Wait,” you grumbled out in a meek voice, “noo…no. I d-don’t…,” your words fell off into babbling mumbles again. It was torture to try and evade her quirk’s effects like this, but you were steadfast in wanting to fight. To flee their unwanted embrace and be alone. But all they did was coo at your brave efforts. Oh, they knew just the perfect things to say to make you feel like you were a mere baby to them. How inadvertently insulting.

“Ssh shh shh~. Awh, I know, honey~. You just feel so tired~,” Midnight sang in a baby-talk tone of voice, brushing the top of your head with the palm of her hand. It was weird, you couldn’t figure out if she saw you as her child or prey. Maybe both. That scares you. Maybe you don’t want to find out any more.

“Don’t worry, sweetie! We’ve got you,” though less scary than the woman currently pinning you, Mic’s mischievous lilt of tone didn’t skate by your observative nature. His eyes seem…darker than when you’d looked at them during one of his happy-go-lucky lectures. Like he was hiding the truth of his words behind a cobweb-like veil of deceit. In fact, Mic was resembling a conniving spider—which made you the ditzy butterfly falling for his web of a trap.

Lethargic and thoroughly worn out from both her quirk and all the running you’ve done, you finally give up. Your body feels warm and tingly, making sleep all the easier to give in to. As darkness flooded your vision and your consciousness finally dove away, Aizawa’s voice filled your ears, “See you soon, (Y/N).”

~ Timeskip ~

Sick. That’s all you felt as the darkness that consumed your thoughts and vision slowly faded. Sick to your stomach. Aching all over. You felt like you were a flimsy shirt thrown into a clothes dryer and left to spin over and over again for three cycles too long.

You tilted your head a bit and promptly groaned at the wave of nausea that swamped your brain. Such a subtle movement caused your whole world to crash sideways into an abysmal painscape. It was like you were zipping around on the shittiest, most rickety roller coaster you’d ever rode. You wanted nothing more than to get off.

All this to say—ow. What the fuck, brain? Why do you hurt me so? That’s all your mind could conjure up at the moment—insults to your own organs—because it hurts too much to think rationally. That was one hell of a shitty rest. It has to be one of the top five worst naps you’ve ever taken. You’ll have to whine about it to Denki after class today, maybe you’ll get some sympathy candy for your brave efforts. Denki…why does it feel like something important happened that he was a part of? Hmm…you can’t put your finger on it right now. Everything’s too drowsy at the moment for logic to be considered. Your eyes are still begrudgingly shut as you twist your torso around, trying to get comfortable again.

That’s the moment you started to become more aware of the outside world around you. Noises of chatter hung in the air like a nagging mosquito. The more you paid attention to the continuous sounds, the more irritating they became. Who was talking so damn much, and why were they making it your problem? Couldn’t they see you were a sick person in need of some goddamn peace and quiet? But, that’s just Class 3-A life, you suppose. None of them ever know when to shut the fuck up. Well, this time, they’d learn! They’d get a piece of your “hungover” mind.

“Oi…,” you grunted out, a snarl vehemently leaking into your tone, “Can’t you guys pipe down?! I’m sorta in the middle of trying to sleep off a nasty headache.”

Maybe your words stung the culprits a bit too much as you heard the room slow to a deathlike silence. No blistering insults were flung back at you from the resident hellhound of Class 3-A Bakugou, no chortles from the jokesters of the bunch, no profuse apologies from the worrywarts—nothing. Just…silence. I mean, you guess that’s the result you wanted; but the tense atmosphere you created is rapidly making you regret your flippant decision.

The encroaching fear made your mind real back to the very moment you woke up. You began rational plotting out the questions that swarmed your mind like hornets to their nest. Wait, where were you again? What time is it? Why do you feel so ill? Why can’t your brain remember what the date is? Something really important was happening before you passed out related to time…passed out. Hold on—that’s right, you passed out!

What the fuck.

You passed out due to what—no…due to who?

Unease finally getting the better of you, you peeped up again, but presenting a much meeker tone this time, “U-Um…guys? Look, I’m…God, I’m sorry for lashing out. I just—my head hurts like hell, I’m sore all over my everywhere, and I don’t know what’s—haannhh…ow, ow, ouch.” As you spewed out the poorly constructed apology, you steadily sat up from whatever hard surface you’d been resting on. The stiff rest stop made you all that more unnerved; it sort of felt like you were on a metal autopsy table. Cold and jarring. As if you were a poor little frog being dissected for all the insatiably curious students to see. It made you want to be swallowed whole by the floor just to escape the distress of the situation. God damnit, why is it still so hard to open your eyes?! They felt like the heaviest slab of lead welded over your eyelids. You forced them open.

Overlooking the blurriness of your vision, you could immediately tell by the general shape of the people standing in front of you that you weren’t in the presence of your beloved classmates like you thought you were.

There were multiple people in the darkened room, all with varying heights and sizes. There weren’t twenty people like how many there are in your class; their numbers were closer to ten or so. Plus, the colors of their outfits didn’t match with your friends’ hero suits you’d come to be extremely familiar with. However, you did recognize the colors and remembered who they belonged to. The answer chilled you to the bone.

You didn’t speak up again in the presence of most, if not all of, your mentors. Yes, your mentors. The adults you interacted with practically every day; who taught you every tactic you knew, who helped you to become a capable hero in the pro world. In fact, you didn’t just not talk, you slumped into yourself a bit. You were afraid. Scratch that—you were beyond afraid. You’d seen, and fought, firsthand against their wrath before. You’ve watched their fights broadcasted on the television, through shaky personally caught videos on the Internet posted by petrified civilians. You’ve worked alongside a few of them through missions and treacherous situations. Hell, you actually battle against one for the right to earn your hero license! That was a tough day, but you’d made it by the skin of your teeth—more than likely only winning because of the unimaginably heavy weights that shackled them as handicaps. In short, they were barbaric beasts on the field. Now…you’re face-to-face with their rage.

Let’s all send a brief prayer for yourself. Maybe your death will be swift and your afterlife pleasant if you beg hard enough.

“My, my, my~,” a sultry voice sang in your right ear, making you shriek at the intrusion of your personal bubble, “such a naughty-mouthed little pet~! Tell me, what brute taught you to speak to your superiors in such a disrespectful way?” It was Midnight again. She was always one to breach your boundaries, whether you wanted her to or not.

She cupped your jaw with one of her hands, pinching and squeezing your gooey cheeks with the other for her pleasure, “Ooooh, precious! How’s your whittle head~?” she cooed while smushing. She wiped away a small bit of drool that slipped from the corner of your mouth, making you feel that much more like a ditzy baby. The way she played with you really did remind you of a child messing around with a delicious treat of springy mochi. Perhaps that was what you were to the ravenous woman, a delicacy to be devoured whole. You shivered in fear again.

Another person from across the room let out a high-pitched whistle, one that indicated astonishment or feeling impressed, “Wow! Brat’s got some spunk to ‘em! Good to know they haven’t switched up since we last spoke.” You weren’t as familiar with that voice as you were with your homeroom teachers, but it did strike a chord in your memory. Their youthful cheer didn’t resemble the dread-filled boredom Aizawa’s held, but they didn’t sound crude enough to be another student. Your vision clearing further was the only thing that gave their mystery identity away. It was Power Loader! It feels like forever since the two of you even acknowledged one another. Either way, he’s here now and fully decked out in his hero gear. The heavy equipment gave you a unique foreboding feeling that his abilities weren’t just all that meets the eye.

“Midnight, step aside, please.” A mellow voice takes control of the conversation. Midnight looks over her shoulder in disdain, as if the very notion of her being politely asked to leave your side is the most disrespectful thing someone could have asked her to do, but it seems that whoever popped the question meant real business. She stepped aside with a huff of frustration, mumbling under her breath curses, and something along the lines of ‘the gall’.

Once she moved, the requester hopped onto the table where you sat. They pushed into your personal space as well. You opted to lean back as much as the encroacher would allow you. From the astronaut-resembling helmet that donned their head and the puffy jacket they wore, you came to the obvious conclusion that this was 13, another member of the faculty here at UA.

She moved your head—left to right, up and down, and in a full circle. She checked all around the front of your body, and basically anywhere that you allowed her to get close to. 13 looked back deeply into your eyes before twisting back to face the bunch, “They don’t appear to be physically hurt on the outside. No scrapes, cuts, sprains, or anything broken. All that I could really deduct was their dilated pupils, meaning the effects of Somnambulist are still present,” 13 whirled forward to you, “Feeling at all hazy, woozy, or tired, (Y/N)?”

You simply stared back at the expressionless black mask 13 wore. You didn’t know what to say—half because you were uncomfortable at how close she was, and half because you were still bracing yourself to get your ass beat by the less merciful of the teachers. Your mind is drawing to blanks as you’re frozen with your jaw left hanging open.

“(Y/N)?” 13 snaps her fingers in front of your face, semi-dragging you out of your tizzy, “Hello? How are you feeling, dear?”

Ignoring the uncalled-for nickname, you wobbled your head about to snap out of whatever stupor you were stuck in, “Aaaah…um…good. I think. Still…vision’s still a bit blurry, head’s kinda fuzzy, but it’s okay. I can’t really feel my legs yet, I guess.” You tried kicking your feet back and forth, and while you could see them sway, you didn’t feel the sensation of your tendons pulling the limbs.

“Alright, that’s okay.” 13 dismounts the desk to face the crowd, “They’ll be fine. Just give their system time to recover from the grogginess. Next time, Midnight, go easier with how much of your toxins you release! They could’ve gotten severely hurt if they inhaled too much.” 13 scolds the tall woman.

Midnight scoffs, “Ugh! Why, I would never intentionally hurt my love bug like that! I swear, you act like I haven’t been controlling my quirk for my whole life!”

“Midnight, we have to set an example for our students, and lying isn’t how we do that. You should acknowledge you do go overboard sometimes,” craggy words tumbled through Midnight’s attempt to save her ass. Off to her side is the stony fortress of a hero, Cementoss, the one who spoke against her. While he is a man (or is he a rock? You’re not too sure even after all these years being a student under him) of few words, he does have the occasional snarky comeback in his vocabulary when he isn’t prattling off haikus and other unheard of analogies for life’s troubles you haven’t heard before. You’re pretty sure that half of what he says is made up on the spot, and you’ve occasionally tested how far you could push his knowledge before by asking him tough questions like “What is the meaning of life?” or “How did the universe come into being?”.

Before Midnight could pulverize the stone man into pebbles, the final guest you could see hanging in the back of the room piped up, “Can we please stop fumbling around like nimrods and get back to the matter at hand?” Inky, sludgy, and methodical in his dialect, it was no shock that its owner was the shadowy hero known to you as Ectoplasm. You’d interacted with him even less than the others, but you weren’t oblivious to his strength. You’d seen the fight between Tsu and Tokoyami against this predator, and you are happy to admit that he wasn’t your enemy on the field that day.

After briefly scanning the room once more, it seemed that everyone who was there had spoken up. Well, except for Aizawa and Present Mic, they seemed to be having a private conversation with themselves. Glances they threw in your direction, no matter how embarrassingly obvious Mic was being or the tenuousness of Aizawa’s, made it hard to ignore their scalding stares. It was borderline disturbing to see Mic so stationary. You wished he’d stop freaking you out and start yelling in your face like he always does. At least that would be one thing that hadn’t changed with the Purge.

“Precisely. Where were we? Please remind us, Ectoplasm.” Cementoss, equally over the distractions going on, encouraged the conversation forward.

“We were talking about our options. What to do for the rest of the Purge. How to proceed with the plan.” he spoke as if it was the most obvious thing that could have been explained. Plan? What plan was he talking about?

“‘Listen, we’ve gone ‘round and ‘round with these ideas for over an hour now,” HUH?!?! EXCUSE YOU, BUT WHAT DID HE SAY?! There was no time to stop their conversation to ask if Power Loader was or wasn’t exaggerating the time that had passed as he pushed on, “Why can’t we just go? I’m starting to get claustrophobic in this room.”

“What, and storm out here with no strategy? Yeah, that’s the best idea we’ve heard tonight.” Aizawa finally tossed his opinion into the ring and—surprise, surprise—it’s another gripe.

“We do have a plan—and a solid one at that! I just said it’s all we’ve been discussing ever since we stepped foot into this bloody room!” Power accused.

“No,” 13 cut in, “the plan you’re talking about is the one we’ve fine-tuned to get out of the school. What Eraser’s referring to is what we’re going to do once we leave the school grounds.” She stepped over to you while giving her speech and wipes your face down with a damp, cool towel. You’re not sure where she dispensed it from, but you supposed that since she specializes in search and rescue missions, she’s bound to have supplies of the like to help in stressful situations built into her hero suit.

“Easy! We run and gun our way out until we find a safe spot! A simply perfect plan. Okay? Let’s go.” Power said with finality.

“For being a seasoned pro, you’re much too antsy. You’re rushing this operation. If you keep sprinting through the important discussions, there will be major consequences.” Cementoss threatened. Power scoffed at the man’s slightly pretentious behavior.

“Think about it,” 13 tried to reason, “There are hundreds of pro heroes out there. Half infected, half not—give or take a handful. For however many pros around out there, there are at least six times as many civilians out there who are either running for their freedom or others who are trying to take that from their darlings. It is too risky to bring them out into a world like that.” Them? Hold on, do they mean you?! No way in hell are you being taken out into the shit storm that the big city has become! You’ve seen how the Purge demolishes the city in years prior. You saw what the news predicted it would be like tonight. Chaos. Pure chaos filled with dangerous, virus-infected people and villains simply trashing the place because they are able. You came into the school to seek shelter in one of the safe rooms to avoid the city, and they want to bring you into it? They can’t do this to you! Have they completely lost it?

Well, you knew that much, but still!

“He’s right, though,” Present Mic finally spoke up from his unusual voicelessness, “We can’t stay here all night waiting for some miracle to spring up. We’ve gotta take some action.” His shoulders buckled inward to show his agitation.

“And no one is saying that we will stay, Mic.” Cement’s sensible attitude never fails to shine through the stress of a tough discussion.

“But you are saying that. You know it…because you’re afraid. We all are afraid.” Mic grabbed everyone's attention because of how softly his words came out.

“I mean, we all know who exactly is out there,” Mic somberly stood and walked over to your side. You wanted to shimmy away from how close he got, but you chose to sit still to hear what else he had to say, “It’s not an if or maybe situation—he is looking for them. Maybe staying in the school has some perks. At least here he can’t get to them without breaking down a few thick walls.” At Mic’s dreadful outlook, everyone’s prepared responses fell into stifling silence. Who is he talking about? Why do you feel a shiver scaling up your spine at the faceless adversary? All this anticipation is going to make you go insane for real this time.

“It’s true. But UA isn’t safe either. We’re not alone and we aren’t the only ones in this building who’re interested in them. Those confounding kids of yours are still around, Aizawa.” Ectoplasm countered. Finally finding the place in the conversation where you can speak, you took your chance.

“Are you talking about the rest of my class?” you breathed out. The teachers spun their heads to give you their full attention. It creeped you out—their devotion to hearing you speak as if it was gospel—but you guess this virus is handy when you need to grab the attention of a bustling room.

“Glad you can still find your voice, sweets.” Mic praised you with a gentle pat on the top of your head. A total switch up from his gloomy personality just prior.

“And, yes, we are.” Ectoplasm sighed, sending one of his clones to your side. The clone didn’t do much except lay their hand on your head and brush your hair back, “They've proven to be quite…driven in their resolve to keep you by their sides.”

“Meaning they’re being a real pain in our—,” Mic’s interrupted by Aizawa’s scarf strangling the bottom half of his face to cease the loud man’s babbling.

“Hmmn, you guys take everything so personally,” Midnight bemoaned, propping her spike-heeled shoes against the side of one of the many desks around, “the children are just playing together, ‘is all! In fact, they’re making this night much more fun for me hehe~.” You cringed, and the only word running through your mind was ‘creepy.’

“Yes. Be kind, Mic. They haven’t been a bother for some time now.” Cementoss spoke with a grateful tone of voice.

“Well, it’s no wonder they haven’t been.” Power Loader huffed while resting his body back onto a nearby table.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You shifted up further to give the conversation your full attention. Once you were up, a slight tightness on your wrists captured your distracted brain. You glanced down and saw binding on your wrists. They were bound with tape. Tape…oh! That’s right! You were taped up by Sero before this shit show happened! You scanned your body up and down and didn’t see any of his tape around anything but your hands. It’s gone from your mouth too since you can speak to the teachers. You guess you’re thankful that they at least gave you the freedom to wiggle your legs around. Nonetheless, you’re still unforgivable-level mad at them for being dicks and holding you hostage.

“He means that ever since Shinsou caught them under his hypnosis, and Midnight leaked her Somnambulist to put them under, they’ve been sound asleep in the gymnasium.” Ectoplasm’s words curl up like a snake wrapping around its helpless prey. You feel less comforted by Ecto’s clone lovingly stroking your head now. That means no one else has been looking for you ever since Aizawa, Mic, and Midnight took you. Goody gumdrops.

“Yea’,” a new, twangy voice plucks into the conversation, “and it seems they ain’t rearin’ up again for some time.” It echoed from the entrance of the room a few feet ahead of your spot by the windows, so you craned your neck to the side to see past the teachers blocking the way.

His foreign accent was a big hint, but if there was any confusion as to who exactly was speaking, his masked appearance confirmed his identity. Snipe was perched against the door frame, slacked back against the wooden frame, and bending his knee to rest one of his spurred cowboy boots on the frame as well. Since when did he get there? You don’t recall seeing him when you scanned the room earlier. What was even more surprising was that on the other side of the doorframe rested Vlad King, Class 3-B’s homeroom teacher. You watched him side-eye his coworkers and, opposite to the rest, he stayed silent. Quiet, analytical. You haven’t interacted with him as much as you have with the others since he’s not one of your main teachers, but you’re certain from the way he and Aizawa have this sort of one-sided rivalry going on between them that he’s not one to be taken lightly.

“Hey, hey, hey,” barked Present Mic, “what are you two doing in here? You’re supposed to be guarding the door!”

“We decided to come in when we heard you lot yappin’. Wanted to see if our blossom was alright.” Okay, these corny nicknames were getting to be a little much—and it was becoming hard to not laugh at them when Snipe’s Western country-ass voice tried to say it so seriously.

“Yeah, right. You just wanted to see them.” Power Loader grumbled on his lonesome. Jealous much?

“Great, the peanut gallery’s all here.” you chuckled to yourself. Honestly, it was a smartass remark that was only meant for your ears to hear, but you should’ve known better than to mutter in the presence of such high-profile, analytical, pro heroes.

“Watch your tone, (L/N). I’ve taught you better than to speak to your superiors like that.” Aizawa’s steely gaze came to life, an intimidating red glow directly pointed your way. His mop of bushy, black hair billowing up to dangle in midair. It drifted about like a bed of kelp swaying with the brush of the ocean’s currents. All the built-up energy you didn’t realize was coursing through your veins came to a staggering halt, The strength permeating your limbs immediately drained. You’ve been under the influence of Aizawa’s quirk before when you were caught in the mix of his frustrations at the pranksters of your class, so this wasn’t an unexplored feeling, but it was still jarring to be stripped of all your powers you so flippantly take for granted.

As you looked around, you realized your statement was wrong—not all of the teachers were there. Not apologizing for telling the truth, you continued your comments as though Aizawa had never threatened you, “Ixnay that—not everyone's here. Where’s the rest of them?” Aizawa sighed and released you from the hold of his power when he realized you were simply ignoring his wrath. Honestly? He tips his hat to you for the response. Avoiding confrontation is sometimes the best course of action.

“Huh? Oh! Ha ha, you’re so clever! We brought it up briefly to the other staff members but—,” Power Loader had begun, but he was soon interrupted.

“They either had no interest or were busy with other plans for the Purge.” Vlad finally spoke up from his dark corner. Right, you remember why you don’t speak to him all that often. He scared the living shit out of you. At least you can have a somewhat decent conversation with Aizawa. With Vlad King, it’s always cold-shoulders and overdramatic frustration to simple questions you ask him. Those brief few words reeked such deadly poison, as if saying that anyone could ignore you was a crime against humanity. His facial expression showed his irritation, a frown stretching down his worn features and a frustrated crinkle cut between his eyebrows.

“Thanks. I was in the middle of getting to that.” Power snarked at the behemoth hero.

“We asked All Might if he wanted to come along with us,” 13 chirped, “but he declined as well. We don’t know exactly where he is, but he’s around.”

“Yeah! Not to mention how he responded! Something like,” Mic made his voice stretch lower into his register with a profound, macho gusto, and a large smile—an All Might smile—grew on his lips, ""HA HA! I appreciate the offer, friends, but I will be alright on my own! Good luck to you! I am off!”, and ran off to who knows where. Weird!”

“You guys never let me say the important parts of the stories.” Power scowled to himself.

“Gotcha,” you acknowledged the length of explanation, “So…what happens now?” you prodded.

“Now,” Midnight coos at a distance that is yet again too close for comfort, “we get to have fun with you~.”

“WHAT?! I’m not some class pet. Find a guinea pig somewhere else!” you wriggled away from the dastardly woman.

“Endearing how much control you think you have over the situation,” Aizawa smirked. You hated his comfort in the idea of a fictional complacency, one that was only caused by your own fear of speaking against them, “Stop playing naive, (L/N).”

In an effort to distract yourself from his stare, you pressed, “What’s the big plan after all this then?”

“After what, dearest?” Midnight mused. She reached a hand to your hair and softly massaged your shoulders. Quite done with the games they played, you shook her lingering touches off.

“After the Purge is over. What do you plan to do with me?” You wanted to add a sassy ‘obviously’ somewhere in that question, but you held your tongue for now. We’ll see how long that lasts.

“Sweetie~, we plan to have you as ours!” Midnight purred, circling around you like a beast going in for the kill. You rolled your eyes—how vexing can this woman be?

“Wow! That’s so funny, I forgot to laugh.” You threw out a half-assed pity laugh for the pro. You looked at the other pros for some kind of confirmation that Midnight was just being her usual lofty self, but when no comforting gaze reached your eyes, you felt your grin crumble.

“Eh…heh. Alright, that’s how we’re playing this. All the unfunny jokes aside—Hell freaking NO am I letting you lot take me anywhere. I’m not going willingly! I kick, I scream, and I do bite. I’m feral, bitc—,” You managed to squirm hard enough that you actually broke away from whoever was holding you the tightest in the ball of limbs. You slid off the glossy table and slunk back a few feet. It was just spacious enough for you to finally get a deep breath in from the overwhelming physical affection but you were nowhere near a safe distance from the psychos of UA.

“Willingly isn’t an issue. Plenty of us have quirks that can make you submit easily. Resistance will only produce failure for you. I don’t want to be forced to hurt your miniscule feelings.” Vlad gruffed out. He truly reminded you of an English bulldog—grumpy and hard-headed to the extreme.

“Oh, be sweeter, Vlad! Don’t scare the poor thing before we’ve had our fun.” 13 tried to reason with the ice-cold man.

“I am being sweet.” Vlad defended.

“No, you’re being a wet blanket,” Mic advised with a casual whistle.

“Shut up.” The white-haired man huffed out a pointed wind of air. With tusks as sharp as nails protruding out of his mouth, harsh huffs of breath that escaped his nose, and rising anger visibly seeping from his form, it made the image of him in your mind morph from cute, grumpy bulldog to a ravenous warthog.

“No, you shut up!” Power Loader lept on the chance to start bickering with Vlad King as he was still irritated at him for stealing his thunder.

“Girls, girls! You’re both pretty. Now, can we please get back to the much more pleasant person of interest?” Midnight tried to get the boys to back off, but her joke only made them that much more infuriated.

“Who’re you calling pretty?!” Vlad whipped his head over to the purple-haired sex fiend.

“Fix your words, Midnight, or I’ll give you something to be sorry for.” Vlad reared in, sneering at the woman something fierce.

“Here we go,” Aizawa muttered while shrinking further into his tall scarf tower.

“Nice one, Nemuri.” Hizashi bumped her with his elbow.

“I apologize…for you being a whiny BITCH!” You could practically see the overexaggerated sweat drop slip down the rest of the teachers’ heads as the beast of a man went off the rails from Midnight’s claim. He started stomping around, bellowing and nearly tossed a table across the room. You stood there and just…watched the man go from a professional, stoic, respectable instructor to a crybaby throwing the most dangerous tantrum known to mankind.

Guess he didn’t appreciate being called pretty.

Would he have preferred gorgeous?

That joke, while absolutely hilarious and should have been told for at least someone to hear its magnificence, you held in your throat so you didn’t get bitch slapped by a heavy office chair and receive a one-way ticket, all-expense-paid trip to God’s doorstep. You used the teacher’s being distracted with trying to calm the raging boarman down as an opportunity to scan for available exits. They were currently blocking the only door in or out, so that way out was an absolute no-go. You looked behind you and saw another door, but it didn’t look like it would provide a fruitful escape. By process of elimination, it would most likely be another closet that had no exit—and you DID NOT want to be stuck in one of those again. It was a miracle that the one earlier tonight had one! You do not want to try your luck again with much more threatening opponents in your way.

Inspecting further, there didn’t appear to be any other doors around to scamper out of. The last option you had was the large pane windows facing the outside, normally providing you with quite a beautiful bird’s eye view of the city. While it was an escape route, the task of escaping after exiting would be less than ideal. You were currently at least six storeys off of the ground, and you couldn’t guarantee that your quirk would save you from that high of a drop. Plus, the roof was still at least a few floors upwards, so you couldn’t hang out of the window and easily grab a railing. Not that you’d be sneaky enough to do that without alerting the bickering party of adults in front of you. You weren’t sure where else you could turn to avoid a serious temper tantrum.

Shatter.

A window to the side of where you were standing abruptly splintered away. A rush of the chilled night air flooded the room with one thorough sweep. The infiltration was not caused by the window simply breaking due to a strong gust of wind or a tree branch breaking the surface. No—it turned out to be a rather unwelcome intruder.

“Heyo~,” a certain bombshell blond’s lilting tone filled the thick tension in the boardroom. Your eyes zeroed in on the hero’s iconic ruby-red wings and instantly knew who it was. Hawks! You’d seen him in the field before from a distance, even captured his attention for long enough to have a brief conversation. A certain twist in your chest wrung out the breath filling your lungs when you thought about his suave nature that day.

You were there with your three main boys the day you’d met Hawks. You had just started working at Endeavor’s agency because of the generous offer provided to you by Todoroki during the Holiday party. It was certainly kind of him to extend his hand to you, and you couldn’t have been more grateful. You tackled him in a hug, and you watched obliviously how he nearly short-circuited at the affection. Though the day you all met up to head off, Bakugou had been acting a little salty around Shoto that afternoon after discovering that he had reached out to you too to join them, but you figured it was just usual Bakugou. Always waking up on the angry side of the bed. Izuku didn’t have the heart to tell you it’s because none of them wanted to make fools of themselves in front of you. Him especially. You are quite oblivious to the “more-than-just-friends” affection they had for you, but Deku was happy keeping it that way. After a bit, the four of you had settled in together and met Shoto’s father.

No thanks to Bakugou’s “stellar” introduction with the pro, Endeavor had put his foot down to deny taking on other interns, other than his own son. Thankfully, hero work is never finished, as a villain attacked then and there. All of you sprung into action despite Endeavor’s denial, and that is when you saw it. Or, rather, him. Red spears descending from the sky like Valkyries swooping in to protect the weak. You saw soon enough that these weren’t spears, they were feathers. The winged hero, Hawks, aided Endeavor in taking down the crazed terrorizer effortlessly. No hesitancy or mercy. Not so much as a bead of sweat lining his forehead either. After recuperating, you and Izuku practically tackled the man in an effort to meet him.

In the staggeringly casual meeting, he was pleased to say he already knew about you from your close friend, Tokoyami. However, he pretty much overlooked the green-haired puffball as he stuck you down with his unnerving amber pools. Hawks suavely shared that he was especially excited to meet you specifically. We’re these most likely only sugar-coated words to get your heart racing for the notorious playboy? Rationally, absolutely. His ego knew no bounds—he’d do anything to get the fans swooning for his flippant affections. Yet, you fell for it nonetheless. You hopelessly played the perfect giddy fan as you devoured all his teasing remarks, his infatuation with your quirk, and his cocky winks. A peck of his lips strategically gifted to the back of your hand was given to no doubt solidify a good relationship, but you nearly passed out. You gushed at the attention before, and you probably would again. You were no different from any faces in his crowd of fans that he interacted with. Or so you thought.

He soon took off after meeting with Bakugou and Shoto briefly. You’d geeked out about the interaction afterwards to the boys. An blatant envy to Hawks’ ease at impressing the masses, you as well now included, made them stumble at their advances. Izuku buried his own jealousy at the hero by directing your attention back to what the rest of the day had planned, and it distracted him from the negative feelings too, thankfully. Shoto had crossed his arms and stood as a silent watcher to walk alongside you. You did catch that he was standing rather close to you. Bakugou only spat insult after insult about the bird brain and the hot-headed waste of a father, hoping that tarnishing the memory of Hawks in your mind would get your mind off of that loser and onto him. He soon cooled off, and became a bodyguard beside you, like Shoto, mumbling to himself about how “pointless” it was to chat with the likes of that douche.

You knew that this meeting was no accident. Hopefully, the hero is here to save you from this awful nightmare. Though, he didn’t show up alone.

“Hawks,” Snipe grumbled a rugged greeting, quite obviously ticked off that the snarky bastard was ruining their sanctuary, “what’re you doin’ here?”

“Oh, not here for any particular reason. Flyin’ around, stopping to smell the roses…,” he lolled his head to look right at you, a devilish smirk lining his strikingly handsome face.

“Inspecting suspicious activity in the area.” A velvety smooth voice strikes up from behind you. You jump and whip your head to the side to see the culprit. Laying a gentle, yet comforting, grip on your shoulder was the famous Rabbit Hero: Mirko. You hadn’t really gotten a chance yet to interact with her in your journey as an aspiring hero. You’d heard about her competitive nature through various interviews you’d seen her in. You’d never felt more like prey than now, underneath her sight. Nonetheless, she was even more stunning than the media could convey. Her white locks draped along your shoulder as she peered down over you, the faint scent of lavender and earthy rubble wafting into your senses. Rumi’s piercing blood-tinged irises looked down upon you with a satisfactory expression. The lingering glint of fire locked within her gaze guided you to understand that whatever was driving her on this mission to confront your captors was far from fizzling out.

You’d heard some about personal interactions with her from Bakugou and Midoriya when they worked with her in the field. Deciphering Bakugou’s turn of phrase you’ve come to be fluent in after all these years, you gauged that she wasn’t too bad of a coworker. He’d said she was strong and that she had a kick that was no joke. When Bakugou remembered something about the people he fought alongside, you knew they left some impression on him—good or bad. He did make a point to reiterate that she only “gets in his way”, but he regards everyone that way, so it’s not a huge concern. Midoriya mostly info-dumped about her quirk and every fighting tactic he’d thought up to either aid her or counter her, but you didn’t mind his ramblings. Animal-based quirks like hers were always intriguing to learn about, and you’d appreciated him taking the time to tell you all the information he’d drug out of the woman. They both agreed (shockingly) they would like to work with her again.

You asked some of the girls of 3-A what they thought of Mirko before, and were surprised when they all nearly trampled you in their freak-out fangirling over the woman. Hagakure gushed over how much she loved what Mirko was doing for the community of women in the pro hero society. She adored how Mirko showed the world that women weren’t just damsels in distress; that the power and strength they hold mentally and physically is one to behold. Mina giddily hugged your arm as she declared the hero gave her confidence to not hide any of her more eccentric or “out-of-the-norm”, as she put it, features. Momo allowed herself to become vulnerable as she shared how Mirko taught her how if others don’t have confidence in your abilities you have to be your own advocate. Perfectionism was rampant in the poor girl, and she had such high expectations for herself. Seeing Momo learning to be more gentle with herself was comforting.

 Jiro and Uraraka explained all the ways she really was a fantastic figure for women, not simply aspiring heroes, to look up to. Strong, snarky, never afraid to throw a quick insult or punch to any ignorant when she needed to. Mirko was not known to be a passive presence; she made sure you know exactly what her opinion on any matter is when she gets in your face to tell you it. Since she wasn’t attached to an agency, most would think she’d be an outcast, but they’d be wrong. The girls told you how she was a lone wolf type, that she’d rather handle everything her own way. You admired her for that. Mirko’s belief of not fitting in with the crowd to instead be at the front lines of encouraging others to break the mold society says you should fit is one to be coveted.

“How’s it going, (Y/N)?” Mirko warmly asked you. You froze when you heard your name fall from her lips. How did she know you? You’d never met face-to-face before in your life! She’s even prettier than the photos snapped by her paparazzi could try to convey.

“Are these guys giving you any trouble~?” Hawks ruffled your hair as he sprouted up next to you like a daisy in a sunny meadow. You felt your face heat up at their actions, not getting used to the unwavering attention of such prestigious members of the Hero Agencies. Also, they’re two of the most gorgeous people in all of Japan. Even a sparse glance in someone’s direction would be enough to make anyone crumple to their knees—nevermind that they’re actually addressing you. You were having a hard time standing up on your own, knees wobbly and jittery, your eyes bouncing back and forth between the two in a fumbling manner. All you could think about was not making a total fool of yourself in front of your heroes. That’s about when you realized you hadn’t responded to them, leaving everyone listening with bated breath at your silence.

You wanted to slap yourself for the silly star-struck reaction, “Oh! I–um…,”

“They’re fine, thank you very much.” Surprisingly, Cementoss’ usual composed tone took a frozen turn. Guess he didn’t appreciate the two of them being here. In fact, it looked to be that most of the teachers in that room didn’t care much for the pros being present, all of them having a crinkled up forehead and scowles dotting their lips. That, or the frustration is from the broken window. Whoops.

“They’d feel more fine if you’d back off.” Vlad King, who had finally calmed down, cautioned the duo. Though he’d cooled off his ramage, you could see the irritated vein popping out underneath his skin, so another outburst was sure to loop back around. Whether it was expressed in a hunched posture, snippy tone, or the expression on their faces; the teachers all agreed on one thing. These two were trouble and had to be escorted away from their darling now.

“Yeesh! What a tough crowd, Mirko!” Hawks overdramatically threw the back of his hand over his forehead. He leaned his body backwards, grasping his other hand over his chest where his heart lies, and wailed out in a helpless maiden-like tone. Oh, yeah. You forgot that he’s such a drama queen. It’s silly, but also somewhat charming, in a way.

“Ha! Seems so, Hawks. Hey, chill out, we’re only here to play babysitter, old timer.” Mirko snickered to herself. Hawks joined in her light-hearted teasing with a bright chortle of his own. His laugh formed from a cluster of tiny clicks rattling through his teeth.

“...What was that, little lady?” Vlad’s temper was never one to back down as he cracked his knuckles. You felt Mirko’s hand clasp tighter around your shoulder at Vlad’s choice of words. You could tell she wanted to go off on him and rip him to shreds both verbally and physically, but held her tongue. Now was not the time to start a war.

“Eh, don’t take it so personally, King! She was just pointing out the obvious~,” Hawks egged the man on. Seems to be Hawks didn’t agree with the “no war” idea. You were beginning to get a bit nervous with the pros’ language. You didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the boar man’s tantrum, as previously mentioned, so why were they purposefully lighting his fuse?! At least move you out of the way first before digging their own grave! Though, you might get pushed into it with them when you can’t dodge their crossfire.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” 13 sneered at the shade.

“You’re all…wise from all your experiences,” words posing as carefully chosen by Hawks no doubt fired up the two more.

“But (Y/N) needs protection from a fresher-faced cast. If you catch our drift~,” Mirko finished for her quick-witted partner.

“That is why you’re all gathered, right? For the Purge?” Hawks anything but innocently asked the group. Those who weren’t lost in their own rage showed a glimpse of hesitation in the answer. Hawks, willing to take a mile from the inch they gave him, ran with their slip-up.

“So, it is true. Judging by the switch in your behaviors, and from that out of the ordinary hue in your irises, seems to me like this lot caught the illness. Probably from those students bulldozing through the school. Can you believe it, Mirko?” Hawks swiftly closed the little distance between you two by slinging an arm over your shoulders.

“I can. They’ve been in such close proximity, it’s no wonder they caught it. I’m just disappointed. They’re supposed to protect people like our lovely (Y/N) here from these incidents. Instead, they’re fueling the catastrophe Hmm. You must’ve been so scared running away from these shit excuses for teachers.” Mirko brought her hand to your cheeks and pinched them together to make your lips pout outward.

“Hey! You know that’s bull—,” Power Loader barked as he leaned across a nearby table.

“What were you sickos planning to do with them, huh? Make them your slave after this night,” Hawks unapologetically interrupted the man, a silence washing over the room at the question being sprung, “Force them to be at your beck and call for everything? Splay their body out to satisfy your needs whenever and wherever you wanted? Disgusting.” Hawks veered his body in front of yours to shield it with one of his huge red wings. The more he talked about what your captors would do to you after the Purge, the more fear reeved up to course through your veins. While thinking about the possibilities of what would happen after the Purge if you were caught, Hawks’ accusations had crossed your mind, but you tried to ignore them earlier. They wouldn't…they’d respect your wishes even if you…belonged to them after all this! They—not your friends, nor your teachers—wouldn’t do those horrible things to you.

And yet, based on everything that’s happened thus far…

You’re not sure anymore.

You shrunk into Mirko’s side deeper, wishing to disappear from the conversation of your fate entirely. You felt her wrap an arm around your waist, and you felt safer with the basically strangers than you had all night long with your long-time partners. You wanted to cry from the relief of finally having somewhere safe to turn. You held the tears back to see where their confrontations would lead.

You felt Mirko lead your stiff body with fleeting strides. She was obviously trying to give you an out, so you went willingly. Just let them do as they please. Anything to get out of this suffocating mess. Hawks caught on to her.

“How dare you try to make those foolish claims against us,” Aizawa began, rage climbing high in his heart. He reached for his infamous scarf and pulled the end piece out, preparing for his attack. Screw playing nice. Screw relying on others. Fuck letting these idiots walk all over him. The nerve of this flashy waste of space dictating him to be the kind of monster that would take advantage of you. You’d been in his life for so long now that he hardly even tries to remember the times without you and his other students. So many tough challenges your class has faced, and yet, each hurdle was leapt over with no hesitation. Your entire class had brought him such joy over the years through the sorrow. His kids. However, you and Shinsou undoubtedly claimed the prize to share the number one spot on his favorites list. You’d been so attentive and caring over him when he’d left you to flounder for air. Late nights powering through boring essays, countless assignments completed only an hour before they were due, the weekend study sessions that almost always turned into game nights or gossiping over snacks that he’d seen you participate in with your other friends. You work so tirelessly to be a good student and attentive friend. That effort wasn’t unnoticed by his watchful eye.

There were many more less impactful moments shared that, dare he say, mean even more to him than the death-defying acts you’d survived together. Chats over the positive current life events with him drinking his standard cup of muddy brown coffee and you casually sipping your own beverage. Walks around campus with him, Midoriya, Tokoyami, Ojiro, and you. The sky gleaming a dazzling aqua blue with the sun sparkling overhead, but not in an overwhelming glare. Puffy clouds dancing in the air. A pleasant, flowery breeze twirling past you. One late night in the common room when he was making his last round to make sure everyone was securely in their dorms, he found you sitting on the couch brushing off the aggressive tears slipping down your cheeks.

When he’d made his presence known that night, you’d shot up like a fired bullet off the comfy sofa, scrubbing your puffy eyes in an attempt at covering up the residual cry session. You’d greeted him warmly with a laughing cough to hide your choked up throat, but he shut down your plan of concealment by hinting that he’d already seen your sadness flowing. That night he sat beside you and talked. Talked about what you were upset about, talked through your doubts, fears, and resentment over how you didn’t know what you were going to do now. Gave you a sorrow-filled look when you broke down into a fit of violent sobs again. He even sat with you in a lingering, but reassuring, silence after your sobs faded.

Only then did Aizawa release a sliver of his own castle walls to give you a hug holding as much love as he could spare from his withered and beaten heart. He told you many ways how your class had changed him to be a better man. How you inspired him to keep pushing himself to look ahead to what beauty the future could hold. Aizawa promised you that night that no one was going to abandon you like you’d feared. He promised to always be there for you whenever you needed his support. All he needed was for you to reach out, and he’d claw up any bit of strength he had left to come rescue you like the hero he promised Oboro and Hizashi he would become. Today was no different from back then.

These fakes weren’t going to tarnish his cherished memory of that night with you. That night, when you’d smiled back up at him with a wobbly grin and soggy eyes, now glistening with hope from his words, you should have known he wouldn’t let some nobodies crush your heart. These wretches didn’t stand a chance.

Power Loader cut Aizawa off to continue, “We would never. Stop trying to scare them like that!”

13, back to her reasonable self, even tried coaxing you, “(Y/N), they are lying. We would never betray you. Now, if you’d please come back here—,”

Feeling bolder with allies at your side, you forced your lips to move to stop their rambling lies, “Why should I believe a single word that comes out of any of your mouths?!” The room fell into stillness. It was as if the whole world had shut itself up to give you the stage to speak your mind.

Fed up and running off of pure adrenaline, you continued, “None of you have asked for my opinion on anything that has happened tonight. You don’t care what I have to say; all you give a shit about is doing whatever the fuck you want to me. You didn’t tell me what you were planning. You spied on me, you kidnapped me, and kept me stuck in this hell as your little hostage all night!

“Even if you did care about me, it was only to find out what you could gain from me for your selfish desires.” You downcasted your eyes at their knife-like glares.

Tears welled up and this time you couldn’t stop them from dragging down your tired face. You took a shaky breath to fill your deflated lungs, “I…I understand this virus has…changed you. I understand whatever you’re going through isn’t easy to fight against. But I don’t know. I don’t know what is happening to any of you. I don’t know what you’re thinking of doing. I just…can’t know. I’m too scared to even try to begin searching for the answer. My classmates have become the same as you—completely changed from who they are. They’ve been hunting me down. And now this thing has taken my teachers too?” Your lips wobbled at the realization of your loss.

“Ha…it’s like one sick joke the world is playing against me,” an exasperated laugh bled from your vocal chords, “I don’t know how it’s making you feel, but I know what it is making you do to me. You’re scaring me. I don’t feel safe. Around any of you. It isn’t crazy to consider you’d force me to do…other things too.”

You caught Aizawa’s eyes when you looked up. You turned away to save yourself from the heartbreak of his torn expression.

You curled into Hawks’ back, shrouding your emotional husk of a body in his fluffy feathers. You allowed the last few dying words left in your quaking heart to wheeze out, “Please. Leave me alone. Please.” Whether your teachers were mad at you for speaking against them, or if they wanted to get on their knees and beg for your forgiveness, you had no clue. All you know is that Hawks whips around, gathers your trembling form in his arms, and takes a couple of steps back from Mirko.

“Hang on tight.” He gently whispers to you. Unconsciously, you obeyed, and securely held onto the fizzy collar of his iconic jacket.

“We’ll be watching over them for the rest of the Purge.” That cold, nonchalant jab to the teachers was the last fleeting acknowledgment Mirko threw at them. Hawks spread his wings.

“Next time, before you go destroying the mental and emotional well-being of your students, get a grip on reality.” The finality of Hawks’ tone was filled with all the venom that he felt you lovingly held back. Your kindness is not what this lot deserves. With that, he flapped his humongous wings a few times to kickstart his ascension and took off with you pressed tightly against him. He soared up and out of the broken window, making sure to cover you properly so you didn’t get sliced or stabbed by any broken glass. You watched Mirko clamber out of the rickety window from over his shoulder, land on the edge of the concrete window sill, and use her legs to jump as high into the air as she could.

You watched in awe as she practically flew up several storeys, confidently grasp the edge of the railing atop the roof, and gently sling herself onto the roof without so much as a hiccup. Judging by the trajectory of where Hawks was flying, he too was aiming for the roof. Not like you cared at this point. As long as you were away from them, you’d be fine to go anywhere they took you.

“We at Air Hawks thank you for flying with us on this gorgeous evening, esteemed passenger. We have now reached our destination, the rooftop of the illustrious UA High. The weather outside is clear skies at a balmy 75°, so you may see a stunning view of the city tonight. Please take care and follow your charming, ever good-looking pilot as he will guide you towards the exit.” Hawks cracked a light joke to try and pull you out of the dark headspace you were currently dwelling inside. You spared him a half-hearted giggle for his attempt, allowing him to release the hold his hands had on the backs of your knees. You plopped your feet down softly to the ground just as Mirko had made it over.

“Here, let me get that for you.” Mirko held out her hands, her gaze trained on Sero’s tape that was still wound snugly around your wrists. Wow. You’d entirely forgotten they were still there. You lifted your wrists to the admirable woman and merely watched as she took your already reddening wrists into hers.

“Honestly. What barbarians. To leave you bound like this? Complete bullshit.” Mirko muttered insult after insult under her breath as she wasted no time in destroying the binding. She took your wrists up to her mouth and carefully chomped down using her steely, rabbit-esque front teeth on the strips to make a sizable cut through them. She gently pulled your wrists apart and the tape effortlessly split. Free, at last.

Using your fingers, you tore away the remaining severed strips with a wince, and threw them to the ground. Battered and bruised, you saw that your wrists were nearing raw from how much struggling against the tape’s adhesive you’d done. You gave a quick massage to stimulate blood flow back into your numbing fingertips.

“There! Feel any better?” Mirko prodded.

“Much. Thank you for getting me out of there. I seriously couldn’t have asked for a cooler getaway than two of the top pro heroes in Japan being my saviors.” you tossed a light joke in along with the gratitude. You yanked the two pros into your chest with a tight hug to further show your thanks, taking a deep breath against their chests. They were rigid at first, but they both allowed themselves. However, while being this close, they couldn’t help but notice the sweet smell drifting off of your clothing. There was little the pros could do to avoid the intoxicating aroma, but before they could delve further into what it was, they heard a tiny sniffle sound from your buried head.

With an alertness to you that he hadn’t felt before, Hawks pulled you away from his chest with a concerned look on his face. “Hey, what’s up, baby bird?” Hawks were much more determined than he had been all night to get you to open up about what was going on in your brain.

Not looking up from the ground to respond, he placed his fingertips underneath your chin and tilted your bent head up. You had a thread of silvery tears lining your lower lash line and a wobbly lip that made both Mirko and Hawks’ aggravation boil their blood.

“Hon, tell us what’s wrong.” Mirko commanded. She could barely contain the loathing that spiderwebbed throughout her heart. When she gets her hands on those measly heroes who mistreated you, she is going to make them wish they’d never bothered you with their worthless existence ever again. Lousy maggots. Just as Mirko’s mind was going to float off the deep end into disturbing plans of vile and ruthless methods of punishment, she caught herself.

Woah. That’s new. That was aggressive.

No, the aggressiveness was not new. She’d always had a bit of spark to her. Her wild thoughts are what made her such a great hero; that’s how Mirko became widely recognized for her prowess. It was who she was having the ruthless feelings against that surprised her. She’s worked with those pros, her coworkers and friends, for years. She barely knows you at all. Yet, she’s planning every possible way she could make the insolent, ignorant gang pay for their mistreatment.

Although, why should that fact matter? Why shouldn’t they pay? Sure, they’re her friends, but they abused an innocent. They forcefully used their quirks and position of power over you to make you suffer! It’s despicable. It’s dishonorable. They should face the punishment of the law. But…that isn’t enough. Her rationality slips, drifting further away the longer she feels you warm her. It fuels a fire within her, and that fire sets the marrow lining her bones a light. She doesn’t want to toss the aggressors off to the police like a spineless coward. You deserve better than that. You deserve more. You deserve justice. She is justice. Technically, she is the law. She will make them pay. Yes, that’s a wonderful idea!

God, she hasn’t felt this warmth in a long time. Too long. You’re wonderful.

Hawks isn’t faring any better. He’s wild-eyed—his mind deep sketching out the framework of delusional fantasies of him taking you on as his trainee, showing you all the tips and tricks he’s learned in the harsh world of hero life, and quite literally taking you under his wing. Maybe you two become more after you get closer. Keigo isn’t unfamiliar with the desire of wanting companionship in his life. He often finds himself daydreaming of a partner by his side, on and off the field of battle. Never a specific person, just a faceless, nameless being, fluttering through his desires. Smiling, laughing, enjoying each other's time together. Cute stuff. Hawks yearns for that small sliver of normalcy. Keigo wants to feel human—to feel whole again after everything he’s been stripped of in his miserable existence.

With you, even though your interactions have been brief and you’ve endured some light flirting of his that is barely considerably mentionable, you’ve brought him nothing but a comforting and loving feeling. He feels indebted to you for simply being you. Not lying to him, or trying to pretend to be someone you’re not. He’s constantly surrounded by deceptive and cruel human nature. He truly couldn’t tell you how many thousands of googly-eyed newbies have introduced themselves to him, praying for even a small flicker of his fame to rub off on them. Hoping to use him to spring them up into the actually noticeable charts. It’s so easy to read them too. They’re open, flimsy magazines. Bright, colorful, eye-catching, and full of back-stabbing and strategically fabricated lies. Spread wide and pleading for him to flip through their pages. They always hiss lies through their teeth, grinning and bearing the once-in-a-lifetime interaction. But no matter how much sucking up they commit to or how well they try to veil the truth of their intentions behind sugared words, he never fails to see through them.

Guess the training he went through as a child was good for something. If you don’t open up to people, you can never get hurt. Sure, that tactic has worked wonders…up until meeting you.

But he’s just so tired. He just wants to lower the railing and find something worth all the fight he puts up.

You might be his outlet.

“It’s…it’s just been a long night. I’m sorry—,” you tried to cover your face with your forearm, desperate to conceal the embarrassing honest showing on your face. Mirko gently removed your shield with a comforting smile.

“Oh no, hon, it’s fine—,”

“Never ever apologize for your feelings—,” both pros stumbled over each other’s words. When they realized they were getting anywhere by interrupting the other, they shared a look. After a small nod shared, they wrapped their arms around you again.

“You’re okay,” they both said at the same time, cradling you against them once again. You snuggled deeper, taking that chance to breathe deep and avoid spiraling into a panic attack.

While your arms were around the two, you accidentally brushed against Hawks’ wings. That is when you noticed his wings had puffed up in size, similar to how any bird does when they want to appear bigger to a threat they face. He had been very tense at the beginning of the hug, so maybe he was only nervous, so you chose to not question it. Plus, you’d just let a room full of deadly pro heroes! Yeah, it’s alright. However, the light thudding taps of Rumi’s foot against the concrete roof was something you couldn’t explain. Is it normal for hybrid rabbits to emulate this characteristic from their bunny counterparts? You’re not too sure.

You tried to pull away, but their tight grips didn’t let you. Oh. Well, maybe they’re both in desperate need of a hug. You’re very familiar with your classmates coming to you for hugs during their rougher days. They always said you had the best hugs, and you take great pride in that fact. Come to think of it, maybe you should ask them all about their mental health more often, just so no one spirals off the deep end and punches another classmate (thank you for that, Bakugo).

OH! Your friends! Maybe Hawks and Mirko can help them! Yes, that’s a great plan.

Peeling further back, you tilted your head up to look them in their eyes. You let out an airy chuckle, “As much as I enjoy the hug, I need some more of your help.”

They instantly lightened their steely grips. Not too much to let you slip away. Mirko held a smug look, as if knowing you’d come crawling back to her for her aid. SHe’s the only one who can provide for you properly, afterall. Don’t worry, let her handle everything for her darling. No task is too big for her. Hawks resembled that of a grinning puppy, excited and warm. Eager to perform any task for praise and treats. Yes! Anything you want, darling, they can provide! What do you need?

They didn’t supply you with a verbal answer, but the looks they carried spoke loud enough, so you continued, “My classmates. I don’t know what happened to my friends, but they’ve got the same thing the teachers do. I think everyone’s infected. I have to help them, but I don’t think I can do it alone.”

As soon as they heard you utter the word “friends”, their bliss was shot and struck the ground like a wounded songbird. Their brains shut off to stop the nonsense you were suggesting. Friends? You need people other than them?! And what’s worse, is you want them to help those idiots?! Last they checked, they were public enemy number one for making you run yourself ragged up and down those endless halls! No, that can’t be right. Those fools don’t deserve their help. Not for what they made you go through.

“No.” Rumi snapped with a frigid simper.

The rest of the sentence you were sputtering falters. You gaze up at the rabbit hero, “...What?”

With a second look-over, Mirko appears a lot scarier than she did only minutes beforehand. Have her eyes always been this clouded? Her unrelenting gaze exudes a darker inkling than when you’d faced her way. Rumi’s eyes stuck on you like gum bonded to the bottom of your shoe.

No. This wouldn’t happen again. They said they’d be better than this—better than them.

Hawks obnoxiously cleared his throat to brush the eerie vibe away from the floundering conversation, “Ehh…haha! What Rumi means is not right now. It’s too dangerous to go searching for your friends now. Finding help for them after the Purge settles down is the safest strategy.” Hawks smoothly saved Mirko’s ass with the perfect excuse, served up on a shining silver platter. You didn’t appreciate how obviously strained Hawks’ tone became at “friends”.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe. Preferably away from this shithole.” She mumbled the last portion, keeping the snark to her own chest, but her contempt for the institution was blatant. Mirko’s eyes were laced with flaming venom as she fleetingly paid attention to the concrete walls. A sneer broke out on her lips, as if just the idea of standing on top of the building was a sin itself.

“Ah… okay.” You tried to leave the hug again. They persisted.

“Mirko—,” Hawks’ voice twisted into a demanding tone. His blown out, puppy-like pupils cinched into vicious slits, staring down the woman.

“Hawks, I don’t want to hear it. Back off.” Mirko gnashed back at the blond. The two began an all out war against each other, both tugging against the other’s advances. A tug to the left, a drag to the right, both parties were unrelenting. Neither wanted to allow the victory of having you in their arms.

“You’re holding them too tightly!” Keigo whined.

“Well, you’re not holding them tight enough.” Mirko argued back. You’ve seen this before. It reminded you of two children fighting over who got to play with which toy, always bickering how the other was “doing it wrong”. It reminded you of Ochaco fighting the guys. It reminded you of Denki and Mina struggling over who got to hold you. Childish squabbles.

Liars, the lot of them. They didn’t want to help you. If they did before, not anymore. They’re infected, there’s no other answer for their behavior.

“Keigo, just stop it! You and I both know that you can’t protect them.” Mirko snarked. That caught the bird’s attention judging by the way his eyes dug into her, all emotion scrapped from his expression. A grim look stole the spot, one that told of violence and mayhem running rampant in behind his eyes. An expression usually reserved for the villains he so often made easy prey of. This is awful.

“And what is that supposed to mean, rabbit?” Hawks’ eyes looked wilder than before.

“I think you and I both know what I meant.” She snarked back, ruffling his feather figuratively and quite literally.

“Be honest with yourself. When was the last time you were able to save something that you actually cared about?” Mirko hatched a devilish plan. She took the chance of his loss of temper to clutch you against her. She took a couple spacious leaps back, creating a sizable distance between her friend turned enemy. Hawks plucked two giant feathers from his wingspan that sharped out into duo blades resembling two scimitars.

“I’m done being—,” just before Hawks could spiral off the deep end into whatever hell he had planned to put Mirko through, a disturbance crashed the party.

“Enough, you two.” A formidable voice shook from the shadows. Those few words are all it takes for the two beside you to back off from tearing out each other’s throats. Whoever it was had the ability to command total control of a room in an instant. You couldn’t see them, but you knew the voice came from the other side of the stairwell exit.

“Great,” Mirko scoffs, tilting her head to look the other way with a cross of her arms. You couldn’t tell if it was from irritation or the shame from being caught. Judging by her scowl, it’s probably the latter.

“Endeavor…how long have—,” Hawks sputtered out. You swivel your head to the gap at the birdman. No fucking way it’s the number one hero. He’s gotta be wrong. The number one pro hero showing up to participate in the Purge is unheard of. Guess you’d be wrong. Though, you suppose that even the number one gets a pass during today. It’s just jarring since All Might had not once in all his years of being the symbol of peace even be seen during the Purge hours. He probably just didn’t want to be caught up in a scandal with the news or social media if he were to ever be discovered converting to be a player of the Purge’s game.

Sure enough though, the one who rounds the corner is in fact Endeavor. He shut Hawks up with a simple raise of his palm and an unforgiving glare. The once cheery hawk tucks into himself and shields his frustration away from the number one.

The first thing that shows you the reality of the situation is his overwhelming stature. You severely underestimated the way this man takes up a room. Seeing him in TV interviews on the news and fighting against villains is one thing, but it is a completely different beast to be face-to-face with him stalking towards you. It made sense why he was deemed the top—with such a suffocating aura, it was hard to believe that any villain even tried to oppose the behemoth. You should know, you’ve met him before.

During your training with him alongside the boys, it had been quite the feat. You’d mostly done in-field training with the boys, but the one time you did have one-on-one training with the pro was unnerving, to say the least. Endeavor had watched your every move, his eyes never straying too far from where you’d displayed the extent of your Quirk’s usefulness. You knew you were as capable, even more so since you could control your emotions, as Bakugou, Midoriya, and Todoroki. Let’s face it, all three of them had a tendency to act out far too irrationally due to their urges and feelings, and they weren’t shy about expressing it. Although, your self control put you in a favorable light with Endeavor, so it wasn’t strange that he gave more of his attention to you.

Instead of bickering and combating everything the pro said with a harsh glower like Katsuki had, you listened intently and gave Endeavor undivided attention. Instead of ignoring the man who actively tried to give pointers and choosing to walk faster ahead of the group like Shoto had, you hung back and asked questions about what Shoto had done wrong in his approach and how to improve his strategy. You became more agile, better aware of your surroundings, and able to predict some of the moves villains would try to throw at you. You understood that the opportunity that Shoto had given to you all with training under his father for the work-study was not something to be taken lightly. Was the man a little too much of a hardass for your taste? Yes. But he was not a pushover. He had valuable lessons to teach you all from experiences he’s faced during his years in the field. If you wanted to actually place in the hero charts one day, you knew you’d have to get past your own opinions on the man and try to cooperate.

If someone asked your opinion of Endeavor, they’d understand he’s not your favorite hero to grace the charts. You’d believed him to be startlingly cold for the fiery nature of his quirk. It was easy to say you’d originally thought him to be nothing but an ass with too hot of a head on his shoulders, and while that was still the truth more often than not, he had his moments of clarity. The media did have a knack for stringing up the moments of his ill temper caught on film and making them the headline of every social media platform. What you had learned during your trainings held at the crack of dawn was that he was extremely precise. There was never a lack of communication or any doubt held within his words whenever he instructed you. Swing a right hook into the dummy’s torso. Sweep your leg to the left to knock the opponent over. He was straight to the point and earnest in the compliments regarding your physical improvements.

He’d even let you spar against him one day. Endeavor had taken the four of you and one of his many sidekicks, Burnin, to the rooftop during one of the few freetimes you’d actually had. He asked you to step across from him and get into your fighting position. He instructed no quirks be used, that it be purely a hand-to-hand combat session that balanced skill and strength together. With Burnin as the referee, you’d begun. He thankfully didn’t go easy on you as he views not giving his all into any task as a “halfass lazy excuse”, so you’d fight with your entire being against Endeavor. He educated the four of you through commentating on all of the things you did wrong; how you’d left yourself open to a couple of jabs from him, turned your back to him often enough that he’d seized an opportunity to lunge and knock you over, and such. Though you were outmatched in a number of categories, you soon understood why he was putting you to this impossible challenge. Enji wanted you to get creative with your tactics to take down your foe. You needed to outwit his strength.

With the newfound spark of inspiration, you struck. You made a move imitating that of one you’d tried against him earlier. A simple left hook. He knew he could easily deflect the punch, so he took the bait. You’d noticed before that he was much more sturdy with his right side, which left room for error on his left, so you took the chance. You sidestepped into his peripheral and closed in behind him. You kicked in the back of his right knee, forcing him to stumble to the ground. You knew you couldn’t tackle the man over from this position, nor could you keep him pinned there due to how much force you had to use to kick his knee alone, so you went with the quickest option. You needed to hit a weak point, but since his body was covered in mostly muscle, you only had a few options. Since kicking him in the groin seemed like too cruel for a simple sparring session, the spots above his neck would have to do. You jumped up onto his back, shimmied up enough to hang onto his shoulder, and threw a hard punch right into his throat.

You left him choking on his air and wheezing. He grasped at his neck, steadying himself on his other arm. Leaving him no hands to defend against your assault. You then shoved your hands into his hair, pulled on the strands tightly, and swung your body forward over the man’s shoulder. You let gravity handle the rest. Your body weight pulled his unstable torso forward and he hit the ground with a hefty SMACK! You bent your knees to land sturdily on the ground with minimal impact to your footing and let his face take the brunt of the fall. You then placed your knee hard on the middle of his shoulder blades to pin him and Burnin deemed the match completed with an impressed grin lilting on her face. Admittedly, for the rest of that day, you gloated the pride you felt at taking down the mountain of a man a little too obviously.

You knew that day he most likely wanted to make an example out of you when he presumed you wouldn’t win the fight, but you’d made sure he understood not to fuck around with you or your generosity again.

Zooming back to the present, you caught his eyes goring a hole right through you. Brilliant aqua blue irises stuck out like a sore thumb against his smoldering flames. No matter how much Shoto tried to deny the fact, he truly was Endeavor’s child. That striking blue color kept locked down within the Endeavor lineage and fiery red hair that draped over half of his head was unmistakable. Features that, however much wasted on the shitty attitude the man possessed, would make many and most fall head-over-heels for their stunning effect. Though, in your opinion, Shoto wore the beauty better.

Enji’s gaze was harsh towards you, but it was kind compared to the one he shot at Mirko’s arm wrapped around you. Perceptive, the woman held you closer, as if trying to defy his silent demand of releasing you. She was dead set on not going down without a fight. Before she could hope for one to begin, Hawks laid a hand on her shoulder as a soft hint to not involve you in Endeavor’s unrivaled wrath. Mirko knew he was right. Dammit it all. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she relented, back off of you. She left you to fend for yourself against the beast, cast you aside to the big bad wolf who wouldn’t spare you. It reminded you of the tale of Odysseus facing off with Polyphemus—only you were unarmed and lacking a foolproof plan of escape and this giant won’t allow arrogance to be his downfall yet again like the monster from the epic had.

Finally, Endeavor was right in front of you. If you had any bravery left from the night, it vanished wholly with him staring you down. Endeavor hardly even spared a tilt of his head to gaze down upon you, opting to stare through a half-lidded examination. The only indication that he was human and not some freaky Terminator cyborg from the future coming to hunt you down was the ever-present scowl he’s so fond of sharing.

Without ever taking his sight off of you, he glowered dryly to an unidentified listener, “Why are they scratched up?” You see now the question is not for you, rather it's dedicated to the duo in charge of you. You peered down to see what he was referring to, only now understanding what he meant from the bruises beginning to bloom along your wrists and the miniscule scratches littering your forearms and neckline. None of them were deep enough to lance more than a couple drops of blood, but they were still oozing fresh from the night’s escapades.

“That wasn’t from us! The students were dragging them back-and-forth between the halls before the teachers got a hold of them. You know how rough kids are with their toys.” Hawks quickly presented to the man. Smooth as ever. He strolled over to Endeavor to lean his elbow against the man’s bulky side, as if casually resting against an alleyway’s grimy brick wall. Although, with how stocky the pro was, you’re sure the feeling was probably akin. You watched Endeavor roll his eyes at the blond.

“I’m sure hurling them through a window had nothing to do with the scratches.” Endeavor’s sarcasm hung heavy in the air like too much icing on a dry piece of cake. It was obvious that his comedic side hadn’t been brushed up on in awhile. He took the chance to use an unexpected gentleness to grasp your forearm and hold up the damaged skin to the duo as all the evidence he needed. You, not taking too kindly to being an item for presentation, pulled your arm away from him and held it close. Endeavor shot you a look of disappointment, but held in the trembling Armageddon he had planned. Hawks gave a weak chuckle, no doubt scrounging for a way to veer the conversation off them scaling the side of a building with you.

Endeavor decided to spare you for now, choosing to cross his arms and acknowledge only Hawks, “What’s their status? Who in the school is infected? How many are after them?”

You were starting to get sick of him completely ignoring the fact that you had your own voice to speak for your own wellbeing. “You know I can speak for myself, right? Or have you forgotten that since we last hung out.” Hawks shot you a look that yelled “shut up” like a parent two seconds away from scolding their child who is screaming in public. You didn’t cower. You pressed on to challenge Endeavor’s authority.

“I’m aware. But I understand if I speak to you, you’ll probably end up whining like a child to me. Wasting my time.” Endeavor threw no more than a half-hearted stern crinkle of his brows, and you pretty much could no longer hold back the bubbling anger swelling up in your chest.

“Excuse me! It’s not ‘whining’, it’s called ‘being a sane person with reasonable concerns’. Also, no shit I would complain! Your little underlings were literally just fighting over who was going to kidnap me! That is a perfect reason to yell.” You waltzed your way in front of him to be a human barrier to get in the way of his sight being fixated on Hawks. You will make yourself heard against this bully. Screw it if he trained you, you don’t just ignore someone you’re actively talking about when they are right in front of you! It’s incredibly rude.

“I don’t have time for this,” Endeavor rubbed temples with one hand. You wanted to rip his head off and shout from the rooftops into his eardrums. Maybe that would get your point through his thick skull.

“Wow. First of all, fuck you,” That certainly caught his attention. His head snapped to look down at your defiance. His eyes bore that same look he’d struck Mirko’s arm with before. Boiling hysteria and bitterness. Even though you physically felt the warmth of his internal temperature rise, and you recognized the panic Hawks held in his gob-smacked expression, you couldn’t stop your big mouth from prattling on. Shoto probably would have laughed his ass off at your opposition to his father. That small support in the back of your mind made your confidence soar.

“Second of all, you can’t seriously think that I am going to be chill with anything you wei—,” you couldn’t finish your sentence before you were all of the sudden no longer touching the roof. The collar of your shirt had been snatched by Endeavor’s strong hand with no warning and hoisted high. You were now dangling limply a few feet off the ground. Keigo was squawking figuratively and literally, yanking on Endeavor’s arm to lower the leverage he held your body at. Rumi took a turn for the worst. Threats cranked out of her mouth as she reared up to kick him as hard as she could square in an area where the sun didn't shine. Maybe give him a taste of his own brutality. With an unyielding and unforgiving hold, he lifted you even higher with no strenuous effort. You yelped, swinging and writhing around to try escaping the brute strength of your foe. He brought you in close to look at you eye-to-eye, making sure your darting gaze has nowhere to turn to other than locking in to meet his own icy pair.

“You will not speak to me like that again. Your attitude might be cute to the rest of these weak links, but I won’t let it go without correction. You show me respect, or we will both have to go through a punishment for you that neither of us will enjoy. This is your first and final warning.” Every word was uttered with nothing but truth. No twist of a joke in his tone, no shift in expression, nothing. Only a foreboding aura and the gravely tone that demanded full cooperation.

Every snappy response died on your tongue. You wanted to fight back, to sass all of them more, to tell him exactly what you thought of him to his stupid, scary face—but nothing came. You felt tears line your waterline, and you couldn’t despise them more. Crying when faced with any kind of opposition…what kind of hero does that make you? You couldn’t explain why your mind drifted to Midoriya in this moment when all hope was lost.

You suppose it’s because you recall a day when the boy had tried to deny his waterworks and his friends carried his tears with grace and love. Deku had been sent off to his work-study with the man he’d called ‘Sir Nighteye’. You didn’t know much about the man, in all honesty, but you did know that one of the strongest students at UA had been training underneath him for some time. The sweet boy named Mirio who had come to meet your class and then single handedly swept you all in a twenty-to-one match. He was quite impressive, so the fact that Midoriya had been taken on to work alongside him was quite the honor!

However, Midoriya came back rather…startled, to say the least. He hardly participated in conversations held around him, didn’t speak up during the lectures, and could barely choke down the food placed in front of him either. His eyes were clouded, a scrunched up twist pulled on his eyebrows like he was stuck in a maze of his own thoughts. He looked far into the distance yet couldn’t process what was in front of him. It was scary. Where did the boy always eager to learn and help everyone drift off to? You wanted him back.

The situation came to a head one day at lunch when you were sitting across from the green-haired boy, Iida, and Shoto. You’d all tucked into your meals when you noticed Midoriya had no intention of even attempting to stomach the spread. Shoto had shockingly tried to crack a very dry joke, and that seemed to wake the distant boy. After brushing off all of your concerns for the nth time, Iida finally challenged Deku’s false reassurance. He’d offered an ear to listen to the boy’s troubles. A simple gesture, most would assume, but it hit the boy hard. Midoriya had tried to keep it in, but the boy just couldn’t hold back his emotions—a fact of which you admired to this day. He tried to claim that heroes don’t cry while he actively swiped away the drips trailing from his evergreen eyes, but you watched as Iida and Shoto shut down that statement quickly. It’s such an easy thing to say but a hard skill to execute. Of course heroes cry! Anyone who doesn’t when facing the nightmarish terrors that they do on a daily basis is lying or too stone cold to be considered human.

You watched as the boys bonded over the spilt emotions and a grin overtook your face the entire rest of the day. No one at that table knew what Deku was going through with poor Eri and the vile Overhaul situation. You hadn’t a clue the true reason Iida had extended his hand to the shaken boy that day. But it didn’t matter. Izuku let his tears and strength glow bright that day. Tears are a symbol of actually giving a shit in this world. Tears you shed are the wordless tale you share with the world. Speaking a thousand words in all different orders. A labyrinth that can be solved or failed, depending on how your own soul understands the riddle. You’re still scouring that maze to comprehend your own salty snivels.

“Understood?” The three heroes stilled, waiting for your response. Wordlessly, you bit your lip to keep it from wobbling, looking away from the man to not give the satisfaction of his actions actually scaring you, and nodded. He gave a satisfied grunt of contempt and lowered you back down to the cement. Hawks flitted over to your side, checking you over. Mirko didn’t exactly come running to you but she did make a point of standing in between Endeavor and you.

“You’ll see why we must do this soon, (Y/N). This life is just too risky for someone like you,” he looked like he wanted to say more to you, but held his tongue. You wished he’d just crawl back to whatever shithole he climbed out of and fester there for the atrocious attempt at playing the “comforting” father role.

He meant it, you know. Enji sees you choose to not look beyond his past. Much like his sons. Not that he can blame any of you. But, for some reason, the abandonment of trust hurt more from you than it did Shoto.

Enji could tell you how many sidekicks he’s experienced come and go throughout his career. Does he remember the plebeians' names? No. Why should he? They left, so that must mean they didn’t meet his standards. No big deal, another will take their place eventually. It’s not his job to care about them or to remember them. However, he does remember you quite well. Truthfully, much to your surprise, before even your work-study together.

The first time he’d even sparred you a passing glance was during the Sports Festival in your first year. Truthfully, he didn’t give a single damn about any students in the arena other than his son. Enji really only went to see if Shoto would finally stop this little rebellion of his by only using that wretched ice his doe-eyed wife blessed their son with. He wanted to see Shoto crack under the pressure and give in—finally admit that the fire portion of his power was the stronger, more reliable half. He managed in his obsession to give some half-assed attention to the other one-on-one duels.

One of the fights he watched over was you against the ditzy girl from the Support Department, Mei something. Initially, he was going to walk away at such an uninteresting sounding fight, but he chose to linger. He saw you willingly agree to Mei flaunting her inventions to prospective buyers by using you as the demonstration device. You’d effortlessly almost danced around her gadgets’ tactics; playing the part of challenging foe, but never let her pin you in a dicey position. You’d ended the fight by running her off the boundary line before time ran out, and both of you shared a hug as you parted ways—both satisfied with you being the victor moving forward in the chain of fights and her having interested eyes witnessing her skill. Normally, a blatant show of mutual benefit would have him running for the hills. That wasn’t a fight, neither of you put any effort into crushing your opponent to a pulp, which is what a real show of power was to his image of winning. Yet, he stayed. Not to watch anything that pink girl offered, only examining you bounce around with both your own strength and the might of your quirk. He wanted you to slip up. He wanted you to make a mistake so he could justify ditching the patetic battle, but you never did. You stayed light on your feet and still struck at your opponent a few times to show examples of the defense her “babies” could provide to heroes.

Intriguing, is all he thought. He then stood and sauntered off until the second round.

The second round he watched Shoto, not as easily as he had hoped, defeat Midoriya. While he was filled with both gratification at Shoto caving into his carnal fire and enragement at that Izuku pest for giving his son the unwavering support to defy his hold over his son, he hardly realized your next battle had begun. It was against the vine girl from the Class B—first losers, rather, to him—Ibara. Unlike Mei’s challenge, you basically wiped the floor with the poor girl. You shot around the court, darting like a bat through an inky full-mooned sky, making sure to not give Ibara a chance to get the one up on you. You hardly let her breathe during the showdown, striking at her again and again from all angles. She was safe nowhere, even when hidden behind the viney defensive walls sprouting from her hair. You’d ended it neat and clean with a swift shot of your quirk, landing her out of the arena. Triumphant, you’d moved up again, but you still remained humble while helping Ibara off of the ground with a bright smile and gifted her a sincere handshake. You’d no doubt made a spectacle of yourself to the crowd and everyone watching at home, the loud cheer of encouragement erupting across the venue said just as much. Enji even hashed out a couple of light claps for your impressive display.

Your last battle was the nail in the coffin for Endeavor. You were finally fighting against his son. Of course, he was obviously rooting for Shoto to crush you, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to a nail-biting fight. He got just that. You two dove for each other—ice flung around the court in jagged peaks with you racing around the boy and firing off precisely aimed jabs of your own quirk. Blustering rushes of glacial wind flushed across the landscape. You two waltzed around in a deadly dance of effort and skill. You’d make sure Shoto knew that you weren’t to be cast aside like overlooked trash. You had grit, a will to make a name for yourself in the competitive world of heroes. You managed to last around two minutes in the ring together, which is phenomenal, considering his other battles didn’t last more than a handful of seconds. In the end, Shoto had been the victor when he caught you off guard by using his ice on the floor. He swiftly created a haphazard ice rink and slid you out of bounds. You were too exhausted from abusing your quirk so much that afternoon against your other opponents that you couldn’t stop your body from spinning out. Enji didn’t miss the way Shoto practically dashed over to your side, helped you stand up, and offered his arm for you to hold as you shakily shuffled off the slick floor to a safer spot.

Though you lost, he hadn’t forgotten how you gave his son a run for his money. You were very capable. Which is why he didn’t hesitate allowing you to become a work-study of his under the guise of helping you and your other friends out. This plan he has is not only for the benefit of his own gains, but for Shoto’s as well. He knows his son cares for you, but he has to help you see that after all of the Purge nonsense. You two would be perfect together—the perfect marriage of quirks. Of course, he tells himself that he’s not in this for the sole reason of having another powerful quirk added to his ranks. But it certainly helps him like you more.

You kept your eyes lowered, the lingering sting of defeat simmering behind your eyes and in your heart. You wanted to have an unwavering confidence like some of your classmates. You would never say this to Bakugou, but you truly did admire his “never back down” style. You had seen countless times how he barked in the faces of higher-ups, challenging their morals, their reasons for becoming heroes, and plans. It was as if he never agreed with anything they presented. The blond always had to shove his opinion into every decision made. You wanted to stare Endeavor straight in the eye as you stomped on his foot and make him see what you really thought of all their bullshit. But you couldn’t. You didn’t have it in you to ignore his authority. Guess that’s why you’re still stuck up here on this stupid roof with people you don’t want to be around, huh?

Hawks brushed back your hair, trying to examine your face for distress or injury, but all he could see was you not meeting his gaze. He wants to tell you he knows firsthand how hard this decision is—hell, even he has doubts relying on Endeavor and Mirko. He wants to say he’d be able to make this escape on his own with you. Hide you away alone so no one else has any clue where you are. That sounds like paradise to him. Alas, with so many high profiles after you now, there isn’t a chance of him making it out with his head. If he broke the agreement he resentfully made with the two, then others would certainly turn against him.

Later. He’ll strike later. Don’t you see? That’s why he’s playing the perfect little stepping stool. No one deserves you but him—not even his idol. His hero. He’ll make sure you know that too by the end of this night. Only a little longer of bearing the pretending and game of dress up, then he’ll slip away with you in tow.

“Hawks.” You heard Endeavor call out for the winged man. Daddy’s calling.

Hawks tilted your chin up so you were forced to look into his amber glow, and offered a caring smile. He hoped you could see the promise behind his eyes. The disgust masked behind a beaming smile was perfected for meeting delusional strangers and other worthless heroes. He gave Endeavor that smile, but not to you. You hoped the scowl you shot ripped his lungs out and left them rotting in a pile of maggot-riddled filth. How dare he give you such a carefree look after telling you he was going to steal away your entire life.

After Hawks walked over to converse with Endeavor, Mirko closed in. Not much was said between you two, but she did bump her hip against yours to knock you out of your own head. You turned to give her an offensive side eye, but she only fronted an unbothered look. You went to ignore her again, turning to face towards the men. However, you didn’t get far as she decided to make her personal mission to annoy you. You felt a gentle poke into your side, ticklish and fleeting. You jumped, falling for the trap and glaring at her again. This time, she had a mild grin on her face. It was obvious your displeasure fueled her joy.

“You’re cute when you’re trying to look mad,” she snorted, leaning back on her heels. She couldn’t stop looking at you, and you saw her stare through your peripheral.

You scoffed, “Trying?” You faced forward to deny her yearning for your gaze.

“Of course. I’ve seen mad before, and you’re not at that level. You’re just…peeved. Disgruntled. Ew, no, that word is too ugly to describe you.” Mirko shook her head and stuck her tongue out at the mention of the synonym. You took a deep breath and settled in to focus on the men discussing back and forth.

She circled you like a shark lunging on for her prey, but you simply turned your head the opposite direction of where she was to avoid the confrontation.

“Where you going, grumpy~?” Mirko easily caught on to your aversion. You noticed how her grin truly did resemble something shark-like. The thought crossed your mind if she was really half-bunny, or actually some predator in disguise masking the innocence of a rabbit. A wolf in sheep’s clothing

“I’m actually very interested in that bird over there. Would you look at that, it’s pretty far away.” You apathetically mused at the distant dot in the sky. You brushed her prodding away to daze off into the horizon, Mirko’s words slowly being tossed into the heaping bin of memories you wouldn’t document in your brain. Gazing across the landscape of the dark treeline surrounding UA and the few standing buildings nearby, your eyes scanning the moonlit metal of the nearby rooftops. But something else glistening on the roof caught your eye too. Something moving.

You watched it shift and reflect the moon’s rays from across the neighboring rooftop. You squinted, trying to catch exactly what was skulking around in the dark, but it strayed just beyond your sight. Whatever it was, it wanted to stay hidden.

“Absolutely not.” Endeavor’s thunderous voice startled you from your scouting. Hawks turned his head to see if you had noticed the man’s tantrum—no shit you’d notice that barbaric yell from the brute—and, in seeing your alarm, sighed. He scooted closer to the mammoth of a man, turning his back to you. You strained your ears to hear the mumbling.

“You don’t have to tell me it’s not ideal—I know that—but what other choice do you think we have?” Was all you could hear before Hawks’ voice became too faint to make out comprehensible words.

You then remembered your little “friend” in the shadows. You shot your head back to its previous position to confront the adversary. Nothing. You searched and searched the silent building, but nothing. You wanted to tell yourself that it was just your mind playing tricks in the dark, but on tonight of all nights, you knew better than to downplay your concern.

Finally acknowledging Mirko, you questioned her, “Do you see anything on that roof over there?”

She gave you an unimpressed deadpan, “Seriously? You're trying the ‘oh my gosh, what’s that over there!’ trick?”

“Wha—no!” You looked offended, but you felt a cold sweat on the side of your forehead. Inside, you knew you’d probably have tried that trick sooner rather than later, and you've got to hand it to her. She knows you well.

Before you could try to explain your reasoning, a raging flame shot to strike Hawks and Endeavor.

Miraculously, Hawks’ reflexes were quick enough to shove Endeavor and himself out of the way of the surprise attack before someone was set ablaze. The smell of burning hair permeated the area although, and you looked over to catch a glimpse of a portion of Hawks’ right wing being singed into charred black wisps. Mirko reacted nearly faster than Hawks did, grabbing your waist and maneuvering you back from the fire. It was you and Mirko parted from Hawks and Endeavor far on the opposite side of the roof.

“What the hell?” Mirko grit her teeth at the attack. Psychos getting in the way of her time with you, what a joke. Such a waste of time. She just wants to run off and find somewhere to keep you for the rest of the Purge, yet these shitty obstacles just can’t seem to get enough of you. She was going to rip them limb from limb for taking her attention off of you.

You stood with no complaint in her arms, not minding her taking the lead of your protection. You still couldn’t see who caused the disruption, but you would soon wonder no longer.

“You’re slow today, Endeavor. What? Off your game or something?” A seedy voice echoed across the way. Male, deep, commanding. You watched as the foe came to stand at the edge of the railing. Your eyes dilated at the sight. Your breath caught in your throat. You’d only cared to remember this man as the one who, with the rest of his party, ruined your training camp over the summer and kidnapped your classmate, Bakugou.

You’re shot into the past as you recount that horrible night. It had been such a great start to the day. You’d been working hard with all of your friends, aiming to better improve the longevity and resilience of all your quirks. You’d nearly tuckered yourselves out when the hero Pixie-Bob said you all had one more challenge to face before bed. The Test of Courage. It began as traditionally as any silly game teenagers played in the dark did. Then it all came crashing down at the faint, then quickly overwhelming, scent of smoke. You remember being there in that midnight-black forest, you remembered how excited you’d been at the started of that stupid game you’d agreed to play, you remember the fire that infested the trees and burnt the pretty flowers and bushes to wisps of charcoal ash, you remembered the terror and fear of being lost in said woods before Deku found you wandering alone. You remember locking eyes with the man who stoked the fires. A spearing turquoise. You’d seen a blue so vibrant like that only once before. You’d found that hypnotic color in Shoto’s left eye. Though, Shoto was a much kinder soul than the monster these captivating eyes were attached to.

In the present, you’re wrung back into that same terror as you watched his black leather trench coat gently sway in the breeze, a glinting bicep catching your eye. The metal cuffs shone from the full light of the moon along with the many staples running up and down the sleeves. He was too far away to discern an exact facial expression, but you could blatantly see the large patch of marred, burned flesh dominating the lower half of his face. The leathery substance was roughly connected to what remained of his skin untouched by flame, stitched up with bloody staples. The way it was sutured made his face forever appear as if strung upwards to mimic a sickening Cheshire grin. You wanted to say he was only generally looking around the roof, but you knew better. The villain was practically drilling daggers into you with how much he was staring. No, you couldn’t just say he was any old random villain; you knew his name. Dabi.

More bodies moved out from behind him to occupy the opposing roof. All you heard from them was laughter and unflattering comments nagged at the pro heroes.

“Wow, they’re even cuter this close~! Much better than in the crappy photos you guys took, Shiggy~,” A much higher pitched voice exhaled in an almost loving sigh. Their blonde hair was cinched up in two tangled space buns, but the mess was an intentional look. The loose strands were slicked into spikes. Cutesy and feminine, a happy aura surrounded her, but you knew better. She draped herself over the railing as if in her own ditzy world. You would have believed it was a fainting couch with how dramatically she had laid over the scenery. Much like Dabi, the girl couldn’t take her gaze off of you, but she made her presence known.

“Hiiii, (N/N)~~! Are the big, scary pro heroes getting in the way again? Don’t worry, cutie! I’ll take care of ‘em, hehe~!” Himiko Toga, you believe that’s what Aizawa said her name was, called out to you like she was the Romeo to your Juilet. You’re sure she believed that too. You’d heard Ochaco talk about her to you guys after the training camp. She told you about how the girl tackled Tsuyu and used these specialized needles to draw out blood from her victims. Uraraka experienced the threat head on as the girl had jammed one of her needles straight into her thigh with little apprehension.

Uraraka told you how obsessed the girl was with blood, a crazed look in her eye when the red substance came about. She said she loved her, loved her so much that she wanted to turn into her! Deku even chimed in and said the girl shouted to him delusional fantasies of wanting him to be her boyfriend. At the time, all you could do was shiver and brush off the fear the conversation brought by claiming she was “just another crazed lunatic”. Well, now that the girl is staring you down with her own redden irises, you felt your tongue shrivel up in your throat.

“Bloodied and carved up is the only way any of these nobody pro heroes could ever look cute. Though, the one daring to hold onto my darling definitely won’t be leaving here alive.” She sneered, completely flipping her personality into one of seething hate and disgust when she gazed upon Mirko. Toga’s rage could be felt from a mile away, and you felt Mirko hold onto you tighter.

“Toga, knock it off,” the green lizard man with the draping red scarf hollered at her, “we’ve got a job to do.” Though it was hard to see, you noticed the way his eyes would drift to you and quickly look away. Like he was nervous. Shy? The large clump of weapons taped and glued together as his arsenal seemed deadly but ineffective all in one. However, he moved rather quickly on his feet despite the added weight.

“Wow, such a beauty! Ugh, what an attention-seeker!” The same voice shouted two opposing sentences from across the way. You looked over and saw a man wearing a black and gray spandex suit, clutching the railing while waving his arm around. After yelling, it looked like one of his arms had a mind of its own as it grabbed his neck. It appeared to be he was trying to strangle himself with one hand, while the other hand sprung into action to stop the strangling. It was an odd battle of each arm trying to wrestle each other, as his head kept whipping back and forth shouting insults at…himself? You’re not entirely sure what’s going on there, but you hope he won’t start to try injuring himself with weapons next.

“Hmm, I agree with your first sentence, Twice. Do try to not scare our guest away so soon.” A regal tone stood out through the other members’ silliness. You wonder how much backup did these guys bring as a tall figure in a creamsicle colored jacket walked to the edge of the railing. His height was enhanced with a dark brown top hat he donned and the fancy cane held at his side. The most notable feature of his was the mask he hid behind. Marble man. You couldn’t remember his name, but you certainly remembered the way he trapped Tokoyami and Bakugou when he tried to run away with them in his grasp. You felt bubbling heat rise in your chest. Betrayal and resentment all wrapped into one swirl of hurt leaving a suffocating dead weight on your chest.

“Dabi, keep your shit under control or go back to the base. Get your asses moving. We’re here to take and leave, so don’t fuck this up for me.” An unseen voice was heard from further back on the roof. However, whoever it was got the lot of them hurrying off. Groaned complaints and witty remarks were heard, mostly from the black-haired male, but they soon fizzled out. You kept looking for where they were going, but soon you couldn’t see anyone anymore. It was silent yet again.

“Sorry, darling, but we don’t have time to stay and find out what happens next.” That is all Mirko said to you before she bent down to pull you up into her arms. Though, she didn’t move that far.

“MIRKO, BEHIND!” You heard Endeavor yell out to the woman in concern. You heard it before you saw it. A goopy, unnatural, burbling sound came from behind your form. You didn’t have a chance to turn around before a platform leather boot kicked Mirko’s crouched body away with little effort. She skidded across the cement, nearly all the way back to where Hawks and Endeavor were standing. You wanted to call out for her, ask if she was okay. As much as you’d felt unapologetic rage for how they’d decided to take your life away from you, you still cared about them. You probably gave them too much of your heart, but they’re still your mentors. The people you've looked up to for years in your training to become a hero. Right now, you didn’t want to be alone, as much as you’d begged for it in your mind tonight. Not with the threat of the League of Villains being what you’d have to face on your own.

You heard a sinister giggle from over your shoulder, and felt a calloused hand grasp your shoulder. Without warning, the memories you’d vaulted away with lock and key of the horrible training camp incident came flooding back with greater force than before.

That night, Izuku had found you. Tears dripped down your face as you hacked up a lung from the smoke in the air. If he’d found you any later, you’d probably have been passed out from the lack of oxygen. You ran alongside him, trying to find your way back to the rest of the class, toward any sign of a familiar face. After fleeing, you’d soon found the little boy who originally came with the Wild Wild Pussycats, Kota, with a villain in tow. Deku fought against the mammoth of a man who went by Muscular while you protected Kota from the falling rubble and terrain. After nearly getting thrown a million miles away, Izuku finally got the upperhand on the man, and knocked out the behemoth villain. You fled into the forest again, and after dropping Kota off with Mr. Aizawa and fending off Spinner to save Mandalay, you soon find Shoji and Tokoyami. However, Tokoyami could have been in better shape, as he was now overtaken by Dark Shadow’s power. Shoji explained that he and Tokoyami were attacked by a villain named Moonfish, which resulted in Tokoyami trying to use Dark Shadow to protect them, but Dark Shadow’s desire to take the reins was too great. Dark Shadow was destroying the forest in their rage, but Izuku was quick on his feet to think of using Dark Shadow to your advantage to help protect Bakugou from the villains as well.

You three lead Dark Shadow through the woods, and end up running into Bakugou and Todoroki who are facing off against the villain who tried to attack Shoji and Tokoyami before. Dark Shadow descended and made easy work of clobbering Moonfish, and the boys used their fiery quirks to release Tokoyami from Dark Shadow’s control. All of you hurried off in the direction of the facility, running into Tsuyu and Ochaco who’d been fighting off Himiko before she fled, and your large group prepared to get back safely as “Bakugou Protection Squad”. You didn’t get far as you finally noticed that Bakugou and Tokoyami were missing. The marble guy revealed himself and the League’s plan to take the boys hostage. He flew off, but the girls helped you, Shoto, Shoji, and Izuku fly to catch up to the villain.

You tackled Compress out of the sky, and fended off Twice alongside Shoto when the League fought against you. As you tried to run off as Shoji had yelled for you and Shoto to do, the warp user, Kurogiri, had stopped your escape. When Compress had shown the marbles of your friends being trapped, you saw red. You couldn’t let them be taken, you just couldn’t. It was the miracle that Aoyama’s precise shot of his Naval Laser to Compress’ face that gave you the chance you needed to save the boys.

Shoji had successfully nabbed Tokoyami’s marble, and now it was up to Shoto and you grab Bakugou’s. You were so close, just inches away, before he was ripped from you again. It was the scarred hands of the fire user that flooded your vision. You fell to the ground, empty-handed and desperately looking up at the man searching for any weakness in his grasp to steal the tiny blue-tinted glass ball from him. But it was too late.

It was an extra bit of torture—one that Dabi made sure you guys knew was on purpose—to release Bakugou from the marble so he could watch your failure. You saw the fear swimming in his red irises as he looked at you, the stiffness in his stance, the slight shake of his hands. He looked so…helpless. You’d never seen the boy in such a state of despair before. It was haunting. You stood on shaky fawn-like legs, ready to tear that villain apart with your bare hands, no Quirk needed. You wanted to make him pay for the suffering he put not only your class, but what he put everyone at the camp through tonight. But you were stopped with a gentle embrace.

Shoto had looped his arms around your midsection in a cage. You twisted back to yell at him to let you go, to let you save your friend, but his gaze gave his answer to your plea. He knew you couldn’t win. One eye filled with a harsh, cold steel of an unforgiving bind and the other swimming with a depth that rivaled even the ocean’s own fullness, you knew he wouldn’t let you go. You thrashed and screamed against Shoto, not believing you wouldn’t come out victorious in this suicide mission. You unconsciously looked at Bakugou for aid, and it was a cruel reminder that he could save you no more. Both of you being held against your will, both of you screaming for help—one screaming bloody murder, one silent as a moonless night. The savior trying to go where the victim was being taken, but the victim commanding them to stay behind.

You’ll never forget the emptiness after Bakugou was fully snatched through the portal. You’ll never forget collapsing to the dirt beside Deku, Shoto’s arm still chained tightly around your middle, and wailing your heart out.

You’ll never forgive the satisfied gleam in that evil man’s eye. Never.

Except it wasn’t Dabi’s hand this time. You looked at the pale flesh, graying and roughed from years of neglect and self hate. The fingernails were chipped and appeared to be chewed with anxiety-ridden coping. Beneath the nails looked like they’d been clawing at a cement wall, dried blood caked underneath the unmanicured bits. The twitching pinky finger dangling frivolously above the target of your shoulder made your blood run cold.

“Miss me?” Tomura Shigaraki mumbled into your ear with a snarl. You’re sure you were shaking, but you couldn’t feel anything other than the stuttery breaths you took in and out. You could only focus on the lone finger judging the worth of your entire life. One movement too erratic and you’re nothing more than a pile of ash sitting in his rotten hands. You saw Endeavor’s mouth moving, he was definitely addressing the villain, but neither of you were paying attention to the fuming man.

“Staying to chat would be fun, but I think I’ll let them do the talking for me. I would rather spend my breath talking to (Y/N) than you losers.” Shigaraki rolled his eyes. He guided you to step aside, and you reluctantly shifted. A sloshing sounded as Kurogiri’s portal grew to be much larger. Once the portal stretched high enough, a figure swished through. They shouldn’t be here. How can they get onto UA’s premises? Doesn’t this place have some kind of security measure to protect the kids, damnit?!

As if he could read your mind, he chuckled to himself, “So nice that UA’s defenses are down for the Purge. So much easier to ransack this place when I can toss a couple of these guys onto the front lawn. Makes this boss fight a clean sweep.” Out from the portal stepped a massive monster you’d come to know as one of Shigaraki’s playthings, a Nomu.

You’d seen a couple before, namely at the USJ when All Might defeated the beast nearly single-handedly and during the time you saved Bakugou from the League and All for One, but you had never been so close that you could reach out and touch it. As it lumbered past you, you could almost taste the horrifying aura it carried. The violence just itching to break out of its skin. Its body was barely keeping the violence it desires at bay. It was easy to tell how badly the creature wanted to claw the heroes to shreds, the short gasp-like breaths it took, and the stomach-turning visual of its exposed brain and nerve endings. Its unblinking eyes held no emotion. No malice, no joy. Nothing. You’d think it was an impressively realistic Halloween animatronic if it hadn’t just shambled past you.

Then, as if this situation couldn’t get any better, a second one appeared from beyond the portal. A carbon-copy of the first, just as horrifying, just as deadly. Then a third. Three of those monstrosities stood in front of you like an impenetrable wall. The barrier of such an evil force left you feeling light headed. This can’t be happening.

“Have fun, heroes! Don’t come looking for them, unless you’re looking to free up some space on the Hero Billboard Chart. Would be a shame if some of Japan’s finest didn’t make it through the Purge, huh?” Shigaraki called out to them with a scratchy cackle. You watched the three pros prep their Quirks and bodies for the fight to come, you then heard banging from the doors of the rooftop. The doors must have been locked as you heard a hell of a ruckus behind it. Though it was a multitude of voices, deep and high pitched, and lots of them. You wondered who it could be. Your teachers? Had they chased after the pros and were intent on winning you back? Or could it be…

Oh no.

Wait. They shouldn't come up here. Please. Not with these things here, not now. The Nomus had no remorse, no moral compass. They’d kill your classmates right where they stood.

“No…wait, my friends are still here. Please—,” this was the only sliver of argument that you posed against Shigaraki, with a shaking lip and a strip of silver tears lining your lower lash line. He revealed in your fear to oppose him.

“Really? Hmm. Perfect.” Shigaraki smiled a repulsive grin at you, his wrinkled red and slightly pink eyes filled with more bloodlust than you’ve known before. He began pulling you back by the shoulder, but you chose to fight. Yanking yourself forward before a different set of hands gripped your arms, your other shoulder, and your waist. You wrung your body left and right, and you felt closer to Bakugou than you ever have before. Trapped and alone, with no foreseeable aid.

Doors banged and the yelling grew louder.

Slimy drool dripped from the blood-thirst Nomus’ mouths onto the cement floor. Frothed mouths itching to latch onto body parts and tear them off.

Hawks, Mirko, and Endeavor had looks of pure panic as they could only watch you getting dragged away. Not because of the threat of the Nomus, but because they were losing you yet again.

Your screams for mercy were only acknowledged by a calloused grasp, minus the pinky, clamping over your mouth.

And just like that, you were gone.

~ To Be Continued… ~

Far away from the light of the outside world, a dark figure resided in the shadows. A large television took up nearly the entire landscape of their wall, illuminating their body with its harsh glow. A smirk lined their lips, entertained with the events unfolding on that fateful rooftop. Multiple cameras showed all angles of the fight, of their disobedience, of their foolishness.

Not you! Heavens no, not you! Never you. You were perfect, always. Always the perfect little damsel in distress. Always the most entertaining morsel. Delicate and bold at the same time. A real palette cleanser from all the other despicable acts they’ve seen before. They’ve had a lifetime and then some to experience the tiresome, dreadfully boring reality they’ve come to unwilling terms with. However, you certainly add a wonderful zing of sweetness and spice to the otherwise flavorless mush they’ve known life to taste like. They want more.

They watched the despair fill your mind, how distraught you became over the mess they’d created. They saw your beautiful eyes, so teary and wide. So much innocence and hope for this crumbling world held inside them.

They stood, brushing off the dust from their clothes, and walked towards the door that caged them inside. Oh, how wonderful it will be to meet you again. Properly, this time.

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[hellaarknight]

Spacing out

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Genre : fluff. Warnings: swearing

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"What about this one?"

"What about him?"

"Oh, c'mon Ichigo, I need your honest opinion"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. This all help Y/N choose a guy to date was pissing him off. Orihime had the brilliant idea to help each other date because with all the problems caused by the Soul Society, none of them had a proper dating life. It wasn't a really horrible idea in the end if not for the fact that they started with you. All grouped in Ichigo's room and looking at different photos of guys from highschool, or friends of a friend. Why did he agree to this? He couldn't remember.

"Orihime, that guy is not Y/N's style." Rukia chimed in with a smug smile on her face.

"Oh yeah, and what's her style? Right, Y/N what boys do you like? More handsome or less handsome? Tall or short or...?" Orihime started her list while you were deep in thought.

Ichigo wanted so badly to have a piece of your mind. He noticed you spaced out about ten minutes ago, 'bout the time Orihime scattered the guys photos on the floor.

"I think she likes strong guys, maybe a bit old like Urahara or Ukitake" Yoruichi just wanted to mess with Ichigo, she's seen the way he looked at her, the way she always was his priority in all events and circumstances.

Ichigo choked on his water. "I don't remember inviting you over, Yoruichi". His tone was almost menacing, so she was definitely rilling him up. "I don't need to be invited, as it is about Y/N, our beloved, very, much adored by both Kisuke and Ukitake who entrusted me to protect her. Am I wrong or you also asked me to keep an eye on her?"

"That's just because..." Ichigo mumbled some words, awkwardly scratching his cheek. "Listen, I don't need to explain my reasons to you!"

"Rukia, if I remember correctly, didn't your brother also tell you to take care of her?" Chad asked.

"Now that you mentioned it, him and Renji, both told me to keep an eye on her."

Ichigo put his hands into his hair, pulling at it. Urahara, Ukitake, Renji and now even Byakuya?? How was he supposed to compete with them? Then what about the guy you'll choose to go on a date with? He spared you a glance and somehow you were still blissfully unaware of the commotion going on around yourself. His lips curled into a smile. You didn't seem very interested in all this dating thing and for some reason he felt relieved. He liked you and wanted just the best for you. He... He liked you. It downed on him as he saw you smiling to yourself while looking at the framed picture of your group that he had on his nightstand. He wanted to keep that smile on your lips forever. Ichigo realized that all this was bothering him because of his own feelings. His ears started to become red as he was getting flustered by all the feelings that were pouring out of his heart towards his mind.

"Guys, why don't we ask Y/N about who she would like to go on a date with, hm?" As usual, Ishida was the most rational person in that room. They all turned around to face you, but you were too deep in thought to realize, until Rukya's voice reached you.

"Hmm?" You turn your head towards her.

"I asked you who you'd like to go on a date with?"

"Ichigo, obviously, what a dumb question Rukya."

You answered nonchalantly like it was the most normal thing in the world. Until you came to your senses and started to perceive all eyes in the room fixated on you. Then you remembered where you were and what was the purpose of your reunion. Your eyes met Ichigo's wide eyes and red face while you gasped audibly.

"Fuck, I forgot we're all here!"