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winxanity-ii · 11 hours

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 16 Chapter 16 | symbol's demise⌟

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Aizawa frowned at the villains. "The trespassing the other day was the work of these scumbags after all, huh?"

Your eyebrow shot up. The revelation sparking a memory that instantly transported you back to the chaotic stampede in the hallway just a few days ago.

If you weren't mistaken, after the alarm was signaled, it was only seconds before you found yourself bumping into an unknown figure.

...Could it be?...

"Where is he? I went through the trouble of bringing this whole crowd, too...All Might...The Symbol of Peace...And he's not here?" The blue haired man asked, his voice raspy and gravely. "I wonder if he'll come if we kill some kids?"

"They want All Might," you murmured to yourself, a sly smile playing on your lips hidden behind your hand, enjoying the growing tensions. "How utterly predictable."

Aizawa's signature weapon, Capturing Weapon, whipped into action. It unfurled with a metallic snap, defying gravity as it hovered menacingly beside him, charged with unseen energy. A crimson glow ignited in his eyes, piercing through the darkness of his goggles, and his unruly black hair bristled upwards like a wild animal's mane.

The students can only stare at the approaching villains in disbelief as their teacher activated his Erasure quirk, the transformation a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor with the present threat.

"What? Villains? No way...There's no way they could get into a hero school!" Kirishima exclaimed, his voice laced with worry.

Yaoyorozu, a tall teenage girl with a mature physique, echoed his concern. Her onyx eyes, sharp and intelligent, darted between the villains and Thirteen, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Yeah, Thirteen-sensei," she said, voicing her own question. "Why aren't the alarms going off? What about the trespasser sensors??"

Thirteen offered a helpless shrug, just as clueless as everyone else. "We have them, of course, but..." she trailed off, unsure on how to finish her sentence.

Todoroki's voice cut through the tension, calm and collected despite the chaos, cut through the tension. "Did they only appear here, or around the whole school?"

Internally, you scoffed. Here you all were, a small class of about 22 pre-hero students, squeezed between two actual heroes and surrounded by a sea of hundreds of villains. This wasn't the time for a fucking seminar!

Weren't these supposed future heroes supposed to have some kind of... instinct? Survival sense? Anything besides the urge to hold a strategy meeting while they were clearly outnumbered and outgunned?

You gritted your teeth, the hero-hopeful facade you usually maintained cracking around the edges.

This was insane.

"Either way, if the alarm sensors aren't being triggered, then one of these villains must have a quirk that's masking their presence," you interjected, voice coolly analytical. "They carefully chose this isolated facility as an entry point at a time when a class was being taught. They're fools for trespassing here, but they've thought this out. Whatever their plan is, their objective ends with the death of All Might."

"Thirteen, start the evacuation and try calling," Aizawa ordered, his voice firm. "These villains even had something to counteract the sensors. It's possible someone with radio-wave-type powers is interfering." He turned towards Kaminari. "Kaminari. You try contacting the school with your Quirk, too."

Kaminari blinked in surprise but nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. "Yes, sir!"

"What about you, sir? You can't fight them on your own! There's too many of them! Even if you can nullify their quirks, your fighting style's not suited for this!" Midoriya yelled, his voice laced with panic. "Your power works best in stealth and one-on-one fights after erasing the enemy's Quirk. That's not going to help with a group!"

For a moment, Aizawa glanced back at the panicking boy. "You can't be a hero with just one trick," he said before turning to his colleague. "I'll leave it to you, Thirteen." And with that, he was off, jumping down the staircase towards the approaching villains.

As the 1-A students ran, following Thirteen, you, however, remained rooted to the spot for a moment, your gaze glued to the unfolding scene. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight of Aizawa effortlessly dismantling the villains, his movements a testament to his experience.

With a flick of his wrist, he dodged a villain's punch, using the momentum to sweep another off their feet. His capture weapon, scarf-like and dark, snaked out, wrapping around a third villain and yanking them close before they could unleash their quirk. It was like watching a dance, a deadly ballet where Aizawa dictated the steps.

A sudden yank on your wrist jolted you back to reality. Disgust flared in your gut, quickly followed by a wave of irritation and anger. How dare one of these lowlife-villains have the audacity to touch you? You whipped your head around, expecting to see a villain's face contorted with a menacing grin. Instead, you met the scowling gaze of none other than Bakugo.

Despite the initial shock, your body instantly relaxed at the sight of your "pet."

"The hell are you doing? Get moving, princess!" he barked, his voice laced with a thread of concern he wouldn't admit.

A brow rose, smile played on your lips upon realizing he'd bestowed a new nickname upon you—"Princess." Despite the rather pompous title, you couldn't help but find a hint of amusement in it as well as wonder where and when he'd come up with it.

You allowed him to pull you along, effortlessly matching his pace as you rejoined the fleeing group of Class 1-A students that were nearing the supposed safety of the exit.

Suddenly, the air shimmered and the same unsettling mist from before materialized, solidifying into the form of the portal villain they'd encountered earlier. Panicked gasps erupted from the students as everyone skidded to a halt.

His voice dripped with a chilling formality as he addressed the group. "There's no use of escape. I won't allow it." His glowing yellow eyes scanned the students, lingering on each face with a simmering contempt. "Despite the circumstances, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Kurogiri, and we are the League of Villains." He bowed slightly, the gesture incongruous with the dire situation.

"And while it may seem impolite of us," Kurogiri continued, his voice taking on a sinister edge, "we have taken the liberty of inviting ourselves into this haven of justice, U.A. High School..." He paused dramatically, letting the weight of his words hang heavy in the air.

"...with the sole purpose of having All Might, the Symbol of Peace, take his last breath."

The students erupted in a fresh wave of gasps, some teetering on the verge of hysteria.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bakugo. His face was contorted with rage; his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth seemed ready to shatter. He radiated an aura of barely contained fury, his explosions crackling faintly around his clenched fists. His whole body vibrating with suppressed rage.

For a moment, you considered letting him stew and calm down. But a mischievous glint sparked in your eye.

Where was the fun in that?

With a playful smile tugging at your lips, you leaned closer to Bakugo. As if brushing away a stray speck of dust, you projected a forceful thought—"Get him!"—repeating it like a war chant in his mind.

The change is instantaneous—a relentless drumbeat that stoked the flames of Bakugo's already simmering anger.

His scowl deepened into a fearsome snarl, a low growl rumbling from his throat. Veins pulsed on his temples as the red in his eyes intensified, his anger reaching a feverish pitch. Kirishima, ever observant of his friend, leaned over with concern etched on his face. "Hey, BakuBro, you alright?"

You let out a barely audible tsk, your amusement momentarily dampened by the potential for Kirishima's intervention.

Without wasting another second, you seized the opportunity. Extending your focus, you targeted Kirishima as well. His normally carefree demeanor vanished as your quirk infiltrated his mind, replicating Bakugo's volatile state.

Kirishima's eyes widened, his signature shark-like grin replaced by a snarl mirroring Bakugo's.

Kurogiri, seemingly unfazed by the sudden range of emotions, continued, "I believe All Might should have been here. Has there been some kind of change? Ah, well, in the end, I suppose it doesn't matter. I still have a role to play—" He trailed off, preparing to act.

But before he could do anything, Bakugo and Kirishima launched themselves at him in a blur of fury. A colossal blast erupted from Bakugo's palms, engulfing the hallway in a cloud of dust. The other students flinched back, momentarily blinded by the explosion.

As the smoke slowly cleared, a tense silence descended upon the group.

"Did you consider that you'd get beaten by us before you did that?!" Kirishima snarled, his hands hardened into their usual crimson battle-ready state. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Bakugou, a united front of barely contained rage.

When the dust settled, the picture that emerged was far from the victory they'd hoped for. Kurogiri stood there, completely unharmed, a hint of amusement flickering within his gleaming eyes.

Not a single ember of Bakugou's attack seemed to have touched him.

"Oh dear," Kurogiri remarked in a voice that was surprisingly calm considering the situation, " that's dangerous. That's right. Even if you are students, you are excellent 'golden eggs.'" He scanned the group of young heroes-in-training, his words carrying a weight that sent shivers down their spines.

Thirteen's panickily screamed, "Move away, you two!" her voice laced with urgency.

But it was too late.

Kurogiri's form began to warp and expand, his misty figure growing taller and more menacing. His voice boomed with a newfound power, shaking the very foundation of the facility. "My job is to scatter you all... to your deaths!"

Panic erupted among the students.

Bakugo whirled around, his eyes locking with yours for a fleeting moment. A single word, "Y/N!" erupted from his lips, his voice laced with a raw fear he rarely displayed.

But before you could even react, before you could blink or utter a single sound, Kurogiri's form engulfed you all, a swirling vortex of dark mist that took up the entire hallway. The swirling mist tendrils snaked out, wrapping around each student in its cold embrace.

The last thing you saw was Bakugou's face, etched with worry and a futile attempt to grab your hand as the darkness swallowed you whole.

Then, nothing.

***it's just something about kurogiri being polite that makes me feral😔🤌🏾

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winxanity-ii · 12 hours

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⌜No Hoods Attached | Chapter 24 Chapter 24 | fractured delusions⌟

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As the backstage area becomes a blur around you, Taehyung's arms tighten, lifting you off the ground in a celebratory spin, your laughter mingling with his in a shared bubble of joy. His voice is warm, a melodic whisper close to your ear, "I knew you could do it," he says, his laughter vibrating through you. As the spinning slows, you find yourselves locked in a gaze, the world around fading to a distant hum.

Your feet touch the ground again, but you hardly notice, caught in the gravity of Taehyung's gaze. The space between you narrows, each breath you take seems to draw him closer. His breath, a warm caress against your face, sends shivers down your spine. Your heart pounds so loudly you're convinced he can hear it, its rhythm syncing with the lingering notes of your shared performance.

Just a breath away, his gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, a silent question hanging in the air. Before the two of you can kiss, you instinctively turn your head, his lips brushing against your cheek instead.

The moment is suspended, a mix of surprise and bashfulness enveloping you both. Putting space between you, Taehyung and you share a moment of awkward laughter, the tension dissipating into the air.

"Uh, I should probably go get changed... and get back to the crowd," Taehyung stammers, a flush creeping onto his cheeks, mirroring your own.

You nod, words jumbling out in a clumsy rush, "Yeah, yeah, good idea, go... do that."

He lingers for a heartbeat longer, his eyes flitting to yours again, laden with unsaid words, before he turns to leave. As he walks away, you catch him throwing glances over his shoulder, each look sending a flurry of butterflies through your stomach.

Standing alone now, you touch the spot on your cheek, the warmth of his breath still lingering on your skin. The mixed feelings of relief and disappointment tangle inside you, leaving you to wonder about the 'what ifs' as the backstage area slowly empties, and the echoes of applause fade into a distant memory.

Still basking in the afterglow of everything, your solitude is shattered as Alex approaches you. Her expression is a mix of contrition and unease. "Hey, I... I just, uh, wanted to say congratulations," she begins, her voice tinged with a forced cheerfulness that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

You nod, wary but polite, as she steps closer. "Thank you, Alex," you reply, maintaining a cautious distance. After a brief pause, a pang of empathy nudges you to add, "And I'm sorry that things didn't turn out as you hoped with the YaNi role. I know you were really excited about it."

Alex's demeanor shifts, a playful squeal escaping her as she waves off your apology. "Oh, don't worry about that! I'm just glad to have been part of the journey, you know? Plus, you were absolutely amazing out there!" Her excitement seems genuine, but there's a flicker of something else in her eyes; she leans in, a mischievous grin spreading across her face, her voice a mix of admiration and something darker, more sinister. "Really, I mean it. And that little moment between you and Taehyung," she teases, nudging you playfully. "...it was something out of a fairy tale."

Before you can react, she envelops you in a hug, but the warmth you'd expect is missing. "...Still... That should have been me," she murmurs as she she clings to you, her voice turning cold, venom laced with every word.

You stiffen, taken aback by the sudden shift.

She pulls back, her eyes locking with yours, and the mask falls away, revealing the raw, unfiltered jealousy and bitterness. "I recognized that jacket, you know, from the fan-meeting," she confesses, her voice laced with resentment. "I knew it was yours the moment I saw Taehyung wearing it on one of his Twitter posts. I couldn't believe it... that you, of all people, were connected to him."

Your heart begins to race, a sense of dread washing over you as Alex's revelations unfold.

"I couldn't stand it," she continues, her words coming out faster and her voice rising, fueled by a festering anger. "At first, I refused to believe that you two could be dating, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you weren't together. But then the email leak happened. And just the thought of you, so close to him, to all of this... I knew I had to do something."

You're speechless, your mind racing to piece together her words.

"I was the one pushing Han-jiyoo to go to HYBE. I was the one to suggest that they tighten security, hoping it would trip you up, make things harder for you. I even nudged those... those stupid fucking fans, hinting about the connection to the jacket, hoping to stir the pot... I wanted to see you fall, to take your place beside Taehyung."

"And it almost worked," she snarled with piercing eyes, stepping back as her mask completely sheds. "But somehow, you still ended up here, in the spotlight, with him. You still got your fairy tale ending, while I'm left with nothing." Her voice cracks, a mix of fury and defeat. "I refuse to let this stand, you know. Your little fairy tale... it won't last. I'll make sure of it," Alex hisses, venom in her voice as she turns to storm off.

But before she can leave, a sharp voice stops her in her tracks. "What did you just say?" Yoongi's voice, icy and filled with barely contained fury, echoes in the otherwise quiet backstage area.You turn to see Yoongi stepping from the shadows, his eyes fixed on Alex with a glare that could freeze fire. "I knew there was something off about you," he spits out, advancing toward her with a determined stride.

Alex's composure breaks, her voice sharp with desperation. "Stay out of this, Yoongi! It's none of your business!" she snaps.

Yoongi's eyes narrow, and he steps closer, his presence commanding. "When it involves my family, it becomes my business," he retorts, glancing at you, emphasizing the word 'family' with a protective edge.

He doesn't hold back, his voice tinged with disdain. "Desperate, aren't you? All that scheming, all that plotting, and for what? To fail miserably in the end?" He shakes his head, a mix of anger and pity in his eyes.

Alex's eyes flash with a mix of defiance and desperation as she scrambles for some semblance of dignity, facade beginning to crack. "I did what I had to do! You don't understand what it's like, always being the second choice, always in the background!" she spits out, her voice quivering with a cocktail of emotions.

With a venomous glare directed at you, she hisses, "And you! You just waltz in and steal the spotlight without even trying. What makes you so special, huh?"

Yoongi steps between you and Alex, his posture radiating protectiveness. "Enough," he commands, his voice brooking no argument. "Don't make this about her. I've seen a lot in this industry, but you..." He trails off, shaking his head with a scoff. "You're a new low," he continues, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl.

Yoongi leans in closer, his gaze fixed on Alex. "You orchestrated this entire thing. Planned it all out, only to end up humiliating yourself in front of everyone. Pathetic." He sneers, letting out a humorless chuckle. "The delusion is strong with you. Taehyung wouldn't never even touch someone as desperate and manipulative as you with a ten-foot pole."

Yoongi's words hit a nerve; at the mention of Taehyung, something snaps within Alex. Face contorted with rage, she lets out a banshee shriek and lunges at him, nails bared. Before she could actually land a hit, security guards materialized seemingly out of thin air, alerted by the commotion. They move with practiced efficiency, quickly restraining a thrashing and screeching Alex.

They grasp her arms, restraining her as she continues to hurl insults and threats, her eyes locked on you. "This isn't over! It's not fair! He should be mine!" she screeches, struggling against the security's firm grip.

Yoongi watches coldly as she's escorted away, her desperate cries echoing off the walls. Once she's out of sight, he turns to you, his expression softening. "Are you okay?" he asks, his concern genuine; Yoongi's hand is warm on your shoulder, grounding you as you try to process the rapid unraveling of events. "It's over now," he assures you, his voice steady and calm. "She won't be able to harm you or anyone else." You nod, feeling a mix of relief and residual shock. "I just... I never saw it coming," you admit, your voice a mere whisper. He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "People like her are good at hiding their true intentions. But remember, you're not alone. We're all here for you," Yoongi says, his gaze sincere. The backstage area slowly regains its usual controlled chaos. The earlier tension dissipates, replaced by the quiet hum of roadies dismantling equipment. Suddenly, a familiar voice pierces the newfound calm, "Y/N!" You look up to see Seora barreling towards you, her face etched with worry. Your father follows close behind, his expression uncharacteristically grim. Relief washes over you as you throw your arms around Seora in a tight hug. She holds you for a long moment, her hold a silent expression of comfort and support. Finally, you pull back, tears welling up in your eyes. "Seora, you won't believe what just happened," you stammer, the events of the past few minutes tumbling out in a rush. As you recount the entire ordeal to them, every word of Alex's demented plan, Seora's face contorts with rage. Her eyes narrow into slits, and she clenches her fist so tightly her knuckles turn white. "Oh, on God and on my mama, I'm about to fuck Ji-yoo up! Fucking sell-out," she hisses, her voice barely a whisper. Just as quickly, the fire in her eyes softens, replaced by a wave of protectiveness; she pulls you into another hug, burying her face in your hair. "I can't believe you had to go through all that," she mutters, her voice thick with emotion. "Just ridiculous." Your father steps forward, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. His expression is a mask of steely resolve. "Don't worry, Y/N," he says, his voice firm. "We'll handle this. Alex will not get away with this." He cups your face, his touch gentle yet firm. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, his eyes filled with a father's unwavering love and protectiveness. "We'll make sure she's held accountable," he continues, his voice leaving no room for argument. "This isn't over." "Thank you guys, for being here." In that moment, surrounded by the people who matter most, you feel a surge of gratitude. Despite the chaos, you're reminded that you're not alone, bolstered by the support of your loved ones, ready to face whatever comes next with them by your side.

***not alex being the bad guy...whaaa??? DUN DUN DUUUNNNNNNN!

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winxanity-ii · 3 days

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 15 Chapter 15 | gauging reactions⌟

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A satisfied smirk played on your lips as you both reached the large, white and gray bus. Iida, ever the gentleman, gestured towards the open door. "After you, Akuma-san," he said politely, stepping aside to allow you on board.

"Thank you, Iida-kun," you replied with a gracious nod, stepping onto the bus. The chatter inside immediately died down as everyone turned to stare at you. The confusion was evident. They were expecting Iida to return, not you.

"Hey, Four Eyes! The hell took you so long? Had to take a crap or somethin—" Bakugo's booming voice cut through the silence, but the sentence died abruptly on his lips as his crimson eyes landed on you. The amusement instantly drained from his face, replaced by a scowl that didn't reach his eyes. "Y/N? The hell you doin' here?"

You ignored his question, choosing instead to unleash your secret weapon—a sweet, closed-eye smile. It was a weapon you'd discovered held surprising power, especially over the other pests in your life—especially your little puppy, Bakugo.

And sure enough, a faint blush crept across Bakugo's cheeks, momentarily breaking his tough-guy facade, shutting him down. He quickly scoffed and turned away toward the window in a futile attempt to hide his flustered reaction.

Aizawa, who had been dozing in the front seat, finally stirred at the commotion. He slowly dragged himself to his feet, his hair a mess as ever. "Took you long enough, Iida," he mumbled in a monotone voice. Noticing the surprised looks on everyone's faces, he sighed dramatically.

"Alright, alright," he drawled, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance. "Seems the message wasn't clear. Akuma-san here will be joining you on your little field trip to U.S.J. Consider it a... motivator. A chance for Class 1-A to see that they're not the only ones vying for hero licenses." His yellow eyes flickered across the students' faces, a cryptic message lingering in their depths.

There was more to this than a simple observation session; that much was clear. But what exactly? Aizawa left the unspoken question hanging in the air, a tiny smirk playing on his lips.

With another tired sigh, he gestured towards the back of the bus. "Find a seat, Akuma-san. Just try not to cause too much trouble." His voice held a hint of contemptment, a silent acknowledgment of your unpredictable nature. There was a flicker of suspicion in his eyes, a single beat where his gaze narrowed slightly before smoothing back to normal.

It was subtle, but it didn't escape you.

You mentally noted to be cautious around the tired-looking teacher. He might just be the first to catch on to your act. Offering a polite bow, you replied with a sugary-sweet voice, "Of course, Aizawa-sensei. I'll be on my best behavior." Turning away, you began walking down the aisle, a playful smile still plastered on your face.

Internally, however, your smile faltered.

Aizawa's suspicion was a wrinkle in your otherwise perfect plan. You'd need to tread carefully, to maintain your facade of the friendly, eager student while subtly probing for information. This unexpected hurdle only made the challenge more exciting.

A silent thrill coursed through you. You thrived on challenges, and Aizawa's suspicion just added another layer of intrigue to the upcoming trip to U.S.J.

The bus rumbled to life, carrying you and Class 1-A towards their unknown destination. Surprisingly, the atmosphere was subdued. Gone were the throngs of curious classmates eager to bombard you with questions. Instead, a tense silence hung in the air. You suspected Bakugo had something to do with it.

The moment Aizawa dismissed you to find a seat, Bakugo had taken charge, kicking his classmate Jiro out of the seat next to him with a booming "Move it, Earphones!" before gesturing curtly for you to sit. You complied readily, taking note of the simmering tension emanating from the blonde.

The subdued chatter from the rest of the class proved to be a goldmine of information. You listened intently as they discussed their Quirks, their hopes, and their anxieties. It was like eavesdropping on a live episode of a hero reality show, and you were enthralled. Right now, the group was discussing each other's Quirks.

"...Bakugo's always angry, so he'll never be that popular."

Bakugo tensed visibly, his grip tightening on the armrest, a low growl rumbling from his chest. Before he could even take time to a moment to seethe and take up for himself, another voice cut through the tension. It was the boy you remembered rescuing at the physical entrance exam—Kaminari. "Y'know, we basically just met you and haven't known each other that long. So it's amazing that everyone already knows his personality is crap steeped in sewage."

Bakugo's entire body seemed to vibrate with rage. The smell of caramel, a telltale sign of his Quirk activating, grew stronger. Veins bulged on his neck, and his crimson eyes burned with fury. "What's with that vocabulary, bastard?! I'll kill you!"

Tuning out the ensuing argument, you found your gaze drifting across the bus. Your eyes met familiar ones—black sclerae framing bright yellow irises.

It was the pink girl from the U.A. entrance exam.

A smirk played on your lips as you recalled how easily you'd flustered her. A simple brush of your finger against her cheek had sent her brain into a delightful overload, causing her to screech and flee.

Catching your gaze, her already pink cheeks flushed an even darker, vibrant pink. She bounced nervously in her seat, clearly battling an internal struggle of wanting to talk to you. You accentuated the invitation with a playful smile, tilting your head slightly.

That was all it took.

In a flash of pink lightning, she was hurtling towards you. She squeezed between you and Bakugo, effectively shoving the blonde further into the window and creating a comfortable space for her. Bakugo let out an enraged bark, "Mina!" but she completely ignored him.

Mina practically vibrated with excitement as she stared up at you. "Hi!" she chirped, her grin so bright it could rival the sun. "I'm Ashido Mina, but you can call me Mina!"

Bubbling over with enthusiasm, she launched into a tirade about Bakugo. "He's so mean!" she declared, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Always keeping you all to himself, acting all mysterious. What gives, right?"

For the next ten minutes, Mina became a human hurricane of questions and chatter. Every topic seemed to revolve around you, a whirlwind of curiosity about your life, your connection to Bakugo, and everything in between.

Just as she leaned, her voice filled with curiosity, "So, what's your Quirk?" a hush fell over the bus. Even those who had seemingly been engrossed in their own conversations suddenly perked up, their ears straining to catch your response.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Midoriya, quickly fumbling to pull out his phone. You knew exactly what he was doing—taking notes on your Quirk, weaknesses, anything you might reveal.

After all, throughout your middle school years, you'd kept your Quirk a closely guarded secret. The only one privy to its true nature was Bakugo. But Midoriya, with his analytical mind, probably believed it must be powerful enough to earn Bakugo's begrudging respect.

Bakugo, barked at Mina. "Mind your damn business, Pinky!" His voice crackling with irritation that anyone would dare try to get closer to you.

"It's alright, Bakugo," you said in a sugary-sweet tone. "A little curiosity never hurt anyone, right?" A pointed look in his direction effectively silenced any further protests.

Turning back to Mina, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes, you leaned in conspiratorially. Your voice dropped to a whisper, sending shivers down the girl's spine. "Well,I can't exactly tell you everything. After all, our classes are a bit... competitive, wouldn't you say?" you purred, leaving the implication hanging heavy in the air. "But what I will say is that it's very mind-blowing."

Just as you finished your cryptic sentence, the bus lurched to a halt. Aizawa's tired voice echoed through the bus. "Alright, everyone out. Time for your little observation session at U.S.J." The bus doors hissed open, revealing a sprawling complex bathed in the warm afternoon sun.

The spell was broken. The students, momentarily captivated by your words, scrambled out of their seats, their curiosity momentarily forgotten in the face of the unknown that awaited them.

"Hello, everyone! I've been waiting for you!" A voice suddenly boomed as you all were exiting the bus.

Looking over, you spot a towering figure clad in a spacesuit-inspired hero costume, bouncing over with an enthusiasm that rivaled a sugar high.

A familiar voice piped up from beside you. "It's the Space Hero, Thirteen! The chivalrous pro who's rescued a ton of people from disasters across the world!" Izuku practically vibrated with excitement.

"Woo-hoo! Thirteen is so awesome! She's one of my favorite heroes!" Uraraka, a girl with a brown bob and pink round circles on her cheeks chime in, pumping her fist in the air.

Thirteen, used to the fanatic excitement, gestured grandly towards the building behind them. "I can't wait to show you what's inside!"

The students erupted in a chorus of awes and excited chatter. You, however, remained detached, observing the scene with a practiced cool. This "training facility" felt more like a glorified amusement park.

Inside, the building was a kaleidoscope of zones—a shipwreck, a landslide, a fire simulation—all meticulously crafted to resemble real-world disaster scenarios. A collective gasp rippled through the group as they took it all in.

"Holy smokes! It looks like some kind of amusement park!" Kirishima, a redheaded boy with a rather impressive physique for you guys age, pointed at the complex with wide eyes; his muscles straining against his hero uniform.

"A shipwreck," Thirteen boomed, "a landslide, a fire, a windstorm... and so on! I created this training facility to prepare you to deal with different types of disasters. I call it the Unforseen Simulation Joint, or USJ for short!"

A few students muttered comparisons to Universal Studios Japan under their breath. You smirked, unsurprised by the uninspired name.

As Thirteen continued her introductory speech, Aizawa sauntered in, his usual stoic expression etched on his face. He stopped beside Thirteen, a brief conversation passing between them that only served to deepen the furrow on his brow.

As the two adults talked, a smart part of you wanted to eavesdrops and see what it was, but ultimately decided against it; it's not like you'll actually learn something from it.

"That man is the height of irresponsibility," Aizawa sighed, shaking his head before glancing back at the students. "The clock's ticking. We should get started." He moved aside, clearing the way for Thirteen's grand demonstration.

Thirteen raised a hand, her voice booming once more. "Excellent! Before we begin, let me just say one thing... well, maybe two things. Possibly three, four, or..." she trailed off, earning a collective sweatdrop from the student body.

As Thirteen expounded on the power and potential dangers of their quirks, emphasizing the importance of responsible quirk usage and the true essence of heroism, you found yourself stifling a yawn as your mind wandered.

Yes, quirks could be used for destruction as well as heroism, it's practically common sense, yet here you all were.

Honestly, with so many rules put in place, you couldn't help but feel like being a villain seemed like a much less tedious career choice.

Just as Thirteen finished her speech with a dramatic bow, a sudden plunge into darkness sent shivers down everyone's spine.

A dark purple mist-like portal materialized in the center of the plaza, the swirling vortex pulsating with an unnatural light. Then, figures began to emerge, their forms obscured by the shadows cast by the portal.

A collective gasp rippled through the group of students. Confusion morphed into fear as the students buzzed with questions. Kirishima leaned forward, peering curiously at the portal. "Woah, what is that thing? Some surprise training exercise? High-tech villain simulation?" he asked. "Wait, has the training started already?"

Villains?

The word echoed in your head, a foreign concept whispered in hushed tones but never truly experienced.

Ever since you woke up in this quirk-infested world, heroes were all you'd ever known. Sure, you'd seen countless reports of villains being apprehended and brought to justice, dramatic displays of power broadcasted on every news channel. But to see them here, in person, was an entirely different experience.

Your mind raced, sifting through the possibilities. A villain attack during a training exercise? Either a brilliant diversion or an incredibly reckless gamble.

Aizawa's eyes widened as the portal began to spew forth figures clad in villainous attire. "Stay back and together! Don't move!" he barked, his voice tight with urgency as he yanked on his goggles, his gaze hardening as it landed on the approaching villains. "Thirteen! Protect the students!"

Aizawa's pronouncement hung heavy in the air, shattering the atmosphere like a dropped glass.

Your focus shifted to the pro-hero. His reaction confirmed your suspicions—this was no simulation. These were real villains, a fact driven home by Aizawa's harsh glare directed at the figures emerging from the portal.

These were the outcasts, the rule breakers—the very antithesis of the heroes you'd grown accustomed to observing.

A thrill, a subtle current of excitement, snaked its way through you. This wasn't part of the plan. This was chaos, a disruption to the established order—a wrinkle thrown into the carefully constructed tapestry of your "observation session."

The portal began shrinking as all the villains—except two—spread out to the different zones. One was a large, hulking, muscular figure with skin like polished onyx, etched with a roadmap of jagged scars and an exposed brain. The other, a lanky figure with grayish-blue hair, covered in dry patches and old scars marring his pale skin; fourteen embalmed hands were strategically placed to cling to his body.

The mist-portal soon coalesced into a head with two glowing gold eyes. "Thirteen... and Eraser Head, huh? The teacher's schedule we received the other day...said that All Might was also supposed to be here." The mist spoke, a hint of amusement in his raspy voice.

A nervous tremor ran through the crowd. Your gaze, usually veiled with practiced indifference, sharpened as it flickered between the approaching villains and the faces of the students of 1-A, now etched with a mixture of fear and confusion. You subtly observed the students, gauging their reactions.

You couldn't help but smirk internally. This unexpected turn of events was far more interesting than any pre-planned exercise.

A genuine villain attack would provide a much clearer picture of Class 1-A's strengths, weaknesses, and most importantly, how they worked together under pressure.

This was exactly the kind of chaos you thrived in.

***le gasp, villians!?

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winxanity-ii · 3 days

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⌜No Hoods Attached | Chapter 23 Chapter 23 | legacy under spotlight⌟

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❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

It's the day of the grand reveal, the moment when you will step into the limelight as YaNi alongside Taehyung. The air is thick with anticipation as you and Seora glide through the city in the back of a luxurious limo, heading towards the event that will unveil your artistic persona to the world.

You're attending the event as your father's daughter—a daughter of a renowned business mogul.

Your dress is a masterpiece of design and contrast, the strapless bodycon top clinging to your form, offering a stark yet elegant contrast to the light grey, flowy sundress style at the bottom.

It's a garment that captures both the strength and the softness of your emerging artist persona. Two twisted strands of hair gently frame your face, adding a touch of sophistication, while the smokey makeup around your eyes lends a mysterious allure that's hard to ignore.

Seora, your steadfast companion in this whirlwind of emotions, is equally stunning in a dress that seems to have been crafted just for her. The emerald green fabric of her gown cascades to the floor, the hue a perfect complement to her skin tone.

The dress is tastefully accented with delicate embellishments that catch the light with every movement, echoing her vibrant personality. Her hair is elegantly arranged in an updo, showcasing her poised and graceful demeanor.

As the limo draws nearer to the venue, your heart beats faster, each thump echoing the ticking of a clock counting down to your grand entrance. Seora's hand finds yours, her grip reassuring, grounding you amidst the whirlwind of your thoughts.

The limo comes to a halt, and the door swings open, unleashing a blinding assault of camera flashes the chorus of your names being called, creating a surreal cocoon around you.

Seora, sensing your sudden nervousness, squeezes your hand one last time before leaning in to whisper a few empowering words, her voice steady and sure, "You've got this. Just be yourself, and everything will fall into place."

Taking a deep breath, you step onto the plush red carpet, it stretching out before you like a ribbon full of expectations and possibilities. The photographers clamor for your attention, their lenses capturing the radiance that you and Seora exude.

You're not just walking the carpet; you're owning it, your confidence bolstered by Seora's unwavering support.

Tonight, you're not just your father's daughter; you're an artist ready to claim her space in the world of music. Together, you navigate the sea of cameras and microphones, your responses measured, your smiles genuine. As you make your way through the throng of celebrities, you spot some of South Korea's leading actors—names you've grown up admiring. "Seora, look!" you whisper excitedly, nudging your friend. "It's Kim Soo-hyun! Can you believe it?"

Seora's eyes widen in shared excitement. "Oh my gosh, you're right! And next to him... is that Park Bo-gum? His smile is even more contagious in person!"

You continue along the red carpet, your hushed whispers turning into a flurry of excited chatter. "There's Park Bo-young," you point out, mesmerized by her ethereal beauty. "And look, Seora, it's Lee Min-ho!"

Despite the star-studded environment, it's your poise and grace that draw whispers and admiring glances. Your dress, a blend of classic beauty and modern chic, accentuates your natural allure, making you a subject of photographers' keen interest.

Seora, in her stunning emerald gown, is a vision of confidence and charm, her demeanor as captivating as any seasoned celebrity.

As you and Seora navigate through the clusters of tables adorned with sparkling silverware and crystal glasses, the energy of the venue is electric, buzzing with the chatter of the industry's finest.

The moment you reach your table, Seora's gaze land on a table ahead, where Gong Yoo, her latest celebrity crush, sits looking effortlessly charming. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and you can't help but share in her excitement, even as you remind yourself of the evening's significance for your own career.

Suddenly, Seora's excitement turns into a barely contained squeal as Gong Yoo, sensing the attention, turns to glance in your direction. His smile, warm and inviting, is directed at your table, and for a moment, the entire room seems to fade into the background.

Seora's reaction is comical, a mix of fangirl glee and embarrassment, as she ducks slightly, whispering frantically, "Did he just smile at us? Oh my god, he's even more handsome in person!"

As Gong Yoo politely turns back to his conversation, Seora leans in to whisper, "I can die happy now," her eyes still sparkling with excitement.

You can't help but laugh, the tension of the upcoming performance momentarily forgotten in the light-hearted exchange. Seora's antics provide a much-needed distraction, her ability to find joy in these small moments a reminder of the normalcy and friendship that grounds you amidst the whirlwind of your emerging fame.

Soon, as the announcer—Jackson Wang—takes the stage, the room falls into a respectful hush. His opening lines are eloquent, setting a celebratory tone for the evening, his voice echoing through the grand hall. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a night of celebration, talent, and artistry," he begins, his gaze sweeping across the room filled with the crème de la crème of the entertainment industry. "Tonight isn't about celebrating it's about..."

As he weaves through the introductory speech with the ease of a seasoned professional, you take the time to look around the stadium. A second later, you find yourself locking eyes with Taehyung. The BTS member, ever so perceptive, catches your gaze and offers a supportive wink paired with his signature boxy smile. It's a simple gesture, yet it carries a world of encouragement.

You can't help but feel a wave of gratitude mixed with nervous excitement wash over you. Taehyung's presence, even from afar, feels like a steadying force, a reminder of the journey you've undertaken together through music and now, this impending reveal. With a deep breath, you return his smile with one of your own.

Refocusing on the announcer, you steady your nerves, the reality of the situation settling in. This is more than just a performance; it's a pivotal moment in your career, a debut in the truest sense.

Drawing strength from Taehyung's support and the countless hours of preparation that have led to this moment, you hype yourself up. "You got this, Y/N. You can do this."

And there, amidst the glamour and the spotlight, you sat poised, ready to embrace whatever comes next with open arms and a song in your heart.

☆

Backstage, the air is thick with anticipation, every corner bustling with activity. You feel a knot of nerves tightening in your stomach, your hands twisting together in a silent testament to your anxiety.

Taehyung arrives amidst the chaos, his presence a calming force. He spots your fidgeting hands and walks over, his approach easing the tension in the air. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice carrying a note of concern as he observes your nervous mannerisms.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss your jitters with a weak smile. "It's nothing," you reply, though your voice betrays a hint of the turmoil you feel inside.

He doesn't buy your reassurance. Gently, he captures your hands, stilling their restless motion. "Hey, look at me," he urges softly, prompting you to meet his gaze. His eyes are kind, filled with empathy and understanding.

You lock eyes with him, finding a sense of calm in his steady gaze. He smiles reassuringly, "Let's breathe together, okay? In and out." He guides you through the breathing exercise, inhaling slowly, holding for a moment, and then exhaling. One... two... three...

With each breath, the backstage frenzy fades into the background, your focus narrowing to the simple act of breathing in sync with Taehyung. On the third exhale, he studies your face, his gaze gentle, reassuring you without words that you're not alone in this.

In that quiet space, the distant voice of the announcer breaks through, echoing through the backstage area and into your core, "And without further ado, welcoming her true debut, YaNi and BTS's V, singing 'Echoes of Eternity'."

Your heart skips a beat at the announcement, the reality of the moment hitting you. It's no longer a rehearsal or a private session; it's the unveiling of your art, your voice, and your story to the world.

As the staff member signals that it's time to go on, Taehyung gives your hands a final squeeze. "You've got this," he says, a smile playing on his lips, infusing you with a burst of confidence.

The stadium is enveloped in darkness, then slowly comes alive with light as Taehyung delivers the song's opening notes, his melody painting a vivid picture of timeless yearning and love's enduring flame. "In slumber's grip, I feel you near, a phantom touch, yet oh so clear..." As he sings, the CGI visuals on the massive screens above transform, depicting a moonlit ancient street, its blossoms weeping in the soft breeze, a visual echo of the song's poignant lyrics.

Your entrance is timed with the chorus, so when your cue arrives—with a deep breath and a surge of adrenaline coursing through you—you step forward onto the stage. "In ancient streets where blossoms weep, I wander, lost, in time's deep creek..." Your dress, a cascade of shimmering light, captures the spotlight, reflecting a spectrum of colors that mesmerize the audience.

"Echoes of eternity, in whispers of the wind, In dreams, you feel my presence, in silence, we're akin." Your voice joining Taehyung's is a harmony that feels as ancient and inevitable as the stars above. The music envelopes you, you and Taehyung move around each other in a mesmerizing dance—your steps synchronized with the melody, each turn and twirl a testament to the hours of practice and dedication.

"Our souls entwined by destiny, a love that won't rescind,Across the sands of time, my love, our stories are pinned." The choreography draws you and Taehyung into an orbit around each other, a dance that tells a story of yearning and hope, of love lingering across centuries, waiting to be reborn.

As the song builds to its climax, you and Taehyung draw closer to one another, both caught up in the moment. The world around you seemingly faded away. It was just you, Taehyung, and the music—a trinity of artistry in perfect alignment.

"In every dream, I whisper 'wait', believing in a kinder fate, Where once again, in flesh and bone, our love will find its way back home."

Neither of you seem to notice the undeniable chemistry radiating between you, the way you both appeared like star-crossed lovers under the stage lights.

"Echoes of eternity, resonating true and clear...For in a thousand years or more, I'll seek you, my dear." As the final note lingered in the air, a hush fell over the stadium.

Then, as if released from a spell, the audience erupts into a thunderous applause. The audience is on their feet, cheering, a standing ovation that resonates deeply with you.

Tears well up in your eyes as you soak in the moment, feeling the weight and warmth of their acceptance and admiration. This isn't just applause; it's a profound acknowledgment of your journey, a celebration of your courage to unveil your true self and share your artistry with the world.

Amidst the applause, your eyes wander across the sea of faces—stopping when they find a familiar, comforting presence in the crowd—your father. His eyes are brimming with tears, pride written all over his face as he claps. Even from afar, you can see him mouth the words, "I'm proud of you."

As you stand there beside Taehyung, basking in the warmth of the applause and the silent, powerful approval from your father, you feel a profound sense of achievement. It's as if the dreams of your brother and mother, their aspirations and hopes, have come to fruition through you.

This performance isn't just a career milestone; it's a tribute to them, a realization of their dreams, and a testament to your resilience and dedication. In this defining moment, you're not just a performer on a stage; you're a beacon of hope, perseverance, and talent, stepping confidently into the spotlight that's rightfully yours.

The ovation, echoing in the vastness of the stadium, is not just for the performance but for the journey it represents—the unveiling of YaNi, the artist, the dreamer, the legacy bearer, now ready to carve a unique path in the music industry.

***Wahhh! 2 more chapters 😩😭😭

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winxanity-ii · 4 days

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 14 Chapter 14 | secret syllabus⌟

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❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The days bled into another, the memory of your encounter with Todoroki a distant thought as you focused on the familiar routine of navigating the bustling halls of U.A. Lunch beckoned, and you clutched the brown paper bag of goodness—courtesy of a grumbled-but-appreciated offering from Bakugo—closer to your chest.

Just as you were about to turn the corner leading to the cafeteria, a deep, gravelly voice boomed from behind. "Akuma-san, a word please."

You whirled around, spotting Blood Vlad, his imposing figure filling the doorway, holding something to the side of him. A flicker of surprise danced across your features before settling into a mask of polite neutrality. "Kan-sensei," you greeted with a respectful nod.

"There's been a slight change in your schedule," he began, his crimson eyes studying you with an intensity that could make lesser students squirm. "Principal Nezu, with the unanimous support of the faculty, has extended an invitation for you to join Class 1-A at U.S.J. today."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. The Unforeseen Simulation Joint arc you'd devoured in textbooks? You couldn't help but be curious. "U.S.J.?" you echoed, allowing a touch of confusion to lace your voice.

Blood Vlad grunted in response. "Given your exceptional performance during class activities and your consistent lead over your peers, it's been deemed beneficial for you to observe Class 1-A during their training exercise. Consider it a... crash course in advanced hero work."

A slow smile spread across your face. Observing Class 1-A, the cream of the crop students at U.A.? This wasn't just an observation session; it was a golden opportunity to glean valuable intel on their strengths, weaknesses, and, most importantly, their Quirks.

Information you could then use to your advantage—to elevate your position within U.A.

"I understand, Kan-sensei. Thank you for informing me."

Blood Vlad gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. He lifted up the object he held—it was a sleek black suitcase. "Here," he rumbled, tossing the suitcase towards you with surprising agility. "Your hero costume. Get changed and report to the class. There, someone from 1-A should take you to the others, where Aizawa-sensei will brief you further."

You caught the suitcase effortlessly, the weight reassuring in your hand. "Understood," you responded, a single, clipped word that held a promise of silent understanding.

With a final, assessing glance, Blood Vlad turned and disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone with the weight of unexpected opportunity and the promise of a thrilling afternoon at U.S.J.

You tucked the hero costume case under your arm and decided to swing back by the classroom to drop off your uneaten lunch before heading to change. As you approached the classroom door, the murmur of hushed conversation filtered through the thin barrier.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by the sight of nine of your classmates, a mix of familiar and less familiar faces, clustered around your usual desk.

Monoma shot up like a rocket the second his eyes landed on you. His wide, cheesy grin could rival All Might's in its enthusiasm. "President!" he crowed, his voice cutting through the hushed conversations.

The other eight turned towards you, their surprise mirroring Monoma's initial reaction. Tetsutetsu, gave a hearty laugh. "Akuma-san! Is everything fine from your... um... feminine emergencies? You nearly missed lunch! Good thing we waited for you," he boomed, his voice lacking any real malice.

"I appreciate you all's generosity, Tetsu-kun," you replied smoothly, keeping your voice vague as you internally tsked.

You knew someone—or rather, several someones—would be lingering for you despite dipping out of class ten minutes prior with the well-worn excuse of feminine issues. You just hadn't expected quite so many, or for them to be so persistent and actually wait for your return.

Monoma, ever the pest, was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, his persistent grin plastered on his face. "Whoa, what's that?" he blurted out, pointing an accusing finger at the hero costume case you held.

Tetsu's earlier question about your extended restroom break was clearly forgotten.

Kendo, your fiery-haired vice president, shot him a withering look. "Monoma, manners," she hissed under her breath, teal eyes blazing in irritation.

You, however, didn't mind the interruption. This was a perfect opportunity to further cultivate your air of mystery. A slight smile played on your lips as you lifted the case a few inches, the sleek black surface catching the light. "It's my hero outfit," you replied nonchalantly.

The moment the case left your side, the classroom erupted in a flurry of excited chatter. Tsuburaba whistled appreciatively. "Whoa, looks intense, Akuma-san! What'd you get, a jetpack with it or something?"

A chorus of questions and comments filled the air. "How'd you get it so soon?" chirped Tsunotori, the girl with tall, pale tan horns, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Maybe it's super cute!" squealed Tokage, the dark, moss-green-haired student, bouncing on her toes.

Monoma scoffed. "Nah, definitely not cute. Probably something hot, right? Like a high-tech bodysuit that hugs and enhances her bo—"

Kendo, clearly exasperated, reached over and smacked Monoma on the back of the neck with a resounding thwack. "Monoma! Manners!" she hissed through gritted teeth once again.

Monoma yelped, rubbing his sore neck with a pout. "Jeez, Kendo, what was that for?"

Ignoring him completely, Kendo bowed towards you in apology. "I'm terribly sorry about Monoma, Akuma-san. He can be a bit too much sometimes."

You raised a hand, silencing the classroom with a single gesture. A satisfied smirk played on your lips as the chatter died down instantly. You liked it; they obeyed your command without you even needing to resort to your 'Quirk'. It spoke volumes about the hierarchy you'd established in Class 1-B.

"Thank you, Kendo-san," you replied politely, acknowledging her apology. "It's quite alright. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I have a hero costume to change into." You gave a curt nod and turned towards the door, a thrill coursing through you.

This unexpected invitation to U.S.J. was shaping up to be far more interesting than you could have ever anticipated.

With a quick stride, you made your way to the nearest restroom, eager to slip into your hero costume. Inside a private stall, you carefully removed your school uniform, anticipation building with each rustle of fabric.

Unzipping the sleek black case, you revealed your hero costume in all its glory. Quickly donning it, you stood back to a moment to admire your outfit in the mirror.

Your blouse, a pale aqua, was crisp and neatly buttoned, giving you a professional yet relaxed vibe. The black tie knotted firmly around your collar added a touch of seriousness to your look. Over your blouse, a fitted black blazer hugged your form, its sharp lines mirroring your newfound determination.

You'd paired this with classic black trousers, which complemented your frame with a comfortable, tailored fit. The pants ended just above brown leather shoes, polished to a high shine.

With your hands casually tucked into your pockets, you exuded a confident, ready-for-business air, softened by the whimsical hint of the forest green backdrop that adorned the inside of the blazer. It wasn't camouflage, exactly, but rather a subtle artistic flourish that hinted at a hidden power lurking beneath the surface.

Satisfied, you exited the restroom, ready to rejoin your classmates. As you walked back into your classroom, the murmurs started again. This time, however, they weren't filled with questions about your absence, but with a mixture of awe and curiosity.

A blur of movement zipped towards you. It was Fukidashi, the boy with the comic book head, bouncing excitedly. With a burst of energy, his head transformed into a flashing white speech bubble that read "Whoop! Whoop!" in bold letters, accompanied by a pair of clapping hands.

Behind Fukidashi shuffled Komori, a short girl with honey-brown hair curved inwards in a mushroom-shaped bob. Her usual shy demeanor was amplified by the situation, her cheeks dusted a soft pink.

She nervously twirled an end of her bob as she approached you, her voice barely a whisper. "A-Akuma-san," she stammered, "it... it looks really good on you. Very well-suited." She couldn't quite meet your gaze, quickly rushing off to hide behind Tetsutetsu, her face burning red.

Monoma attempted to maintain his usual bravado, his gaze, however, lingered a beat too long on your figure, a faint blush creeping up his neck despite his crossed arms. He cleared his throat, trying to sound nonchalant. "Alright, alright," he scoffed, "So you got your hero costume early. Big deal. Why'd they give it to you anyway?"

You tilted your head slightly, casting a playful glance up at him through your lashes. A slow, teasing smile played on your plump lips as they stretched into a half-smirk. "Do you really want to know, Monoma-kun?~" you purred, your voice dripping with a deliberate sweetness.

The effect was instantaneous. Monoma's blush deepened several shades, and a flustered look crossed his face. It wasn't just him; several other classmates found themselves inexplicably flustered by your sudden display of playful charm. You couldn't help but internally smirk.

With a playful lilt in your voice, you replied, "Well, let's just say I wanted something practical. Something that wouldn't attract undue attention while working undercover amongst civilians."

This, of course, was a carefully constructed lie.

The truth was, the familiar lines of the suit were a subtle comfort, a reminder of your past life at Public Safety. But that was a secret you found no use in revealing.

"Now, as for the gadgets and upgrades," you gestured towards the subtle metallic accents lining the blazer, "there's extreme heat resistance for those sonic-based Quirks, and..." you trailed off dramatically, allowing a hint of mystery to linger. "Let's just say there are a few other surprises built in. Let's keep them under wraps for now, shall we?" The implication of hidden power was clear, and your classmates leaned in, captivated.

Tetsutestu let out a whistle, rushing over with eyes sparkling. "Whoa, that's sounds so manly, Akuma-san! Always gotta be prepared!"

Even Monoma, despite his embarrassment, managed to grumble a begrudging compliment, "I guess, you do look good. Not that I care or anything..." A faint blush still lingered on his cheeks, betraying his attempt at indifference.

The rest of the class chimed in, showering you with compliments on both the practicality and sleek design of your costume.

Suddenly, a sharp rap on the door startled everyone into silence.

The door creaked open to reveal a young man standing impeccably in the doorway. He was relatively tall and muscular, with a wide frame and short dark blue hair neatly flattened and parted on the right. His most striking features, however, were his calves.

Incredibly thick and shaped like automobile engines, six silver exhaust pipes protruded from each leg in columns of three. This, you knew from Bakugo, was the Quirk 'Engine' that granted him incredible speed and kicking power.

"Excuse me," the young man began, his voice polite and formal. "My name is Iida, and I'm here from 1-A to escort an 'Akuma Y/N' to the U.S.J. meet-up-point. The bus is preparing to leave shortly."

An awkward silence filled the room. Your classmates exchanged glances, unsure how to react to the sudden arrival of a student from the prestigious Class 1-A.

Monoma, never one to miss an opportunity to stir the pot, took a step closer to you, his usual sneer plastered on his face. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look who it is. A fancy 1-A student here grace us with his presence. Think you can just waltz in here and snatch our precious president away, huh?"

You cut him off before he could unleash another tirade. A gentle giggle escaped your lips, the sound light and carefree. "Monoma-kun," you said, your voice laced with a hint of playful reprimand, "that's no way to treat a guest, especially a hero-to-be like Iida-kun."

Mentally, you silently applauded Iida for his stoicism. Despite the tense atmosphere and Monoma's childish behavior, he remained calm and collected, a true mark of a leader.

Kendo, sensing the potential for escalation, wasted no time in delivering her own brand of justice. With a swift movement, she karate-chopped Monoma in the back of the neck. The blow, though not malicious, was more effective than the last two. Monoma yelped and crumpled to the floor, instantly silenced.

"Monoma deserved that," Kendo muttered under her breath, sending a reassuring smile your way. "Please excuse him once again, Akuma-san."

You waved her off. "No worries at all, Kendo-san. It seems we all have a bit of fire in us, wouldn't you agree?" With a final flourish, you rose to your feet, smoothing down the non-existent wrinkles of your blazer. Turning to your gathered classmates, you gave a small bow. "I'll be back shortly, everyone. Until then, keep up the excellent work."

Your gaze then settled on Kendo, your fiery-haired vice president. You placed a soft smile onto your lips as you met her eyes, tilting your head in a gesture of quiet confidence. Walking forward, you reached out and gently grasped both of her hands between yours. Your touch was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cool exterior you often presented.

"Kendo-san," you began, your voice dropping to a low murmur, "I'm counting on you to keep everyone in line while I'm gone. You're the voice of reason here, and I know they'll listen to you." A playful glint entered your eyes. "Especially Monoma-kun. See if you can keep him from causing too much trouble."

Kendo's eyes widened momentarily, a harsh blush creeping up her cheeks. You couldn't help but find her flustered expression humorous.

Once again, here was someone reduced to a blushing mess by you from merely a simple touch and a few honeyed words.

"O-of course, Akuma-san," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "I, uh... I won't let you down." Her long orange hair, usually tied back in a high ponytail, seemed to frizz slightly at the ends, betraying her underlying anxiety.

"I know you won't." Turning your attention back to Iida, you offered a polite smile. "Thank you for coming to fetch me, Iida-kun. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

As you began walking side-by-side with Iida, a memory flickered in the back of your mind. You recalled seeing him a few times around U.A., his distinctive blue hair and engine calves making him hard to miss, especially since he'd always hung Midoriya and some rosy-cheeked girl.

Filing that information away for later, you decided it would be beneficial to have a rule-follower like Iida on your good side. With a casual smile, you turned to him. "By the way, Iida-kun," you began casually, offering your hand for a shake, "allow me to formally introduce myself. Akuma Y/N, Class 1-B president, at your service."

Iida seemed momentarily surprised. Perhaps he'd expected you to maintain the same aloof demeanor your other classmates had displayed earlier. But as you offered your hand and a friendly smile, you could visibly see his demeanor relax a bit.

A hint of blush crept up his cheeks as he let out a short, embarrassed chuckle. "Ah, well, yes," he stammered, taking your hand with a light shake. "Of course I know who you are. Midoriya and, well, Bakugo-kun, have mentioned you a few times. It's a pleasure to properly meet you, Akuma-san. Iida Tenya, Class 1-A president, at your service as well."

You chuckled, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes. "Also, please forgive the... enthusiasm of my classmates earlier. They tend to get a little carried away, especially when it comes to showing off Class B's best." You flashed him a wry smile. "Being class president isn't always sunshine and rainbows, is it?"

The dam broke. Iida, a wellspring of pent-up frustration finally unleashed, launched into a tirade about the struggles of student leadership. He spoke of overzealous classmates, mountains of hero-work on top of general education, and the constant pressure to maintain perfection.

You listened patiently, interjecting with understanding nods and sympathetic sighs. It wasn't hard to play the part of the eager listener, and Iida, starved for an outlet, poured out his woes.

As the conversation flowed, your eyes subtly began to glow a soft yellow. A faint, almost imperceptible sheen flickered over his eyes behind the glasses. He was under your subtle influence.

With this control in mind, you skillfully shifted the conversation. "Speaking of pressure," you began, your voice laced with feigned curiosity, "I can only imagine the expectations placed on Class 1-A. All those top heroes coming out of your class..." You trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Iida, caught in your gentle manipulation, readily took the bait. His frustration momentarily forgotten, he puffed out his chest slightly, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes. "Yes, well, the pressure is immense," he declared, his voice taking on a more animated tone. "We have to constantly strive for excellence, to uphold the legacy of our predecessors. It's not for the faint of heart, that's for sure."

You leaned in slightly, feigning intense interest. "Tell me more," you urged, your voice barely a whisper. "What are some of the challenges you face? The unspoken expectations? Perhaps some of the Quirks your classmates possess..." You planted the seed of information-sharing subtly, watering it with your carefully constructed persona.

Iida, basking in your newfound attentiveness, readily complied. He launched into a detailed explanation of Class 1-A's rigorous training regimen, the immense pressure to succeed, and even dropped a few names of his classmates and their Quirks; his info a little more detailed than Bakugo's recount from the first day a couple of weeks ago.

You absorbed this information eagerly, filing it away for future use.

Just as you both rounded the corner to the bus, the yellow glow in your eyes faded away. With an innocent smile, you ended the connection, confident that you'd gleaned all you needed for now.

Pushing your control too hard could backfire; a dazed and confused Iida would be a red flag in a school crawling with heroes. No, subtlety was key.

You had taken the first bite out of the apple of Class 1-A's secrets, and you were hungry for more.

***usj arc slowly approaching...

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winxanity-ii · 4 days

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It’s just the little things fr ❤️❤️❤️

Y’all don’t make use of funny character traits enough.

Guys!!!!

Bakugou is the nosiest kid I have ever seen. Put it in your fics. Make use of him constantly coming to incorrect conclusions.

Midoriya is actually a really violent kid, he just has the patience of a patron saint. The entire world is lucky he’s too sweet to act on his anger. (Go look in his notebook)

Iida is so shady. “One is my friend and the other one is Bakugou.” COME ONNNNN

Kaminari is such a girly pop y’all. Y’all don’t give him enough silly gen z slang. Please go listen to how he speaks in dub. Sounds like he has 6 sisters.

Uraraka is so unreasonably chill. Almost nothing bothers that girl. Please make her more vulnerable to things because she just can’t be assed to care.

Kirishima is a shit talker, and regularly puts people in their place. Y’all keep writing like him like he’s some little puppy. This man is a Doberman.

#my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha eijirou

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winxanity-ii · 4 days

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 13 Chapter 13 | quiet rush⌟

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❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Bambi-sensei, a round, cheerful woman with the unmistakably floppy ears of a deer mutant, beamed at you. "Y/N, darling! You're a lifesaver! This presentation file... well, let's just say it wouldn't have made it through the next period without you." Her voice, a gentle coo, was the exact opposite of the cold, calculating thoughts swirling in your head.

You offered a polite bow, a practiced smile still plastered on your face. "It was no issue at all, Bambi-sensei. Happy to help." The words tasted like ash in your mouth.

With a final chipper, "Doe-lightful! Thank you so much, dear! Now, run along to lunch. You must be famished!" Bambi-sensei bustled back into the staff room, the door swinging shut with a soft thud.

You stood there for a beat, the mask you wore for the world finally slipping.

The smile vanished, replaced by a deep scowl. Your eyes, usually sparkling with manufactured cheer, morphed into black voids, an endless spiral of darkness reflecting your true nature.

The solitude of the empty hallway was your sanctuary. No need for the relentless act, no need to charm, manipulate, or pretend to be something you weren't.

In the quiet emptiness, you could simply be yourself—a powerful entity with plans far grander than fitting in with a bunch of hero wannabes.

Glancing at a nearby clock on the wall, you noted the lunch break was quickly dwindling. Lunch. Usually, you'd already be eating in the cafeteria by now, but Kan-sensei had snagged you before homeroom ended, delegating a few last-minute representative tasks. A small price to pay, you suppose, for the fleeting moment of solitude.

This stolen time was precious—a chance to strategize your next move, to unravel the mysteries of this world and see how it could serve your ultimate purpose.

But for now, you allowed yourself a fleeting moment of indulgence, letting your mind drift back to the indigo-haired boy you'd met not long ago.

Since your encounter, you'd caught fleeting glimpses of him around the school, his disheveled, purple hair and matching eyes like a beacon in the sea of U.A. uniforms. You even managed to formally introduce yourself—a calculated move, of course, fueled by a growing curiosity about his Quirk.

His name was Hitoshi Shinso, a student in General Studies Class C.

When you'd first learned this, a question had snagged in your mind. His Quirk, mind control through spoken words, seemed powerful—not entirely dissimilar to your own abilities, yet here he was, relegated to a class considered less prestigious.

The answer came swiftly, however, when a few students had sauntered by as you and Shinso spoke, their faces contorted in disgust. A harsh hiss of "villain" scraping past your ears as they hurried away.

This, pissed you off.

The blatant prejudice against "villainous" Quirks, regardless of their potential for good, were seemingly pre-labeled.

You scoffed—the hero system here seemed as flawed as the one you left behind. Here, power was categorized into neat little boxes of "good" and "evil," ignoring the complexities that lay within.

Villains were villains simply because their Quirks were deemed unsuitable for heroism, even if those Quirks could be incredibly useful. It was a nonsensical system, one you couldn't quite wrap your head around.

After all, no one chose the Quirk they were born with.

But the real sting came from the similarity between your power and Hitoshi's Quirk. The whispered insults directed at him felt like a personal attack. Hitoshi, someone with such a powerful and versatile ability, would let himself be ostracized and relegated to a "lesser" class because of societal prejudice filled you with disgust.

The very idea of him limiting himself because of the opinions of individuals you regarded as even lower than bugs was infuriating.

A sudden, piercing blare ripped you from your thoughts.

The school security alarm shrieked to life, its automated voice declaring, "There has been a Level 3 security breach. All students and faculty are to evacuate to designated safe zones immediately!"

You don't react; you simply continue your pace. As you rounded the corner, a figure barreled into you, the force sending you both spiraling to the ground. A startled gasp escaped your lips, and for a split second, your eyes widened in a flash of a primal, terrifyingly cold fury.

You almost forgot yourself—power practically bubbling beneath your skin, screaming to tear apart the bug that dared touch you.

In a second, your practiced smile slips back on your face, your eyes sparkling with manufactured concern. "Oh my gosh, are you alright?" But as you took in the figure you collided with, the practiced smile began to crack.

This wasn't a UA student; no uniform adorned their form.

This intruder, the cause of the apparent security breach, was unlike anything you'd ever seen before. The figure was shrouded in a dark hoodie, pulled low over their head, obscuring their face completely.

You barely had a chance to take in their shadowy form before they let out a gruff sound, a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. They scrambled to their feet and brushed past you, their movements purposeful and urgent.

Everything about them screamed "up to no good," and despite the blaring alarm and the undeniable threat this intruder posed, you made no move to stop them, nor did you question their motives. You weren't here to play hero, not today at least.

A sardonic smile played on your lips for a fleeting moment.

This unexpected turn of events—a security breach at UA? Now this was entertainment!

Before you could even blink, the halls were flooded with students. Panic surged through the crowd as everyone scrambled for the nearest exit, pushing past one another in a desperate bid to escape.

The once-orderly hallway dissolved into a cacophony of shouts, shoving, and the ever-present wail of the alarm. It grated on your nerves.

Here you were, in a supposed hero school, surrounded by students who were literally training to be heroes, and yet, the first sign of trouble sent them into a mindless panic.

Idiots.

Their fear was a tangible thing—a thick fog of chaos that clogged the narrow corridor. It did nothing but cause problems, especially for you.

Caught in the surging tide of bodies, you were squished against a nearby wall, your front was pressed tightly against the cold plaster. The press of humanity was suffocating, stealing the air from your lungs. Your arms were pinned at your sides, useless.

You tried to yell, to scream at them to calm down, but your voice was a mere squeak lost in the deafening roar. Frustration bubbled within you, a bitter counterpoint to the rising panic.

This blind terror was exactly why you weren't here to play hero.

These students, so eager to wear the hero's mantle, couldn't even control their basic instincts in the face of a threat.

Pathetic.

Just as you felt yourself reaching your limit, on the verge of exposing everything by using your power to control the crowd and restore order, a shadow fell over you. The relentless shoves and pushes ceased abruptly, replaced by a comforting sense of solidity. Relief washed over you as you looked up to see a figure towering above you.

A pair of mismatched eyes, one icy blue and the other a smoky grey, stared down at you with a bored expression. The figure was a moderately tall and well-built boy, his age evident in the slight leanness to his muscles. His short hair brushed his neck in an perfect, ordly fashion, a stark contrast to the controlled chaos unfolding around you.

It was strangely split down the middle, one side a snowy white and the other a fiery crimson—an unusual color combination that probably hinted at something extraordinary. A stark burn scar ran down the left side of his face, reaching from his hairline to halfway down his cheek.

Recognition clawed at the back of your mind.

You cast your memory back, searching for the name that constantly popped up in Bakugo's tirades as you walked home together (a self-imposed duty you'd undertaken). The explosive blond had spat out the name "Icy Hot" with a sneer. You vaguely recalled him mentioning it was the nickname he gave to some rival student named Todoroki in his class.

This wasn't just any student; he's apparently one of the top students in Class 1-A—even got in through recommendations.

You were jolted out of your thoughts as another harsh shove from the panicked crowd sent you crashing back against the wall, this time with your face pressed into the cold plaster. A muffled grunt escaped your lips, momentarily forgotten behind the growing surge of piercing anger.

However, the pressure immediately eased. You felt the firm press of muscle against your back as your 'pseudo shield' held himself a few inches away, creating a slight pocket of space for you to breathe.

He continued to shield you from the worst of the pushing throng, his bored expression unchanging.

The cacophony around you slowly began to dwindle as the crowd shuffled towards the designated exits. The blaring alarm still cut through the air, but with less urgency. Taking a deep breath, you straightened your clothes, the awkward situation momentarily forgotten.

"Thank you," you offered, turning towards your unlikely savior with a polite bow. Your practiced smile returned, albeit a little strained from the ordeal. "I appreciate you for... intervening."

Now that the immediate crisis had passed, it was time to establish some semblance of normalcy.

With your usual gentle smile in place, you extended your hand towards Todoroki. "Before we depart, I should introduce myself. I'm Akuma Y/N."

He gave a curt nod, his mismatched eyes lingering on you for a fleeting moment before flicking back to the dispersing crowd. "Todoroki Shoto," he confirmed in a monotone voice, devoid of any warmth.

You hummed in acknowledgement, a spark of interest igniting within you. You knew of the top pro-hero, Endeavor, mostly due to his hulking frame and blazing flames that reminded you so much of the pet hellhound, Cerberus, you had back in Hell.

Could this Todoroki be related to him?

This Todoroki, with his unusual hair and powerful Quirk, was definitely someone to keep an eye on. Mentally making a note to file him away for further investigation, you offered another grateful nod.

Just as you turned to leave, his voice stopped you. "Wait," Todoroki's voice was barely a murmur, almost lost in the fading clamor of the hallway.

You turned back, raising an eyebrow in question. "Yes, Todoroki-kun?"

He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowed in an uncharacteristic display of confusion. "Izuku... and even Bakugo," he began, his voice low and hesitant, "they talk about you a lot."

"Oh?" you replied, a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes.

Midoriya's talking about you? Now that was a surprise. You'd expected much from your pet—in passing, of course—so you couldn't help but imagine what the hero-obsessed boy had to say.

"Being mentioned so often by strong students, can only mean one thing..." Todoroki continued, his voice gaining a hint of conviction, "...You're stronger than them both."

You stifled a laugh at his declaration. The idea of Bakugo and Midoriya being the benchmarks for strength seemed almost comical.

Here you were, someone who could manipulate entire crowds with a thought, and yet they were the ones considered strong? Hilarious.

But you kept your amusement hidden, tilting your head in mock contemplation and tapping a finger against your lips.

"Stronger, huh?" you finally hummed, your voice laced with a playful ambiguity. "I suppose you'll just have to wait and see, Todoroki-kun."

With that, you offered a final, smile before turning and disappearing into the throng of students, leaving Todoroki with more questions than answers.

***the way i just wrote several chapters out of order is insane. guess i couldnt wait for the exciting parts 😂😂 so yeah, ignore if a lil detail don't add up in any future chapters🥴 anywho, short chapter today, but tomorrow will malke up for it, it'll be a little longer ❤️

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winxanity-ii · 4 days

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⌜No Hoods Attached | Chapter 22 Chapter 22 | imposter syndrome⌟

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❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Weeks had passed since the strategy meeting, and the carefully planted breadcrumbs of your existence within the BTS ecosystem had flourished into a full-blown narrative captivating the fandom.

Clips of you singing alongside Jungkook, crafting beats with Yoongi, and being the spirited cheerleader during Hoseok and Jimin's dance practices had subtly woven your presence into the fabric of HYBE's artistic community. But among these snippets, the ones featuring you and Taehyung, collaborating on his new song, resonated most deeply with fans, sparking curiosity and anticipation.

In a private meeting with Shihyuk, the ambiance was heavy with anticipation and underlying excitement. As you sat across from him, he laid out the plan that had been set into motion due to the positive feedback your hidden presence had garnered within the BTS ecosystem.

"Seeing the response we've received," Shihyuk began, his voice steady but imbued with a hint of enthusiasm, "we've decided it's time for you to step into the limelight."

He explained that your official unveiling was scheduled at the upcoming actor award ceremony. You and Taehyung were slated to perform the OST live, capitalizing on the buzz surrounding one of the main leads from the drama who was nominated for a prestigious award.

The news landed like a thunderclap, sending a rush of contrasting emotions through you. Pride swelled within your chest at the recognition and validation of your contributions. Yet, alongside it, nerves began to dance wildly, intertwining with spikes of anxiety and tendrils of fear.

However, amidst the storm of feelings, a bright beam of happiness shone through, a testament to the journey you had embarked on and the new chapter that was about to begin.

You nodded, taking a deep breath, the reality of the situation sinking in. "Thank you," you managed to say, your voice a mix of gratitude and determination, "I'll be ready."

As you left the meeting, the weight of the forthcoming revelation settled on your shoulders, a blend of daunting responsibility and exhilarating opportunity. With thoughts of possibly venting to your father swirling in your mind, you returned to the apartment. However, the scene that greeted you was far from what you expected.

There, in what should have been a quiet living room, was your father, deep in conversation with Seora, both engrossed in the drama unfolding on the television screen.

As you step closer, the context of their discussion becomes clearer. They're watching a particularly intense episode of the Bad Girls Club, a scene charged with conflict and confrontation. Your father, ever the inquisitive one, is trying to grasp the nuances of reality TV drama.

"So that girl, Stacy—" he begins, attempting to piece together the storyline.

"Stasi," Seora corrects him without taking her eyes off the screen.

"Yes, Stasi. She's beating up the other girl because she poured out her bleach?" he continues, trying to understand the gravity of the situation.

"Yup," Seora confirms, just as invested in the episode. "And also because Shelly put nail polish remover in her contact solution."

"What?!" Your father's voice was a mix of shock and disbelief, clearly appalled by the revelation.

"I know, right?!" Seora responds, sharing in the astonishment.

The absurdity of the situation, your father—a man of logic and reason—trying to make sense of reality TV antics, brings a smile to your face, a brief respite from the storm of your own reality. Clearing your throat to announce your presence, you catch your father's attention, who immediately lights up, his smile beaming as he rises to greet you with a warm, enveloping hug.

"Hey there, kiddo!" he exclaims, his joy evident. "Didn't expect to see me, did you?"

Your smile meets his, though it carries a hint of tension you can't quite mask. "No, I didn't. What brings you here?" you inquire, genuinely curious and slightly relieved to see a familiar face amidst the whirlwind of recent events.

"Just wanted to check in on you," he responds, releasing you from the hug but keeping his hands on your shoulders, his gaze searching yours for any hidden troubles.

You let out a deep breath, the weight of your impending public debut pressing down on you. "I'm alright," you say, forcing a smile onto your face.

Seora, sensing the shift in the room's dynamic, pops up from her seat with a comedic flair. "Sorry, guys, I gotta go. My Sims are probably setting the house on fire without my supervision," she declares dramatically, exiting the room with a wink and leaving you and your father alone.

With a soft chuckle at Seora's antics, your father turns back to you, his expression growing more serious. "You sure everything alright? You seem... preoccupied."

Sitting beside your father on the couch, you finally take the opportunity to confide in him. "Shihyuk-nim wants me to officially reveal myself as YaNi at the upcoming actor award ceremony."

Your father's eyes light up. "That's wonderful, sweetheart!" he exclaims, but the joy in his eyes dims slightly as he notices the lack of enthusiasm in yours.

He leans in, his voice gentle yet probing. "But you don't seem thrilled. How do you feel about it?"

"I— I'm nervous... but also kind of excited? It's all happening so fast."

"It's okay to feel overwhelmed. But remember, this is a moment you've worked hard for." "I know, I know, I know. It's just... I feel like I don't deserve this. It should've been Yuuji in the spotlight, not me. I'm just... riding on his legacy, pretending to be something I'm not. I feel like a fraud."

Your father listens intently, his presence a steady anchor in the tumult of your emotions. When you're done, he places a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Y/N, you're not a fraud. You've earned this moment with your talent and hard work. Yuuji would have been proud of you, not because you're continuing his legacy, but because you're building your own," he reassures you, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"But I'm scared," you admit, the vulnerability in your voice stark and raw.

He nods, understandingly. "It's okay to be scared. It means you care deeply. But remember, you're not alone in this. We're all here for you, supporting you every step of the way."

Your father's words resonate deeply, and he adds, "And remember, you're not here pretending to be something you're not. You're just showing them another side of who you are. And if you ever find that this isn't the path you want to continue on, you can always come home. You're not locked into this. Do what feels right for you."

His words, sincere and heartfelt, begin to mend the cracks in your self-esteem, unleashing a flood of emotions; you find yourself wrapped in his embrace, tears streaming down your face. He holds you close, gently rocking side to side, a soothing rhythm that calms your turbulent thoughts.

"T-Thank you, Dad," you manage to say between sobs.

"Always." He tightens his hug, whispering, "I want you to understand that I'm so proud of you, Y/N. And I know your mother and Yuuji are, too. They're watching over you, cheering you on."

Feeling the weight of his words and the warmth of his support, you cling to him, the fear and uncertainty beginning to ebb away. In this moment of vulnerability, you find strength in his unwavering belief in you, a belief that bolsters your resolve to face the challenges ahead with a brave heart and an open mind.

☆

Later, nestled in the comfort of your bed, you find yourself aimlessly scrolling through TikTok, seeking a distraction from the whirlwind of emotions. Amid the endless stream of content, you stumble upon a series of BTS edits. One particular edit catches your eye—it's a viral compilation featuring fanarts of Taehyung. In the video, he's paired with various masked girls, a stand-in for the enigmatic 'YaNi' whose face remains a mystery to the world. Apparently, it's been a popular movement amongst fans to outright deny Alex of being YaNi.

The edit is skillfully stitched with the hauntingly beautiful strains of "Echoes of Eternity," the song that has inadvertently become the soundtrack of your unfolding saga.

As you watch, the scenes transition smoothly, each snippet featuring Taehyung and the masked girls in various staged interactions—him laughing, talking, or working in the studio—all underscored by the emotive melody of the song you both brought to life.

The comments section below the video is a buzzing hive of activity, a testament to the song's impact and the curiosity it has sparked. Fans are actively shipping 'YaNi' and Taehyung, not out of knowledge of your real interactions but because they are enchanted by the way your voices intertwine, creating a harmony that feels both profound and predestined.

Some comments venture further, weaving theories around the iconic red hoodie, speculating its significance, and pondering if it's a secret thread connecting you and Taehyung. They hypothesize, wonder if the hoodie was a token from Taehyung, a clue to a secret romance woven into the fabric of your collaborative artistry.

As you read through these comments, a myriad of emotions washes over you. There's a sense of surrealism, seeing how deeply fans are engaged with the narrative you're a part of; the idea that fans are connecting dots from months ago, piecing together a love story from mere fragments of public appearances and music, is both astonishing and slightly unnerving.

With a gentle shake of your head, you quickly turn off your phone, trying to distance yourself from the burgeoning fantasies of the fans.

The notion that you and Taehyung could be perceived as a potential couple based on artistic collaboration and a shared hoodie is a testament to the fans' creativity and passion. But it also serves as a reminder of the blurred lines between public perception and personal reality in the world of entertainment.

Lying back, you stare at the ceiling, the phone's screen now dark, mirroring the quiet of the room. The fans' enthusiasm and the narratives they craft are a double-edged sword—heartwarming in their engagement yet daunting in their expectations. As you drift closer to the edge of sleep, the thought lingers: What will happen when the world finally sees you, the person behind 'YaNi'? Will they see the artist, or will they search for the character they've imagined in their theories and ships?

Despite the uncertainty of what lies ahead, there's a burgeoning sense of anticipation, because maybe, just maybe, this whole YaNi persona wouldn't be so bad after all.

The thought brought another smile, wider this time, as you drifted off to sleep, the soft melody of "Echoes of Eternity" playing on a loop in your dreams.

***YaNi! YaNi! YaNi!

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winxanity-ii · 8 days

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 12 Chapter 12 | private matters⌟

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❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

As the days turned into weeks, you fell into a comfortable routine at U.A. Classes were challenging but not insurmountable, allowing you to maintain a perfect academic record.

You aced the general studies with ease, your mind a steel trap for information. The hero aspects were a different story, but you used your power subtly, turning situations to your advantage and always managing to pull off a pass.

One crisp morning, you found yourself walking towards Class 1-A, a mischievous glint in your eyes. In your hand, you clutched a worn copy of one of Midoriya's hero analysis notebooks. You'd snatched it from his bag with a deft flick of your wrist earlier that day, the act as effortless as stealing a candy wrapper from a sleeping child.

This unexpected development—Midoriya Izuku, the seemingly Quirkless boy, possesses a powerful Quirk. An electric thrill coursed through you, leaving you buzzing with anticipation. You couldn't wait to peel back the layers, to unearth the secrets buried beneath the surface of this seemingly unassuming boy.

The sound of students shuffling out of the classroom after their training session pulled you from your thoughts. A sly smile played on your lips as you spotted your target—Midoriya, the green-haired boy with wide, nervous eyes.

Bakugo, his spiky blond hair a beacon of annoyance, was about to storm towards you, likely to bark some greeting or question why you were standing outside their classroom.

However, catching the sharp, almost playful look you sent him, he stopped mid-stride. Bakugo might be explosive, but he wasn't stupid. He recognized the silent warning in your gaze and, for now at least, held his tongue.

With a calculated sweetness in your voice, you approached Midoriya. "Hey there, Midoriya-kun! I was hoping I could catch you for a minute." The other students watched in surprise. You, the calm and collected student from Class 1-B, approaching the usually flustered Midoriya?

This was unexpected.

Midoriya, his eyes widening in a mix of surprise and nervous curiosity, stammered a response. "Uh, o-of course! W-what can I do for you?" His voice trembled slightly, a sudden spotlight of attention focused on him.

You glanced over your shoulder, spotting several of his classmates lingering behind, their ears practically glued to the conversation. A polite cough escaped your lips, followed by a gentle smile. "Actually, it's a bit of a personal matter. Would you mind if we talked... in private?"

Your request hung in the air for a beat. Then, as if struck by lightning, the entire class dispersed like roaches, shuffling back towards the classroom door, their voices fading into an undercurrent of whispers.

Bakugo was the last to retreat, his spiky blond hair bristling with annoyance. He shot a particularly nasty glare in Midoriya's direction before trailing behind his classmates, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

As the classroom door swung shut, leaving you and Midoriya alone in the hallway, a slow smile spread across your face.

The stage was now set.

The silence stretched for a moment, thick with unspoken curiosity. Midoriya, his signature green eyes flitting nervously around the hallway, was the first to break it.

"U-um, Akuma-san? What did you need?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. His cheeks were already dusted with a faint pink, a reaction you were sure wasn't entirely due to the exertion from training.

You offered him a smile, cute and perfectly sheepish. "Sorry to bother you, but actually..." you trailed off, reaching behind your back with a flourish. Pulling out the tattered notebook, you held it up for him to see. "I found this lying around earlier, and I thought it might belong to you?"

Midoriya's eyes widened comically, surprise instantly replaced by a wave of relief that washed over his features. All nervousness seemed to melt away, replaced by a genuine, grateful smile. "Oh my gosh, thank you so much!" he exclaimed, his voice brimming with sincerity. "I thought I lost it for sure! This notebook is really important to me." He reached out a hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he took the notebook from you.

His gaze drifted downwards, staring at the worn cover with a melancholic fondness. You could almost see the countless hours of analysis and meticulous notes swirling within his mind.

Taking advantage of the shift in his focus, you spoke softly, your voice laced with a hint of destiny. "Honestly, Midoriya-kun," you began, "I kind of like to think it's fate that I came across your book today."

Midoriya's head snapped up, his green eyes wide with confusion. "Fate?" he stammered, tilting his head slightly. The notebook remained clutched in his hands, a shield of sorts between him and the unexpected closeness of the conversation.

Feigning a blush, you turned your head slightly to the side. A shy smile played on your lips as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "Well, maybe not exactly fate," you mumbled, "but I've always found your... fascination with hero analysis, well, fascinating."

Midoriya's confusion deepened, a slight crease forming between his brows. "Y-You have?" he squeaked, the air thick with surprise.

His reaction was exactly what you'd hoped for—a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. It made him more susceptible to your manipulations.

"Yeah," you continued, expertly playing on your innocent facade. "Back in middle school, I always kept my distance when you were analyzing heroes. I didn't want to bother you or disrupt your... process." Your voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken implication that you admired his dedication.

"But now," you added, a hopeful glint in your eyes, "we're both at U.A., and I thought... maybe we could be friends? People who share a love for heroes?"

Midoriya felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him. His knees went weak, momentarily threatening to buckle under his own surprise. "F-friends?" he stuttered, his voice barely a whisper. The casual suggestion, presented with such sweetness and a touch of hero worship, completely flustered him.

His mind raced, trying to process this unexpected development. Here you were, someone he'd admired but never dared to approach, offering friendship in exchange for a returned notebook. The situation felt surreal, a dreamlike scenario that threatened to unravel at any moment.

"Y-yes!" he practically shouted, the sound catching in his throat halfway through. Heat flooded his cheeks, turning them a vibrant shade of crimson. "I-I mean, sure, I'd love to be your friend, Akuma-san," he stammered, quickly correcting himself in an attempt to appear less flustered.

You let out a light, melodic giggle, the sound washing over Midoriya like a wave of pure sunshine. Taking a calculated step forward, you closed the distance between the two of you.

He flinched slightly, his breath hitching in his throat as you leaned in closer. Your voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, sending shivers down his spine.

With your hands clasped innocently behind your back, you offered him a smile so sweet it could stop his heart. Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, adding to the effect. When you reopened them, they sparkled with a fabricated warmth that sent a jolt through him. "Call me Y/N," you purred, your voice barely above a breath.

☆

As you strolled down the empty hall, you took a slow sip from your carton of strawberry milk, a satisfied sigh escaping your lips.

Lunchtime.

Usually, you'd already be back in class, munching away on a pre-made lunch from either your mother or, surprisingly, Bakugo. Your explosive puppy had taken to giving you his own lunch on days you showed up empty-handed. He'd grumble about it, of course, claiming it wasn't out of any kindness on his part, but you both knew better.

But today? Todays things were different.

Your usual routine had to be changed to a different location because, unfortunately, your initial plan of fading into the background as the mysterious student had backfired spectacularly.

Instead of invisibility, you'd garnered curiosity, even a touch of infatuation. The students of Class 1-B treated you with a mix of awe and awkwardness, constantly seeking your attention.

You shook your head, a wry smile playing on your lips. Honestly, you thought your carefully cultivated personality—a mix of quiet observation, avoidance of emotional displays, and an air of intrigue—would serve you well in U.A., just like it had in middle school. But it seemed your classmates here were of an entirely different breed.

Ever since the first day, they've swarmed you like curious bees. Some tried to pry into your personal life with poorly veiled questions; others sought your help with their studies—something you secretly enjoyed; and then there were the few who made awkward attempts at flirting, their clumsy advances more awkward than endearing—all becoming daily occurrences.

Intrigue, it seemed, had morphed into something altogether different—a persistent and, quite frankly, bothersome level of attention.

Things had reached a fever pitch during the recent class representative elections. When the votes were tallied, you were drowning in a sea of three-quarters of the class votes, the remaining slivers scattered amongst the other nominees.

You, of course, had cast your own vote for Itsuka Kendo, a fiery yet responsible classmate who seemed well-suited for the role.

Despite the minor annoyance, you couldn't deny a certain satisfaction that bubbled beneath the surface. Being elected class president wasn't entirely unwelcome.

While a part of you couldn't deny a certain smug satisfaction and sense of nostalgia the power dynamic brought—the shining eyes and rapt attention brought back sweet memories of you leading Special Division 4 in the Public Safety Devil Hunters as Makima—the scale was vastly different now.

Back then, you commanded a small, elite unit. Here, you were dealing with a classroom overflowing with personalities, goals, and a multitude of desires. There was always someone buzzing around you, vying for your attention, demanding a piece of your time.

It was exhilarating, certainly, but also exhausting. You craved solitude—a moment to escape the constant spotlight and strategize your next move. One wrong step, a misstep fueled by the intoxicating rush of power, could unravel your carefully constructed facade.

No, you needed to be patient, to savor the attention while subtly reminding everyone that you weren't just a captivating smile and a mysterious past.

You had all the time in the world to play with these unsuspecting pawns, after all. A slow, calculating smile played on your lips as you imagined the intricate dance of manipulation that lay ahead.

Suddenly, a harsh thud yanked you from your thoughts, followed by a jumble of muffled words. Intrigued, you slowed your pace, casually glancing out of the corner of your eye. Down a deserted section of the corridor—a perfect camera blind spot—your gaze landed on a scene that caused a flicker of amusement to dance in your eyes.

Crouched in the corner, his back slammed against the lockers, was a boy with a mop of messy, indigo-colored hair that flared out in large tufts around his head. He looked annoyed, his face contorted in a mixture of anger and boredom. Surrounding him were three boys, their faces twisted into malicious smirks.

The apparent leader was a hulking figure with bulging muscles and a sneer plastered across his face. His Quirk, if the pulsating rocky mass on his right arm was any indication, seemed to be some form of earth manipulation. Standing beside him was a scrawny boy with beady eyes and a twitchy grin. A collection of wires and gadgets snaked around his arms, hinting at a technological Quirk.

The third boy, the one currently harassing the purple-haired victim, stood out from the others. He had grey strands of mop for hair and perpetually damp-looking, spongy eyebrows. His Quirk was less obvious, though the faint suds clinging to his clothes and the wet splotch spreading on the locker behind the indigo-haired boy suggested something to do with cleaning.

He held the other boy's front uniform in a tight grip, using it to shove him against the lockers once again. "Oh, what's the matter? Scared to use your 'villainous' Quirk on us?" he sneered. The other two boys crowded in for intimidation, their snickers echoing in the empty hallway.

You snorted internally at the bullying you were witnessing. Looks like things didn't change, even at a hero school.

Pathetic.

Normally, you'd ignore such situations, preferring to observe and manipulate from the shadows. But right now, intervening held a certain twisted appeal.

On one hand, if you ignore these buffoons, you'd still have ten minutes remaining from your lunch break. Reaching class ten minutes early just meant enduring ten more minutes of fending off desperate for your attention—like Monoma's incessant pleas to copy your Quirk earlier.

You'd shut him down, of course, not out of any real concern, but because your 'Quirk' wouldn't work for him—seeing as it wasn't actually a Quirk to begin with, just powers stemming from you being a Devil.

Deciding the amusement was worth the minor inconvenience, you swiftly turned on your heel, a calculated annoyance etched on your face. As you strode towards the group, your voice cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife. "Hey," you called out, clear and firm.

All four boys whipped their heads in your direction, surprise flickering across their faces. The one with the cleaning Quirk, startled by the sudden interruption, loosened his grip on the indigo-haired boy's shirt.

This allowed you a glimpse of the victim—a blossoming purple bruise forming on the underside of his chin.

Tsk-ing your tongue in mock disapproval, you shook your head slightly. "What are you doing?" you asked, lacing your voice with a hint of playful curiosity. The question hung heavy in the air, a challenge disguised as a casual inquiry. It was a simple sentence, yet it landed with the weight of a well-placed punch.

The two smaller bullies exchanged nervous glances. The apparent leader, the one with the earth manipulation Quirk, scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "Mind your own business, newbie," he growled, a clear attempt to establish dominance.

You gave a soft hum, a thoughtful expression gracing your face as you tapped your chin with one finger. Stopping three feet away from the scene, you were able to get a clearer picture of the situation.

The purple-haired boy, a first-year judging by his uniform, lay crumpled against the lockers, surrounded by scattered notebooks. His own uniform was wrinkled and dusty.

Trailing your eyes up, you took in the uniforms of the bullies—second-years.

A slow, predatory grin, half-smile, half-snarl, spread across your face. It wasn't a sweet, charming smile like the one you used to manipulate others, but a carnivorous grin.

"Don't think I can..." you drawled, your voice taking on a dangerous edge. "Wouldn't be very... heroic of me, would it?" You emphasized the word "heroic," drawing it out, making them painfully aware of the irony of their actions in a hero school.

The two unsure bullies shifted nervously on their feet, finally realizing the potential consequences of their behavior.

The bigger one, his face flushed with anger, puffed out his chest in a final attempt to appear intimidating. He roughly kicked away the fallen boy's leg as he stepped over them, stomping towards you, his scowl deepening with every step. "You..."

You, however, remained unimpressed. You met his gaze, boredom radiating from your posture. This only served to infuriate him further. He reached out and grabbed the front of your uniform, hoisting you up with surprising ease. Your feet dangled precariously, barely skimming the ground.

"I said mind your own business, bitch," he snarled, his voice laced with barely contained rage. "Unless you wanna end up looking like the freak back there."

Your eyes narrowed into a dangerous slit at his words. The world seemed to slow down, the only sound the pounding of your heart.

...Bitch...

Bitch...

...Bitch...

The word echoed in your head like a broken record on repeat.

"What...what did you just call me?" Your voice was barely a whisper, eerily calm despite the tremor running through you.

The bully's frown shifted into a feral grin, as if realizing he hit a sore spot. "I said —"

You cut him off before he could answer, a surge of power coursing through you. With a mental command, you forced him to kneel before you. In a blink, the bulky bully found himself on his knees, gasping for breath.

"W-What? What are you—"

You loomed over him, your grip tightening around his tie until it strained and choked off his pathetic pleas. A low, menacing growl rumbled from your chest, vibrating through him. "Shut up," you commanded, the words laced with icy venom. His eyes widened in sheer terror, and any further whimpers died a silent death in his throat.

Suddenly, the squeak of approaching shoes cut through the tense silence. You snapped your head up, eyes flashing with icy fury that locked onto the two remaining lackeys. Irritated, you barked a single word, "Sit."

The command was laced with such power that the two boys could only exchange panicked glances before they found their minds going blank and mindlessly following your orders, collapsing onto the ground like obedient dogs.

The indigo-haired boy, still sprawled on the ground, could only watch in utter shock as the tides turned completely.

Turning your attention back to the trembling bully at your mercy, you felt a tremor run through your own hand. "Bitch?" you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper. The name sent a surge of rage coursing through you, your eyes flickering with an otherworldly, yellow glow. "How dare you, you filthy, lowly being," you spat, your voice dripping with contempt, "refer to me as such!"

You leaned in closer, your voice dripping with venom. "Do I look like I belong amongst the inferior pests you call friends and family? Like I..." You trailed off, your rage reaching a boiling point. With a final, earth-shattering roar, you threw back your head and declared, "I'm not bitch! I am a god!"

The force of your statement sent shivers down the spines of everyone present. The bully beneath you began whimpering so uncontrollably and high-pitched that it bordered on a squeak, a yellow puddle spreading beneath him.

With a sneer of disgust, you released his tie, punctuating the action with a sarcastic, condescending pat on his head. "Good, mutt," you growled.

You stride past the petrified, kneeling second-year, towards the shell-shocked, indigo-haired boy. With a flick of your wrist, you release control of all three second-years, their panicked apologies filling the air as they scrambled to their feet and dragged their whimpering friend away. The indigo-haired boy can only watch, speechless, as his former tormentors flee.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. "You..." he stammered, unable to form a complete sentence.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning amusement. "I what? Saved you from getting bullied?"

His face fell. A frown creased his brow as he mumbled a retort. "I didn't need saving," he growled, pushing himself off the ground. "I had everything handled."

"Oh really?" you countered, a sardonic lilt in your voice. "By that, do you mean getting your back broken by a metal locker?"

The moment the words left your lips, a strange sensation washed over you. It was like your body seized control, transforming you into a puppet on invisible strings. You froze, amusement evaporating from your face as you felt yourself move against your will.

The hallway fell eerily silent. In a robotic motion, you bent down to pick up the indigo-haired boy's scattered belongings. Your movements were precise, almost mechanical, as you shuffled them into a neat pile. You felt utterly disconnected from your actions, a mere observer trapped inside your own body.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you finished. In a monotone voice, devoid of any inflection, the words "Here you are" escaped your lips as you held out the stack of books and notebooks to the boy.

The indigo-haired boy took a step closer, reaching out to fix your loosened tie. You took the opportunity to take in his features clearly. Towering over you, his messy indigo hair flared out like a wild halo. A flash of white contrasted against his purple irises, devoid of pupils—his eyes framed by dark underbags.

Finished, he pulled away, the fog clouding your mind lifted. "Like that," he breathed, his voice a husky whisper right next to your ear. You could practically feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. Taking the books from your unresisting hands, he stepped back with a curt, "Thanks for the help," before turning to leave.

Just as the indigo-haired boy's figure vanished around the corner, the lunch bell's shrill cry shattered the silence, signaling the end of the break.

You were left standing there, utterly bewildered.

Replaying the events in your mind, you could only hum thoughtfully. The chilling detachment, the robotic movements you had no control over—that almost puppet-like state when you picked up his books. It all pointed towards one thing—his Quirk

But what kind of Quirk? You hadn't encountered another controlling Quirk before. Millions of questions swarmed your mind. Did it function similarly to yours? Were there limitations? What were the drawbacks?

As you continued to analyze the encounter, the indigo boy's face flashed through your mind once more. His expression, dazed and tired, eerily reminded you of Denji, stirring a mix of emotions within you—a vacant look your chainsaw-wielding "puppy" would give you after a long night of hunting Devils.

You cursed yourself internally. You knew all too well where this was headed.

It seems that your little litter was destined to grow.

"Interesting," you muttered under your breath before heading back to class.

***ngl, i wish i collected dollars just as fast as im collecting these dudes/dudettes. anywho, i blessed you all with a double update, sorry for missing the other day, i had an exam AND had to finish a 5-paper assignment 💔

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winxanity-ii · 8 days

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 11 Chapter 11 | class 1-b assemble⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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The shrill blare of your alarm ripped through the pre-dawn silence, jolting you awake.

Groaning internally, you swatted at the offending clock, silencing its insistent screeches. Sunlight, still faint but determined, peeked through the blinds, casting long shadows across your room.

With a practiced sigh, you threw back the covers and swung your legs over the edge of the bed.

Stretching out the kinks in your sleep-stiffened muscles, you made your way to the bathroom, the familiar routine already in motion.

A quick splash of cool water on your face washed away the remnants of sleep, momentarily pulling you back to reality. As you leaned closer to the mirror, a pair of gleaming yellow eyes stared back at you, their vibrancy a stark contrast to your dark morning hair.

For a fleeting second, a genuine smile tugged at the corners of your lips, a rare glimpse of the person you might have been under different circumstances. But it faded as quickly as it came, replaced by the practiced, overly sweet smile you reserved for the world. The one that said 'approachable,' 'unassuming,' 'harmless.'

"Today's the starting point," you murmured to your reflection, your voice barely a whisper. A pause. Then, with a glint of steel flickering in your eyes, you added in a more determined tone, "Set. Match." With a predatory grin splitting your face, you turned away from the mirror, the mask firmly in place.

☆

A flurry of activity filled the air as you tore down the stairs, your backpack already slung over one shoulder.

The crisp morning air hit you like a slap as you burst into the kitchen, where a familiar scene unfolded.

Your father, clad in his usual worn pajamas, sat hunched over the breakfast table, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in his hands as he wrestled with the morning newspaper.

Across from him, your mother, her face a whirlwind of nervous excitement, was practically chattering his ear off.

"And then Mrs. Tanaka said..." her voice trailed off as you cleared your throat, announcing your presence with a simple, "Good morning."

Mei's head snapped up so fast it looked like it might go into orbit. A gasp escaped her lips, and in a flurry of motherly fuss, she scurried over to you.

"Oh, Y/N! You look so grown-up in your uniform!" she exclaimed, her voice reaching an octave higher than usual. "Just look at you, so prestigious! Come stand still, sweetie, let me get a picture!"

Before you could protest, a camera materialized from somewhere in the depths of her apron pocket. Clicks filled the air as she snapped pictures from every angle, cooing and fussing over your appearance all the while.

Finally, with a satisfied sigh, she lowered the camera and wrapped a possessive arm around you.

"Now let me look at you properly! My little hero-in-training~" she declared, pulling you closer and scanning your uniform as if searching for imaginary lint.

Turning to your father, who hadn't bothered to look up from his newspaper the entire time, she practically shoved you towards him.

"Look, Wino! Doesn't our precious daughter look so studious?"

Your father grunted a reply that sounded suspiciously like, "Whatever," before promptly burying his face back in the paper.

Rolling your eyes internally, you suppressed a sigh. This was the usual morning routine—a frantic mix of excitement and overbearing worry from your mother, and stoic indifference from your father.

Mei continued to fuss over you, brushing non-existent dust off your uniform and launching into a nervous diatribe about the best train route to take, the safest paths to navigate, and the importance of a healthy lunch.

Ignoring most of it as background noise, you nodded in the appropriate places, your practiced smile never faltering. As your mother prattled on, your mind drifted back to the one time your father offered a shred of positive acknowledgment regarding your existence.

It was a few weeks after you'd revealed your 'Quirk', and despite this being another milestone of you becoming independent, your mother's insistence on homeschooling remained unwavering.

Honestly, it wasn't a hardship. The limited time she allowed you outside, usually supervised trips to the park, were all you needed to hone your control.

You practiced subtly manipulating pigeons to steal unattended snacks, turning them into feathered little thieves under your silent command.

Neighborhood dogs inexplicably changed their walking routes to avoid you, and the occasional snot-nosed kid found themselves inexplicably tripping over their own shoelaces just before making a rude comment about your lonesome habit.

While you reveled in the freedom homeschooling offered, the thought of entering a real school had always held a certain appeal. You knew you couldn't stay hidden forever.

School was where first impressions were made, where social circles formed, and where the building blocks of a person's reputation were laid.

Being homeschooled, existing in a bubble on the fringes of your age group, did little to establish a positive image.

In fact, it probably did the opposite, increasing the chances of ostracization when—or if—you eventually entered the traditional school system.

So, with a little well-timed pressure from your father and a few strategically placed questions from you, your mother finally caved.

You were enrolled in the closest elementary school, a decision that both excited and terrified you. It would be your first foray into the real world, your first opportunity to test your abilities on a larger scale, and your first chance to truly blend in.

Looking back, it was truly a turning point.

Homeschooling had provided a safe haven to hone your quirk, but school—oh, school was a whole new playground, filled with endless possibilities for manipulation and subtle control.

U.A. might be the ultimate goal, but those early days in elementary school were where you truly learned the art of playing the game.

The shrill beep of the kitchen timer sliced through your reverie. Blinking, you plaster a soft smile grow on your lips, brushing off your mother's worries with a practiced ease. "Don't worry," you assured her, your voice a soothing balm. "I'll be careful, I promise."

With a final squeeze of your arm, you made your way towards the doorway, shedding the comfort of your slippers in favor of your outdoor shoes.

Stepping outside, you were greeted by a brilliant sunrise, its golden rays washing over you in a warm embrace.

Your school uniform looked immaculate against the familiar backdrop of your home. A soft grey blazer, its sharp lapels catching the morning light, framed a crisp white shirt beneath. A neatly knotted red tie, the color a bold contrast to the pale grey, added a touch of formality.

As you moved, the pleats of your skirt seemed to dance in the gentle breeze, a subtle play of light and shadow following your every step. Dark socks climbed elegantly up your calves, their sleek darkness giving way to the polished brown loafers that graced your feet. Even the leather of your shoes, catching a sliver of the golden sunlight, seemed to gleam with an unspoken purpose.

A crown of fluffy, pale red twists adorned your head, their unique color catching the early morning light. Worn in a half-up/half-down style, the tendrils framed your face like a pair of fiery question marks. The remaining loose strands danced in the breeze, whispering secrets only you could understand.

☆

The train ride to U.A. was a blur of efficiency. You slipped seamlessly into the morning commute, the crispness of your uniform adding a touch of formality to the crowded train car.

One or two students sporting the same U.A. uniform as yourself caught your eye, their eyes alight with nervous excitement.

As you stepped onto the hallowed grounds of the prestigious hero school, the air crackled with a tangible energy—a mix of nervous anticipation and raw ambition that sent a thrill coursing through you.

For a moment, you stood rooted in place, your gaze sweeping across the sprawling campus.

The imposing buildings, the state-of-the-art training facilities, the vibrant energy of the students milling about—it was all a bit surreal. So many faces, so many paths, so many possibilities.

A wicked smile, as sharp and calculating as a predator sizing up its prey, slowly spread across your face.

You couldn't wait to find out what opportunities U.A. presented, what pawns you could manipulate on the grand chessboard of this hero course.

The chatter of excited students filled the air as you entered Class 1-B. A few heads turned momentarily, registering your presence before they returned to their animated conversations.

You moved with an air of practiced nonchalance, heading straight for the back of the classroom. With a silent step, you took an empty seat, settling in to observe and wait.

It didn't take long for things to kick off. Just as you were getting comfortable, the classroom door slid open with a hiss.

A familiar face, blonde hair framing periwinkle eyes, filled the doorway. The moment your eyes met, a furious blush erupted on his face. "You!" he roared, his finger pointed accusingly in your direction.

The entire class fell silent, their attention immediately snagged by the dramatic entrance and the unexpected accusation, eyes bouncing between you and the newcomer.

You arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, letting out a single, amused, "Me?"

The boy, clearly flustered by your nonchalant response, took a tentative step towards your desk. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his bravado momentarily deflated instead replaced by a nervous squeak. "Uh, s-sorry about that," he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "I just... I didn't expect to see you here."

You propped your head onto your left hand, tilting it ever so slightly to the side. Through your lashes, you cast him a glance, your yellow eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement.

His brash demeanor seemed to have completely evaporated, replaced by a nervous fidgeting, a far cry from the confident smirk you remembered from the entrance exam.

"I-I'm Monoma Neito," Monoma stuttered even more under your scrutiny; he quickly averted his gaze, unable to hold your curious stare for any longer.

Taking a deep breath, Monoma straightened his shoulders in an attempt to regain his composure. A smirk, practiced and slightly too smug for your liking, reappeared on his face.

Leaning down slightly, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Never did catch your name," he murmured, a hint of his earlier arrogance peeking through.

You met his gaze head-on, a slow, playful smile gracing your lips. Your voice, a low purr that sent shivers down the spines of a few nearby classmates, responded with a calculated sweetness. "Don't remember offering it, do you?" you countered, your words more of a playful challenge than a genuine answer.

Just as Monoma was about to open his mouth, presumably to fire back a witty retort, he was interrupted by the sudden arrival of a young man with a shock of messy gray hair. "Hey! I recognize you! You're the one from the physical portion of the exam! The way you took down those robots—it was so manly! I haven't seen someone use their Quirk like that before!" He pumped his fist in the air, his enthusiasm infectious.

Monoma's face falls blank, his lips twisting into a scowl. He mutters a frustrated, "Hey, I was talking to her—" but his sentence is once again cut off.

"Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, by the way!" Tetsutetsu added, his grin widening even further if that were possible. "Nice to officially meet you!"

Before you could even formulate a response, the classroom erupted in a flurry of activity. Students who had been hesitant to speak earlier were suddenly animated, discussing their Quirks, the upcoming lessons, and the thrill of being at U.A. High.

The air crackled with a nervous energy, but it was an energy filled with a shared dream—the dream of becoming a hero.

Just as the classroom reached a peak of noise, the door slid open once more. This time, a man with messy crimson hair and a bored expression entered the room; all eyes turned to their new teacher, the infamous Blood Vlad.

His usual bored expression was momentarily replaced by a hint of amusement as he surveyed the scene. Clapping his hands together once, a sharp crack that silenced the room in an instant, Vlad cleared his throat and began his introduction.

"Alright, settle down, everyone," he drawled, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. "Welcome to the Hero Course, Class 1-B. For those of you who haven't figured it out yet, you're not in the cream of the crop. You're the backups, the also-rans. But hey," he continued, a wicked grin spreading across his face, "that shouldn't discourage you. Consider it a built-in motivator. Work hard, push yourselves, and maybe, just maybe, you'll prove yourselves worthy enough to join the illustrious ranks of Class 1-A."

A murmur of discontent rippled through the class, some students exchanging nervous glances. Vlad, however, remained unfazed. He continued to explain the differences between the Hero Course tracks, emphasizing the constant competition that would fuel their training and the possibility of eventually transferring into Class 1-A, either through academic achievement or by impressing the teachers during the upcoming Sports Festival.

A chubby young boy with short, ice-blue hair and a perpetually apologetic expression hesitantly raised his hand. "Uh, excuse me, Kan-sensei?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "What exactly is the Sports Festival?"

Vlad's lips stretched into an even wider grin. "Ah, Shōda-kun," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. "All in good time, my boy. All in good time. Just trust me, things will make much more sense sooner or later."

With that cryptic statement hanging in the air, Vlad clapped his hands once more. "Alright, that's enough chit-chat for now. Time to get moving. Everyone up and on their feet. We'll be heading to freshman orientation, where you'll all get a chance to mingle with your fellow heroes-in-training from the other classes. Consider it a chance to make some new allies... or perhaps size up your potential competition."

A buzz of excitement rippled through the class as students shuffled to their feet, eager to explore the vast U.A. campus and meet their fellow aspiring heroes.

You joined the throng, a sly smile playing on your lips. This orientation was more than just an opportunity to socialize; it was a chance to gather information, assess your competition, and potentially forge some strategic alliances.

As you filed out of the classroom and down the hallway, your gaze drifted out a nearby window to your left. There, across a sprawling field, stood another class.

A glint of spiky blonde hair instantly gave away your target—Bakugo. He stood out like a sore thumb, next to a disheveled man wrapped in a sleeping bag, presumably his teacher.

Even from this distance, you could practically hear Bakugo's trademark scowl and boisterous personality.

Curiosity piqued, you subtly extended your senses. With practiced control, you focused on the hearing of a bird flying past the window. As it swooped down towards the field, you hijacked its senses for a brief moment, eavesdropping.

A smirk played on your lips as the information filtered through your mind.

Quirk apprehension test, huh?

A loud, explosive shout of "Die!" then cut through the air, followed by the unmistakable whoosh of a ball.

Snapping out of your eavesdropping, you refocused on the present, rejoining your classmates as they continued their trek towards the auditorium for the freshman orientation.

☆

As the final school bell echoed through the halls, signaling the end of the day, you were gathering your things, a sense of satisfaction settling over you.

The first day at U.A. had been filled with competition and unexpected encounters.

You bid farewell to any lingering classmates, their voices fading into a background hum as you exited the classroom.

Stepping outside, the setting sun casts a warm glow, bathing you in a light gold. The day's events replayed in your mind—the whirlwind of information, the competition, and other things.

A sly smile played on your lips as you spotted a spiky-haired figure leaning nonchalantly against the school gate.

It was Bakugo.

Lips curling a bit in amusement at the image of the notoriously impatient explosive boy acting as your personal escort, you began heading towards him, not wanting to keep him waiting any longer.

After all, a well-trained puppy shouldn't be left waiting.

As you stepped into clear view of Bakugo, the boy's scowl softened a fraction, morphing into a begrudging acknowledgment. A low grunt escaped his lips, a sound that somehow managed to convey both annoyance and a gruff hello.

Without a word, the two of you fell into step beside each other.

Walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Bakugo, you listened patiently as he ranted about everything that happened on his first day. It was a one-sided conversation, a verbal explosion detailing his observations of his new classmates and their Quirks.

You learned about a nerdy-looking kid named Mineta who could trap people with his hair, a girl with zero gravity, and even a hulking dude who could increase his muscle mass.

Then came the surprise.

"Apparently, Deku," Bakugo spat the name with venom, "has a Quirk now too."

A flicker of genuine interest sparked in your eyes, hidden behind your carefully constructed mask of innocence.

This was unexpected.

This changed things.

You couldn't wait to see what other secrets Midoriya Izuku were hiding.

***my bbys in 1-b so underappreciated 😤

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winxanity-ii · 8 days

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⌜No Hoods Attached | Chapter 21 Chapter 21 | secret symphony⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

As the fan-led investigation into the discrepancies of Alex's performances gained momentum, the online community buzzed with theories and speculations. A dedicated group of fans had compiled convincing evidence suggesting that the voice everyone had come to adore as 'YaNi' wasn't Alex's at all.

Their findings, meticulously detailed and widely shared, ignited a storm of media attention and fan reactions, propelling the issue into the limelight.

Amidst this brewing storm, you found solace in the creative process, assisting Taehyung with his songwriting endeavor. The contrast between the online turmoil and the tranquility of music composition was stark.

There, in a cozy room at HYBE, you sat cross-legged, your trusted notepad brimming with scribbles, lines, and lyrical ideas.

Taehyung, pen in hand, listened intently, his expression a mix of focus and appreciation, offering a supportive smile as you sang softly. "I'm thinkin' 'bout you, what to say. Wish I knew how to find the way—"

The creative bubble you both inhabited was abruptly burst when the door swung open. Shihyuk's personal assistant, a look of sheer urgency on his face, interrupted the session.

"Um, the two of you... are needed... immediately," he managed to get out between pants, his eyes darting anxiously between you and Taehyung.

The sudden urgency in his voice cut through the room's calm, snapping you both to attention. Taehyung's smile faded, replaced by a look of concern as he set down his pen, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"What's going on?" Taehyung asked, his tone shifting from playful to serious, echoing the sudden change in the room's atmosphere.

You both rose, the notebook momentarily forgotten as you followed the assistant, his pace quick and purposeful, winding through the corridors to a conference room where the gravity of the situation was immediately apparent. Executives huddled around screens displayed a frenzy of online activity—all centered on the OST controversy.

As you and Taehyung settled into the tense atmosphere of the conference room, you leaned over to whisper to him, "Where's Alex?"

Taehyung shrugged slightly, his gaze fixed on Edwin, Alex's personal assistant, who looked equally anxious. "Not sure," he murmured back.

Shihyuk cleared his throat, capturing the room's attention. "Let's get straight to the point," he began, his voice carrying a seriousness that set the tone for the discussion. "We're facing a situation that could potentially damage our reputation and the careers of everyone involved here."

He clicked the remote, and the screen came alive with a flurry of tweets and social media posts. "This," he gestured towards the screen, "is the tip of the iceberg."

One tweet read, "Just noticed how Alex's live vocals don't match up with the OST... Something's off #EchoesOfEternity." Another was more accusatory, "There's no way Alex's voice in the live show matches the recording. Are we being fooled? #NotYaNi"

Shihyuk continued, "And it's not just about the voice discrepancies. There's a narrative being built around Taehyung and Alex." He clicked to another tweet, this one filled with speculative gossip, "Alex is clearly using this OST to get closer to Taehyung. It's so obvious #StayAwayFromOurTae."

Taehyung leaned forward, his brow furrowed as he read the fans' comments. "They're really digging into this," he murmured, a note of disbelief in his voice.

"Yes, and it's not just speculation anymore," Shihyuk continued, his tone grave. "They're calling for a full disclosure, and some are even demanding a voice analysis."

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach. The creative endeavor that had brought you such joy was now a source of controversy, and the anonymity you'd cherished was on the brink of being shattered.

"Alex has chosen to stay away today, given the stress and the backlash," Edwin interjected, her voice laced with concern.

Shihyuk nodded. "We need to formulate a response. Our priority is to protect our artists and the company's integrity. But we also need to be prepared for the truth to come out. If it does, the narrative could shift dramatically, and we need to be ready for that."

Shihyuk leaned back in his chair, the weight of the situation palpable in his posture. "After careful consideration," he began, his voice steady despite the gravity of the circumstances, "we believe the most viable option is for Y/N to step forward under your true identity."

The room fell silent as the implication of his words sank in. You exchanged a quick, apprehensive glance with Taehyung, the sudden shift in strategy catching you off guard.

"But how will that play out?" you asked, your voice a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Won't that just fuel more speculation and potentially harm Alex's career?"

Michael interjected, his tone pragmatic. "It's a calculated risk," he admitted. "But continuing the charade might do more damage in the long run. It's about controlling the narrative and turning the situation into a positive revelation rather than a scandal."

Edwin's concern was palpable as she frowned, voicing her worries. "And what about Alex? How will this affect her?"

Shihyuk responded, his expression conveying a blend of empathy and resolve. "We plan to keep Alex out of the spotlight for the time being," he explained. "It's crucial to limit her public interactions, especially with Taehyung, and advise her to stay away from HYBE to avoid escalating the situation."

The mention of these precautions caused Edwin's jaw to clench, her concern for Alex evident. Despite her evident unease, she nodded, understanding the necessity of the measures. "I'll inform Alex and make sure she understands the situation," Edwin said, her tone a mix of professionalism and protectiveness.

With a courteous bow, Edwin excused herself from the meeting, her posture tense as she prepared to relay the news to Alex, who was undoubtedly already under a tremendous amount of stress.

As the door closed behind Edwin, the room was filled with a heavy silence, everyone processing the weight of the decisions made and the impact they would have on all involved.

The weight of the room's atmosphere lingered, but you found a sliver of courage to inquire about your own role in this unfolding drama. "What about me? What will happen now?" you asked, your voice tinged with a blend of curiosity and apprehension.

At this, Shihyuk's demeanor softened, a hint of a strategic smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Ah, this is where the fun begins," he said, leaning back slightly in his chair, a spark of intrigue lighting up his eyes. He explained that the PR team had devised a creative strategy to handle the situation. "We're considering dropping subtle hints, little Easter eggs, if you will, about your real identity. The plan is to weave them into BTS's content, especially Taehyung's, on VLive and other social media platforms."

Shihyuk's strategic smile broadened as resumed, "You see, there's already a trail of breadcrumbs leading to you," he gestured, illustrating the presence of your existing albeit subtle footprint in the BTS universe. "We have images of you at various events, always on the periphery, always present but not center stage."

He elaborated that this background presence could be spun to their advantage, turning the narrative on its head. "The idea is to suggest that your anonymity wasn't an oversight but a deliberate move," he explained. "It was all part of a grander scheme to shine the spotlight on Alex, leveraging her aspirations in modeling and acting, while respecting your desire to remain behind the scenes."

The room absorbed his words, the plan casting a new light on the situation, transforming a potential crisis into a story of calculated genius and mutual benefit. "So, in essence, the revelation of your true identity becomes a story of artistic choice, not deception," Shihyuk concluded, his eyes locking with yours. "But, of course, the final call is yours. We're in the early stages of this controversy, and how we proceed can be tailored to your comfort level."

The meeting wrapped up with that, leaving you to ponder your next steps. The notion that the unfolding drama could be reframed as a clever publicity strategy was both daunting and exhilarating.

As you and the others rose to leave, Shihyuk's voice cut through the shuffle of chairs, "Could you stay back for a moment?" His tone was casual yet carried an underlying seriousness that prompted a quick nod from you, even as the others filed out, leaving you alone with him.

Once the door clicked shut, Shihyuk's expression softened, his smile carrying a mix of amusement and sincerity. "I've observed how well you and Taehyung have been working together," he began, his gaze thoughtful. "Your dynamic... it's quite interesting, to say the least."

Your heart skipped a beat, cheeks warming under his scrutiny. The mere implication of something more between you and Taehyung sent a flurry of butterflies through your stomach, despite your rational mind scolding you for reading too much into it.

"O-Oh, no, no, no. It's not like that," you stammered out, a rush of words tumbling in an attempt to dispel any misconceptions. "We're just collaborating professionally."

Shihyuk raised an eyebrow, his smile widening, "Of course, of course. Professional collaboration." The way he lingered on 'professional' suggested he saw through the facade, but he didn't push further.

"However," he continued, leaning back in his chair, "if things were to take a more... 'unconventional route,' as you put it, that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. Sometimes, life throws us unexpected narratives, and they turn out to be the most compelling stories."

Your mind raced, parsing his words, the implications stirring a mix of excitement and anxiety. The idea that your burgeoning relationship with Taehyung—whatever it might be—could intertwine with this unfolding drama added layers of complexity you weren't sure you were ready to navigate.

"Thank you, Shihyuk-nim," you managed, voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts. "I'll keep that in mind."

With a respectful bow, you turned and hurried out, the weight of his words and the decision before you pressing heavily on your mind. Leaning against the door as soon as you stepped out, you covered your face with your hands, feeling the heat of a blush spreading across your cheeks.

The whirlwind of thoughts and decisions from the meeting swirled in your mind, mingling with the unexpected personal revelations that had unexpectedly surfaced.

Lost in your turmoil, the face of your imagined lover gradually took on distinct and familiar features: blue hair, kind brown eyes, a boxy smile. These attributes morphed the once faceless figure into someone you knew all too well, someone who was now intricately woven into the fabric of your day-to-day life.

Just as you were about to sink deeper into this revelation, a voice called out, snapping you back to reality. "Y/N?"

Startled from your reverie, you snap upright, your hands dropping from your heated face as you turn toward the source of the voice. It's Taehyung, standing a few feet away, his casual posture against the wall shifting as his attention turned fully towards you.

As your eyes met, the phone in his hand was quickly pocketed, his expression shifting to one of gentle inquiry as he made his way over to you.

"What's wrong?" Taehyung asked, his voice laced with genuine worry. He leaned down slightly, closing the distance between you, his kind brown eyes searching yours for an answer. His presence felt so immediate, so intimate, that it heightened your awareness of his features—the gentle downturn of his pink lips hinting at his concern, the gentle gaze from his brown eyes conveying empathy, and the small, endearing mole on the tip of his nose.

Strands of his blue hair fell into his face, adding a touch of casual charm to his concerned expression. You felt an almost irresistible urge to reach out and tuck those strands behind his ear, to smooth away the distraction and see his face unobstructed. But you resisted, focusing instead on his question and the comfort offered by his attentive presence.

Your heart raced, and your blush deepened, not from embarrassment alone but from the sudden close inspection by someone who was becoming increasingly difficult to just view as a colleague or friend. The warmth radiating from him, the concern in his eyes, it all made your face feel like it was ablaze.

Sensing your increased discomfort but misinterpreting it as perhaps sickness or distress from the meeting, Taehyung teased, hoping to coax a smile from you. "Was it something about the meeting? Did Bang PD-nim push you to confess your undying love for me?" His tone was light, but his eyes remained attentive, watching for any sign of genuine unease.

The absurdity of his suggestion, made it a struggle for you to find your voice—momentarily lost in the close-up view of his genuine concern. Finally, with a small push against his chest, you managed to create some space, trying to hide your flustered state. "No, it's nothing serious," you managed to say, lips pursed in a vain attempt to appear unaffected.

Taehyung, still hovering close, chuckled softly at your reaction, his eyes crinkling in amusement, happy to have elicited even a small smile from you in the midst of your concerns. "If you say so," he replied, his voice a soothing melody that somehow made the chaotic rush of thoughts in your mind pause, if only for a moment. "Just remember, I'm here if you need to talk."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you waved him off, eager to shift the focus away from your flushed face and racing heart. "Are we going to work on that song or what?"

Taehyung's chuckle echoed down the hallway as he followed your lead, his stride easy and confident. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, his voice still tinged with amusement. There was a lightness to his step, a subtle bounce that suggested his mood had lifted thanks to the brief exchange.

As you both stepped further into the corridor, the echo of your footsteps mingled with the beat of your racing heart, each step a reminder of the intricate dance between personal desires and professional responsibilities you were now part of.

Yet, there was an undeniable thrill to the idea, a chance to finally connect with the audience in your own right, and to be recognized for your artistry and hard work.

***this book is my baby, i dont wanna stop writing 😩💔

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winxanity-ii · 10 days

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 10 Chapter 10 | an unlikely hero⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

You weaved through the ruined cityscape with a practiced ease, taking down robots with calculated precision.

Your power, while not suited for large-scale destruction, allowed for a more subtle approach. You manipulated the movements of smaller robots, turning them against their larger counterparts, creating a domino effect of metallic mayhem.

The written portion of the exam had been a breeze. Your mind, honed by years of self-study and fueled by your high intelligence, easily devoured the questions.

The only disappointment came during the announcement of testing zones—you, Bakugo, and Midoriya were all assigned different locations.

Oh well, you lose some and win some.

The practical exam had unfolded like a chaotic ballet. Dodging a falling hunk of scrap metal, you broke out of your contemplative mood just in time to sidestep a toppling robot you'd just dismantled.

Dusting your hands off with nonchalance, you were about to move on to your next target when a whimper pierced the air.

"Help!" a scared voice cried out.

Pinpointing the source, you located the voice coming from underneath one of the fallen robot legs.

Helping others wasn't exactly your forte, but heroics were part of the exam criteria.

With a sigh of resignation, you turned and headed towards the sound.

Jumping effortlessly over the debris, you reached the whimpering figure. A young boy with short blond hair, a black lightning bolt streak framing his left eye, lay trapped under a section of the fallen robot. His golden eyes, wide with fear, locked with yours as your shadow fell over him.

"Oh, thank Gods! Can you help—?" his sentence trailed off as he got a good look at you.

You ignored his awed stare, squatting down and fitting your fingers beneath the narrow gap separating the robot leg from the ground.

With a low grunt, you effortlessly lifted the heavy debris. "Move," you commanded, your voice devoid of warmth, as you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

The boy stammered, tears welling up in his eyes. "I-I can't. I think it's broken," he choked out, his voice trembling.

Before you could utter another word, a horrifying sound filled the air—a loud, unsettling creaking. Shooting your gaze upwards, you saw a colossal chunk of the robot you'd just destroyed teetering precariously atop the building it had crushed.

And it was falling directly towards you and the injured boy.

A muttered curse ripped from your throat. Without wasting a single breath, you shifted the weight of the massive metal slab onto one hand. With your other hand, you swiftly scooped the boy into your arms, his startled yelp muffled against your chest.

In a single, powerful motion, you pushed backwards, throwing yourself back onto the ground.

The metal slab crashed down with a bone-jarring thud, landing precisely in the spot you had both occupied a mere second ago. A cloud of dust erupted around you, momentarily obscuring your vision and triggering a coughing fit.

After a few seconds, the dust settled, revealing the mangled remains of the robot where you once stood.

"Are you alright?" You began to voice your concern, but your question died in your throat as you met the boy's gaze. He stared back at you, his golden eyes wide with awe and a hint of hero worship.

"Are you an angel sent from heaven to save me?" he blurted out, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and newfound reverence.

You were about to drop him ungraciously and disappear into the chaos, but then a glint of sunlight caught the strands of his blond hair, causing them to shimmer with an almost ethereal glow.

You cursed under your breath. There you go again, falling prey to your small weakness.

With a sigh, you said nothing, opting against abandoning your newfound charge.

Pushing yourself upright with surprising lower body strength, the sudden movement jolting the boy in your arms. He yelped, momentarily suspended in the air before you settled with him in your arms.

"Thanks again, angel!" He then quickly introduced himself as Denki Kaminari, though he insisted you call him by his first name. As you listened to him ramble on about his gratitude and your supposed angelic intervention, a strange feeling of nostalgia bloomed within you.

You dropped him off at a makeshift infirmary tent, staffed by anxious-looking recovery heroes.

Denki, ever the chatterbox, insisted on getting your name before you could make a graceful exit. With a theatrical sigh, you relented, offering a small bow.

"Akuma Y/N," you murmured, a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes. Leaning in closer, you added in a playful whisper, "Hopefully, I can get the chance to sweep you off your feet more often, Kaminari~." A wink completed the teasing gesture.

Denki's face flushed a brilliant red, his expression a comical mix of flustered gratitude and newfound awe. "C-Call me, Denki!"

You stifled a laugh, reveling in his predictable reaction. It was strangely... comforting.

His god-worship, his wide-eyed adoration, it all felt strangely familiar. A memory flickered at the edges of your mind—a loud blond boy and a fierce loyalty.

Could it be...?

A spark of amusement ignited within you.

This Denki character, with his boundless enthusiasm and hero worship, reminded you so much of a certain chainsaw-wielding devil hunter you had in your grasp a lifetime ago.

Perhaps Bakugo wouldn't be the only puppy you'd acquire at U.A.. He deserves a playmate, can't have your puppy too lonely.

With a final, playful pat on his head, you turned and disappeared back into the chaotic cityscape. You still had points to rack up, after all.

Besides, there were more robots to dismantle, and perhaps, another damsel (or damsel-in-distress-wannabe) in need of "saving."

A slow, predatory smile spread across your lips. This hero course was turning out to be more entertaining than you'd anticipated.

☆

A week crawled by, the anticipation gnawing at you. Finally, the day arrived—the results of the entrance exam were being released. You were sprawled on your bed, lost in a daydream about manipulating the school lunch menu to include more of your preferred foods, when your bedroom door burst open with a bang.

"Y/N! They're here! Your results!" your mom exclaimed, bursting into the room, a manic grin plastered on her face.

She brandished a large envelope, practically vibrating with excitement.

Taking the envelope from her outstretched hand, you carefully peeled it open, your heart pounding a steady rhythm against your ribs. Unfolding the official U.A. document, your eyes scanned the page until they landed on the bold text: "Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into..."

A pause. You reread the line, a frown creasing your brow.

It wasn't Class 1-A, the prestigious hero course filled with the top prospects. No, the letter continued: "...Class 1-B."

Disappointment flickered across your features for a brief moment, but it was quickly replaced by a sly glint.

Class 1-B.

Not quite the grand entrance you'd envisioned, but a detour was hardly a dead end.

In fact, being placed in the "lesser" hero course might be a blessing in disguise.

Back in middle school, you thrived in the shadows.

While the "popular" kids basked in the spotlight, you preferred the freedom of anonymity. It allowed you to operate with impunity, your carefully orchestrated "accidents" and manipulations remaining a mystery to everyone but your intended targets.

Being in Class 1-B offered a similar kind of freedom. Here, you wouldn't be under the constant scrutiny of the teachers or the envious glare of top prospects.

No, here, you could blend in, observe, and most importantly, manipulate from the sidelines.

Class 1-B could be your launching pad, a springboard from which you could subtly influence the entire hero course, perhaps even the entire school.

The heroes-in-training might be focused on becoming symbols of peace, but you had a different vision—a vision you intended to weave into the very fabric of U.A. High.

This hero course was just getting started, and you, Y/N, were a master puppeteer, ready to pull the strings from the comfort of the shadows.

Class 1-B might not have been the spotlight you craved, but it was the perfect place to disappear in plain sight.

The game was afoot, and you, the enigmatic newcomer, held all the aces.

***did y'all like?? 👀

~𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚~

At U.A. High, the faculty crowded around a large monitor, eagerly observing the live feed of the entrance exam. Present Mic, ever the showman, bounced in his chair, practically vibrating with excitement.

"And there we have it, folks!" he boomed into the microphone, gesturing wildly at the screen. "Another impressive display from young Bakugo, utilizing his explosion Quirk with strategic finesse!"

Midnight, draped seductively across a nearby chair, purred in agreement, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Just look at all the fresh meat, so...enticing."

Just as All Might was about to offer his own commentary, Present Mic cut him off with a flourish. "But wait, folks, there's more! Let's take a quick trip over to Zone C, shall we?" He zoomed in on a specific section of the screen, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now this next contestant... she's a real dark horse! Check her out!"

The video focused on you, a stark contrast to the towering robots around you. With surprising ease, you lifted a massive robot leg, revealing a dazed Denki trapped underneath. You scooped him up in one arm, your small frame dwarfed by his own.

Despite the situation, Denki's face was lit up with a mixture of hero worship and childish awe as he gazed at you with wide, adoring eyes.

The scene was undeniably comical—a petite girl carrying a lanky boy like a prize.

A collective gasp rippled through the teacher's lounge. Recovery Girl, known for her stoicism, even let out a surprised chirp. Even the ever-stoic Principal Nedzu adjusted his spectacles, a hint of curiosity flickering in his beady eyes. Ectoplasm oozed a gelatinous puddle of excitement, while Cementoss rumbled his approval.

Aizawa, however, remained stoic. As the others oohed and awed over your display of strength and unexpected chivalry, he stood back, his brow furrowed in thought. A low mutter escaped his lips, barely audible over Present Mic's enthusiastic narration.

"There's something about her that doesn't feel right..." he murmured, his gaze fixed on you. The screen froze on a close-up of your face.

Your yellow eyes, usually playful, held a glint of something far more calculating. Within each iris, a series of crimson rings swirled slowly, like miniature galaxies nestled within your gaze.

The playful facade you presented for the exam might have fooled the others, but Aizawa, with his keen instincts, suspected there was something far more complex lurking beneath the surface.

The hero course had just begun, and a new mystery had entered the fold.

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winxanity-ii · 10 days

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⌜No Hoods Attached | Chapter 20 Chapter 20 | under scrutiny⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

A week had whisked by since the recording of "Echoes of Eternity," and its release had perfectly aligned with the premiere of the drama, "Threads of Destiny: Love Beyond Time." The OST soared in popularity, with the enigmatic voice of 'YaNi' creating waves across social platforms, leaving fans curious and enchanted.

Amidst the whirlwind of acclaim, Alex emerged as the face behind 'YaNi,' her debut on the music scene aligning with the song's rise. Her appearance on "Rookie Find," a renowned platform for emerging artists, was nothing short of sensational.

You could recall how Seora bursted into your room, her laptop clutched firmly in her hands, eager to show off Alex's debut performance.

As Seora played the video on her laptop, you were instantly drawn into the world Alex created on stage.

The initial darkness was stark, enveloping the stage in a veil of anticipation before it dramatically transitioned to reveal Alex. Clad in a black veil and a stunning wedding dress, she stood as a silhouette of mystery and elegance, embodying the song's hauntingly beautiful melody.

"Echoes of eternity, in whispers of the wind," the lyrics flowed seamlessly with the visual transformation unfolding before you. Each note seemed to resonate with Alex's movements, her attire changing, symbolizing a metamorphosis—layers shedding to unveil new facets of her character.

As the song escalated to its high note, "In dreams, you feel my presence, in silence, we're akin," Alex's veil was lifted in a choreographed grace, revealing an outfit that wove themes of death and rebirth into its intricate design.

Lace and satin adorned the fabric, each detail enhancing the emotional crescendo of the performance.

The camera zoomed in, capturing the intensity in Alex's eyes, her gaze almost tangible through the screen. The dark, smokey makeup accentuated her expressions, adding layers to the narrative woven by the lyrics you had helped pen.

Her lip-syncing was impeccable; each word perfectly aligned with the melody, creating an illusion so convincing it felt real. "Our souls entwined by destiny, a love that won't rescind," echoed as the performance neared its end, leaving a lingering sense of awe in its wake.

As the performance concluded, leaving you impressed and slightly surreal, you couldn't help but feel a complex mix of emotions.

Pride swelled within you, seeing the song you had poured your heart into, brought to life with stunning artistry and passion.

Yet, there was an underlying twinge of wistfulness, knowing that your role remained hidden, your voice echoing unseen.

Despite the general acclaim, not everyone was swept away by Alex's debut. In the vast, echoing chambers of the internet, a few vocal and particularly perceptive fans began to dissect her performance with a fine-tooth comb.

Among them, a small faction was fueled by a delusional possessiveness over Taehyung, interpreting Alex's emergence as a threat, a potential rival for their idol's affections.

These discussions began to gain traction, manifesting in forum threads, social media posts, and dedicated analysis videos. While many fans were content to enjoy the performance at face value, this growing undercurrent of suspicion added a layer of complexity to Alex's debut.

The conversations ranged from speculative to accusatory, with some fans meticulously comparing pitch, tone, and emotion in the 'Echoes of Eternity' performance to unearth what they believed was the truth hidden beneath the surface.

In the shadows of the spotlight, these debates unfolded, with you, the true voice behind 'YaNi,' remaining an invisible yet integral part of the unfolding narrative.

While Alex faced the brunt of public scrutiny, you grappled with the silent acknowledgment of your contribution being both celebrated and contested, a duality that underscored the unpredictable nature of the entertainment industry.

☆

As Alex's fame grew, as did a discerning group of fans—who began to gather their suspicions like puzzle pieces. Their focus wasn't clouded by fandom rivalry or superficial concerns; it was the music itself that prompted their scrutiny.

They noticed nuances that didn't align, a richness in the studio version that seemed diluted live, and a timbre in the 'live' vocals that hinted at an underlying truth yet to be unveiled.

This group, united by their love for genuine artistry and a respect for authenticity, started to compile evidence. They meticulously analyzed performances, comparing them against the OST, noting every inflection, every breath that seemed out of place. Their investigation was thorough, driven by a shared conviction that the voice they cherished belonged to someone else, someone hidden from the limelight.

Meanwhile, your world was consumed by a whirlwind of creativity and new challenges. Yoongi's acknowledgment of your talent had opened new doors, and now Taehyung, inspired by your unexpected contributions, sought your assistance with a song he envisioned for BTS's upcoming album.

This collaboration, a blend of your lyrical insights and his artistic vision, was a fresh endeavor, one that further entwined your path with the band's ongoing narrative.

In these moments of artistic engagement, you remained blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in the fan community. Your focus was on creation, on the interplay of words and melodies that could convey emotions and stories.

The dynamic with Taehyung, once marked by playful banter, had evolved into a mutual respect for each other's artistry, offering a glimpse into the multifaceted world of music that continued to captivate your heart.

Yet, outside the studio's walls, the debate raged on, with Alex at the center of a growing whirlpool of suspicion and scrutiny.

The fans' investigation was drawing closer to the truth, inching towards the revelation of your voice as the hidden gem behind 'YaNi,' a discovery that would soon ripple through the industry, challenging perceptions and unveiling the intricate dance of shadows and spotlights that defines the world of entertainment.

☆

As Taehyung stood before you, his usual playful demeanor was laced with a hint of earnestness, his hands clasped together in a mock plea.

Your workspace, cluttered with papers and documents—even in your role as a 'temporary' assistant, the workload was no joke—served as a backdrop to this unusual request.

"Why do you keep bugging me?" you groaned, looking up at him with a mix of exasperation and amusement. Taehyung's persistence was both charming and slightly maddening.

He gave you a look that managed to be both pleading and confident. "You know I'm relentless. I won't give up until you say yes," he declared, his voice carrying a playful undertone.

With a raised eyebrow, you shot back, "You do realize I can report you to HR for harassment, right?" It was a jest, of course, but part of you wondered how he'd react.

Taehyung merely waved off the comment with a grin. "Ah, but you won't. Because deep down, you can't resist my charm," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Yoongi or Namjoon would be better for this, you know. They're more qualified," you tried to deflect, hoping to steer him towards a more sensible collaboration.

But Taehyung was unwavering. "No, it has to be you," he insisted, his tone softening slightly, conveying a sincerity that caught you off guard. "I want you."

The simplicity of his statement, 'I want you,' sent an unexpected warmth spreading across your cheeks.

You chastised yourself internally—don't read too much into it, it's all professional, surely, but the more delusional part of your mind chanting, 'He wants me so bad,' is harder to ignore.

After a moment's pause, where Taehyung's hopeful gaze met your conflicted one, you let out a resigned sigh. "Alright, I'll help. But only because you're so insistent," you conceded, masking the mix of trepidation and excitement bubbling within you.

Taehyung's face lit up with a victorious smile, and he couldn't resist a little celebratory gesture, a burst of aegyo that was both endearing and slightly ridiculous. "I knew you loved me~" he sang out, batting his eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion.

***not me rushing tryna get to the good stuff 😂😂🥴. also, did anyone catch the stage name 👀

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winxanity-ii · 11 days

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 09 Chapter 09 | sparks and schemes⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The pre-dawn light filtered through your curtains, painting the room in soft hues of gray and blue. You stirred, a slow smile playing on your lips as you remembered the night's events months ago.

The thought of attending U.A., a mere suggestion transformed into a reality, held a strange allure. It wasn't the prospect of heroism that excited you, but the promise of something new, a crack in the monotony of your existence.

Reaching for your phone, you saw a message from Bakugo.

𝐏𝐎𝐌-𝐏𝐎𝐌 𝐏𝐔𝐏 Be at the entrance by 7:30 sharp Don't be late. Or else.

The last sentence was punctuated with a single, explosive exclamation mark, a classic Bakugo signature. You chuckled softly, a low rumble in your chest. "Good puppy," you murmured to yourself, the nickname taking on a new meaning in your mind.

The rest of the morning unfolded in a leisurely manner. Unlike Bakugo, who likely woke up at the crack of dawn and launched himself into some pre-exam training ritual, you opted for a more relaxed approach.

You lounged around in your room, absentmindedly squeezing and stretching one of your mother's many stress balls. Each satisfying squish was a small rebellion against the looming entrance exam, a reminder that the facade of normalcy you maintained still held some power.

As you contemplated the upcoming challenges, a detached amusement settled over you. You envisioned the predictable strategies of the other hopeful heroes, and found yourself lacking any real sense of anticipation. It all seemed so… ordinary.

Just then, the shrill blare of your alarm clock pierced the quiet. With a sigh, you acknowledged that even an eternity could feel dull after a while. The entrance exam awaited, and with it, a chance to stir things up a bit.

A glint of something akin to excitement flickered in your yellow eyes.

☆

You arrived at the bustling entrance of U.A. High, the air thick with nervous energy. Students milled about, a cacophony of excited chatter and worried mumbles filling the air.

Many wore the familiar uniforms of middle schools across the city, their faces a mix of determined anticipation and nervous trepidation.

There were fewer students in your own school uniform, a fact you noted with a detached curiosity.

Dodging a group of overenthusiastic students launching into a mock battle with invisible opponents, you were about to turn a corner and find a quiet spot to observe the chaos when you were suddenly slammed into by a blur of pink.

A yelp escaped the source of the collision, a girl who shot back upright with impressive speed. She bowed deeply, her apologies tumbling out in a rapid-fire stream of words. "Oh my Gods, I am so incredibly sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going and—"

She cut herself off as she finally got a good look at you. Her large, black sclerae widened, the yellow irises in the center seeming to vibrate. A deep blush bloomed across her cheeks, the light pink of her skin turning a shade closer to crimson.

You tilted your head, a bemused smile playing on your lips. For a moment, you thought you might have broken her, or perhaps she'd hit her head during the collision.

Reaching out cautiously, you brushed a finger against the side of her face, expecting to encounter some sort of injury. Your finger met smooth skin, cool and flawless.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" you asked, your voice laced with a gentle concern that came naturally to you, a habit you'd picked up from your overly nurturing mother. Internally, you cursed your ingrained politeness, wondering if a more callous approach might have been more appropriate.

The girl seemed to short-circuit for a moment, her already wide eyes bulging even further. She stammered, her words tripping over each other in a frantic jumble. Finally, she managed to blurt out a single, incoherent sentence.

"Y-you're so hot, oh my Gods, ignore me!" With that, she spun on her heel and bolted away, her pink curls bouncing with each hurried step.

You blinked, left standing there with a bewildered expression slowly morphing into amusement. Here you were, about to infiltrate the most prestigious hero academy in the country, and your first encounter was with a lovestruck ball of pink.

It was a bizarre start to the day, a stark contrast to the steely resolve you'd steeled yourself with. But a flicker of amusement danced in your yellow eyes. U.A. was certainly proving to be... interesting.

"Well, wasn't that an exit," a voice drawled, snapping you out of your thoughts. Turning your head, you came face to face with a boy who looked every bit the part of a bored aristocrat.

He was of average height, his blond hair styled in a way that seemed designed to perpetually obscure one eye. His periwinkle blue irises, framed by dark lashes, were half-closed in a look of perpetual disdain. A sardonic smirk played on his lips, completing the picture of someone utterly unimpressed by the bustling activity around him.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this unexpected encounter.

There was something about him, a subtle aura of entitlement mixed with a hint of hidden potential, that piqued your curiosity.

While the other students exuded nervous energy or boisterous enthusiasm, this blond boy stood out with his air of detached amusement.

A faint whisper, "Denji," echoed in your head, a fleeting association you couldn't help but cling onto.

Deciding to give him a bit of your time, you tilted your head slightly, your yellow eyes meeting his half-closed gaze. "I'll say," you replied, your voice laced with a playful challenge. Turning your full attention towards him, you gestured towards the fleeing pinkette. "Am I that hideous that I make people run away screaming?"

The boy regarded you for a moment, a low hum escaping his lips. He seemed to ponder your question for a beat before offering a nonchalant, "Maybe, let me see." With that, he took a casual step forward, invading your personal space to get a better look at you.

You were decked out in your Aldera Junior High uniform: a classic black blazer with white and red trim hugged your frame, paired with a crisp white collared shirt and a vibrant red tie. A pleated skirt stopped just above your knees, showcasing your toned legs clad in white socks that disappeared into practical black loafers.

Your stance radiated a cool confidence, a blend of defiance and preparedness that spoke volumes about your personality.

As the sunlight fell upon you, you seemed to take on an almost ethereal glow. Your fluffy, red hair, styled in loose twists, framed your face like a halo. But it was your eyes that truly captivated the blond boy. The bright yellow irises held him in a gaze that was both intense and strangely alluring.

His reaction mirrored that of the pink girl—a blush bloomed across his cheeks, spreading like wildfire across his pale skin. He seemed momentarily speechless, his usual smirk replaced by a look of stunned admiration.

Finding his reaction humorous, a genuine smile played on your lips. You broke the silence with a playful tilt of your head, stepping closer until you were mere inches from him.

This close, he could see the faint dusting of freckles sprinkled across your nose, a charming imperfection you'd inherited from your mother.

"Well, am I ugly?" you purred, raising an eyebrow in a challenge.

The boy stammered, struggling to form a coherent sentence. "Y-you..." he sputtered, completely flustered by your sudden proximity and the unexpected beauty he found himself face-to-face with. This wasn't how he'd expected his day to begin.

A slow smile spread across your face, the amusement clear in your yellow eyes. This unexpected encounter had been... enlightening.

With a playful wink and a final, teasing smile, you turned away, leaving the lovestruck blond speechless in your wake.

No need to linger any longer; the real game was elsewhere.

Fishing your phone from your pocket, you scanned Bakugo's latest message, a crudely drawn map leading to some secluded corner of the school. A satisfied hum escaped your lips. Perfect.

Just then, a gruff voice boomed from a few feet away, shattering the bubble of amusement you'd created. "Don't stand in front of me. I'll kill you."

You recognized the voice instantly. Turning your head slightly, you witnessed the explosive arrival of Katsuki Bakugo. He stormed past a familiar green-haired boy, leaving a trail of nervous mumbles in his wake.

"Erk... M-Morning! L-Let's both do our best!" Midoriya stammered, scrambling out of Bakugo's way. His voice, filled with a mix of fear and nervous determination, rang out clearly.

Several students murmured amongst themselves, their voices filled with a mixture of awe and apprehension. "Hey, isn't that Bakugo? The one with the Sludge Villain?" one whispered. "Oh, he's the real thing!" another chimed in, his voice tinged with excitement.

You watched the scene unfold with a detached amusement. Seeing Bakugo effortlessly command attention, even amidst the chaos of the entrance exam, reminded you of the volatile energy he brought to everything he did.

A small smile played on your lips. Perhaps blending into the background wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

There was no need for additional attention on your first day at U.A.

Letting Bakugo be the center of the storm might be the most strategic move. You slipped away, disappearing into the crowd behind like a phantom.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket—a text from Bakugo undoubtedly. You ignored it, already finding a secluded corner that offered a clear view of the remaining students trickling in.

One face in particular caught your eye. Sitting a few rows ahead was Yumi, her presence was unmistakable. Her long, flowing hair, a vibrant shade of soft lime green—a clear inheritance from her father, Hiro, cascading down her back.

Complementing her striking hair, her soft lavender eyes, a gift from her mother, Shihsuki, mirrored the enchanting hues of twilight. They held a practiced charm, a reflection of her mother's Quirk.

You knew her Quirk, 'Absolute,' allowed her to get whatever she wanted—a power fueled by pure confidence. It was a fascinating Quirk, a twisted version of her mother's ability to draw people in and her father's knack for creation, all rolled into one.

However, the Quirk had a drawback. Yumi ran on confidence, and any situation that threatened her self-assuredness could backfire spectacularly, amplifying negativity around her. You mentally filed that information away—an interesting detail to keep in mind.

Yumi, oblivious to your scrutiny, was busy chatting with a group of girls. Her beauty mark, a tiny dot below her left eye, seemed to glitter as she laughed, her Quirk weaving its subtle magic.

You watched with a detached curiosity, wondering if her act would hold up under pressure. The entrance exam was notorious for weeding out the weak-willed, and Yumi's confidence, however potent, could crumble under the right circumstances.

You'd never had any personal issues with her, but a nagging suspicion gnawed at you that she was the one that despised your presence.

Ever since Yumi discovered the connection between you and Bakugo, a strange coldness seemed to settle in her demeanor whenever you were around.

A flashback flickered through your mind, transporting you back to a free period weeks ago.

🇫‌🇱‌🇦‌🇸‌🇭‌🇧‌🇦‌🇨‌🇰‌:

You were nestled comfortably in your usual seat by the window, engrossed in a book about the controversial theories and experiments of Doctor Pavolos.

A shadow fell over your page, momentarily blocking the light. Looking up, you came face-to-face with Yumi, her brow furrowed in a deep frown. Her arms were crossed defensively, and two of her friends flanked her on either side, their faces mirroring Yumi's disapproval.

"What brings you, Yumi?" you inquired, raising an eyebrow in question. Your parents had remained close friends with Hiro and Shisuki despite the unfortunate event that took palce a couple of years ago, and it had been assumed you and Yumi would naturally become best friends.

However, that bond never truly formed, leaving a gap that Yumi's current frosty demeanor only served to highlight.

Yumi rolled her eyes, her disdain thinly veiled. "My mom," she drawled, her voice dripping with forced sweetness, "thought maybe you could, like, tutor me or something." A snicker escaped her lips, quickly echoed by her giggling minions. They leaned in conspiratorially, their hushed whispers aimed at you. You could practically hear the words "ugly" and "stupid" laced with malice.

Before Yumi's charade could escalate further, a familiar voice cut through the air. Ignoring you completely, Bakugo stomped over to your desk. With a characteristic grunt, he tossed a bag of your favorite potato chips and a carton of strawberry milk tea onto your desk. "You need to stop leaving home without lunch, dumbass," he barked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Without waiting for a response, he turned and retreated back to his seat across the room, his group of followers trailing after him like a pack of wolves. Yumi, momentarily frozen, finally found her voice. "You... you know Bakugo-kun?" she stammered, her voice laced with disbelief and a hint of something... bitter?

You shrugged, nonplussed by her reaction. "Know of him," you replied simply, your gaze returning to your book.

The encounter ended there, but it marked a shift in Yumi's behavior towards you. Her once indifferent attitude morphed into something akin to hostility. Her quips and taunts became more frequent, especially when Bakugo wasn't around.

It was clear she harbored a not-so-secret crush on the explosive blond, and seeing him acknowledge you, even in his own gruff way, had ignited a spark of envy within her.

The memory faded, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. Yumi's behavior was childish, but it served as a reminder of how inferior human emotions were, especially when jealousy reared its ugly head.

Of course, you could have easily neutralized Yumi's hostility with your powers, but causing a scene wouldn't exactly help you blend in. In fact, it would achieve the opposite.

You thrived in the shadows, manipulating situations from a distance. There was the unfortunate incident with the new literature teacher, who lasted a mere week after harshly critiquing your well-written paper. (In reality, the man's envy over your intelligence and his subsequent humiliation after you corrected him in class fueled a strange "accident" that led to his swift departure.)

A mischievous glint sparked in your yellow eyes. Using your control ability, you latched onto the hearing of a small rat scurrying near a hulking student in the back of the room. The boy's head resembled a rough-hewn rock, and various critters nestled comfortably on his broad shoulders. The rat, drawn by the scent of crumbs, scampered towards Yumi's group, providing you with the perfect opportunity to eavesdrop.

Yumi's voice, laced with a sickening amount of sweetness, filled your borrowed ears. "Finally, Bakugo will be mine," she gushes, unaware of the listening ears. "No one, especially not her," she sneers, referring to you, "can stand in my way."

Her minions echo her sentiments, their voices a chorus of agreement and disdain. "Yeah, she's got no chance," one chimes in, emboldened by Yumi's confidence.

Yumi, however, snapped at her, her voice laced with a sharp edge. "He was never interested in her! They were just childhood friends or something, nothing more!" she hissed, her carefully constructed facade momentarily crumbling.

The implication that your bond with Bakugo was insignificant, a mere childhood connection easily forgotten, sent a spark of fury coursing through you.

How dare she speak of your Bakugo... your pet, as if he were some prize to be claimed?

A predatory smirk filled your face. The entrance exam was about to begin, but it seemed you'd have a little pre-game entertainment first. Dealing with Yumi's inflated sense of self-importance was a task you could relish in.

Just as Present Mic boomed, "For all you examinee listeners tuning in, welcome to my show today! Everybody say "hey"!" you focused your control on the rat near Yumi. With a silent command, you sent it scurrying up her leg.

Surprised by the sudden movement, Yumi yelped and instinctively looked in your direction. Seizing the opportunity, you reached out with your Quirk, subtly manipulating her nervous energy.

The effect was instantaneous. Yumi's eyes widened as she launched into a booming reply to Present Mic's welcome, her voice echoing through the previously silent auditorium. "Heeeyyyy!"

Everyone's attention snapped towards the lime-haired girl, their gazes filled with a mixture of shock and amusement.

Present Mic, oblivious to your manipulation, pumped his fist in the air, mistaking Yumi's outburst for enthusiasm. "That's what I'm talking about, listeners; bring the spirit!" he cheered, further escalating the bizarre situation.

From your vantage point, you watched with detached satisfaction as Yumi's Quirk instantly backfired. Her usually vibrant green hair dimmed, mirroring her plummeting confidence. Her minions, once fueled by her Quirk to hype and covet, turned on her, their whispers laced with snide remarks.

Yumi stammered, desperately trying to regain control, but her voice came out in weak, pathetic snaps. "I—I just got a little carried away, that's all!" But her retorts fell flat, drowned out by her own nervousness and the crowd's growing murmurs.

Present Mic, ever the showman, continued his presentation. "Then I'll quickly present to you the rundown on the practical exam! Are you ready?! Yeah!" Once again, you exerted your influence, amplifying Yumi's anxieties. This time, she couldn't hold back.

With a startled yelp, Yumi jumped to her feet, her voice cracking as she echoed Present Mic's question at an ear-splitting volume. "Oh, I'm ready!" Her shout echoed, far too loud and far too earnest, drawing stares and snickers.

Bakugo, who had been observing the scene with a bored expression, let out a disgusted scoff. "Jeez, what a clowny extra," loud enough for those nearby to hear. His words, laden with contempt, seemed to echo in the suddenly quiet room, sealing Yumi's fate as the object of ridicule.

The final blow.

Tears welled up in Yumi's eyes as the auditorium erupted in stifled laughter. Shame burned on her cheeks, turning her face a vibrant shade of crimson. Without a backward glance, she bolted from the hall, tears streaming down her face.

You let out a satisfied hum, your prank complete.

Turning your attention back to Present Mic, you settled in to listen to the rest of the exam instructions, a sly smile playing on your lips.

Who knew presentations could be so entertaining?

***guess who the two unamed people were, 👀. and if you're wondering are they in the upcoming growing harem??? yeath....anywho, i have about 8 more prewriteen chapters so after ch.17, updates won't be as quick and sparodic as this, but no worries! Summer break begins May 4 for me 🥳🥳 until next updates, lovelies~

#Faster than last week #winxanity-ii Badge image.#⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 08 #Chapter 08 | conditioning the flame⌟#╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝#❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘#The pre-dawn sky bled a pale orange over the ragged silhouettes of trees in the abandoned park. A cool mist clung to the ground #swirling around your feet as you finished a series of stretches.#Opposite you stood Bakugo #his explosive blonde hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His ragged breaths echoed in the stillness #punctuated by the rhythmic pounding of his heart.#The previous hour had been relentless. You'd pushed him through a gauntlet of sprints through the woods #dodging fallen logs and leaping over rocky outcrops.#Now #you were sparring #your movements a blur as you danced around his explosive attacks.#A well-placed side-step brought you behind him #and you delivered a sharp kick to his back #sending him staggering forward. He stumbled #catching himself on a groan-worthy grunt. You stood tall #arms crossed #a critical look on your face.#you conceded #your voice devoid of praise. “But it's not enough.” You crouched low #reaching up to brush a few damp strands of hair from his forehead.#‧̍̊˙˚˙xaniwrites-knownoevil ml #bnha x you #bnha fanfic #knownoevil #yanderes

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winxanity-ii · 12 days

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 08 Chapter 08 | conditioning the flame⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The pre-dawn sky bled a pale orange over the ragged silhouettes of trees in the abandoned park. A cool mist clung to the ground, swirling around your feet as you finished a series of stretches.

Opposite you stood Bakugo, his explosive blonde hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His ragged breaths echoed in the stillness, punctuated by the rhythmic pounding of his heart.

The previous hour had been relentless. You'd pushed him through a gauntlet of sprints through the woods, dodging fallen logs and leaping over rocky outcrops.

Now, you were sparring, your movements a blur as you danced around his explosive attacks.

A well-placed side-step brought you behind him, and you delivered a sharp kick to his back, sending him staggering forward. He stumbled, catching himself on a groan-worthy grunt. You stood tall, arms crossed, a critical look on your face.

"Faster than last week," you conceded, your voice devoid of praise. "But it's not enough." You crouched low, reaching up to brush a few damp strands of hair from his forehead.

Bakugo, leaned into your touch reflexively, exhaustion momentarily eclipsing his usual defiance. He grunted in response, a single, guttural sound that spoke volumes of his determination.

The start of a long summer of grueling training had begun—another step on the path you'd meticulously crafted for him. He was your pawn, yes, but a powerful one nonetheless.

You smirked, the feeling hidden beneath your neutral expression. This relentless drive, this insatiable hunger for power—you had nurtured it, fueled it. He may have thought he was training to become a hero, but you were shaping him into something far more... valuable.

And when the game truly began, you'd be the one pulling the strings.

You rose, pulling back your hand. "Push harder," you murmured, your voice soft but laced with an underlying challenge. "The entrance exam won't wait for you to catch your breath."

A spark ignited in Bakugo's red eyes, mirroring the glint of ambition in your own. He straightened, his stance unwavering despite his fatigue. "I don't need your pity," he snarled, his voice hoarse but firm.

You chuckled, a low, chilling sound. "Pity? This," you gestured around at the desolate landscape bathed in the faint light of dawn, "is opportunity. Seize it. Show them all what you're truly capable of."

The fiery spirit you'd helped cultivate flickered back to life in his eyes. Though his body screamed for rest, his pride wouldn't allow him to yield. "I said. I don't need your pity," he snarled, his voice hoarse but firm. A vein pulsed in his temple, a testament to his simmering frustration and unwavering resolve.

You weren't surprised by his defiance. In fact, it fueled your hidden agenda. A sly smile played on your lips, hidden beneath your neutral expression. "Suit yourself," you said, your voice flat. "But remember, U.A. won't accept weakness."

With that, you allowed him a few precious seconds of reprieve, letting him savor the fleeting comfort of lying sprawled on the cool grass. Just as he started to sink into a semblance of rest, you clapped your hands once, the sharp sound echoing through the silent woods. "Alright, that's enough rest," you declared, your voice leaving no room for argument.

Before he could protest, you sprang forward with surprising agility and landed crouched on his back. The sudden weight jolted him, and a surprised grunt escaped his lips. He twisted his head to glare at you, but you simply grinned, your eyes gleaming with an almost predatory glint.

"Time for push-ups," you announced, your voice laced with a playful challenge. "Fifty, and make them count."

Bakugo's jaw clenched, and a low growl rumbled in his throat. He hated the way you manipulated him, the way you pushed him to his limits under the guise of friendly competition. But deep down, a twisted sense of gratitude simmered.

You were the only one who truly understood his relentless drive, the only one who pushed him to become stronger.

With a frustrated groan, he began the push-ups. His muscles screamed in protest, his arms shaking with fatigue. But he wouldn't give in, not in front of you.

One by one, he knocked out the push-ups, his teeth gritted tight in determination.

You counted silently, your gaze fixed on the rippling muscles beneath you. Each push-up was a testament to his strength, his potential. And you, the puppeteer in the shadows, would ensure he reached his full potential—on your terms.

☆

The relentless sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the desolate park in warm hues of orange and red. The air hung heavy with the sounds of exhaustion. Bakugo, sprawled on the grass, gulped down water from his bottle, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, the remnants of your grueling training session clinging to him like a second skin.

Across from him, you leaned casually against a gnarled tree trunk, a stark contrast to his state. A light sheen glistened on your brow, a testament to the exertion, but nowhere near the fatigue gripping Bakugo.

The skills you honed in your past life as Makima, slowly bleeding into this one, granted you an exceptional level of physical prowess. You were a master combatant, adept at hand-to-hand combat without relying on weapons or pawns.

Bakugo watched you from beneath hooded eyelids, his gaze lingering on your profile. An unfamiliar heat bloomed in his chest, a feeling he couldn't quite place.

Infatuation.

The word hung heavy in the unspoken space between you, a bizarre notion considering the constant verbal sparring and grueling training sessions you subjected him to. Yet, there you were, somehow occupying every corner of his mind. He frowned, a bewildered scowl twisting his features.

It was illogical, this strange pull towards you.

Unaware of the turmoil brewing within him, you were already strategizing for the upcoming week. Thoughts of new training regimens, targeted exercises, and grueling challenges danced in your mind.

You needed him to be honed to perfection, a weapon waiting to be unleashed on the world.

As the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, plunging the park into twilight, you finally met his gaze. A cold glint flickered in your eyes, a stark contrast to the concern you so often feigned. "Ready for round two tomorrow?" you asked, your voice a low murmur that sent shivers down his spine.

He met your gaze with a defiant snarl, the remnants of his earlier admiration replaced by his usual fiery spirit. "Always," he growled, the words laced with a challenge that masked the strange flutter in his chest.

Standing up, you brushed imaginary dust off your clothes, ready to head home. "Alright then, be here at exactly 5:30 AM sharp," you declared, already turning to leave.

Just as you were about to take a step forward, a hesitant voice stopped you. "Hey," Bakugo mumbled, the word barely audible. He looked away, avoiding eye contact, a rare display of bashfulness from the usually explosive boy.

You paused, raising an eyebrow in question. "Yes?" you called out, turning your head to face him.

He remained stubbornly focused on the ground, kicking at a pebble with a scuffed shoe. Finally, he muttered out, "How come you aren't applying to U.A.? We both know you're more than strong enough to make it."

His words caught you off guard for a moment. A flicker of surprise crossed your features before you quickly schooled your expression. You took in his question, the concern laced beneath the bluster. Was he... worried about you?

A slow smirk played on your lips, a sly glint in your yellow eyes that seemed to catch the dying light of the sun. "Kacchan~" you purred, your voice dripping with a sweetness that sent a shiver down his spine. You sauntered back towards him, each step deliberate and calculated. "Are you asking me to accompany you to the prestigious, U.A. high?"

He flinched slightly at the nickname, his face burning a fiery red that rivaled the fading sunset. "Whatever," he scoffed, turning his head away in a vain attempt to hide his blush. "Do what you want, it was just a suggestion."

You stopped right in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his flushed skin. You tilted your head, batting your eyelashes at him in a way that would seem innocent to anyone else. But for Bakugo, who knew the depths of your power, it was a blatant display of manipulation.

"Well, truthfully, I wasn't planning on attending UA. Too much work, you know," you drawled, your voice a husky whisper. You trailed a hand up his chest, your touch sending a jolt through him. Reaching his chin, you gently tilted his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze. "But since you're such a good puppy," you continued, your voice smooth as silk, "I guess I can come."

The implication hung heavy in the air. You weren't just considering U.A.—you were doing it for him.

A strange mix of emotions flickered across Bakugo's face: surprise, a hint of something akin to gratitude, and a flicker of... possessiveness? He opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out.

The silence stretched for a beat. Bakugo seemed frozen, caught between the flustered blush creeping up his neck and the urge to lash out with a defiant snarl. His mind, usually a whirlwind of explosive pronouncements, seemed to have malfunctioned under your touch and the unexpected turn of events.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a scowl etched its way back onto his face. It was a weak attempt at regaining control, a facade that crumbled under scrutiny. He weakly moved his face away from your hold, the blush reaching the tips of his fiery red ears. "'M not a puppy," he mumbled, the defiance in his voice barely a whisper.

But even through the scowl and the mumbled denial, you could see a flicker of relief dancing in his crimson eyes. The confirmation that you'd attend U.A. with him, a decision you'd framed as a favor to him, seemed to ease a tension you hadn't even realized existed.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, the sound laced with amusement. You knew exactly how to manipulate him, how to exploit his volatile emotions to get what you wanted. But for now, you were content to let him bask in the illusion of control.

"Alright, alright, Katsuki," you said, your voice playful. You reached out and ruffled his hair with a gentle touch, a gesture that would have sent shivers down anyone else's spine. For Bakugo, though, it was a confusing mix of irritation and a strange sense of... comfort?

"We'll head to U.A. together then," you continued, your voice a smooth purr. "Just you, me, and the rest of those wannabe heroes."

☆

The rhythmic scrape of cutlery against ceramic plates filled the air, the only sound breaking the tense silence that had settled over the dinner table. It was a rare night that your father managed to escape the clutches of work and share a meal with the family. Your mother had gone all out, preparing his favorite meatloaf.

Despite her best efforts to spark conversation, the dinner table remained an island of awkwardness. Wino devoured his food in silence, his usual gruff demeanor amplified by fatigue. You picked at your own plate, lost in your thoughts.

The grueling morning workout with Bakugo still left a pleasant ache in your muscles, a stark contrast to the dull ache of boredom gnawing at your soul.

Deciding to take pity on your mother, you cleared your throat. "Hey," you announced, "I decided to I'm going to U.A."

A wave of relief washed over Mei's face, her eyes widening with delight. A bright smile bloomed on her lips, instantly chasing away the gloom that had settled earlier. "Oh, sweetie! That's wonderful news!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion. Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached across the table to squeeze your hand. "I'm so proud of you!"

Turning to your father, she beamed expectantly. "Wino! Aren't you going to congratulate your daughter?"

Wino, however, remained unmoved. He paused in mid-chew, raising his head from his plate to meet your gaze. For a tense few seconds, your eyes, a startling yellow, locked with his bright green ones. A storm of unspoken emotions crackled in the air.

Finally, Wino spoke, his voice devoid of warmth. "How could I?" he said, his tone flat. "The kid's never shown any interest in being a hero before. What changed now?"

Your mother gasped, a look of hurt flickering across her face. "Wino!" she scolded, launching into a familiar tirade about the importance of encouragement and how negativity could shatter confidence.

You tuned out her rant, already anticipating your father's response. He wasn't lying. You had never harbored any real desire to be a hero.

The hero business, with its constant scrutiny and fickle public opinion, held no appeal. The childhood days of dressing up as heroes were long gone, replaced by the harsh realities of your true nature.

But then you remembered the glint in Bakugo's eyes when you'd mentioned attending U.A. A warmth spread through your chest, a subtle change brought on by your peculiar connection to the explosive boy.

You weren't averse to indulging your "puppy's" wishes from time to time.

Besides, you mused, spearing a piece of meatloaf, who knew? Maybe U.A. would be a welcome distraction, a chance to shake off the boredom that had become a constant companion.

A slow smirk played on your lips. This unexpected turn of events might just prove to be entertaining.

***WHO READY TO GET TO THE MAIN STORYLINE AND COLLECT A HAREM OF SIMPS!?!

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winxanity-ii · 12 days

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⌜No Hoods Attached | Chapter 19 Chapter 19 | scripted auditions⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Lying on your back, you stare at the ceiling of the apartment you share with Seora, your mind racing.

The evening had been spent diving deep into the storyline of the K-drama for which you and Taehyung were to sing the OST—a task that felt both surreal and exhilarating.

The drama, based on a beloved webtoon, weaves a poignant narrative of a ghost hopelessly in love with a funeral director's son. But this isn't just any love story; it's one steeped in history, tragedy, and the supernatural.

The son, unbeknownst to him, is the reincarnation of her ancient lover, a love that had once blossomed between a wealthy daughter and a peasant boy in a Korea of a thousand years past—a tale reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet, marked by star-crossed love and a cruel twist of fate.

Their love, pure and profound, had met a tragic end, thwarted by a jealous witch whose curse condemned her to an eternity of earthly wandering while her lover was doomed to be reborn, forever yearning for her in a cycle of unfulfilled longing.

And now, after a millennium, their paths cross again, but with a twist—their connection is now relegated to the realm of dreams, a bittersweet reminder of what once was and what could be.

As you absorb the depth of the drama's plot, a mix of emotions swirls within you—excitement at the thought of contributing your voice to such a moving tale, a twinge of nervousness about performing alongside Taehyung, and a curious sense of connection to the characters' plight, perhaps mirroring your own recent journey of unexpected challenges and serendipitous encounters.

🇫‌🇱‌🇦‌🇸‌🇭‌🇧‌🇦‌🇨‌🇰‌:

Sitting next to Yoongi in the dimly lit studio, you watch as he expertly navigates through the final touches of the instrumental piece for the OST. The air is charged with a sense of accomplishment and anticipation for the next phase—lyrics.

Swiveling his chair to face you, Yoongi's eyes meet yours, signaling a shift to the next creative hurdle. "We've got the music down. Now, we need the words to breathe life into it," he states, his voice a mix of excitement and challenge.

Curious, you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "How do you usually come up with the lyrics?" you ask, genuinely intrigued by the process.

Yoongi shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. "It varies," he begins, his gaze drifting off as if recalling past experiences. "Sometimes it's inspiration, a sudden burst of emotion or an idea. Other times, we have ghostwriters or collaborators. And occasionally, the artists themselves contribute, especially if they want to infuse their personal touch."

Your mind races at the possibilities, the open invitation to partake in this creative process both thrilling and daunting. Yoongi's casual mention of your potential involvement hangs in the air, inviting yet challenging.

"I see," you murmur, more to yourself than to him, as you ponder the weight of such an opportunity. Yoongi's next reminder nudges you from your reverie.

"Remember, you're more than welcome to help with the lyrics," he says, his tone encouraging, recognizing perhaps your hesitation and the potential he sees in you.

You nod, a silent acknowledgment of his offer, your mind alight with the challenge it presents. As Yoongi turns back to his equipment, you sit back, the wheels in your head turning, contemplating how you might contribute to the tapestry of words that will accompany the melody you both have crafted.

Your mind, now a whirlwind of emotions and creativity, latches onto Yoongi's advice: to draw from personal experiences for the song's lyrics.

But there's a hitch—you've never been in love. At least, not in the way the characters in the drama have, with their intense, centuries-spanning connection.

Sighing, you roll onto your side, propping your head on one hand as you gaze out the window, the city lights blurring into a tapestry of life and stories unfolding in the quiet of the night.

How would you react if you were truly in love? Would it be a storm of passion, a serene harbor of mutual understanding, or a blend of both.

With your eyes half-closed, you let your imagination take the reins, crafting a scenario where you're enveloped in the arms of an unseen lover.

The details are hazy, his face obscured, but the sensations are vivid—the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, the comforting strength of his embrace, and a profound sense of belonging and peace washing over you.

Motivated by this, you sit up, reaching for a notepad and pen that lie on the nightstand. The words begin to flow, tentative at first, then with growing confidence as you channel the emotions of your daydream into lyrics.

As the verse takes shape, you lean back, the pen still in hand, feeling a sense of accomplishment and anticipation for what these words will become once melded with music and brought to life.

Each line is a reflection, a piece of the puzzle that forms the narrative of love, loss, and reunion that you're helping to tell through the OST.

☆

Bursting into Yoongi's studio, your presence fills the room with an undeniable energy, your breath catching from the sprint. The weekend has been a whirlwind of creativity for you, the outside world blurring into the background as you poured your heart and soul into the lyrics.

You barely give him a chance to greet you before you're sharing the fruits of your laborious weekend.

"Yoongi-ssi, listen to this. I haven't slept properly, just thinking and writing," you say, your voice tinged with a mix of exhaustion and excitement.

Without waiting for a response, you take a deep breath and begin to sing the lines you've meticulously crafted:

"Echoes of eternity, in whispers of the wind, In dreams, you feel my presence, in silence, we're akin. Our souls entwined by destiny, a love that won't rescind, Across the sands of time, my love, our stories are pinned."

As the last note fades, you lower your gaze, suddenly self-conscious, the adrenaline rush giving way to a moment of vulnerability. You're aware of every sound in the room—the hum of the equipment, the soft tapping of Yoongi's foot, the steady beat of your own heart.

Then, you hear it—Yoongi's voice, clear and encouraging. "That's amazing," he says, and when you dare to look up, you're met with a smile that's both impressed and genuinely pleased. It's a look that speaks volumes, affirming your effort and validating the emotional journey you embarked on to bring these lyrics to life.

In that moment, any lingering doubts evaporate, replaced by a warm sense of accomplishment and connection. You've not only contributed something valuable to the project, but you've also tapped into a deeper level of your own creativity, a realization that brings with it a new sense of confidence and possibility.

Yoongi leans back in his chair, observing the mixture of relief and pride on your face. He's genuinely impressed with your contribution, a fact that's evident in the softening of his usually stoic expression.

"You did great," he acknowledges, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you. "Did you take my advice then? Drawing from personal experiences?"

You feel a flush creep up your neck as his question hangs in the air. Shifting uncomfortably, you avoid his gaze, focusing on a non-descript spot on the studio wall. "Well, kind of," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi's eyebrows arch, a silent prompt for you to continue. He's intrigued, sensing there's more to your creative process than you're letting on.

Taking a deep breath, you gather your thoughts, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I've never been in love," you confess, your gaze still averted. "So, I wasn't sure how to truly capture that... that kind of deep affection and longing the ghost feels."

You pause, gathering your thoughts, feeling vulnerable under Yoongi's attentive gaze. "But I've seen it, you know? Like, in the way my dad would just light up when telling me stories about my mom—an unspoken promise in his eyes... a dedication that went beyond words."

You're not accustomed to baring your soul like this, especially in a professional setting, but the words poured out, fueled by the emotions stirred by the drama's narrative and Yoongi's encouragement.

Your eyes drift to a spot on the wall, but you're not really seeing it. You're visualizing a future, a possibility, a hope. "So because of that, I imagine love as this... this all-encompassing force, you know? Where you're completely immersed in someone's well-being, where their happiness is your happiness." Your hands gesture subtly as you speak, illustrating the depth of your envisioned love. "It's about being there, always, in the big moments and the quiet ones. Celebrating their victories, comforting them in their defeats. It's a partnership, a shared journey where you're both each other's biggest fans and safest havens... The kind of love I hope to give someone someday."

Yoongi watches you, his expression softening. There's a moment when even he seems to get lost in the world you're describing, a world where love is boundless and all-consuming.

When you finish, with a self-conscious chuckle and a simple "Yeah, something like that," Yoongi's response is gentle, thoughtful. "That's... really beautiful," he says, the usual edge in his voice smoothed away by the sincerity of your shared moment. "You've got a real gift, not just for music but for understanding the heart of it. Someone's going to be very lucky to have that kind of love from you," he adds, his words a quiet testament to the profound impact of your shared creative journey. Your smile returns, a little more confident this time, buoyed by Yoongi's words. In this studio, surrounded by wires and waves, you've found a place where your innermost thoughts can turn into art, where your unexperienced heart can still speak the universal language of love.

☆

The studio became your haven, a place where time seemed to bend to the rhythm of creation. The collaborative energy between you and Yoongi fueled the progression of the OST.

Each session, each shared idea, and each moment of triumph or frustration, drew you deeper into the fabric of the song you were building together. As the two-week mark approached, the song began to take a definitive shape, its melody and lyrics blending together to form a narrative that echoed the drama storyline.

The nights stretched long, with coffee cups and scribbled notes scattered around, a testament to the dedication both of you poured into this project.

On a particularly productive night, with the city asleep outside the studio windows, Adora and Jungkook stepped in to lend their voices to the demo. Their talent brought a new dimension to the song, their interpretation breathing life into the words and melodies you and Yoongi had carefully crafted. Sitting behind the mixing board, you listened intently as their voices filled the room, their harmonies and emotions weaving through the air. Yoongi, ever the meticulous producer, guided them through each line, ensuring that every note conveyed the depth of the song's message. With each playback, you found yourself immersed in the music, feeling the characters' love and longing as if they were your own.

When a note didn't quite hit the mark or a phrase needed tweaking, you and Yoongi discussed and debated, each suggestion and adjustment bringing the song closer to its final form. As the sun began to rise, casting a soft light into the studio, you both knew that the OST was nearing completion. The demo, enriched by Adora and Jungkook's voices, now stood as a testament to the hard work and late nights, a melody that would soon accompany the drama's unfolding story.

As Yoongi saved the final version of the demo, you realized that this experience was more than just work; it was a journey of artistic exploration and personal growth.

With a sense of accomplishment, you leaned back in your chair, exchanging a tired but satisfied glance with Yoongi. The song was ready, a piece of art ready to be shared with the world, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride.

In these two weeks, you'd not only contributed to an OST but also discovered a new facet of your creativity, one that resonated with the core of storytelling and emotion.

As Yoongi saved the final version of the demo, you realized that this experience was more than just work; it was a journey of artistic exploration and personal growth.

☆

The early morning message from Yoongi set a flutter of nerves in your stomach.

𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈 Come to the studio It's time to record

As you headed to HYBE, doubts circled in your mind, overshadowing the excitement. Would your voice carry the same depth as Adora's? Was there a chance they might reconsider and use her demo instead?

Upon arriving, the sight of Taehyung, already immersed in the material, alongside Namjoon, offered a semblance of reassurance. Namjoon, ever observant, was the first to notice your arrival, greeting you with a warm, dimpled smile that eased some of your tension.

"Hey, you ready for this?" Namjoon asked, his voice laced with encouragement. His casual demeanor and the genuine smile helped to calm your swirling thoughts.

Taehyung looked up, his expression shifting to one of support as he caught sight of you. "Don't worry, you'll do great," he chimed in, his confidence in you clear.

Their words, meant to comfort, did their job, slowly peeling away the layers of your anxiety. Yoongi entered the room a minute later, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, signaling his readiness to dive into the recording session. His presence brought a new wave of reality to the situation—you were about to record a song with Taehyung for a real OST.

Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you followed Taehyung into the vocal booth, the lyrics you helped craft in hand. As the music started, a beautiful, haunting melody that you'd become intimately familiar with over the past weeks, you found yourself enveloped in the song's emotion.

Taehyung's voice melded seamlessly with the music, his talent undeniable as he breathed life into the words, "In slumber's grip, I feel you near, a phantom touch, yet oh so clear..." His voice, a perfect counterbalance to the melody, resonated with a deep longing, embodying the male protagonist's connection to the ghost.

When your cue came, you hesitantly began, "In ancient streets where blossoms weep, I wander, lost, in time's deep creek..." Your voice was softer than intended, but as you continued, the music seemed to lift you, and your voice grew stronger, more confident. The lyrics you'd poured your soul into flowed naturally, painting the air with the ghost's sorrow and love, transcending time itself.

The song, a duet of longing and reunion, became a bridge linking your passion for music with the legacy of love and artistry you cherished. Singing alongside Taehyung, your and his voices intertwined during the chorus, creating a harmonious dialogue between the two souls, "Echoes of eternity, in whispers of the wind..."The combined voices elevated the song's narrative of enduring love and ethereal bonds.

Yoongi and Namjoon, behind the mixing board, was the guiding force, shaping the raw emotion into a polished gem. They ensured that every note conveyed the depth of the song's message, capturing the essence of your characters' journey through time and love's labyrinth.

As the song reached its peak, your and Taehyung's voices soared, touching upon the yearning and hope that underpinned the song's core, echoing the promise of a love that defies time and circumstance. When the last note faded, the silence that followed felt heavy and meaningful, marking a milestone in your personal journey in the world of music.

You open your eyes slowly, almost hesitant to break the spell the music cast. The first thing you see is Yoongi and Namjoon through the glass pane, their expressions alight with genuine approval and delight. Their smiles are broad, their eyes shining with the kind of satisfaction that only comes when something truly special has been created.

Yoongi, his hand still on the mic button, lets out a contented sigh, his voice clear through the intercom, "I think we got a banger." His words, simple yet profound, fill you with a rush of euphoria and relief.

Namjoon nods in agreement, his dimples deepening as he adds, "Absolutely flawless on the first take. That's rare." His tone conveys not just professional admiration but a personal pride in the work you've all accomplished together.

Taehyung, standing beside you, turns with a wide grin, echoing the sentiment. "You were amazing," he says, his voice infused with an enthusiasm that's infectious. The warmth in his eyes is reassuring, affirming that you didn't just meet expectations; you exceeded them.

As you stepped out of the booth, Namjoon clapped you on the back. "You've got a real talent," he complimented, "Your voice... it's got something special."

You couldn't help but smile back, a wave of relief washing over you. Despite the doubts that had haunted you leading up to this moment, the music had felt right, almost like a connection to something greater than yourself.

The praise, coming from artists you respected so much, filled you with a newfound confidence. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to find your place in this world of music, a space where you could connect with your brother's legacy and carve out your own path.

"Thank you," you managed, your voice thick with emotion. "This means a lot to me."

Yoongi nodded, his usual stoic demeanor softened by the moment. "Let's take a listen, shall we?"

Sitting down, you're still riding the high of the session, a pleasant buzz in your veins as Yoongi hits play, and the song fills the room once more.

Hearing your voice intertwined with Taehyung's through the speakers is an out-of-body experience. It's you, but it also feels like someone else—someone confident, someone who belongs here among these talented individuals. The song is a tapestry of emotions, woven with your voice, and it resonates with a depth you hadn't fully appreciated until now.

Taehyung, who had been quietly attentive, broke his silence with a nod of approval. "This is really good," he commented, his gaze shifting between you and Yoongi. "What's it called?"

Yoongi, with a knowing smile, turned to you, gesturing subtly. "Ask her," he suggested, indicating that the honor of naming the piece should fall to you.

"M-Me?" You stutter, caught off guard; your voice wavered slightly, surprise and excitement mingling in your tone.

Yoongi's nod confirmed his intent, his expression serious. "You've been instrumental in this, more than you realize. From the beats to the lyrics, you've shaped this song."

The weight of his words settled over you, a mix of pride and responsibility. Your eyes drifted to the notebook in your lap, its pages worn from weeks of constant use, filled with your handwriting—lyrics, notes, and countless revisions. And then, like a gentle wave washing over you, the perfect title came to mind: "Echoes of Eternity."

Taehyung's face lit up. "I like that," he said, his enthusiasm evident. "It captures the song perfectly."

Yoongi nodded in agreement, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Echoes of Eternity it is, then."

In that moment, a surge of pride welled up within you. This song, now christened with a name you had chosen, felt like a piece of you—a testament to your journey, your growth, and to bridge and honor Yuuji's legacy, a connection to him through the universal language of music.

As you left the studio that day, the title "Echoes of Eternity" echoing in your mind, you felt a profound sense of accomplishment. You had not only helped create a piece of art but had also carved a space for yourself in the vast world of music—a world where your brother had once shone brightly. And now, with this song, you were stepping into something that would touch the hearts of many, continuing the legacy in your own unique way.

***i can be a songwriter omm if i tried 😭

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winxanity-ii · 12 days

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⌜No Hoods Attached | Chapter 18 Chapter 18 | big fat phony⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

You sat at your desk, enjoying a rare moment of calm during your lunch break, scrolling absentmindedly through Facebook when your phone buzzed.

𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐀 please where are you?? im scared

You sat up at the text, brow furrowing in confusion; quickly you send a reply.

𝐘/𝐍 ????

Instead of getting an explanation, she just sends a quick 'no time to respond' before plugging in her location.

You don't waste a second, springing up to your feet, urgency propelling you forward, your meal long forgotten, your only focus on reaching Seora as quickly as possible.

A thousand scenarios raced through your mind. What could possibly have gone wrong? Was she in some sort of trouble?

As you darted through the building, your heart pounded not just from the physical exertion but also from concern for your friend.

Gasping for air after your sprint across the building, you finally regained your composure and tapped on the door to the press conference room.

A woman with a headset cracked the door open, peering out at you.

"I'm... I'm here... for Seora," you managed to say between breaths.

With a nod, she ushered you inside, revealing a set meticulously designed to mimic Yoongi's dorm room, complete with a bed and walls adorned with posters. A wave of familiarity washed over you as your eyes landed on a Kumamon poster, reminiscent of images you'd seen online from fan-pages.

As you absorbed the uncanny resemblance, Seora's voice pierced through your nostalgia. "Y/N! Over here!" she called, her hands waving frantically from across the room.

You couldn't help but notice her transformation, now clad in high-waisted shorts and a large black hoodie, her hair styled in a playful ponytail, allowing her curls to fall behind her head like a waterfall with tendrils framing her face, a stark contrast to her usual attire.

Approaching her, you couldn't contain a "Wow," impressed by the makeover.

"I get to keep these!" Seora beamed, spinning to show off her new look.

Your attention was diverted as a familiar, gruff voice chimed in from behind. "How long is this gonna take? I'm ready to get this shit over with," Yoongi grumbled.

You watched as the two of them get shuffled onto the set. As the make-up artists fixed up any last minute things, a countdown is being shouted out.

You quickly took out your phone, and opened up VLive. Deciding to watch them there to see the comments.

"Be sure to read what you rehearsed because once we go live, we can't stop," Someone tells Yoongi and Seora before exiting off the set.

"In 5...4...3...2...Go!"

Immediately, Yoongi's demeanor shifted seamlessly into his public persona, greeting the audience with his signature gummy smile. "Hello ARMYs! I decided to make this VLive to deliver you all an important announcement as well as clear up some misconceptions."

You stared at the scene in front of you, if you didn't know this was a set up, you would have thought this was real.

"So, recently, there was a meet-up here at HYBE headquarters to deliver lost items to previous volunteers we've had at our most recent fan-meeting a couple of weeks ago. It's here that a peculiar incident occurred," Yoongi began, maintaining a calm demeanor. "Some of you might have heard rumors—and even seen the video—about this, so I'm here to clarify what actually happened."

Despite the numerous comments rolling in, stating how the girl that hurt him deserved to die or needed to go to jail for laying a finger on him, Yoongi's delivery was flawless, his expression earnest as he recounted his rehearsed lines.

"The person you saw tackling me wasn't a sasaeng fan, nor did she cause me any harm," he continued, skillfully weaving the fabricated story. "Actually, she's an old childhood friend from Daegu."

Internally, Yoongi wanted to scream out how everything was a lie, but he knew that it was not just him at stake if the truth were to come out; BTS as a whole could be in jeopardy from his careless actions.

"I recognized her and was so surprised to see her during the meet-up that I tackled her into a hug," Yoongi elaborated, his story painting a picture of a harmless reunion tinged with a dash of unexpected comedy. "It was something we used to do when we were kids, but I think I might have frightened her, and she ended up hitting me on reflex, but once we cleared everything up, she apologized."

The change in the comments were immediate; they all began turning positive, some even awing at how soft Yoongi was being to see his old friend.

Yoongi eyes scanned through the many comments pouring in on his phone. One of them immediately caught his eye.

Instead talking some more about his childhood friend, Yoongi skipped it and went right into the next step.

"I see that a lot of you would like to meet her. So, if it's okay with you guys, I'd like to introduce you to her," Yoongi stated, a genuine smile growing on his face at the happy comments popping up. "Seora," he said, looking over to the right, like he practiced, and waved her over.

Seora bounced into the frame, casual and bright. "Hey there, Oppa!" she greeted, her casual tone throwing Yoongi off for a split second.

Yoongi's eyes briefly narrowed at the unscripted name, but he quickly masked his reaction with a smile, encouraged by the positive viewer response.

"Everyone, this is Seora, my old buddy from back home. And Seora, say hi to the amazing ARMY, the people who inspire me every day," Yoongi improvised, adding a personal touch.

Grinning, Seora waved at the camera. "Hello ARMY~! Oppa always shares how much joy and motivation you bring into his life," she said, her enthusiasm genuine, her eyes twinkling with delight.

The excitement in the comments grew as fans lavished Seora with compliments on her beauty and charm, flooding the live stream with heart emojis and compliments; you even saw some asking if she was single.

For the next few minutes, Seora and Yoongi communicated with those commenting live. Sometimes, as he delved into the rehearsed tale of their supposed childhood friendship, you could see the occasional scowl cross his face, quickly smoothed over by years of practice in the limelight.

All-in-all, you were certain everything was going to work out.

Well, that was until one certain comment popped up.

Isn't that Yoongi Oppa's favorite black hoodie?

You watched as Yoongi read the question, his whole body freezing up, before turning his head to look at Seora. His mouth dropped open in shock when he saw that she did, in fact, have his favorite hoodie on.

"You have my favorite hoodie on?" he asked, going off script.

"Yeah, so?" Seora said, eyebrows arching in a challenging way.

"Alright, fun's over. Hand it here."

Seora clutched the hoodie tighter, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Not a chance," she retorted, clearly enjoying the tug-of-war over the garment.

"No."

Yoongi's attempts to maintain his cool demeanor were slipping as he reached for the hoodie's sleeve, tugging on it. "Seora, I'm not kidding. That's my favorite one. Give it to me. Now."

"I said no. Plus, it's cold, and I like wearing it," she snapped, snatching the end of the sleeve away from him.

The staff around you grew nervous; both Seora and Yoongi were going off script. No one could go over them or tell them to stop because if they were seen, ARMY would realize everything was just a fake set-up.

"I could really care less. Besides, who even gave it to you to wear it, I thought it was put away?" Yoongi asked, tugging on the hood of the hoodie.

"Dee," Seora stated, smacking his hand away from the hood.

"Dee who?"

"Deez Nutz. Now stop tugging on it, you're letting out all of the heat," Seora whined, nudging him away from her.

"Seora," he spok in a low, almost threatening growl, her name practically hanging in the air.

"Yoongi," she mimicked, her voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You found yourself glued to your phone screen, no comments popping up on the VLive feed; even the usually chatty ARMY held its breath, as if waiting to see what was going to happen.

"Oh, no," you nervously chuckled to yourself as you saw Yoongi's trademark eye twitch kick in, a sure sign he was nearing his boiling point.

"Seora," he growled again, this time through gritted teeth.

Seora, oblivious (or perhaps deliberately pushing his buttons) wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. "Eww, stop winking at me, Gramps," she chirped. "Dating isn't really on the agenda for this princess."

Yoongi's eyebrow shot up in surprise. "That's it!" he roared, lunging for the oversized hoodie that engulfed Seora. "Give me that thing!"

A yelp pierced the tense silence as Seora scrambled back, swatting at his outstretched hands. "Not a chance, grumpy grandpa!" she shrieked, her voice laced with playful defiance.

A back-and-forth tug-of-war ensued, Seora's head whipping from side to side like a ragdoll caught in a whirlwind. "Ack! Let go, Yoongi-oppa!" she commanded, her laughter tinged with breathless exertion.

Then, in a move that defied all expectations, Seora struck. A swift, precise pinch landed right on Yoongi's unsuspecting nipple.

The room fell silent, the only sound a strangled gasp escaping Yoongi's lips. His eyes bulged, his previously fierce expression dissolving into one of pure, comical pain. "Ow!" he yelped, clutching at his chest like he'd been struck by lightening. "What the— What was that for?!"

Seora, eyes wide with mock innocence, batted her eyelashes. "Self-defense, obviously! You were practically strangling me with that hood."

Yoongi scoffed, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits. "Yeah, right. More like grand theft hoodie. Give it back, thief." He rubbed his chest dramatically through the fabric, milking the pain for all it was worth before attempting to make another grab for the jacket.

Seora, unimpressed, was quick on her feet, dancing away laughing, "You'll have to catch me first, Min 'Can't-Catch-Me' Yoongi!"

The chase was on. Yoongi lumbered after Seora, his movements more akin to a grumpy bear than a stealthy predator.

Seora weaved around furniture and props, her laughter echoing through the room. Just when Yoongi—with a surprising burst of speed—managed to corner Seora, she ducked behind a giant cardboard cutout of his alter-ego, Agust D, leaving him flat-footed and fuming.

Suddenly, a mischievous glint sparked in Seora's eyes. Before Yoongi could react, she darted out from behind the cutout and launched a surprise attack. Not with fists or kicks, but with a barrage of tickles aimed squarely at his exposed midriff.

Yoongi, caught completely off guard, let out a high-pitched squeal that would make any dolphin blush. He writhed and squirmed, his previous scowl replaced by a wide, gummy grin.

The staff, initially bewildered by the turn of events, couldn't help but crack smiles as Seora unleashed her tickling fury.

The previously tense atmosphere dissolved into a cacophony of laughter, with Yoongi's booming guffaws echoing through the room.

The VLive comments section exploded in a frenzy. #TeamSeora and #TeamYoongi were locked in a digital battle, showering the screen with heart emojis and fire symbols.

"Don't make me get my brother to beat you up!" Seora threatened, puffing out her cheeks like a defiant hamster. "He knows Judo! He'll whoop your pasty butt with his black belt!"

Yoongi snorted, a playful glint in his eyes. "Oh, yeah? Well, prepare for him to be swept off his feet by the taekwondo master himself, Jeon Jungkook!" He swooped in, aiming a tickle attack right for Seora's giggle zone.

Seora shrieked, tears welling up in her eyes – tears of mirth, of course. "Okay, okay! Truce!" she gasped, doubling over with laughter. "Just... just give me a sec... to breathe!"

"Only if you surrender the hoodie," Yoongi bargained, a wide, mischievous grin splitting his face.

"Never!" Seora declared, dodging a lightning-fast tickle attempt and launching herself onto the bed with surprising agility.

With a dramatic flourish, she grabbed a pillow and launched a feathery projectile at Yoongi's unsuspecting face.

"Hey!" Yoongi yelped, momentarily stunned. He narrowed his eyes at the traitorous pillow, then back at Seora, who wore a look of mock innocence. "You did not just—"

"Did what?" Seora interrupted, parroting his earlier words in a sing-song voice. "Cry about a little pillow fight?"

Yoongi's competitive spirit flared. "Oh, it's definitely on now," he declared, snatching a pillow of his own and charging towards Seora.

The room transformed into a whirlwind of feathers and laughter. Pillows soared through the air, narrowly missing valuable equipment and unsuspecting staff members.

All thoughts of the script and the VLive audience were forgotten as they descended into a glorious battle of fluff.

"Who even names their kid Seora? You're not even Korean," Yoongi taunted between throws, narrowly dodging a sneak attack on his ankles. "Sounding like you fell out of a K-drama!"

Seora, ever the quick wit, flung a pillow right back. "Hey, it's not my fault my mom went through a boy band phase! Blame DJ DOC and Sechs Kies for this mess!" she shouted, blurting out two known K-POP groups during the 90's.

You couldn't help but chuckle, watching the adorable chaos unfold in front of you.

You looked back down at your phone a only to see everyone commenting how compatible the two are.

At first, I thought that this was just a fake get-up, but now that I look at them, I'm able to see how friendly they are with one another! I wish I could have a best friend like Seora-ah.

"Ugh, fine," Seora grumbled, flinging the pillow across the room with a dramatic sigh. "You win, grumpy grandpa. Take your stupid hoodie back." She flopped back onto the bed, chest heaving dramatically as she tried to catch her breath.

Yoongi, his competitive spirit sated, dropped his own pillow with a triumphant grin. He couldn't help but chuckle as he watched Seora.

Her carefully styled hair was now a wild mess, strands plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her face, flushed a rosy red, held a pout that somehow managed to be both adorable and defiant.

Then, just as quickly as the pout appeared, it was replaced by a tired smile that sent a jolt through Yoongi's system.

Wait a minute, a traitorous thought wormed its way into his mind, She's actually kind of... pretty? He quickly shook his head, trying to dispel the unexpected feeling.

Seriously, Min Yoongi, where did that even come from? Lack of sleep? Man, I need to get laid, out here thinking bugs are cute, he thought with a grimace.

Pushing those troublesome thoughts aside, he straightened up and addressed the camera, a playful smirk returning to his face.

"Alright, folks, it looks like playtime's over for today," he announced, wincing slightly as a barrage of comments flooded the screen begging for more. "Seems like some of us have a lot of pent-up energy to burn," he added with a side-eye at Seora, who just smirked innocently.

"Don't worry, ARMY," he continued, his voice regaining its usual playful lilt. "We'll definitely do another live stream soon. Maybe even convince some of the other lazy bums"—he shot a playful glare at the camera—"to join in the fun, huh?" he mused, running a hand through his now messy sandy hair, a testament to the unexpected wrestling match with Seora over the hoodie.

Just as he was about to wrap it up, a new wave of comments caught his eye. They were all asking the same question: would Seora be joining them next time?

Yoongi started to formulate a reply, "Well, I don't know, Seora might not be able to—"

A mischievous glint flickered in Seora's eyes as she cut him off, plopping herself down right next to him on the bed, the stolen hoodie draped nonchalantly across her arms. "Yoongi-oppa, was just saying I might not be able to do what?" she asked, batting her eyelashes innocently at the camera.

Yoongi, momentarily surprised by her boldness, sputtered out, "They were asking if you'd be available for the next VLive." He stole a glance at her, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Seora, sensing his amusement, simply grinned and met his gaze directly. "Oh, well, if the lovely ARMY wants me there, then of course I'd be happy to join!" she declared, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. Her smile widened as the comments section erupted in a flurry of "yeses" and "please dos."

A slow, genuine smile spread across Yoongi's face. This chaotic day had definitely taken an unexpected turn, but seeing Seora's infectious enthusiasm and the positive reactions from the fans, a warmth bloomed in his chest.

Before the comments could explode with suggestions (and demands) for other guest appearances, Yoongi dropped another bombshell. "Oh, I almost forgot to announce some exciting news!" he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Taehyung and a super talented upcoming artist will be featuring on the OST for a new K-drama called 'Threads of Destiny: Love Beyond Time.'"

The comment section erupted in a fresh wave of excitement, a mix of heart-eye emojis and questions about the upcoming artist. Seora, ever the opportunist, leaned into the microphone.

"Maybe it's me!" she chirped, a playful wink at the camera.

Yoongi's eyes widened in mock-horror. "Don't even think about it, Seora. You can't hold a tune to save your life!"

Seora just stuck her tongue out at him, the playful banter causing the comments to go wild.

As the live stream wrapped up, one thing was certain: with Seora around, things were never going to be dull.

"Alright everyone," he addressed the camera once again, "we gotta head out now. But before we go, I just want to say thank you, ARMY. You guys are the reason I keep going, the reason I keep making music. You inspire me."

Seora leaned in and chimed in playfully, "And don't forget to eat healthy and get enough sleep! We don't want any ARMY falling sick, now do we?"

With that, Yoongi winked at the camera and ended the live stream.

"And... cut!" a voice boomed from somewhere off-screen, signaling the end of filming.

The room buzzed with activity as the crew began dismantling the set and packing up equipment.

You made your way over to Seora and Yoongi, who were now surrounded by a group of staff members.

"Yoongi-ssi," one of the managers called out, waving him over. "Bang Pd-nim wants to see you in his office."

Yoongi nodded and turned to leave, but Seora grabbed his sleeve before he could take a step. "Hey, wait a minute," she said, holding out the black hoodie. "Don't you want your precious hoodie back?"

Yoongi grabbed it, staring down at the hoodie. Finally, with a barely-there shake of his head, he tossed the garment back at Seora with a playful smirk. "Nah, you keep it. Looks better on you anyway, shrimp."

Seora yelped, fumbling to catch the hoodie before it tumbled to the floor.

A surprised laugh bubbled up from her chest. This little prank war had taken a delightful turn.

"Besides," Yoongi added, a glint in his eye, "I'll need to contact you later to finalize that song, right Y/N?" With that final, playful dig, Yoongi sauntered off towards the manager, leaving Seora holding the hoodie and a smile that could rival the sunshine.

You couldn't help but nudge her playfully. "Looks like someone's got a case of the hots," you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seora's eyes widened as she stammered, "N-No way! It's just... hot in here, right?" She fanned herself dramatically, hoping to cool her burning cheeks.

As if on cue, someone from the crew yelled out, "Hey! Can someone turn off the air conditioning? It's freezing in here!"

A slow smile spread across your face. "Oh, really? I thought it felt a little chilly too," you replied with a playful wink.

Seora scoffed, but a hint of a smile peeked through her blush. "Whatever, Y/N! It is hot!" she insisted, following you out of the room.

"Sure, sure," you chuckled, leaving Seora to stew in a delightful mix of fluster and amusement.

***sorry for not updating this friday, so to make up for it, today will be a double update 💗 also i had TOO much fun with this, loool. We stan a comedic queen like seora...

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