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airosuiren · 2 months ago

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𝔖𝔦𝔡𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯: 𝔎𝔞𝔱𝔰𝔲𝔨𝔦'𝔰 𝔓𝔒𝔙

A/N: Not all heroes wear capes. Some just remember. This chapter is about memory—the kind that sticks, quietly, while no one else is looking. Katsuki Bakugou doesn’t get enough credit for what he sees, for how deeply he cares, even when he doesn’t have the words for it. This isn’t a redemption for him. It’s a reveal. A reminder that the loudest characters often carry the heaviest silences. And for [Y/N]? This is the chapter where she finally hears the truth she never dared to hope for: someone had been watching. And he never forgot her.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 3

(This Is JUST A SIDE CHAPTER)

Thank you @bunniotomia for the amazing idea!

Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t the type to dwell on things. He lived in the moment, acted without hesitation, and never looked back. But there were some memories that clung to him like smoke—impossible to see clearly, but impossible to shake off.

And most of those memories had one thing in common: the twins.

Back when they were all kids, Katsuki remembered thinking how weird it was that someone like Izuku had a twin. Not because they were so different—though they were—but because one of them seemed to get all the attention while the other slowly faded into the background.

It wasn’t like [Y/N] was quiet or forgettable. In fact, she was sharp. Observant. Sometimes too smart for her own good. She didn’t play with them all the time, but when she did, Katsuki remembered her being… steady. She had a way of seeing through things. Of grounding him when he got worked up, and occasionally even making him laugh when he was pissed off.

She was his friend. Not a close one, but someone he respected. Someone he saw.

So when everything started going sideways—when Izuku was told he was quirkless, when Inko started getting weepy and overprotective, when [Y/N] stopped showing up to hang out—Katsuki noticed.

He noticed how Inko hovered over Izuku like he’d break at any moment. He noticed how [Y/N] got quieter and quieter, retreating into herself.

He noticed when she stopped getting new clothes. He noticed when she didn’t get invited to playdates anymore.

He even tried to bring it up once. He remembered sitting at the kitchen table, swinging his legs and frowning as he told his mom, “I think something’s wrong with Midoriya’s sister. His mom’s being weird.”

His mom had waved him off. Said Inko was just trying to help her son adjust.

“But she has two kids,” Katsuki had muttered. “She’s forgetting the other one.”

No one listened.

And he was just a kid. What could he do?

Then came the school changes. Izuku stayed at the better school, and [Y/N] got sent to one of the cheaper ones. Katsuki hadn’t understood the logic at the time, but he figured it out eventually. Inko needed the money. All Might figurines didn’t buy themselves.

He didn’t like it.

He never said it, but it bugged him. The way Izuku soaked up all the attention. The way he whined and cried about being quirkless while his sister just… disappeared. She didn’t complain. She didn’t cry. She just took it.

And Izuku let her.

It made Katsuki angry.

He already hated how Izuku looked at him—like he was still hoping they’d be friends again, like he needed his approval to exist. But this? Watching Izuku let someone suffer in silence just because he was too wrapped up in his own misery?

That made Katsuki furious.

And maybe that’s why he pushed Izuku so hard. Not just because of his own insecurities. Not just because he was trying to stay on top. But because somewhere deep down, he was disgusted.

Izuku had a twin. A damn good one.

And he didn’t even fight for her.

He just let her disappear.

So Katsuki did what he always did. He acted. He lashed out. And maybe he aimed too much of that anger at Izuku, but it wasn’t just about quirks. It was about the people they were.

He respected [Y/N]. Even when she pretended she didn’t have a quirk. Even when she vanished into her own world.

Because at least she never asked for pity.

And that? That made all the difference.

Years later, when she came back into their lives like a thunderstorm—smiling, unpredictable, powerful—Katsuki didn’t flinch.

He knew exactly who she was.

Because he’d been watching all along.

And this time, he wasn’t going to let her be forgotten.

It was late—well past lights out in the dorms—when [Y/N] knocked on Katsuki’s door. Not because she needed something, not because she was about to set something on fire, but because she'd overheard something she wasn’t meant to.

Katsuki had been talking with Kirishima in the hallway. The door hadn’t been fully closed. He hadn’t even realized she was nearby until he heard her voice, sharp and cutting through the dark like a blade.

“You thought all that? Even back then?”

He turned. She was leaning against the doorframe now, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Kirishima quietly excused himself, catching Katsuki’s nod before slipping away.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

“I noticed,” Katsuki said eventually, tone gruff. “I just didn’t know what the hell to do about it.”

[Y/N] stepped inside. Her expression had softened, but her voice was still laced with disbelief. “You noticed. All of it. And you never told me?”

“You didn’t need more people making you feel like you needed to explain yourself. I didn’t want to be another one of those idiots asking if you were okay when you clearly weren’t.”

She scoffed. “So you just watched?”

“I tried,” he admitted. “I told my parents. Tried to talk to Deku a couple times. But you were gone. Different school. Different life. Every time I looked at you, you had that same look in your eyes. Like you already knew no one was coming.”

That silenced her.

Katsuki looked away, jaw clenched. “So I watched. And I got pissed. At Izuku. At Inko. At the whole damn thing. Watching you disappear while he cried about his problems. It made me hate him.”

[Y/N] exhaled shakily. “I didn’t know you saw it.”

“I saw everything.”

For once, she didn’t crack a joke. She just sat beside him on the bed, her shoulder brushing his.

“Thanks for seeing me,” she said quietly.

“You were never invisible to me,” he said. “You just needed someone to remember.”

And in that quiet, after years of distance, misunderstanding, and silence—something healed.

A/N: This moment isn’t about fixing the past. It’s about finally being seen by someone who mattered. Katsuki didn’t change the outcome—but he carried the guilt, the rage, and the memory. And in a world that wrote [Y/N] off so easily, he refused to let her become another ghost. Sometimes, healing doesn’t start with apologies. It starts with someone saying, “I saw you. I remember.” And meaning it.

Taglist: @feral-childs-word, @trashlanternfish360, @astro-girly1, @suneaterscape, @thatcatladywrites, @arislia, @kittzu, @ottjhe, @tinybrie, @wpdarlingpan, @ryuushou, @simpingpandas, @lettucel0ver, @moonxmio, @sirenetheblogger, @xzmickeyzx, @ironsaladwitch, @lithiumval, @starsdotalk, @fortunatelydifferentqueen, @ocean-mochi, @sept3mberchild, @sweetheart4you, @mayhem-k, @itsberrydreemurstuff

Let me know if I missed anyone!

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airosuiren · 2 months ago

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𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔰 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔊𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔞𝔱𝔢

A/N: You ever watch people climb a ladder you built with your own blood? That’s this chapter. [Y/N] and Karma aren’t chasing applause. They’re the shadows behind the stage, the hand that pushes the scalpel deeper when justice needs to hurt. The world sees students. The staff sees assets. The other students? They don’t know what they’re looking at anymore—and that’s exactly the point. This chapter is about walking into enemy territory with a smile on your lips, a knife in your belt, and a partner at your side who never blinks when you burn too hot. You’re not here to fit in. You’re here to outlast everyone who doubted you.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2, 𝔖𝔦𝔡𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

The transition from operatives-in-training to full-fledged agents should have been jarring. But for [Y/N] Midoriya and Karma Akabane, it felt more like slipping into clothes they had long since outgrown.

They were already killers. Already protectors. Already unshakable.

Now, they were official.

And that changed everything.

Their new assignment came with increased freedom—and increased danger. No more hand-holding. No more simulated threats.

Kasuma called them in one final time for a private briefing.

“You’re not children anymore,” he repeated, like a mantra. “You’re ghost agents. Assets. The moment you step into this, you belong to no one and serve only the mission.”

He paused, then looked at them—not the badges on their jackets, not the files they held.

Them.

“I’m proud of you both,” he said quietly.

[Y/N] felt something tight twist in her chest. She nodded. Karma smiled, just barely.

That was the last time they saw Kasuma for a while.

He left for an overseas operation that would last months, taking Irina with him. He gave them a contact in Tokyo and warned them: Stay sharp. UA might need you sooner than expected.

They didn’t know then just how right he was.

In the weeks that followed, Karma and [Y/N] established a base in a small apartment on the edge of the city.

They weren’t exactly living undercover, but they also weren’t public heroes. They moved through the world like ghosts, slipping between crowded alleys and rooftops, collecting information and building networks.

Their targets weren’t low-level thugs anymore.

They were watching names whispered in fear:

People tied to the League of Villains.

Underground arms dealers.

Corrupt businessmen sponsoring bio-enhanced quirk tech.

Karma enjoyed the tension.

[Y/N] thrived on the structure.

They operated like one mind in two bodies—flawless coordination, unspoken cues.

And slowly, as nights turned into weeks and weeks into months, their bond deepened.

They didn’t talk about it.

Not directly.

But it was there in the quiet things:

The way Karma always saved her the last strawberry milk in the fridge. The way [Y/N] always patched up his wounds before her own. The way they gravitated toward each other when things were too loud, too heavy, too real.

It was natural. Unspoken. And undeniable.

One night, after a long mission that ended in fire and fractured ribs, they collapsed on their apartment floor, bruised and breathless.

Karma’s shirt was torn. [Y/N] had blood on her knuckles.

She lay on the floor, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“You ever think,” she said quietly, “that we’re the only ones who get it?”

Karma was silent for a beat.

Then: “Every day.”

She turned her head. He was already looking at her.

The moment stretched long and quiet.

Then Karma reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

[Y/N] blinked.

“You didn’t,” she said, trying to sit up.

He opened it.

Inside was a ring. Silver. Clean. A thin band etched with a symbol only they understood: a flame crossed by lightning.

“It’s not what you think,” Karma said quickly, ears turning red. “It’s not… I mean, not yet. It’s just…”

She took it before he could finish.

Slid it onto her finger.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered.

And that night, for the first time, they didn’t sleep in separate beds.

Not for sex. Not for comfort.

Just to be close.

To know they were real.

To remember they were alive.

Their next mission came sooner than expected.

A deep investigation into a string of disappearances tied to illegal quirk experimentation.

They found a lab buried beneath a seemingly abandoned hospital.

What they discovered made even Karma’s cocky grin fade.

Children.

Dozens.

Hooked to machines, wired for data extraction.

[Y/N] nearly vomited. Karma stood frozen.

And then they moved.

The operation burned that night.

[Y/N] created a dome of air to shield the children. Karma melted the power grids and iced every escape route.

The scientists didn’t escape.

Neither did the armed guards.

The media was never alerted.

The story never made headlines.

But the kids lived.

That was enough.

They spent a week off-grid after that.

Recovery. Sleep. Therapy in the form of video games, bad takeout, and long walks along empty rooftops.

[Y/N] didn’t cry. Karma didn’t joke.

They just existed. Together.

It was during that quiet week that the second kiss happened.

The first had been months ago. A heat-of-the-moment adrenaline spark after a close-call mission.

But this one…

They were sitting on the apartment balcony.

Karma said something stupid. [Y/N] laughed.

He turned to look at her. She turned at the same time.

Their eyes met.

And suddenly, it wasn’t a question.

It was inevitable.

He leaned in. She met him halfway.

Soft. Slow. Real.

When they broke apart, Karma pressed their foreheads together.

“Don’t leave,” he said quietly.

[Y/N] smiled.

“I never do.”

They didn’t define it. Didn’t label it. Didn’t need to.

It was theirs.

And that was enough.

By the end of the month, they were called in for a special briefing.

Kasuma, back from his mission, met them at a secure facility.

“You’re going to U.A.,” he said, without preamble.

[Y/N] blinked.

“What?” Karma said.

“You’re not enrolling as students,” Kasuma clarified. “You’ll be embedded. Posing as transfers, but you’re there as internal operatives.”

[Y/N] folded her arms. “Why us?”

Kasuma looked at her evenly. “Because I trust you. Because you’re smart. Because you’re powerful. Because if anyone can keep that place from collapsing, it’s you two.”

Karma raised an eyebrow. “You’re not worried we’ll… y’know… start chaos?”

Kasuma smiled faintly. “I’m counting on it.”

He handed over two sealed envelopes.

“Inside are your contracts. Your permissions. Your mission parameters. Don’t lose them.”

They didn’t.

The night before they left, [Y/N] and Karma stood on the rooftop of their building, looking out over Tokyo.

“It’s going to be different,” [Y/N] said.

Karma nodded.

“We’re going back to being students,” she added.

Karma snorted. “Sort of.”

She turned to him.

“What if they hate us?”

He shrugged. “Then we make them wish they didn’t.”

[Y/N] laughed.

“You’re terrifying,” she said.

Karma leaned closer.

“I’m yours.”

And she kissed him.

Under the stars.

Bonds forged in fire. In blood. In quiet promises and loud declarations.

Unbreakable. Unshakable.

The world had no idea what was coming.

But it would learn.

Because [Y/N] Midoriya and Karma Akabane were no one’s background characters.

They were the storm.

And they were heading straight for U.A.

U.A. High School was louder than she remembered.

[Y/N] Midoriya stood in front of the dorm building, one box levitating behind her as she used a casual breeze to float it into her hands. Her other arm was looped through Katsuki Bakugou’s as she babbled happily about the dorm arrangements, the bland uniforms, and the god-awful lighting in the girls’ bathrooms.

Katsuki Bakugou carried the heavier boxes with minimal complaint. Not because he was kind. Because he knew better than to let her get bored.

“Can’t believe they’re making you set up alone,” he muttered.

“Oh, I’m never alone, Kats,” she chirped, skipping ahead as her wind quirk lifted a box through the air behind them. “I’ve got voices. And glass. And you.”

“...I’m not comforted by that.”

“I didn’t say you were. I said I am.”

“Seriously, Kats,” she said in a sing-song voice, “I think the hallways are actually designed to suck the soul out of people. Like, one big soul Hoover.”

Bakugou grunted. “You’re just pissed there’s no pink tile.”

“I ASKED for lavender. That’s not unreasonable.”

He didn’t reply, but she caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

From a distance, Class 1-A watched the interaction with a mixture of fascination and suspicion.

Bakugou? Willingly letting someone talk his ear off? Letting them touch him? Letting them use him as a moving wall to carry her dumbass decorations for her room?

It was chaos.

And then she turned.

Bright green eyes landed on the gathered students with that same cheerful gleam—too bright, too wide, like a neon sign that flickered too much.

“Hiya, Class 1-A!” she chirped, twirling once as her hair fluttered in the wind she summoned. “I’m [Y/N] Midoriya! Twin sister of your very own Izuku~!”

The silence hit like a slap.

All eyes turned to Izuku.

He turned pale.

“You never said you had a sister,” Uraraka said quietly.

Izuku swallowed. “I-I didn’t think it was important.”

Ouch.

[Y/N] grinned wider.

“Oh, don’t worry, Deku,” she said sweetly, floating a small wind-blown leaf onto his head. “It’s not like I’ve been alive this whole time or anything.”

Bakugou snorted. Kaminari blinked. Todoroki tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“She’s quirkless, right?” Sero asked.

“NOPE!” [Y/N] beamed, hands on hips. “Got mine before Izuku even knew what a quirk was. But I kept it a secret to make him feel better.”

Another silence.

Izuku looked like he was going to pass out.

“That’s… insane,” Momo said cautiously.

[Y/N] cocked her head. “Awww, thanks! I try.”

Bakugou stood beside her, arms crossed, and for once, he looked smug.

“Don’t try to figure her out,” he said dryly. “You’ll go nuts before she does.”

Aizawa called her in that afternoon for a quick assessment.

“You know the rule,” he said. “Sparring introduction. You’ll be matched with Todoroki.”

“Oh, Todoroki~?” [Y/N] sang, clapping. “The one with fire and ice? Cute.”

Izuku stood immediately. “She’s too unstable. She shouldn’t—”

A gust of wind slammed him back into his chair.

“Oopsies,” [Y/N] said, not looking at him. “I twitch sometimes.”

Aizawa sighed deeply and waved her toward the arena.

The match lasted three minutes.

Todoroki opened with ice.

[Y/N] melted it mid-air with a snap of her fingers.

He followed with fire.

She swallowed it with a vortex and spit it back at him in a wave of scalding steam.

Then she surrounded him in a prison of rock and danced just out of reach, laughing.

No quirks, no weapons, no tricks—just raw elemental dominance wrapped in a pink ribbon of madness.

When it ended, Todoroki stared at the ground, humiliated.

[Y/N] patted his shoulder.

“You’re very pretty when you’re confused,” she said sweetly. “Like a sad puppy who forgot where the door is.”

The class stared at her like she was a ticking bomb.

Later that evening, Izuku cornered her in the hallway.

“You humiliated me,” he hissed.

[Y/N] smiled like sunshine. “Did I?”

“You told everyone about your quirk. You—”

“I pretended to be quirkless for you,” she said brightly. “Because you were crying. Because Mom hit me when I tried to say I had powers. Because she said it would ‘hurt you.’ So I waited. And waited. And then you got powers and didn’t even tell me.”

He flinched.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

That made her laugh.

Not a soft giggle.

A high, wild laugh that echoed through the dorm halls.

“I don’t care,” she said, still laughing. “You’re just not my brother anymore. You’re a guy I used to know. Now I’ve got a best friend who actually likes me and a boyfriend who brings me strawberry milk.”

She walked away without looking back.

Katsuki was waiting by the dorms. He gave her a once-over and passed her a soda.

“Deku crying again?”

“Always.”

She popped the can open with a flick of ice and grinned.

The next week, Karma arrived.

He walked into Class 1-A like he owned it, two buttons undone, blazer flapping, strawberry milk in hand.

Iida tried to lecture him.

Karma tossed the empty milk carton into his chest and kept walking.

[Y/N] launched herself at him. They kissed in front of everyone.

The room combusted.

Iida screamed about propriety. Kaminari short-circuited. Mineta nosebled and passed out.

Only Bakugou rolled his eyes and muttered, “Took long enough.”

Karma grinned. “[Y/N] missed me so bad she almost burned a building down.”

“I only set the bathroom on fire,” [Y/N] huffed. “That doesn’t count.”

“Hi,” Karma said to the class, slipping an arm around her waist. “I’m Karma. I like strawberry milk, chaos, and her. Try to touch her, and I’ll break your kneecaps with a smile.”

Uraraka stepped back. Even Todoroki seemed uneasy.

Izuku looked like he was going to explode.

From that point on, Class 1-A gave them space.

[Y/N] dragged Bakugou around, repainted his room lavender, stuck googly eyes on his grenadier gauntlets, and kept calling him “BoomBoom BFF.”

Bakugou let her.

The Baku Squad hated it.

The Deku Squad hated her.

The rest kept their distance.

Aizawa didn’t bother interfering.

“You’re not here to make friends,” he muttered during homeroom.

“Nope!” [Y/N] replied cheerfully, balancing a pencil on her nose. “I’m here to make trauma fashionable.”

He stared at her. Marked her present. Moved on.

At night, she slept in Karma’s dorm. They curled under too many blankets, whispered about strategy, giggled at dumb inside jokes, and practiced hand-to-hand in the common room after hours.

They were chaos wrapped in chemistry.

And U.A. didn’t know what to do with them.

[Y/N] didn’t need approval. Didn’t crave love from people who once ignored her existence.

She had Karma. She had Katsuki. She had her own strength.

And that was more than enough.

Because the girl who had once stayed silent had found her voice.

And it was cheerful.

It was twisted.

It was absolutely, unapologetically psychotic.

And she loved it.

[Y/N] Midoriya liked her new dorm.

Mostly because she didn’t actually stay in it.

Her official dorm was neat, full of sparkly figurines, mood lighting, and a whiteboard of unfinished elemental theories. But her real home? That was Karma’s room, where the walls smelled faintly of cherry detergent and strawberry milk.

Sleeping there was normal. Comforting. Strategic.

Until Principal Nezu decided to “reassess arrangements.”

“You’ll be placed in separate dorms permanently,” Nezu said, paws folded neatly on his desk. “We believe it’s for the best.”

[Y/N] blinked. “Best for who?”

“For the morale of Class 1-A. For appearances. You understand.”

She smiled. Too wide. Too sweet.

“Oh, I understand just fine,” she said in a singsong tone. “And I’m telling you very gently, Nezu-san… fix it before Karma comes back from his mission. Or you’ll be the one applying emergency morale patches.”

Karma had been called to Tokyo. She, on the other hand, was given one job: get comfortable. That was laughable. Comfort and U.A. didn’t mix, not after everything she’d heard and seen.

Aizawa, who had been silent up to this point, exhaled slowly. “She’s not bluffing.”

Nezu chuckled nervously. “We’ll consider it.”

They didn’t.

So she waited.

The day Karma returned from Tokyo, he didn’t enter U.A. like a normal person.

He kicked the door open.

Strawberry milk in one hand, dorm key in the other, blazer tied around his waist.

[Y/N] launched into his arms before the dust settled.

“You smell like fire and deadlines,” she murmured against his collar.

“And you smell like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I haven’t. I threatened a rodent.”

“Good girl.”

“You’re saying what now?” Karma asked later that night, tilting his head as [Y/N] ranted, pacing in a circle in their shared—secret—study room.

“They want us in separate dorms, Karma. Like they forgot the clause in our contract that literally says we operate as a team unit and we share living quarters for control and coordination. They said it might ‘make other students uncomfortable.’”

Karma rolled a coin between his fingers. “What’s our authority level again?”

“Above theirs,” [Y/N] said sweetly.

“Neat. Let’s burn the paperwork.”

“Nope. Better idea. We’ll let Aizawa do the talking. Then we’ll make friends with the support course. I want to build a thermal-proof ‘Do Not Disturb’ field around our dorm.”

He smirked. “You’re adorable when you’re scheming.”

“You’re hot when you’re complicit.”

Aizawa held an emergency meeting with the faculty.

“They have security clearance higher than half of Japan’s military. I don’t care if it makes Mineta nervous. Let them share a room or deal with the fallout.”

Principal Nezu reluctantly agreed.

“Very well. But we announce it.”

“Effective immediately,” Aizawa said flatly the next morning, “Karma Akabane and [Y/N] Midoriya will be rooming together. This has been authorized and approved. No discussion.”

There was so much discussion.

“THAT’S NOT FAIR!” Mineta cried.

“She sleeps in his T-shirt!” Kaminari shouted.

“Why do they get to act like royalty?” Iida barked.

“Because we are,” Karma said with a smile.

[Y/N] sat beside him, swirling a tiny tornado in her teacup. “We’re not normal students. We’re contractors. You remember the part where I folded Todoroki like a beach towel, right?”

Todoroki raised a hand. “I’m not part of this conversation.”

Uraraka’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re just above us now?”

“No,” [Y/N] said, licking her spoon. “We’re beneath you. Like ghosts. That protect you while you sleep. Or choose not to. Depending on how annoying you are.”

Silence.

Behind the scenes, things were moving fast.

The League of Villains had made three indirect attacks in a month.

U.A. needed insurance.

[Y/N] and Karma weren’t just students.

They were insurance with trigger-happy smiles.

Their official mission briefing, written by Kasuma himself, was clear:

Maintain cover as elite student transfers. Monitor League movement. Neutralize threats. Protect critical assets.

In short: babysit the hero children. Eliminate anyone who tried to hurt them.

It was a mess.

And they were perfect for it.

Karma adjusted quickly. He got along with some of the Baku Squad when they weren’t acting like territorial cats.

[Y/N] continued to rub everyone the wrong way.

“Why do you only talk to Bakugou?” Jirou asked one afternoon.

“Because BoomBoom is the only one who doesn’t flinch when I touch a blade.”

“You used wind to send Sato’s cake into the ceiling.”

“Poor structural integrity.”

“You set Iida’s notes on fire.”

“They were boring.”

“You replaced my shampoo with glitter.”

“That one was Karma, actually.”

“TRAITOR!” Karma called from the common room.

Despite the chaos, the missions kept coming.

Small ones at first.

Interventions off-campus.

Scouting dangerous areas.

U.A. didn’t announce it, but the staff all knew who to call when the police were too slow.

[Y/N] and Karma answered every time.

No fanfare.

No reports.

Just results.

One night, they got called to intercept a rogue bio-enhanced villain on the edge of Musutafu.

Aizawa handed them the file.

“He’s armed, unstable, and strong. Try to de-escalate. But if he throws the first punch—”

“He’s done,” Karma said, slipping on his gloves.

[Y/N] grinned. “Got it. Dinner after?”

“I’m thinking noodles.”

“Spicy?”

“You read my mind.”

They were gone in seconds.

Thirty minutes later, the villain was unconscious, tied to a lamp post, with a sticky note on his forehead that read:

‘Try again never.’ –The Ghosts of U.A.

Back at school, things grew tenser.

Izuku cornered [Y/N] one morning.

“We should talk,” he said, hesitant.

“We just did,” she replied.

“Seriously. I want to understand.”

“Now you want to understand?”

“I didn’t know how much I hurt you.”

She stopped.

Looked at him.

Then leaned in close.

“You hurt me a lot, Izuku. But I’m over it. I’m not angry anymore. I just don’t trust you. That’s different.”

He swallowed hard.

“But maybe one day,” she added with a sad smile, “we’ll be family again. If you earn it.”

And she walked away.

At night, she sat on the rooftop with Karma, twirling a spark of light between her fingers.

“They’re starting to hate us more,” she said.

“They’re starting to fear us more,” he corrected.

“Same thing.”

Karma shrugged. “Let them. We’re not here to win a popularity contest.”

She sighed. “No. We’re here to keep them alive.”

“And we will.”

She looked over at him.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

He leaned over, kissed her forehead.

“Always.”

They sat in silence.

The two bodyguards of U.A.

Invisible to most.

Essential to all.

A/N: They never wanted her power. They just didn’t want her to use it. Now? Too late. [Y/N] Midoriya isn’t just strong—she’s untouchable. Karma’s not just her match—he’s her mirror. Together, they aren’t classmates. They’re contingency plans. You don’t have to like them. You just have to survive long enough to realize you needed them. The ghosts are watching. And they don’t miss.

— Author, absolutely unwell over rooftop kisses, sibling detachment arcs, and U.A. accidentally housing its own secret endgame duo.

Taglist: @feral-childs-word, @trashlanternfish360, @astro-girly1, @suneaterscape, @thatcatladywrites, @arislia, @kittzu, @ottjhe, @tinybrie, @wpdarlingpan, @ryuushou, @simpingpandas, @lettucel0ver, @moonxmio, @sirenetheblogger, @xzmickeyzx, @ironsaladwitch, @lithiumval, @starsdotalk, @fortunatelydifferentqueen, @ocean-mochi, @bunniotomia, @sept3mberchild, @sweetheart4you, @mayhem-k

Let me know if I missed anyone

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airosuiren · 2 months ago

Text

𝔒𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔄𝔰𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔒𝔞𝔱𝔥

A/N: This chapter is about transformation. Not the gentle, hopeful kind. The kind born from cracked bones and clenched fists. The kind that turns grief into grit and betrayal into steel. [Y/N] isn’t chasing acceptance anymore. She’s choosing power. She’s choosing herself. And Karma? He’s been ready to follow her into the fire from day one. They aren’t heroes in capes. They’re ghosts, blades, wolves in the dark. And they don’t need anyone’s permission to change the world. This is what it looks like when the forgotten rewrite their fate.

(Many changes were made because this is a fanfic.... I needed to do these because of the plot. And as promised, 2 parts! )

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 3, 𝔖𝔦𝔡𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

The final year of middle school crept in quietly, dragging with it a sense of inevitable change.

For [Y/N] Midoriya, each day was another performance.

She smiled in the hallways. She nodded obediently in class. She sat at the dinner table at home, invisible, silent, a ghost sitting next to a golden child.

"Izuku, you’re doing so well," Inko gushed every night, her voice warm and overflowing.

When [Y/N] brought home a perfect report card, she received a distracted "Good job, sweetie," before Inko hurried back to praising Izuku’s doodles of hero costumes.

It stung less now.

Or maybe she had just gotten better at ignoring the sting.

After all, she had Karma.

And that was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

It happened on a humid Wednesday, the kind of day where the air felt sticky and wrong.

[Y/N] and Karma were walking home when they heard it.

A sharp cry.

Around the corner, four older students had a girl from Class 3-E backed against a wall, their voices low and threatening.

[Y/N] acted without thinking.

"Stop it," she said, stepping forward.

The boys turned, sneering.

"Buzz off, Midoriya," one of them snapped. "This isn't your business."

Karma cracked his knuckles lazily.

"Wrong," he said, flashing that infuriating, dangerous grin. "It just became our business."

The fight that followed wasn’t pretty.

But it was efficient.

[Y/N] didn't use her quirk. Neither did Karma.

They didn't have to.

When it ended, the bullies were groaning on the ground, and the girl had fled in terror.

[Y/N] wiped blood from her knuckles, heart pounding, adrenaline buzzing under her skin.

Karma clapped her on the back, laughing.

"See?" he said. "Told you. Wild."

[Y/N] smiled—a real, sharp smile—and for the first time, she felt it.

Power.

Real power.

The school did not see it that way.

They called her mother.

Inko sat stiffly in the principal's office, listening as the staff explained in hushed, horrified voices about [Y/N]'s "violent tendencies."

"It’s unacceptable," one teacher said, shaking his head. "She's a danger to other students."

[Y/N] tried to explain. She tried to tell them about the girl, about the bullies, about how they hadn't even used their quirks.

But no one listened.

They had already decided.

Suspension.

Mandatory transfer to Class 3-E—the "End Class," where all the failures and troublemakers went.

[Y/N] glanced at Karma beside her, who only shrugged and smiled like it was the best news he'd heard all week.

Maybe it was.

The ride home was silent.

[Y/N] sat in the backseat, clutching her backpack like a shield.

When they got home, Inko turned on her immediately.

"How could you do this to us?" she demanded, voice shaking. "How could you embarrass your brother like this?"

[Y/N] flinched.

"I was helping someone," she said quietly.

"You should have gotten a teacher!" Inko snapped. "You're not some thug!"

The door opened, and Izuku stepped inside, backpack slung over one shoulder.

Inko immediately launched into the story, painting [Y/N] as the villain.

Izuku frowned.

"[Y/N]...you should’ve gone to a teacher," he said, voice uncertain.

[Y/N] stared at him.

"They wouldn't have done anything," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "They never do."

She reached out, desperate for him to understand, to see her.

But he stepped back, his expression closing off.

"Violence isn't the answer," he said.

Inko nodded approvingly.

[Y/N] dropped her hand.

Something inside her cracked.

They called her a villain.

A troublemaker.

A disappointment.

And something inside [Y/N] Midoriya—something fragile and small—shattered beyond repair.

That night, she packed a small bag.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t leave a note.

She simply climbed out her window, dropped silently to the ground, and ran.

Karma was waiting.

Of course he was.

He took one look at her face, her hollow eyes, and slung his arm around her shoulders.

"Took you long enough," he said lightly.

She didn't answer.

Didn't have to.

Together, they walked into the night.

Away from the house that had never really been home.

Toward something new.

Toward freedom.

Moving in with Karma wasn’t official, at first.

His parents—absent, distracted—barely noticed.

Karma’s apartment became their headquarters. Their sanctuary.

No more pretending.

No more silence.

Karma gave her space when she needed it, jokes when she wanted them, and quiet support when she didn't know what she needed at all.

Slowly, carefully, [Y/N] began to rebuild herself.

Not the girl Inko wanted.

Not the sister Izuku needed.

Someone new.

Someone sharp.

Someone strong.

The first day she walked into Class 3-E, heads turned.

Whispers rippled through the classroom.

"That's Midoriya..."

"I heard she got into a fight..."

"Karma's friend."

[Y/N] ignored them all.

She slid into her seat beside Karma, who tossed her a lazy grin.

"Ready to cause some chaos?" he asked.

She smiled back—sharp and dangerous.

"Always."

And just like that, the girl who stayed silent was no more.

In her place stood something new.

Something wild.

Something unstoppable.

A villain, they had called her.

Maybe they were right.

But if she was a villain, she would be the one they regretted creating.

The villain who smiled.

The End Class wasn't what [Y/N] Midoriya expected.

She had heard the rumors: the rejects, the failures, the hopeless cases shoved into a crumbling building at the edge of campus to rot until graduation. Teachers who didn't care. Students who didn't try.

She had expected hostility, or maybe worse, indifference.

What she found instead was chaos.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt like she belonged.

Class 3-E was a mess of personalities.

Loud, reckless, stubborn—but alive.

Nobody pretended here. Nobody wore masks.

[Y/N] liked that.

She slipped into the flow quickly, Karma at her side like always, effortlessly dragging her into the heart of the madness.

Nagisa Shiota welcomed her with a shy smile.

Kaede Kayano plopped down beside her at lunch and started babbling about favorite foods.

Even the sharp-tongued Rio Nakamura winked and said, "Any friend of Karma's is a friend of mine."

It was messy. It was noisy.

It was home.

And then there was Koro-sensei.

The infamous, unkillable teacher.

[Y/N] had expected a monster.

What she found was a giant yellow octopus with a beaming smile and a weird obsession with sweets.

It should have been ridiculous.

It should have made her laugh.

Instead, it made her wary.

Because Koro-sensei wasn't just fast.

He was smart.

And he saw through people like glass.

"Welcome to End Class, Midoriya-san!" he boomed on her first day, practically vibrating with excitement. "I look forward to seeing your growth this year!"

[Y/N] bowed politely, murmuring thanks.

Karma snickered behind her.

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

Assassination training started immediately.

It was strange, at first.

Learning how to aim, how to move silently, how to think like a predator.

But [Y/N] adapted quickly.

She had been learning to survive her entire life.

This was just the next step.

Kasuma-sensei, their combat instructor, was a different kind of teacher.

Strict. Sharp. Honest.

He didn't coddle them. He didn't lie to them.

When [Y/N] hesitated during a knife drill, he didn't scold her.

He just said, "If you hesitate in the field, you die."

Simple. Brutal. True.

[Y/N] respected that.

She threw herself into training with a hunger she hadn't realized she possessed.

Karma matched her, step for step, grin for grin.

Together, they rose quickly through the ranks of 3-E.

Together, they became feared.

Not because they were cruel.

But because they were relentless.

Because they refused to break.

The others noticed.

Nagisa started partnering with [Y/N] during practice missions.

Kayano dragged her into prank wars against the other classes.

Even the stoic Ritsu—the AI installed in the classroom—offered her custom-tailored study programs with a cheerful, "I have calculated a 97% success rate for Midoriya-san's improvement!"

[Y/N] smiled more.

Laughed more.

Lived more.

One night, sitting on the roof of the dorm building, she turned to Karma.

"I think..." she said slowly, "I think I'm happy."

Karma tilted his head, considering.

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."

He bumped his shoulder against hers.

She bumped him back.

And for once, the silence between them wasn't heavy.

It was warm.

Safe.

The assassination attempts against Koro-sensei grew more elaborate.

Traps, ambushes, coordinated attacks.

Sometimes they failed spectacularly.

Sometimes they almost succeeded.

Koro-sensei always laughed, always encouraged them to try again.

But every time [Y/N] watched him dodge and deflect with impossible speed, she felt a gnawing sensation in her chest.

Because she knew.

Koro-sensei wasn't just teaching them how to kill.

He was teaching them how to live.

How to fight for themselves.

How to believe they mattered.

And when the time came, when they finally succeeded...

It would break her heart.

But she would do it.

Because she had to.

Because he deserved that much.

Because he believed in her when no one else did.

Months blurred by.

Seasons changed again.

[Y/N] grew stronger, faster, sharper.

Her control over Arcadia deepened in secret.

Late at night, when everyone else slept, she practiced on the cliffs behind the school.

Calling the wind to lift her.

Shaping water into blades.

Forging fire into chains.

She trained until her body ached, until her vision blurred.

And Karma was always there, lounging nearby, tossing pebbles into the sea, pretending not to watch her with quiet pride.

When the final exams came, they faced real enemies.

Professional assassins.

Villains.

Killers.

[Y/N] fought like a storm unleashed.

Karma fought like a wildfire.

Together, they tore through the opposition, leaving broken weapons and stunned foes in their wake.

By the time the dust settled, only three students stood above the rest.

Nagisa Shiota.

Karma Akabane.

And [Y/N] Midoriya.

They were awarded their assassination licenses in a private ceremony, away from prying eyes.

Kasuma-sensei presented them personally, his normally grim face soft with something like pride.

"You've earned this," he said simply.

[Y/N] accepted the heavy, cold badge with trembling hands.

Not because she doubted herself.

But because for the first time, she was being seen.

Truly seen.

Not as a disappointment.

Not as a burden.

As a warrior.

As a force.

As herself.

Afterward, they celebrated.

A bonfire on the cliffs.

Music crackling from cheap speakers.

Laughter echoing into the night.

Karma dragged her into a clumsy dance around the fire, both of them tripping over their own feet and laughing until they collapsed into the grass.

Under the stars, Karma pulled something from his pocket.

A ring.

Simple.

Unadorned.

But heavy with meaning.

"It's not... y'know... a proposal or anything," he said quickly, cheeks red. "It's a promise."

[Y/N] stared at him, heart hammering.

"A promise?" she echoed.

Karma nodded.

"That no matter what happens, no matter where we end up..." he said, voice rough, "we stick together."

[Y/N] swallowed hard.

Tears pricked her eyes.

She held out her hand.

Karma slid the ring onto her finger, clumsy and careful.

"Partners," he said.

"Best friends," she agreed.

But somewhere deep inside, [Y/N] knew it was more than that.

And judging by the way Karma smiled—soft, real, rare—she knew he knew it too.

The final semester raced toward them like a freight train.

The government intensified its pressure.

They had to kill Koro-sensei.

They had to.

[Y/N] hated it.

She loved him.

He was the first real teacher she’d ever had.

But she would do it.

Because he asked them to.

Because he believed they could.

And when the final moment came—when Koro-sensei knelt before them, smiling, proud—[Y/N] didn't hesitate.

She fired with the rest of the class.

And when the deed was done, when the sky cracked open with grief, she held Karma's hand so tightly her knuckles turned white.

They wept.

They laughed.

They remembered.

And when they stood again, they stood taller.

Stronger.

Unbreakable.

Graduation came with no fanfare.

No applause.

Just a quiet walk down the mountain, leaving behind the place where they had been forged.

[Y/N] glanced back only once.

At the ruins of the classroom.

At the memories carved into the wood and stone.

And then she faced forward.

Toward the future.

Toward the unknown.

Toward a world that had no idea what was coming.

Because [Y/N] Midoriya wasn't a background character anymore.

She was a force of nature.

And she was just getting started.

Training didn't stop after graduation.

If anything, it intensified.

[Y/N] Midoriya and Karma Akabane didn't get to drift into a peaceful summer of freedom. Kasuma-sensei made sure of that.

"You're not children anymore," he said, arms folded as he addressed them outside a private facility hidden deep within the mountains. "You have licenses. You have responsibility."

[Y/N] tightened her grip on the strap of her duffel bag. She understood. This wasn't school anymore. This was survival.

The facility was a maze of obstacle courses, simulated urban warfare zones, target ranges, and sparring arenas. They lived, breathed, and bled training for weeks.

Their schedule was brutal:

Dawn combat drills.

Midday quirk training.

Evening strategy simulations.

Midnight endurance tests.

Sleep was a privilege, not a guarantee.

Karma loved it.

[Y/N] thrived in it.

They pushed each other past limits they hadn't even known they had. Arcadia evolved rapidly under pressure—[Y/N] could now weave earth shields mid-sprint, summon lightning strikes with pinpoint precision, and freeze enemies in place with a snap of her fingers.

Karma’s control over his thermal fields became terrifying. He could flash-freeze a path across a lake and superheat a steel wall to glowing red in seconds. His ambushes became lethal art.

Together, they became a storm.

An unstoppable force.

"You two are monsters," Nagisa joked one evening, dropping onto the bench beside them during a rare break.

[Y/N] shrugged, sipping water.

"We had good teachers," she said simply.

Karma grinned, slinging an arm casually over her shoulders. "And better instincts."

Kasuma watched them with an inscrutable expression.

One night, after a particularly brutal sparring match that left the practice field scorched and frozen in equal parts, he called them into his office.

The room was bare, functional—a desk, two chairs, a wall covered in maps.

Kasuma didn't waste time.

"You're ready," he said.

[Y/N] straightened.

"For what?" Karma asked lazily, though his golden eyes sharpened.

Kasuma slid two folders across the desk.

"Field assignments. Real ones."

[Y/N] felt her heartbeat quicken.

This was it.

No more simulations.

No more practice.

Real targets. Real danger.

Real consequences.

Kasuma leaned forward, his voice low and serious.

"Remember your rules: Protect the innocent. Neutralize threats. Minimize collateral. And above all—trust each other."

They nodded.

Trust wasn't even a question.

They had been trusting each other with their lives for years.

Their first assignment took them to Yokohama.

A corrupt businessman with ties to underground trafficking.

The mission was simple:

Infiltrate. Gather intel. Disable.

Assassination was a last resort—only if capture was impossible.

[Y/N] and Karma planned meticulously.

Stakeouts.

Blueprint studies.

Behavioral analysis.

When the night came, they moved like shadows.

[Y/N] manipulated mist to cover their approach, while Karma destabilized security systems with sudden thermal surges.

They slipped inside the compound without a sound.

The guards never stood a chance.

In the end, they didn’t have to kill.

The target surrendered when [Y/N] cracked the marble floor beneath his feet and Karma made the air so hot he could barely breathe.

They extracted him cleanly, disappearing into the night before authorities arrived to "discover" the evidence they had carefully planted.

Mission: Success.

Kasuma debriefed them over coffee at a rundown diner.

"Textbook operation," he said, tapping the table lightly. "Efficient. Clean."

[Y/N] felt pride swell in her chest.

Karma stole her toast when she wasn't looking.

She smacked his hand away, laughing.

For a moment, it felt almost normal.

Almost.

Their next missions came faster.

A rogue quirk-user creating blackouts across Tokyo.

A gang smuggling illegal support gear.

An arms dealer with political protection.

Each assignment grew harder.

Each victory sharpened them.

The media whispered about a new pair of heroes operating in the shadows—ghosts who saved lives without ever being seen.

[Y/N] and Karma didn’t seek the spotlight.

They didn’t need it.

They had each other.

They had their purpose.

And they had their promise.

But not every mission ended cleanly.

One night, a routine surveillance turned into a firefight when a villain group ambushed them.

[Y/N] unleashed a wave of lightning, freezing the battlefield in a moment of stunned silence.

Karma followed with a blast of superheated wind, scattering their enemies like leaves.

But even as they fought, [Y/N] realized something chilling.

They weren’t scared anymore.

They weren’t hesitating.

They were efficient.

Deadly.

Professional.

She didn't know whether to be proud or terrified.

Afterward, sitting on the rooftop of an abandoned building, [Y/N] stared up at the stars.

"Are we still the good guys?" she asked quietly.

Karma leaned back on his elbows, considering.

"We’re the ones protecting people," he said finally. "Even if they don't know it."

[Y/N] nodded slowly.

It was enough.

For now.

The weeks blurred into each other.

Training.

Missions.

Recovery.

Repeat.

Kasuma pushed them harder.

The world grew darker.

Villains grew bolder.

The League of Villains rose in whispers, a storm gathering on the horizon.

And through it all, [Y/N] and Karma stood together, unyielding.

On their last night at the training facility, before they were reassigned to new posts, Kasuma called them in one final time.

"You’re not students anymore," he said.

[Y/N] straightened.

Karma grinned lazily.

"You're operatives," Kasuma continued. "And more than that—you're a team."

He handed them new badges.

Official.

Permanent.

Heroes.

But heroes built in blood and shadows, not in the gleaming spotlight of agencies.

"Stay sharp," Kasuma said, his voice rough.

"Stay alive."

They saluted him without thinking.

Kasuma smiled—small, proud, bittersweet.

And then he was gone.

[Y/N] and Karma stood outside under the endless sky, badges gleaming under the stars.

"Well," Karma said, bumping her shoulder. "Ready to save the world?"

[Y/N] smiled—sharp, fearless.

"Ready to burn it down if we have to."

Karma laughed, the sound wild and bright.

"That's my girl."

He held out his hand.

She took it.

And together, they stepped into the future.

Partners.

Best friends.

Unbreakable

A/N: They started as outcasts. As kids who flinched before they fought. Now? They don’t flinch. They end the fight. [Y/N] Midoriya isn’t the sister in the shadows anymore. She’s a storm wrapped in scars and loyalty. Karma isn’t her shield — he’s her reflection. Her flame. Her equal. They made a promise. And they meant it. Wherever this path leads next — whether into battle, ruin, or revolution — they’re walking it together. Because the world doesn’t get to define them anymore. They define themselves. And they don’t miss.

—Your author, still screaming about rooftop blood vows and shadow-born heroes🩸👣

Let me know if I missed anyone

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airosuiren · 2 months ago

Text

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔪 𝔅𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

A/N: This chapter is for the kids who went unseen. For the ones who stayed quiet to keep the peace, who wore hand-me-downs with grace, who smiled through erasure. [Y/N] Midoriya doesn’t shine with flash. She glows with loyalty, pain, and unbreakable softness— The kind that could level cities if it ever snapped. And Karma? Karma is the first crack in her silence. The first laugh. The first hand reached out instead of turned away. This is the calm before the fire. Hold on to it. Because the world won't know what hit it once she stops pretending.

(I tried making it long🫠😅)

ALSO, I MADE [Y/N]'s HAIR GREEN DUE TO HER BEING A MIDORIYA

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 3, 𝔖𝔦𝔡𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

In a cozy, narrow neighborhood on the outskirts of Musutafu, a small green-haired girl sat on the front steps of her home, humming softly as she watched the sun dip behind the buildings. [Y/N] Midoriya was five years old, twin sister to Izuku Midoriya, and as she saw it, the luckiest sister in the world. She loved her brother more than anything.

Izuku was delicate. Sensitive. He needed more hugs, more smiles, more reassurances than she ever seemed to. Their mother, Inko, did her best, but [Y/N] could see even at her young age where all the attention flowed. Toward Izuku. Always.

She didn't mind. Not really. If Izuku was happy, she was happy.

Tomorrow was a big day. Izuku's hospital appointment. They would find out what kind of quirk he had! Maybe he would breathe fire like All Might, or sprout wings like the heroes they watched on TV. [Y/N] clutched the hem of her dress, excitement bubbling under her skin.

Because today—today—she had something even bigger to share.

This morning, she had discovered her quirk.

She hadn't told anyone yet. She wanted to wait. After Izuku came back with his news, they'd sit together and share their dreams. Like real heroes.

She twirled her fingers in the air, a tiny swirl of wind responding to her call before she clapped her hands to disperse it. Arcadia. That was what she would call it later. A gift that let her control all the elements: earth, air, fire, water, and more. It was dazzling. It was perfect.

It would make her family proud.

The front door banged open. [Y/N] scrambled up, heart racing with excitement.

"Izuku!" she squealed, running to the hallway.

But the air was wrong. Heavy. Choked.

Inko's face was buried in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Izuku stood frozen, pale and silent.

"Mama?" [Y/N] said softly, reaching out.

The slap came out of nowhere.

Pain bloomed across her cheek, but the real hurt came after, from Inko's broken voice: "Don't say anything! Not a word!"

Confused, heart thundering, [Y/N] looked at her brother.

"Izuku… what's wrong?" she asked.

Tears streamed down Izuku's face. He trembled like a leaf.

"H-He…" Inko choked, wiping her eyes. "He's… he's quirkless."

The world tilted.

Quirkless?

[Y/N]'s mouth dried up. Her announcement—her miracle—withered in her throat.

Izuku needed her. He needed someone to stand with him, not outshine him. Not remind him of what he didn't have.

She closed her mouth. And she stayed silent.

From that day forward, [Y/N] Midoriya pretended to be quirkless.

It wasn't easy. Every instinct screamed at her to use her gift, to create, to dance with the elements swirling inside her. But she swallowed the urge every time.

At school, when Katsuki Bakugou bragged about his explosions, or when other children flaunted their quirks, she clapped for them like everyone else. She sat beside Izuku, smiling quietly, pretending she felt the same ache he did.

Home wasn't any kinder.

Inko's world shrank around Izuku's needs. His fears. His dreams.

When Izuku wanted an All Might poster, they got it. When [Y/N] asked for new shoes because hers were tight and full of holes, Inko shook her head.

"Don't be selfish," she would say. "Izuku's suffering. How can you think about yourself right now?"

[Y/N] learned to patch her shoes with glue and tape.

Birthdays were no different. The cake was always chocolate, Izuku's favorite. The gifts were All Might figurines—for him. For her? Maybe a hand-me-down sweater, if she was lucky.

But she smiled. She endured.

Because she loved Izuku more than anything.

The change came quietly, wrapped in a day like any other.

A group of older boys cornered her after school, shoving her against the fence, taunting her for being "quirkless trash." Izuku wasn't there. He was somewhere else, probably getting another All Might notebook signed.

She clenched her fists. She could have ended it in a second. One flick of her fingers, one surge of Arcadia’s power—

But she didn't.

Then he arrived.

A red-haired boy with a wicked grin and lazy golden eyes.

Karma Akabane.

"Yo," he said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Is there a problem here?"

The bullies laughed.

One of them threw a punch.

Karma dodged without blinking and casually tripped him into the dirt. Another tried to grab him. Karma ducked, twisted, and sent him sprawling.

In less than a minute, the fight was over. The bullies limped away, swearing revenge.

[Y/N] stared, wide-eyed.

"You okay?" Karma asked, sticking out a hand.

She hesitated.

He wiggled his fingers. "Come on. I don't bite."

She took his hand.

The world tilted again. But this time, it didn't fall apart.

It clicked into place.

From that day on, Karma Akabane became her shield, her sword, and her home.

He gave her gifts without asking for anything back. He dragged her to ramen shops and arcades. He defended her when no one else would.

When she needed school supplies, Karma "happened" to have extras.

When she came home bruised and Inko barely looked up from her TV, Karma handed her a Band-Aid and a strawberry milk and said, "You’re tougher than all of them combined, y'know?"

He believed in her without needing her to prove anything.

For the first time, [Y/N] realized that family wasn't about blood.

It was about who showed up when you needed them most.

And Karma? Karma always showed up.

On the night of her seventh birthday, while Inko and Izuku celebrated with cake and presents meant for Izuku, [Y/N] sat alone on the rooftop, her feet dangling over the edge.

The stars winked above.

Then Karma climbed up beside her, carrying a small box wrapped in messy newspaper.

"Happy birthday, partner," he said, plopping down.

She opened the box carefully.

Inside was a tiny glass figurine: a dragon made of twisted, sparkling threads of red and gold.

"Made it myself," Karma said, scratching the back of his neck. "Kinda ugly, but…"

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

And she meant it.

In that moment, [Y/N] Midoriya decided something.

She wasn't living for those who ignored her.

She would live for those who fought for her.

The girl who stayed silent was gone.

A storm was growing quietly inside her, gathering strength.

One day, she would stop pretending.

One day, she would show the world what happened when you tried to break something unbreakable.

But not yet.

For now, she smiled, clutched her glass dragon to her chest, and leaned against the boy who had saved her life without even realizing it.

Her best friend.

Her real family.

Karma Akabane.

The seasons shifted quickly in Musutafu. Summer heat gave way to cooler autumn breezes, and children traded popsicles for warm cocoa. Life for [Y/N] Midoriya, however, remained much the same—a quiet rhythm of overlooked birthdays, hand-me-down supplies, and a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow would be different.

It never was.

But somehow, it didn’t hurt as much anymore.

Because Karma Akabane was always there.

Their friendship grew like ivy: stubborn, persistent, and impossible to tear down. Where [Y/N] was cautious, Karma was reckless. Where she was patient, Karma was impulsive. And yet, they fit together perfectly, balancing each other's worst instincts with unspoken understanding.

Every morning, Karma would be waiting at the school gates, one hand lazily tucked into his pocket, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Morning, partner," he'd call, tossing her a can of strawberry milk.

And [Y/N] would catch it with a smile, every single time.

School life was different with Karma.

Teachers quickly learned that wherever he went, trouble followed. Pranks, sarcastic comments, sudden 'accidents' involving buckets of water or chalk dust. [Y/N] never participated directly, but Karma always made sure she laughed—whether by pulling a face behind a teacher's back or slipping a sticky note reading "Kick Me" onto a bully's back.

Laughter became a balm.

When the other students whispered about her being quirkless, when teachers looked through her like she was a ghost, [Y/N] stopped feeling invisible.

Because somewhere in the crowd, Karma would catch her eye and wink.

And she would remember: she wasn't alone.

One chilly afternoon, after a long day of classes and a particularly nasty encounter with a group of older kids, [Y/N] found herself sitting alone on the swing set at the park, kicking at the dust.

Karma flopped down on the swing beside her, spinning slowly.

"Bad day?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"Want me to beat someone up for you?" he offered brightly.

Despite herself, [Y/N] laughed.

Karma leaned back, arms behind his head. "Y'know, you’re allowed to be mad, [Y/N]. You don't have to keep bottling it all up."

She stared at the ground.

"It wouldn’t fix anything," she whispered.

"Maybe not," Karma said, kicking off the ground to swing higher. "But it’d feel good."

The wind whipped through his red hair, and for a moment, [Y/N] imagined what it would be like to be that free. To stop worrying about being perfect. About disappointing everyone.

"One day," Karma said, slowing down again, "you’re gonna stop caring what they think. And when that day comes?" He grinned. "The world’s gonna regret treating you like nothing."

[Y/N] looked at him—really looked—and realized something she hadn’t admitted even to herself yet.

She trusted him.

More than anyone.

Maybe even more than she trusted herself.

Life settled into a strange new normal.

[Y/N] continued pretending to be quirkless. She continued enduring the small daily cruelties at home. But Karma made sure she had moments of rebellion, of joy.

He taught her how to rig the school vending machines to give extra snacks.

He smuggled her into the arcade after hours.

He gave her strawberry milk every morning without fail.

Small acts of defiance. Small reminders that she mattered to someone.

On the day [Y/N] turned eight, she didn’t expect much. Maybe a muttered "Happy Birthday" if she was lucky.

Instead, she came home to find a crude, hand-painted banner hanging in the small park near her house.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY [Y/N]!" it read, the letters wobbly and uneven.

Karma stood under it, holding a cake he had clearly baked himself—lopsided, slightly burnt, but filled with earnest effort.

"Surprise!" he shouted, grinning.

For a moment, [Y/N] just stared.

Nobody had ever done something like this for her.

Slowly, she walked over. Karma shoved a party hat onto her head and lit a single, wobbly candle on the cake.

"Make a wish," he said.

[Y/N] closed her eyes.

I wish… she thought, I wish this could last forever.

She blew out the candle.

They sat in the grass, eating cake with their hands and laughing until their stomachs hurt.

"You're my best friend, y'know," Karma said casually, licking frosting off his thumb.

[Y/N] felt something warm bloom in her chest.

"You're mine too," she whispered.

As the sun set, Karma pulled something out of his backpack.

Another glass figurine.

This one was a phoenix, wings spread wide, captured in mid-flight. The glass shimmered with hints of red, orange, and gold.

"Thought you might like it," Karma said, a little awkwardly.

[Y/N] traced the delicate wings with trembling fingers.

"It's beautiful," she said, voice thick with emotion.

"Like you," Karma said lightly, then bumped her shoulder with his. "But, y'know, less punchy."

She laughed, wiping her eyes quickly.

In that moment, surrounded by half-eaten cake and crooked banners, [Y/N] Midoriya knew something deep in her bones:

No matter what happened.

No matter how much the world tried to push her down.

She wasn’t alone.

She had Karma.

And that was enough.

For now.

The days that followed became a quiet war.

Not a war of fists or flashy battles like the heroes on TV. No, it was a war fought in silence. In glances. In the aching spaces between words.

[Y/N] Midoriya learned to read every subtle shift in Inko’s voice, every new wrinkle of worry on her mother’s face. Izuku needed everything. And somehow, [Y/N] learned, her needs were always too much.

At school, nothing changed. Or maybe everything did, but nobody noticed.

[Y/N] sat quietly at the back of the classroom. She answered questions when called upon. She smiled when expected. She clapped when another student demonstrated their flashy new quirk.

Inside, she seethed. Not with anger, but with a heavy, hollow sadness.

She had a power that could move mountains—literally—and yet she was invisible.

Except to him.

Karma Akabane saw everything.

"You’re gonna explode one day," Karma said one afternoon, tossing a pebble across the canal. "All that pressure building up. It's like… science or something."

"I'm fine," [Y/N] said automatically, watching the ripples fan out.

Karma rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I’m the Prime Minister."

She smiled weakly.

"When you finally snap," Karma continued thoughtfully, "I hope I’m there to see it. It'll be glorious."

She nudged him with her elbow. "You're terrible."

"I know," he said proudly.

And she laughed. A real laugh, one that tasted like freedom.

Life settled into a rhythm. School, chores, pretending.

Every now and then, Karma would slip her little gifts.

A pack of new markers when hers dried up.

A pair of sneakers when her soles wore thin.

Once, when he noticed her jacket had a hole in the elbow, he "accidentally" won a brand-new one at a local festival and casually tossed it to her.

"Found it," he lied with a smirk.

She never called him out. She just accepted the gifts with quiet gratitude, heart aching with something she didn't have the words for yet.

It wasn't about the gifts themselves.

It was about being seen.

Home was… complicated.

Izuku still loved her. She believed that. But he was drowning in his own sadness, his own dreams that seemed to slip further away with each passing day.

Inko hovered constantly, praising his smallest achievements, mourning his every stumble.

[Y/N] became a background character in her own life.

"Don't bother your brother," Inko would say when [Y/N] tried to show Izuku a drawing she made.

"Be patient, [Y/N]. Izuku needs support right now," when she asked if they could bake something together.

Support. Patience. Silence.

She gave it all.

Until there was nothing left but a girl made of glass.

Beautiful.

Fragile.

Invisible.

Her refuge was Karma.

They spent long hours after school together—wandering parks, exploring abandoned lots, daring each other to climb higher, run faster, dream bigger.

Karma never treated her like she was breakable.

He teased her, challenged her, believed in her.

And when [Y/N] finally confessed one night—in a whisper barely louder than the crickets—that she had a quirk, that she could control the elements but chose to hide it…

Karma didn’t gasp.

He didn’t flinch.

He just grinned.

"Knew it," he said smugly. "You’re way too cool to be normal."

She blinked at him, startled.

"One day," he added, tossing a pebble into the dark water, "you’re gonna set the whole world on fire."

[Y/N] laughed—a wet, choked sound—and wiped her eyes.

"Not yet," she said.

"No," Karma agreed, voice soft for once. "Not yet. But soon."

On her ninth birthday, she didn’t bother expecting anything.

Izuku got a new All Might figure.

She got a pat on the head.

But that night, Karma showed up outside her window, grinning like he owned the stars.

He dragged her out into the cold night air, all the way to the top of the abandoned water tower near the park.

There, laid out under the open sky, was a picnic blanket, a box of cheap takeout, and a pile of wrapped bundles.

[Y/N] gaped.

"You’re insane," she said.

"Takes one to know one," Karma said cheerfully.

They ate cold noodles under the stars.

He gave her a new pair of sneakers, a tiny stuffed rabbit with a missing ear, and—last of all—another glass figurine.

This one was a wolf, fierce and proud, its head thrown back in a silent howl.

"It’s you," Karma said, tapping the figurine. "Wild. Loud. Strong. You just forgot."

[Y/N] clutched it to her chest.

Tears blurred the stars overhead.

Weeks passed. Seasons shifted again.

[Y/N] grew stronger, bolder in secret.

She trained with Karma when no one was looking. Practicing tiny bursts of flame, small gusts of wind, pulling pebbles from the earth with a thought.

She shaped her gifts like glass under a flame, molding herself into something new.

Not a fragile ornament to sit quietly on a shelf.

A weapon.

A storm.

A reckoning.

And all the while, Karma stood beside her, laughing, teasing, daring her to be more.

One afternoon, while walking home from school, they stumbled upon a scuffle behind a convenience store.

A group of teenagers—bigger, meaner—cornered a younger boy, sneering, fists raised.

[Y/N] stepped forward automatically.

"Leave him alone," she said, voice steady.

The boys laughed.

One shoved her.

She stumbled, caught herself.

Karma stepped up beside her, grinning like a shark.

"Bad move," he said pleasantly.

The fight was quick.

Karma fought dirty, fought smart.

[Y/N] didn't use her quirk. She didn’t have to.

She dodged, blocked, tripped, and punched.

When the bullies ran off nursing bloody noses and bruised egos, the younger boy fled too, wide-eyed with terror.

[Y/N] brushed dust off her knees, heart pounding.

Karma tossed an arm around her shoulders.

"Told you," he said. "Wild."

She laughed, breathless and free.

Later that night, sitting on the rooftop with Karma, [Y/N] turned the wolf figurine over and over in her hands.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Karma shrugged. "For what?"

"For seeing me."

He didn't answer right away.

Instead, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a small pocket knife.

Without hesitation, he nicked his thumb, a tiny bead of blood welling up.

He held it out to her, grinning.

"Best friends," he said. "Blood brothers—or whatever you wanna call it."

[Y/N] stared at him, stunned.

Then, with a shaky laugh, she pricked her thumb too.

They pressed their thumbs together, sealing the promise.

Not with words.

With blood.

With trust.

With the unbreakable bond of two kids who refused to be broken.

"Best friends," [Y/N] echoed.

And under the endless stretch of stars, she finally believed it.

A/N: And there it is. The bond. Not made of quirks or blood or shared DNA. But of Band-Aids and birthday noodles, of glass wolves and rooftop promises. Karma didn’t save her. He stood beside her while she learned how to save herself. And [Y/N]? She’s still quiet. Still kind. But the world made a mistake thinking that meant she was weak. You felt it here: The pressure’s building. The cracks are forming. And when she finally chooses to stop hiding? That’s not the end of the story. That’s when the reckoning begins.

—With love, fire, and strawberry milk— Your storm-brewing author🖤

Let me know if I missed anyone

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airosuiren · 2 months ago

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ITS SO HARD TO STAY CONSITANT WITH MORE THAN 4 CHAPTERS😭😭

#𝔖𝔲𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔫 𝔜𝔞𝔭𝔰

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airosuiren · 2 months ago

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I have the number of chapters along with most of the things ready for the new fic!

For now

It will have

4 Major Arcs 18–19 Chapters

I'll be posting (hopefully) 2 chapters at once, along with some special chapters from time to time!

Hope you all will like it!

#𝔖𝔲𝔦𝔢𝔫 𝔜𝔞𝔭𝔰

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airosuiren · 2 months ago

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I'll soon be posting the first chapter/part of this prompt, I'll be using the normal taglist, If you want to be added or removed, Please tell me!

Taglist: @feral-childs-word, @trashlanternfish360, @astro-girly1, @suneaterscape, @thatcatladywrites, @arislia, @kittzu, @ottjhe, @tinybrie, @wpdarlingpan, @ryuushou, @simpingpandas, @lettucel0ver, @moonxmio, @kneelforloki, @sirenetheblogger, @xzmickeyzx, @ironsaladwitch, @lithiumval, @starsdotalk, @fortunatelydifferentqueen, @ocean-mochi, @bunniotomia

This is the taglist I will be using!

Please tell me if you wish to be removed.

I'll be posting sometime tomorrow!

#𝔖𝔲𝔦𝔢𝔫 𝔜𝔞𝔭𝔰

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airosuiren · 2 months ago

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I have a really dope idea about an x reader

I read about a MHA x reader x Assassination Classroom fic on Quotev like a really long time ago, and because of this I can't find it. (I'll link it if I do find it)

This fic is going to be inspired by it.

It will be longer and with more parts.

It will be aaaaa.....

MHA x Neglected Midoriya Reader x Karma Akabane

It'll partially follow the canon.

And OH BOY is it going to be GOOD (I hope)

LMK what you think.

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕀𝕤 𝕆𝕡𝕖𝕟

#𝔖𝔲𝔦𝔢𝔫 𝔜𝔞𝔭𝔰

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airosuiren · 2 months ago

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𝔈𝔭𝔦𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢: 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔒𝔫𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 ℌ𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔎𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔗𝔬

A/N: You know what’s better than revenge? Power they have to bow to. This sequel isn’t about getting even. It’s about standing so far above the ones who left you bleeding that they have to look up — and ask permission — just to survive. This isn’t a comeback. This is an empire. Built from everything they discarded. Ruled by the one they never thought would outgrow them. And this time? It’s your rules. Your game. Your throne. Let's rebuild Gotham — with [Y/N]'s foot on its throat. 🖤👑

Thank You @arislia for this Idea!

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 3, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 4

Gotham rotted faster than anyone expected.

Crime evolved. Corporations hollowed the city out. Politicians sold off everything that wasn’t nailed down. It wasn’t Joker or Riddler or Two-Face that broke Gotham this time.

It was greed.

And for once, fists and gadgets weren’t enough.

They needed something else. Someone else.

They needed you.

They sent Dick first. Always the diplomat. He showed up to your office in Metropolis—sleek, fortified, guarded by systems he couldn't even begin to hack.

You let him sit.

You didn’t offer him coffee.

You didn’t offer him forgiveness.

"Gotham needs you," he said.

You didn't flinch. "Gotham never wanted me."

He swallowed. It looked painful.

"We were wrong," he said.

You leaned back in your chair, studying him like you would any desperate client. "Yes."

No anger. No bitterness. Just truth.

When he left, he promised Bruce would reach out.

You didn’t wait by the phone.

Bruce came two weeks later. No cowl. No cape. Just a man who looked older, heavier, carrying more regret than pride.

"I failed you," he said.

You said nothing.

There was nothing he could say that would rebuild what he broke. Some things aren’t healed. They’re replaced.

"Gotham will fall without you," he said.

You tapped your pen against your desk. "It already did."

He didn’t argue.

He only said, "Help us. Please."

And for a second, you saw it—the boy in the Manor who waited by doors that never opened. The ghost who stopped hoping.

You closed the file in front of you.

"Here are my terms."

You weren't offering charity.

You were offering dominion.

If Gotham wanted saving, it would be on your terms. Your systems. Your vision.

And they would have to kneel to it.

To you.

You weren't their forgotten child anymore.

You were the architect of their survival.

And this time, they'd never forget it.

A/N: They made you beg. They made you bleed. They made you a ghost. And you made yourself a god. They came asking for help — and they had to kneel for it. Not because you needed the validation. But because survival itself finally had your name written all over it. You weren't the child at the edge of the cave anymore. You weren’t the mistake they tried to forget. You were the architect of Gotham's future. The hand on the city's pulse. The memory they could never erase — because you became the only thing keeping them alive. And they would never, ever forget again.

—Your still-smirking, still-scorched, empire-crafting author 🖤🔥

Taglist: @feral-childs-word, @trashlanternfish360, @astro-girly1, @suneaterscape, @thatcatladywrites, @arislia, @kittzu, @ottjhe, @tinybrie, @wpdarlingpan, @ryuushou, @simpingpandas, @lettucel0ver, @moonxmio, @kneelforloki, @sirenetheblogger, @xzmickeyzx, @ironsaladwitch, @lithiumval, @starsdotalk, @fortunatelydifferentqueen, @ocean-mochi, @bunniotomia

Let me know if I missed someone!

#𝔖𝔲𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔫 𝔚𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔰 #batman #neglected reader #x reader #fanfic #batfamily #batfam #batkids #batfam x neglected reader #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere batman #male yandere #yandere #soft yandere #yandere male #yandere obsession #𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔄𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔊𝔢𝔪

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airosuiren · 2 months ago

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𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱’𝔰 𝔏𝔢𝔣𝔱 𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔖𝔢𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲

A/N: This part right here? This is where the story shifts from pain to power. Where [Y/N] stops chasing apologies—and starts building empires. This isn’t about them "realizing your worth." It’s about you realizing you never needed their permission in the first place. The applause is hollow. The recognition comes too late. And our girl? She doesn’t reach back. She rises. Get ready to watch them mourn the ghost they made—and realize too late that survival looks a lot like greatness.

Thank You @arislia for this Idea!

@bunniotomia, I AM SORRY FOR NOT TAGGING YOU, ILY.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2

The moment the League put their survival in your hands, something shifted. Not in them. In you.

You felt it when Bruce didn’t interrupt you. When Diana called your analysis “brutal and brilliant.” When Clark told you he trusted your judgment more than the AI system they'd built.

Suddenly, everyone wanted to listen. Wanted your insight, your damage control, your vision.

Funny how people only see you when you become useful.

The plan worked. Your strategy went live—waves of disinformation, fake leaks, public interviews. You weaponized truth like a scalpel. You peeled back the hysteria and made it bleed your version of the story.

And it worked.

Gotham didn’t burn. The League wasn’t outed. The world stayed intact.

But nothing in you celebrated.

Because the price wasn’t paid by the League. It was paid by the kid who sat at the edge of the Batcave years ago, hoping for a word. A nod. A chance.

They gave you credit now. Applause. Praise.

Too late. It was always too late.

Tim said he was sorry. Dick offered to reconnect. Damian looked like he wanted to ask how you’d done it all—but couldn’t bring himself to.

And Bruce?

He said, “You did good.”

You wanted to laugh.

You did great. You saved their world. And it still felt hollow.

Because part of you was still in that Manor, starving for warmth. Part of you still remembered the cold shoulder, the locked door, the day Alfred stopped checking if you came down for breakfast.

The world could sing your name. The League could hand you titles, roles, endless offers.

It didn’t matter.

Because you weren’t theirs anymore.

You walked away.

From Gotham. From the Manor. From the past.

You accepted the Kents’ invitation. Helped expand the Queens’ foundation. Took over policy initiatives that reshaped cities.

People called you a visionary.

But you were still just a kid who survived being forgotten.

And that pain? It never leaves. It just sharpens you. Refines you. Burns everything soft out of you until all that’s left is brilliance and bite.

You didn’t need them to love you.

You learned how to do that yourself.

And that?

That was the scariest thing they ever saw.

EPILOGUE (DARKER VERSION): The Ghost They Built

Years passed.

You didn’t return for funerals. Or birthdays. Or anniversaries. You sent flowers once—anonymous. Bruce knew it was you. So did Alfred.

You never answered their calls.

They watched your life unfold through screens. News cycles. Feature articles. TED Talks and awards and photos of you shaking hands with world leaders.

You were a household name. A force. Gotham’s own myth—not for crime, not for tragedy. For power.

Sometimes, Bruce would sit alone in the cave and reread your strategy dossier. The one that saved them all. The one they never framed or displayed.

Sometimes, Damian would stare too long at a photo of you and quickly look away.

And sometimes, Alfred would make tea for two. Out of habit.

But you? You stopped looking back.

Because ghosts don’t haunt the places they escaped.

They haunt the people who let them die there.

𝔅𝔬𝔫𝔲𝔰 (𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓭)

(Based on this prompt link)

You stayed.

You stayed in the Manor even when it rotted you from the inside out. You stayed on patrol even when they benched you emotionally. You trained harder. Longer. Not because you were loved. Because you were angry.

Angry that no one cared. Angry that you had to prove you were worth breathing their air.

You became a ghost in your own home. A silent weapon in the background. They forgot you were there—until they needed a soldier.

And when the new threat surfaced—a dark coalition of villains—Justice League level—you fought beside them. Bleeding for them. Dying for them in slow, unnoticed ways.

And they didn’t even notice when you were missing.

It wasn’t even a complicated plan.

A misstep. A call that went unanswered. An empty alley. A chloroform cloth and no backup.

The "League of Villains" (or whatever flashy name they called themselves) didn't want you because you were powerful.

They wanted you because you were forgotten.

Because what better bait than the child no one even remembered was missing?

It played on every Justice League screen.

Static. Then—clarity.

You tied to a chair. Wrists shredded against restraints. Bombs wired around you like a grotesque necklace. Mouth taped. Muzzle strapped tight.

Blood dried at your temple. Your body slumped but alive. Barely.

The Joker stood behind you—grinning like a nightmare.

He pointed the camera down, zooming in on your eyes.

Eyes that looked too much like Martha Wayne’s.

"Look familiar, Batsy?" he crooned, fingers digging into your cheeks like a puppeteer. "Missed one of your little ducklings. Tsk, tsk. Family man, my ass."

He laughed.

Then leaned in closer to your face.

"They don't even remember you're missing, do they?"

You blinked. Once. Twice.

And in that moment? Everyone watching saw it.

The brokenness. The hollow, aching scream you couldn't make.

They tried.

Diana. Clark. Barry. Bruce.

Every satellite. Every lead.

Too late.

Always too late.

The last thing you saw was the red digital countdown reflected in Joker’s laughing eyes.

The last thing they saw was you— looking directly into the camera.

Unblinking. Silent. Waiting.

Boom.

The screen went dark.

There was no body to bury. No last words. No goodbyes.

Just ashes. And guilt that swallowed them whole.

They forgot you when you were alive.

They remembered you only when you were dust.

You didn’t haunt Gotham’s alleys.

You haunted them.

You became the silence between their victories. The guilt behind their smiles. The graveyard stitched into every mission they survived.

You were their second Jason.

But this time?

There would be no resurrection.

𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓴'𝓼 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

The conference room smelled like panic and sweat.

The Justice League stared at the blackened monitor—the final static-flicker of the explosion still burned into the air like a brand.

The chair she had been strapped to was gone. She was gone.

And Clark Kent—the beacon of hope, the man who once believed in second chances, in forgiveness, in the good in everyone— stood like a storm barely contained.

His fists clenched. The windows trembled. The concrete under his boots spiderwebbed with cracks.

And no one spoke.

Because they knew. They knew he had warned them.

Two weeks ago.

"Where’s [Y/N]?" Clark’s voice had been calm then. Mild concern.

Bruce hadn’t even looked up from his work.

"Fine. Busy," he muttered.

Clark pressed. "I haven’t heard her on comms. Haven’t seen her in patrol rotations."

"Training elsewhere," Bruce clipped back. "Focus on the real threat."

Clark’s jaw tightened. He looked to Diana. To Oliver. To anyone.

But no one moved.

And Clark? He let it go. Because he thought—surely—they would notice if something was wrong.

Surely they loved her enough.

Now.

Clark turned, slow and deliberate, facing the Bat.

"You left her," he said, voice low and dangerous.

Bruce stood silent, fists tight at his sides.

"You forgot her," Clark growled. "You forgot your daughter."

His hands slammed the table. The entire room shook.

"Superman—" Diana started.

"No." His eyes burned. Blue ice. Wild rage. "Don’t ‘Superman’ me."

He pointed at Bruce.

"You left Jason to die. And now you've done it again."

Bruce's mouth tightened. He said nothing.

"And you," Clark spun to the others, his voice cracking with fury. "All of you—you let it happen."

No one spoke. No one could.

Because there wasn’t a single excuse in the world that could erase the truth.

Later, Clark would stand alone at the remnants of the transmission room.

The place smelled like burnt ozone. It smelled like regret.

He knelt—slowly, reverently—at the last place she had been seen alive.

And in the quiet, he whispered the only words he had left:

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have fought harder."

But the dead don't hear apologies.

And Superman— Superman would never forgive himself.

Not for this. Not for her.

Not ever.

A/N: This was never about being chosen. This was never about being welcomed back. This was about surviving what they did. About becoming something so sharp, so brilliant, so unstoppable — they could only watch from the outside. They didn’t lose you when you walked away. They lost you the day they made you feel like you had to earn your place at all. You didn’t become a ghost because you wanted to be feared. You became a ghost because they left you no other way to live. And now? Now you are the silence after the storm. The blade they forgot they forged. You are what they buried — And what will outlast them all.

—Your still-proud, still-scorched, always-rising author 🖤🔥

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