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winxanity-ii · 4 months ago

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RESONANCE

ship: various!bnha x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 5.5k a/n: just wanted to spit out a lil one-shot, not sure if I'll make a full fic from this but who knows lolol; tell me what y'all think…

★·.·´🇲‌🇾‌ 🇭‌🇪‌🇷‌🇴‌ 🇦‌🇨‌🇦‌🇩‌🇪‌🇲‌🇮‌🇦‌/🇧‌🇳‌🇭‌🇦‌/🇲‌🇭‌🇦‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

All your life, people gravitated to you.

It was something that felt almost like gravity—a pull that made others orbit around you, with secrets and vulnerabilities spilling out like some cracked, overflowing dam.

They couldn't help it, and it wasn't something you actively tried to do either.

Your Quirk, Confidant, was a force of its own, turning you into an unwitting confessional booth for whoever happened to cross your path. Whether you were ready for it or not, they opened up.

There had been days when you tried to keep it off, to put up the wall and protect yourself from the sheer emotional weight that others dumped at your feet. But it took too much effort, too much focus to constantly repel that need in others.

If someone came to you, tearing up over a breakup or raging about the stress of everyday life, you'd let them; it was just easier to let it run its course.

And, sure, there weren't any physical drawback—no energy drained or migraines induced. But to you, there was a burden no one else seemed to recognize: the reboot.

Once someone started talking, your mind went into what you had nicknamed "short-reboot mode." It was like something within you flipped a switch, and suddenly, every part of you worked to cater to them.

Your eyes would track every shift in their expression, your ears catching every wobble in their voice. You'd analyze, break down every cue, every breath, until your responses flowed with practiced ease—the words that person needed to hear, the exact tone that made them relax.

Sometimes, you'd offer a soft, comforting touch. Other times, you'd say nothing at all, just be a presence there to anchor them.

When it was over, and they'd leave—well, that was when things got weird.

Not for them; no, for them it was almost as if a fog rolled over their memory of the whole thing. A protective influence that made the event seem far-off, unimportant, a comforting haze to keep them from fixating on you.

For you, though? You'd collapse in bed later on, mind swimming with everything you'd absorbed, while the Quirk worked behind the scenes to sort and compartmentalize every scrap of information.

It all got stored away—permanently—so you'd never forget.

And because of that, you hated it.

You hated how your brain worked on autopilot for everyone else, how every emotional exchange was something you'd retain forever while the small, everyday things slipped right through the cracks.

You'd put down your phone and lose it within minutes, or take things into a room one by one when you could easily grab everything at once. Your grandfather loved to tease you about it, always laughing as he cackled out, "Book sense, not a lick of common sense!"

Today, it was no different.

You groaned as you walked down the stairs from your bedroom, a yawn escaping your lips as you shuffled along.

You looked every bit as tired as you felt—oversized hoodie hanging loosely from your shoulders, the fabric wrinkled and slightly twisted, and your oversized socks pooling around your ankles.

Your clothes were a patchwork of dark shades, clinging to you in a way that made it clear you'd grabbed whatever was closest without a second thought. Your hair was pulled back into a lazy ponytail, secured with a shoelace of all things, because you couldn't find a single rubber band.

You sucked your teeth at the thought, recalling how bit by bit, you had given away every one of your hairbands over the last few weeks to others who needed them. "I just bought that bulk pack," you muttered under your breath, feeling the mild frustration bubble up as you ambled into the kitchen.

The moment you stepped into the bright atmosphere of the kitchen, it felt like you were walking into another world. The colors, the light, the very mood—all of it was the opposite of you. The kitchen was warm, sunlight pouring in through the curtains, highlighting the cheery yellow walls.

Your mother was already bustling around, her cotton candy pink hair tied neatly at the base of her neck, her slender form moving with practiced grace as she prepared breakfast.

Her skin was a deep, rich shade of brown, and her eyes were bright yellow, almost glowing, with small opal-like moles at the corners that caught the morning light. She looked like something from a storybook, too perfect for the mundane scene unfolding around her.

The moment she noticed you shuffling over, she gasped softly, a bright smile blooming across her face. "Good morning, ____~," she sang, her voice lilting and sweet. "Did you have a good rest?"

You grunted in response, barely managing to pull the chair out before plopping down into it, your face half-hidden by the hood of your sweatshirt.

"That's great, sweetie~," she chirped, entirely unfazed by your lack of enthusiasm. She set a plate of food in front of you, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your cheek. "Eat up. Your big brother will be taking you to school soon—you know how he gets about wanting you to be on time." She gave you one last gentle pat before twirling away, humming to herself, lost in her own vibrant little world.

It wasn't long before the rest of your family joined you. Your father and brother came down the stairs only seconds later, both of them just as bright and awake as your mother.

Your brother's footsteps were loud and purposeful as he approached, his hand ruffling your hair as he passed by. "Morning, sis," he said, his voice cheerful, a bright grin lighting up his face.

"Morning," you mumbled, barely looking up.

Your father followed, his broad shoulders taking up the space in the doorway for a moment as he stepped into the kitchen. His blue hair was tousled but neat, the same shade as the sky on a crisp morning. His green eyes were sharp but softened when he looked at you, a smile spreading across his face.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Good morning, little love," he said, his voice deep and warm, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You sighed softly, nodding in response as they settled at the table.

Your mother moved between them, setting their plates down before finally taking a seat herself, her smile unwavering as she looked at all of you.

The scene was perfect, almost unreal in its harmony—the three of them chatting easily over breakfast, their voices blending together with the soft sound of birds chirping outside the window.

Even though it was a regular, cloudy day, the kitchen seemed filled with sunshine, the warmth radiating from your family like a beacon. Everything about the morning—the bright voices, the gentle smiles—made it feel mythical, as if you were living in a fairytale.

It was always like this: your family's moods almost too perfect, too light. How could they not be, though, when they had you? Built-in therapist, problem solver, always there to smooth over any tension, any hint of unease.

They could always be at their best because you carried the weight for them.

As everyone finished up, your brother stood, gathering the dishes and taking them to the sink. Your mother got up as well, moving to grab everyone's packed lunches for the day.

Your father turned to you, his gaze softening as he addressed you. "____," he started, his voice gentle but with a hint of something else—hesitation, maybe? "Could you come by my agency later after school? We've got a case... or, well, a patient. I could use your help again."

You hummed, a small sound of acknowledgment as you poked at the last bit of food on your plate. "Sure," you said, though the idea of it made your shoulders droop a little. It wasn't that you didn't want to help, but the thought of more people, more emotions, more weight, felt heavy already.

Your father's smile brightened, and he reached over, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, little love. You know it means a lot to me." He worked as a hero, and it wasn't uncommon for him to ask for your help.

He ran an agency called Constellation, and his quirk, Record, a photographic memory that worked both by touch and mentally, made him one of the best at what he did. He primarily worked with police and undercover heroes, solving cases that required an eye for detail that few others had.

Ever since you'd gained your quirk, he'd relied on you for the more delicate matters—the emotional weight of things that even he couldn't quite process alone.

A few seconds later, your brother returned, his grin blinding as he held out your backpack and lunch. "C'mon, sleepyhead," he said, his eyes bright with excitement. "I got your stuff. Let's go catch the train."

You pushed your chair back, standing up with a stretch. "Yeah, yeah," you muttered, taking the bag from him. You turned to your parents, waving lazily over your shoulder. Your mother and father stood side by side, your father's arm wrapped around your mother's waist. She towered over him with her lithe frame, his head just reaching her collarbones. "Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad."

"Bye, sweetheart!" your mother called, her voice as sunny as ever.

"Have a good day, little love," your father added, giving you one last smile before you followed your brother out the door.

The cool morning air hit you as your brother led the way down the sidewalk, his usual confident stride carrying you both towards the train station.

You glanced over at him, watching as he talked animatedly, his hands moving to emphasize whatever point he was making. He was always like this—full of energy, especially in the mornings, unlike you, who was still trying to wake up.

As you both settled into your seats on the train, your brother continued to talk, his voice carrying over the quiet hum of the train. He was telling you all about his third year at Shiketsu High, his eyes sparkling as he described how different and fast-paced everything was compared to the previous year.

He even started rambling about his work-study with Fatgum, who he mentioned was an alumnus of Shiketsu High, and his fellow collegues, some guys named Suneater and Red Riot.

You glanced at your brother as he spoke, taking in his features. He looked like a perfect mix of both your parents.

His hair was a blend of your mother's bright pink and your father's deep blue, swirling together like cotton candy, giving him a vibrant and almost ethereal look.

His eyes were a mesmerizing combination of green and yellow—a galaxy of colors that seemed to shift with his mood, as if reflecting the emotions he felt around him.

Scattered across the bridge of his nose were luminescent, opal-like freckles, glowing faintly in the light as he spoke. They weren't just decorative; they were part of his Quirk, Emotilink—which was inherited from your mother—would glow and shift in color depending on the emotions of those he touched, allowing him to feel the emotions of others.

Together, their abilities made them almost like human mood rings, their markings betraying the emotional states of anyone in their vicinity.

Your brother was tall and broad-shouldered, his husky build making him seem both strong and comforting. His skin tone was a perfect, ambiguous shade—not quite pale, not quite dark—striking a balance that made him stand out without fitting neatly into any one category.

He carried himself with a confidence that only seemed to amplify the presence of his quirk, his luminescent markings always a glowing reminder of what he could do.

You, on the other hand, looked nothing like the rest of your family.

When you were younger, you'd had your mother's yellow eyes and your father's blue hair. But after your Quirk had manifested, everything about you seemed to change.

Your features had shifted, becoming more subdued, less distinct, until you were left with an appearance that could only be described as forgettable. Your hair had dulled to a mousy brown, and your eyes had lost their vibrancy, now a muted shade that seemed to blend in with the rest of you.

Sometimes you wished your Quirk was just that—forgettableness. Maybe then you wouldn't feel the weight of everyone else's emotions pressing down on you.

You were pulled from your thoughts when your brother grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you up from your seat. "Let's go," he said, his voice filled with his usual enthusiasm.

You barely had time to react before he was practically dragging you out of the train and towards the school.

It was a routine you were used to by now—your brother carrying you along, making sure you got where you needed to be without any issue.

He didn't even break a sweat as he deposited you in front of the school gates, his hands moving to smooth out your clothes and pat down your hair, completely uncaring of the looks you both were getting from the other students.

"Aaand... there!" he said, stepping back with a satisfied smile. He handed you your backpack, his grin widening. "Alright, sleepyhead, I'll meet you here after school to take you to Dad's agency, okay?"

You nodded, adjusting the straps of your backpack. "Yeah, okay," you replied, your voice barely louder than a mumble.

He bent down, staring you right in the face with a grin. "Have a great day, alright?" he said, his eyes filled with warmth and encouragement. He reached out, ruffling your hair one last time before turning to head towards his own school. "See ya later!"

You watched him go, a sigh escaping your lips as you turned to face the school. You never really understood why he insisted on taking you to school every morning, especially when his own school was a twenty-minute walk in the opposite direction.

But then again, he'd managed to maintain perfect attendance for the past two years, so he must have been doing something right.

With another sigh, you pulled out your headphones, hoping that maybe—just maybe—they would be enough to keep people away today. You knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

As you walked through the gates and into the bustling courtyard, you could already feel the familiar pull—the curious eyes, the hesitant glances, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

You pushed your headphones over your ears, the music drowning out the noise around you, but it wasn't enough.

It never was.

You stayed behind in the classroom during lunch, deciding to give yourself a break from the constant buzz of students. The cafeteria was always too loud, too busy, and you needed a moment to just be alone.

You pulled out a packet of fries you had bought earlier, munching on them absentmindedly while staring out of the window. The clouds rolled lazily across the sky, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to drift off, letting the quiet calm your racing mind.

You were jolted out of your thoughts when you heard your name being called. You turned, startled, to see your homeroom teacher hovering near the doorway. "____," she called again, her voice soft but carrying an unmistakable edge.

Your teacher, Ms. Hachiko, was hard to miss. She had a distinctly bee-like appearance, with large, round eyes that shimmered like polished onyx, and her entire body was covered in soft, fuzzy yellow fur.

Two delicate antennae sprouted from her forehead, and her long hair was pinned back into a neat bun. She floated a few inches off the ground, her wings fluttering quietly behind her.

But it wasn't just her that caught your attention. Standing behind her, with his shoulders slouched and an unmistakable frown etched across his face, was none other than Aizawa Shouta—the underground hero, Eraserhead.

You felt your eyes widen, and you choked on the fry you had just been eating, your throat seizing in shock. You coughed, hitting your chest several times as tears welled up in your eyes.

Both adults stood there, awkwardly waiting as you hacked out a few more coughs. When you finally managed to catch your breath, Ms. Hachiko gave you an apologetic smile. "____, you need to speak with Eraserhead here," she said, her antennae twitching slightly. "I'll leave you two to it," she added before fluttering out of the room, her wings buzzing softly.

You were left alone with Aizawa, who ambled over to the desk beside you and dropped himself into the seat, his tired eyes fixed on you.

He was wearing his hero uniform, his capture weapon loosely wrapped around his neck, and his dark hair hung messily around his face. He looked exhausted, deep lines etched beneath his eyes, but even then, there was something undeniably striking about him. He had an air of quiet authority that demanded respect, no matter how disheveled he appeared.

He stared at you for a moment before finally speaking. "Look, kid, I'm not sure why Nezu sent me here," he began, his tone blunt, "but apparently, you're needed for something. Honestly, you're a child, and you shouldn't even be involved in this. But here we are."

You blinked at him, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that thee Eraserhead was sitting in front of you, talking to you. He let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Have you heard about the recent villain attack on the UA first-year training camp?"

You nodded slowly, recalling the news you had heard about it weeks ago. You remembered hearing that it was the same group of first-year students that had already had a run-in with villains at the USJ. "Yeah, I heard about it," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "They got some crappy luck..."

Aizawa gave a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, it's been rough on them, that's for sure. The thing is, my boss, Principal Nezu, wants you to help the students who were most affected by the attack—Class 1-A. The other students have been able to get help from their assigned therapists, but Class 1-A... they're different. They've built a wall around themselves so thick that not even the best world-renowned therapists can break through. They think this is just part of being a hero, that they have to suck it up and move on."

You frowned, a slight pang of pity tugging at you as you listened. You knew what he was asking before he even finished explaining. It wasn't like you had a choice anyway. If Nezu, the head of UA, was asking, then your small, out-of-the-way school, Okiyama Municipal High, wasn't exactly in a position to say no.

With a heavy sigh, you slumped back in your chair, dropping your half-eaten packet of fries onto the desk. "Will I be back before school is over?"

Aizawa rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed with your lack of enthusiasm. "Yes, you'll be back before the end of the day. Nezu already spoke with your parents. One of your father's sidekicks will pick you up from UA bring you straight to his agency. It shouldn't take too long—you're just meeting them and getting a quick assessment."

Shoulders slouching, you could already picture the long, draining night ahead of you. With a resigned sigh, you pushed yourself out of your seat, nodding reluctantly. "Alright, fine," you muttered, gesturing for Aizawa to lead the way. "Let's get this over with, then."

Aizawa gave you a curt nod, standing up as well. You followed him down the hallway, the silence between you two heavy but not uncomfortable.

It wasn't long before you were out of your small school building and on your way to UA, sitting beside the underground hero in a rather unremarkable car, driven by a UA staff member.

You were about to meet the students who had faced villains twice now, and you knew that whatever you were walking into, it wasn't going to be easy.

When you arrived at UA, the sight that greeted you was different from what you remembered. You had been to UA before, a few years ago when your brother brought you along during his campus tour while deciding where to attend high school.

Back then, UA had been impressive, sure, but now it looked almost like a university campus—new dormitories and additional buildings scattered across the grounds, giving it the appearance of a bustling college rather than just a high school.

Noticing your confused expression, Aizawa spoke up, his voice gruff but explanatory. "After the training camp attack, UA opened up dormitories to house students. Villains have become more audacious lately, targeting students even outside school grounds. The dorms are an extra precaution, meant to keep them safe."

You nodded, taking in the new structures as Aizawa led you through the campus. It made sense, given how much had happened to these students already. You felt a small pang of sympathy for them—it couldn't be easy, constantly looking over their shoulders, waiting for the next attack.

Eventually, you arrived at one of the dorm buildings, and Aizawa opened the door, ushering you inside.

You stepped into a spacious common area, expecting to see a dozen traumatized, weary teens gathered together. Instead, there were just two people sitting on the couch, their attention fixed on the television in front of them.

The room was warm and cozy, a stark contrast to the tension you felt brewing inside you.

The moment the door opened, both heads snapped towards you, their bodies relaxing slightly when they realized it was Aizawa. The redhead sitting closest to the door smiled brightly, while the blonde beside him scowled, his eyes narrowing.

"Kirishima," Aizawa grunted, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation, "where is everyone?"

The redhead—Kirishima, you assumed—grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, some of them went out shopping, Sensei. And Deku and Shoto are out training."

Aizawa let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his forehead as if trying to stave off a headache. "I thought I told you all to stay put because you had an important visitor coming."

The blonde on the sofa snorted, his voice dripping with irritation. "What important guest, Sensei? Don't tell me it's that pipsqueak over there," he said, jerking his head in your direction.

You blinked, taken aback for a moment before letting out an affronted scoff. "Pipsqueak? I have you know, I'm taller than average," you sniffed, crossing your arms defensively.

The blonde gave you a withering look, scoffing again. "In what? Middle schoolers?"

Before you could retort, Aizawa intervened, his tired eyes narrowing at the blonde. "Bakugo, stop," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. "I was told to bring you here, so even though not all of them are here, you've got two clients. Have fun," he said, giving you a small wave over his shoulder as he left the room.

You stared after him, your stomach sinking slightly. "Clients?" Kirishima asked, tilting his head in confusion as he looked at you.

You forced a smile, feeling awkward under their curious gazes. "Uh, yeah. I'm here to... help you guys. I guess you could say I'm kind of like a counselor," you explained, scratching the back of your head.

Kirishima's eyes widened in surprise before his expression broke out into a wide grin. He jumped up from the couch, crossing the room in a few quick strides to extend his hand to you. "Well, that's super manly! So young, yet already helping people like this. I'm Kirishima Eijiro," he said, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

You took his hand, shaking it a bit hesitantly. His grip was strong but friendly, and you couldn't help but notice the small details about him—his bright red spiky hair, the way his eyes seemed so genuine and open, the muscular build that made it clear he took his training seriously.

There was an energy about him that reminded you of your brother—that same relentless positivity.

Lord, it seemed you had found someone who could give your brother a run for his money.

"I'm Hanabira ____," you replied, your voice a bit more steady now.

The moment your name left your mouth, Eijiro's eyes widened even further, and he let out a gasp. "No way! You’re The Emotional Hero: Emberpulse's sibling?!"

You blinked, taken aback. "Uh, yeah?"

Eijiro's grin grew impossibly wider as he continued, "Your brother talks about you all the time! It's like I practically know you already. He says you're always helping people out, even when it's not easy, and that you have this way of making everyone feel better just by being around."

You raised an eyebrow, a bit skeptical. "How did you even know? Our last name isn't exactly unique, and we don't look alike at all."

Eijiro blinked, then broke out into another grin, shrugging as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't know, honestly. Your brother just said you gave off this aura of immediate kindness. Like, you just have this energy that makes people feel safe, you know? So when you introduced yourself, it kind of clicked."

A gruff voice cut in before you could respond. "Only you would make such a dumbass connection, Shitty-Hair," the blonde from earlier muttered, standing up from the couch. He turned to face you, his intense eyes boring into yours.

He had a scowl permanently etched onto his face, his posture confident and almost confrontational. His blond hair was unruly, and you couldn't help but notice the small, almost imperceptible twitches of annoyance in his expression—like he was constantly teetering on the edge of irritation.

Eijiro just laughed, seemingly unaffected by the insult. "That's Bakugo Katsuki, my best friend," he said, gesturing to the blonde. Katsuki sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes but not bothering to say anything further.

Eijiro turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. "So, uh, what exactly are you here for?"

You sighed, holding your hands up. "Like Aizawa-san said, I'm here to help, but it's not exactly like I'm a therapist or anything. I didn't ask to be here either," you said, your tone a bit defensive.

Katsuki scoffed, crossing his arms. "We don't need a damn therapist," he muttered, clearly unimpressed.

You gave him a flat look, deciding not to engage in an argument. Eijiro, sensing the tension, quickly stepped in. "Hey, don't mind him. He's just... like that," he said, scratching his head awkwardly. "Uh, would you like to join us? We were just watching a movie."

You shrugged, figuring you might as well. "Sure," you said, trying to sound casual.

Internally, you figured it was better to stay and at least try to connect with them, given that the rest of the students weren't even there. Plus, Katsuki seemed like he'd be impossible to talk to seriously right now.

The three of you settled on the couch, and Eijiro quickly started chatting again, asking you questions about your brother, your Quirk, and your school. He leaned in a bit closer whenever you answered, his eyes bright with curiosity and genuine interest.

You could tell he was trying to understand you better, his questions growing more specific as the conversation progressed.

At one point, he asked about your brother's favorite hobby, sharing how they had bonded during training sessions over their shared love of working out.

"You know, your brother's kind of like a legend," Eijiro said, his eyes wide with admiration. "I know I already told you, but he always talks about you, and I was really excited to finally meet you. He says you're his biggest inspiration."

You felt a warmth spread across your chest—a mix of pride and embarrassment. You gave a small smile, shrugging. "He always exaggerates. I'm really not that special."

Eijiro shook his head vigorously, his red hair bouncing slightly. "No way! I can totally see it. You've got this calming vibe. It's like... you make everything seem a little less scary, you know?" His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you could feel a slight buzz in the back of your mind—a familiar haze that signaled your Quirk almost activating.

You blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of your body language, realizing that your posture had subtly shifted to mirror Eijiro's, your smile matching his intensity.

Quickly, you broke eye contact, focusing on Katsuki instead, who was watching the interaction with an annoyed expression.

He caught your gaze, and his scowl deepened. "Don't let Shitty-Hair butter you up. He's got a habit of getting all sentimental," Katsuki muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Eijiro laughed, giving Katsuki a playful nudge. "Aw, come on, Bakugo. Just trying to make our guest feel welcome."

Katsuki rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite behind his irritation. "Yeah, whatever. Just don't go crying on us, idiot."

The conversation shifted, and Eijiro asked more about your school life. You found yourself relaxing again, the haze receding as you focused on answering his questions.

He seemed genuinely fascinated by even the mundane details—how you spent your days, what subjects you liked, even your least favorite lunch options. There was a warmth in his attention, a genuine desire to know you, that made it easy to keep talking.

Time seemed to pass quicker than you expected, and even Katsuki, though gruff and standoffish, eventually chimed in with a few sarcastic comments.

You noticed that, despite his harsh words, he never actually dismissed anything you said. It was as if he begrudgingly accepted your presence, though he made sure to keep up his rough exterior.

At one point, Eijiro nudged you lightly with his elbow, a grin on his face. "You know, I think you and Bakugo would get along great if you gave it a shot. He acts tough, but he's got a good heart. Right, Explosion Boy?"

Katsuki's glare could have cut glass. "Don't drag me into your dumb ideas, Shitty-Hair," he snapped, but there was a faint blush on his cheeks, barely noticeable.

Eijiro just laughed again, unbothered, and you couldn't help but smile. It was strange, but you found yourself feeling a sense of comfort in their dynamic—like, despite their differences, they had a bond that was hard to break.

After what felt like a couple of hours or so, there was a knock at the dorm door. Aizawa entered, followed by one of your father's sidekicks, who gave you a nod. "Time to go," the sidekick said, their voice gentle but firm.

You stood up, giving Eijiro a small wave. "I guess I’ll see you around," you said.

Eijiro grinned, giving you a thumbs-up. "For sure! And thanks for coming by, ____. It was... nice."

You nodded, turning to follow Aizawa and the sidekick out of the dorms.

The ride to your father's agency was quiet, your mind still replaying the interactions you had just had. You found yourself mentally sorting through the profiles you had unconsciously built on both Eijiro and Katsuki so far.

Eijiro was enthusiastic, open, and incredibly genuine—his positivity seemed almost endless, and you could tell he was the kind of person who made it his mission to uplift others.

He had this earnestness that made you feel at ease, like he genuinely cared about the people around him. He was always leaning in, listening intently, and his questions showed just how interested he was in knowing you.

There was something infectious about his energy, and it reminded you so much of your brother—the way they both could fill a room with warmth just by being themselves.

Katsuki, on the other hand, was more of a closed book. He was gruff, blunt, and had an intensity that made it hard to know what he was really thinking.

Yet, underneath all of that, you could see small glimpses of something else—his scowl wasn't always as sharp as he wanted it to be, and he had moments where it felt like he begrudgingly accepted your presence.

He never outright dismissed you, and while his comments were sarcastic, they didn't carry the kind of malice you might have expected.

It was almost like he was challenging you to see past the tough exterior, to prove that you could handle being around him.

When you arrived, your father was waiting for you, his expression stern.

He grabbed your arm, his eyes serious as he looked at you. "Listen carefully," he said, his voice low. "The villain you're about to interact with is dangerous. He was part of the Vanguard Action Squad—Mustard. He's unpredictable, so I need you to be cautious. Understand?"

You swallowed, nodding. "Got it, Dad."

He gave you a small, almost reluctant smile, his grip on your arm loosening. "Good. Just... be careful, alright, little love?"

You nodded again, feeling the weight of what was about to come settle heavily in your chest.

This was just another part of your Quirk, another responsibility you had to shoulder—whether you wanted to or not.

A/N: so what's the verdit? will it be good as a fic or just do a one-shot series???

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k-nayee · 2 months ago

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CHAPTER 10. TAKE OVER

❝To fuck around is human, to find out is divine.❞

Vespertilio M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

recap

Izuku tensed, Tsuyu's breath hitched, and Mineta whimpered—but all three held their ground, shielding Aizawa with trembling determination.

Just as the Nomu closed in—

"You...piece of TRASH!!"

| A blur shot across the Plaza, colliding with the creature and sending it flying.

The impact was so powerful that it crashed into the rocky mountainside of the Landslide Zone. Debris crumbled around as the ground shook from the force.

The battlefield fell silent as all eyes snap towards you.

You ignore them, your blood-red gaze locked on the disoriented lab project as it staggered to its feet.

Confusion briefly contorted Shigaraki's face as he registered your new appearance before fury took over once again.

"Well what are you waiting for?!" he screamed at the Nomu, his voice shrill with anger. "KILL HER!"

The Nomu roared in response, gearing up to attack again. But before it could even make it halfway you met it head-on.

Your fist connected with a sickening crack, sending the creature reeling again. Strike after strike you tore into the Nomu. Every blow resonating with power.

The battlefield seemed to blur around you, the chaos dimming as you focused solely on the beast before you.

Even when its regenerative abilities struggled to keep up you refused to slow down. You didn't stop.

"DO NOT FEAR! FOR I AM..." By the time All Might arrived the Nomu was barely holding its ground.

The Number One Hero paused mid-step, his sharp gaze falling on your transformed figure. "...here?"

White hair whipped around your face and your crimson eyes burned with an intensity that made even him falter—it was a look he hadn't seen in years, one that sent a shiver down his spine.

But as he watched you deliver a crushing blow to the Nomu, that flicker of recognition turned into determination.

"YOUNG AKASHIYA!" his voice boomed with approval. "LET'S FINISH THIS TOGETHER!"

The two of you moved in tandem, you and All Might tag-teaming the Nomu, your combined strength overwhelming the creature.

Blow after blow you fought in perfect sync, wearing it down until it was little more than a stumbling husk.

With a final, devastating punch, you send the Nomu far away from the battlefield.

And as its monstrous form sailed through the air, your eyes lock onto Tomura Shigaraki's. Through the disembodied hands, red vermillion filled with unbridled fury is what you meet.

A cold thought crossed your mind. 'Hmm...I'll fix that for him.'

"YOU—" he began, his voice trembling with venomous rage.

He never finishes the sentence.

You materialize before him in a heartbeat, fingers bypassing the severed limbs to wrap around his neck in a vice-like grip.

There's no triumphant glee in your eyes—only one of bored arrogance.

Time stops.

Both heroes and villains alike freeze.

Their eyes widen at the sight of you—a mere student—holding the ringleader of the League of Villains by the throat.

Seething with humiliation, Shigaraki lungs for your wrist in attempt to regain control of the situation.

His brittle fingers close around your skin; eyes squinting with a eerily grin as he waits for that satisfying crumble, that disintegration, that ultimate proof of his power.

He freezes. 'No...no...nononononononono'

Your skin...

'My quirk is absolute...It destroys...So why...'

Shigaraki's pupils tremble the longer he stares at your rapidly healing skin. It breaks and flake—like ashes scattering to the wind.

And in their place, new skin forms, unmarred and whole as if nothing had happened.

'Why isn't it working?'

His thoughts whirl, a tornado of denial and disbelief, until the horrifying truth crashes into him: he is powerless against you.

"Not so fun when it's happening to you...is it?"

With a gnawing sense of dread, he shakily moves view from your wrist back to your eyes.

Instead of reflecting the light cheerful tone of your voice, they were livid. Bloodshot—filled with a rage and intensity he's never seen, never felt before.

With the hand around his neck, Shigaraki realizes—without a shadow of doubt—that you have the power to crush his windpipe and end him right then and there.

Terrified, he breaks from your gaze and frantically tries to release himself from your iron grip on his throat.

But it was too late.

You caught the glint in his eyes. The flicker of genuine, unfiltered fear within those once malicious filled eyes—fear of you.

And you oh so adore it.

Your grip tightens. Almost till the point of feeling the fragile bones of Shigaraki's neck creak under the pressure.

You can feel his frantic pulse beneath your palm quickening, he's struggling to breath—desperate for oxygen.

His eyes widen in disbelief and terror before frantically removing his hold on you in attempt to free yours on his throat.

Knees buckling from lack air, Shigaraki finally collapse with struggling gasps.

For a brief second you relish in the sight of his kneeling form as the sensation of his once speeding pulse weakens under your grip.

Panic erupts on both sides: the heroes fearing you'll cross a irredeemable line while the villains, confident that you will, begin to close in.

Shigaraki's eyes dart, catching sight of Kurogiri hovering ominously closer; perhaps thinking you're distracted.

But you're far from it.

The corners of your mouth twitch upward in a sadistic grin and you press your nails even deeper into Shigaraki's flesh.

Crescent-shaped indents now become craters; each filled with a small pool of his blood before trickling down.

In a panic Shigaraki's gaze snaps back to you only to see the deadly promise that flashes in your eyes: Any closer, he dies.

Barely able to muster a voice through his constricted airway, Shigaraki uses the last of his rapidly depleting strength and weakly lifts a trembling hand.

"St...stop" Whether it's aimed at you or his underlings is unclear, but it achieves its purpose. Everyone cease.

When he turns back he sees the faintest trace of a smirk on your lips.

A mocking little twist, as if you knew he'd break—that he had no choice but to yield to you. His mind spirals.

'What is this feeling? This...crippling fear? She's...' He locks eyes with you once more, meeting what can only be described as the gaze of a demon, and the thought crystallizes:

'She's a monster.'

As he's paralyzed in a state of fear you began to lean closer to him. Your face nears his, so close that he feels your breath against his skin.

For a fleeting moment it's almost intimate and it sends an uninvited shudder down his spine.

Your lips are millimeters away from his ear, close enough to touch yet staying away, as if even the proximity is a privilege he doesn't deserve.

"I don't care who the hell you are—be it the leader of villains or even the Symbol of Peace himself." you hissed, your voice dripping with venom and conviction." I will destroy 𝑎𝑛𝑦 who brings harm to what is mine."

You pull back, but not before giving him a final warning, your fangs gleaming in the dim light like sharpened knives.

Then, with a flick of your wrist, you release him.

Shigaraki crumbles to the ground with gasps for air, all remaining dignity stripped away.

He looks up at you with hatred burning in his eyes. But there was something else there...something he couldn't mask.

Fear.

He hated it—loathed it. But he couldn't deny it.

He couldn't touch you. His Quirk was powerless against you and he knew it.

Still gasping, his gaze slid over to All Might standing a few paces away.

The sight of the towering hero sent a jolt through him and he remembered the initial plan, the one that had been ruined so utterly by you.

Weakly, he raised a trembling hand and rasped, "Kurogiri!"

The dark mist wasted no time. It surged toward Shigaraki instantly, tendrils of shadowy fog beginning to envelop him.

You didn't care. You had already turned your back on him, your focus now on Izuku.

Making your way to the greenette you helped him to his feet and braced his weight against you.

"Stay still."

But Izuku's eyes were locked on Shigaraki and All Might. The mist had spread rapidly, inching closer and closer to the Symbol of Peace.

Realization hit Izuku like a bolt of lightning.

"All Might!" he shouted in panic as he moved with desperation.

"What are you doing?!" you snapped, holding him firmly in place.

Izuku's panic only grew as the portal opened wider in front of All Might. "H-he's going to—he's going to touch him! Let me go! I can stop him!"

Your grip on him remains firm. "No."

"Please!" his voice cracked as he begged. "I-I have to help him!"

But you remained unmoving as you watch the scene unfold. Your crimson eyes take in the view of Shigaraki's trembling hand as he reached for All Might through the misty portal.

Izuku struggled even harder, his fear for All Might overwhelming him.

"Moka! Please! Let me go!" he cried, tears forming in his eyes. "ALL MIGHT!!"

Shigaraki's hand, jagged nails and all, was nearly upon All Might when the crack of a gunshot split the air.

The villain's hand recoiled, blood spurting from a bullet wound causing him to release a howl of pain.

"They're here!!" Relief filled All Might's voice as he spoke, the blood dribbling out of his mouth the least of his worries.

Shigaraki's hands twitched as his eyes dart toward Kurogiri. "Ahhh...game over. Guess we gotta try again another time Kurogiri," he muttered bitterly.

As the mist continues to consume him, multiple gunshots rang out. Shigaraki yelped as another bullet struck his legs forcing him to stagger.

"Apologies...we're a little late," Nezu chirped.

The mutant principal sat atop Vlad King's shoulder as other Pro Heroes stepped forward, their presence radiating across the battlefield.

Your eyes flicked to the approaching reinforcements, but you didn't release Izuku just yet.

His struggles slowly ceased as the arrival of the heroes brought him some measure of reassurance.

"Iida you made it!" "Yeah go Prez Iida!!"

The sounds of your classmates cheerful shouts brought a smile upon the usual formal student. "PRESIDENT OF CLASS 1-A, TENYA IIDA!! REPORTING FOR DUTY!!"

Keeping his focus on Shigaraki, Snipe fires a few more shots. "Only ne'er-do-wells we got a shot at wranglin' from a distance are..."

It wasn't until he felt a pull in Kurogiri' mist did Shigaraki truly realize it was over.

He had failed. And he needed to retreat.

With a venomous glare decorating his face, the head of League of Villains looked to All Might.

"I may have failed here Symbol of Peace," he spat with sarcasm and rage, his voice trembling with hatred. "But the next time we meet...you're dead."

As he spoke his eyes slid toward you. His gaze lingered, locking with your crimson ones.

The sight of you standing tall, unwavering even after everything, sent a fresh wave of frustration and helpless rage coursing through him.

He looked back and forth between you and All Might, his thoughts spiraling into an internal tantrum. 'No, no, no, no! This wasn't how it was supposed to go!'

The mist swallowed him whole, his words hanging in the air as silence settled over the battlefield.

"Yo Batty bitch!"

Bakugo's sharp voice cut through the haze as he stormed toward you with blazing eyes. "What the hell was that? You've been hiding this strength the whole damn time?!"

You didn't even spare him a glance, brushing past with an air of dismissal.

Instead of answering, you bit into your wrist, the pain barely registering as blood began to spill at the wound.

You extend your wrist to Izuku. "Here. Drink. It'll speed up your healing."

Izuku's face turned an impossible shade of red, his eyes darting nervously between you and the growing audience of classmates watching the exchange.

He frantically waved his hands in front of him. "W-what?! N-no thanks! I'll be fine! Really!"

You raised a brow, unimpressed by his protest. "I can always bite you directly...or force some into your mouth through a kiss." you said, your tone apathetic, as though discussing the weather. "Your choice. I refuse to let my blood bag get broken."

Though he was used to ̶M̶̶o̶̶k̶̶a̶ your remarks, his face somehow burned an even deeper shade. "F-fine! I'll drink it! No need to say that!"

With the class gawking at him, he reluctantly took your wrist.

It was quick and he pulled back immediately, clearly flustered, though you paid his reaction no mind.

Your attention shifted as you sniffed the air.

In the blink of an eye, you appeared and climbed in to the ambulance where Aizawa was loaded on to.

The EMTs paused their movements, staring at you in disbelief as you observed the Pro Hero.

His severe injuries and bloodied form made you pause briefly before turning to one of the workers.

"You. Get me a syringe," your tone is sharp.

The medic blinked, startled by your demand. "Uh...what? Ma'am, I don't think—"

"I said get me a syringe." You repeated. The intensity of your narrowing gaze made him stammer before quickly rushing to retrieve one.

He returned moments later. Taking the syringe from his shaky hands you wasted no time.

You stab your thigh with enough force to puncture muscle without flinching, drawing your own blood with a fluid motion.

Ignoring the horrified gasps, you carefully inspected the syringe, ensuring there were no air bubbles.

Then, stepping toward Aizawa, you grab his limp arm and insert the needle into one of his veins with practiced ease.

"M-ma'am you can't do that!" the EMT protested, his voice rising. "That's highly unhygienic and—"

You cut him off with a fanged snarl.

"C-carry on!" the medic stuttered, stepping back as you pushed the blood into the unconscious man's arm.

Once the syringe was emptied, you stepped back, your expression unreadable.

The effect was gradual. His labored breathing began to even out, the bruises slowly fading as deep gashes became shallow.

The paramedics stared in stunned silence at the rapid improvement of his condition before their eyes.

"He still needs professional care." you said curtly, breaking them out of their trance. "My blood can only do so much."

"Y-yes, ma'am!" they stammered, quickly finishing their preparations on Aizawa for transport.

As you climbed out of the ambulance, you were met with Izuku waiting with a worried expression.

But before either of you could speak the multiple footsteps of your classmates arrived.

"____ is that you?! You look so different!" Uraraka was the first to say something, her face flushed. "N-not that I don't like your original self!"

"Yeah! Her boobs and butt are bigger too!!" Mineta chimed in as drool seeped out the corner of his mouth.

"And when you fought that monster! Did the loss of your Prunus persica play a part in it?" Yaoyorozu asked, her eyes glimmering in fascination.

"Enough," you silence them and any other comment that was about to be said. Instead your gaze shifts to Izuku, who was talking to the EMTs in charge of your teacher.

The moment he finishes with a bowed head of thanks, the greenette joins the group, sparkling eyes filled with admiration direct towards you.

"The medics told me what you did! That was so kind of you to help Aizawa-sensei like that!"

You gave him a dry look. "I only did it because he might be a future blood bag."

The sparkles in his eyes vanished instantly and his shoulders sagged in disappointment of you. "Oh..."

You tilted your head, raising a brow. "The rosary."

Izuku fumbled for a moment, patting himself down frantically. "Uh—I don't...I don't have it!" he began to stammer when Kirishima stepped forward sheepishly.

"Actually...I still have it," Kirishima admitted, pulling the rosary from out his pocket.

Izuku stiffly takes it, avoiding touching his hands with a near-blank smile. "Thanks." he said quietly, his voice strained.

"You're welcome!" Kirishima said brightly, oblivious to the tension radiating off the green-haired boy. "Us two got to stick together. With helping ____ and her blood stuff right?"

The red-head falters for a moment with a confused yet sheepish look. "Or is it Moka? I heard you call her that earlier..." He softly mutters to himself.

Izuku's face morphed into an ugly expression, a mix of irritation and something deeper. "Yay," he said faintly before quickly stepping away from Kirishima and moving toward you.

You raised a brow at the exchange, a mocking smile tugging at your lips. "My my my" you mused with a click of your tongue. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Izuku blinked, his scowl giving way to confusion. "What?"

"You've gotten so territorial," you teased, tilting your head with an amused expression. "Sweet little Izuku has become so jealous. What is it? Don't want to share little ole me?"

Izuku's face burned as he stammered incoherently, trying and failing to deflect. "Th-that's not—I mean—no! I just—"

You stepped closer, cutting him off as your teasing smile fell into something more serious.

Lightly patting his face, you leaned in slightly.

"You're going to have to fix that," you said coldly. "Blood bags are hard to come by. Just my luck so many have come within my vicinity. But don't worry though. You'll still be my favorite...my little Zuki."

Izuku shivered at the childhood nickname, the warmth it usually carried was replaced with a tone that was almost unsettling.

With that, you took the rosary from him, hooking it back to your choker. The moment it clicked into place, your transformation began to reverse.

Buds of peach blossoms appearing, your white hair began to bleed back into its usual [hair color] as your crimson eyes faded back to their original [eye color] shade.

The rosary hanged loosely from your neck as you swayed.

Izuku darted forward, catching you just as your knees gave out. "Got you!"

The smell of fresh peaches surrounds him as he hold you steady in his grasp. Your head lolled against his shoulder, voice barely above a whisper. "Is...is everyone safe? The villains..."

He gives you a soft smile of assurance as he searches for an open ambulance. "You did good ____. Everyone's safe and taken care of, now you need help."

Spotting one nearby, he adjust his grip, maneuvering you in a protective bridal carry and making his way over.

Relief washes over you. "Really? Well...that's good to hea—" Your words cut off, passing out from the exhaustion and falling limp in his arms.

Izuku couldn't help but huff a laugh through his nose.

As he placed you on an open stretcher, he turned to the EMTs. "She'll need some blood to drink when she wakes up." he told them firmly.

Despite exchanging uneasy glances at his request they nod.

Izuku stepped back as they start to work on you before the doors closed and the ambulance prepare to take off.

He watches the vehicle when it began to drive away, its sirens wailing in the distance.

A weary sigh leaves the freckled teen as a mix of relief and exhaustion washes over him. "At least it's all over now..." He mutters to himself.

"DEKU!"

The shout was like a thunderclap, causing Izuku to flinch as Bakugo stomped over, fury etched into every line of his face.

"MIND EXPLAINING TO ME WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED BACK THERE WITH BATTY BITCH?!"

Izuku deflated, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Or not..."

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