Actions

Work Header

The League

Summary:

You notice the way he keeps his pinky finger far out to the side. Does he still have to think about controlling his quirk, or is it second nature by now? You push the question from your head, instead choosing to focus on his reaction to your hastily-composed message.

Work Text:

You’d expected something like this when she’d said they were going to “welcome” you into the League of Villains– there was something in the blonde girl’s voice that hinted at just as much.  Still, as they tear you apart with their stares, you can’t help but feel a little uneasy.  You only count three people, but in your experience, numbers were no indication of lethality.

“Where’s Giran?”  A haze of purple smoke speaks from behind the bar counter.  You hadn’t noticed it before, and now you suddenly had four people to keep your eyes trained on.  “He usually brings recruits in himself.”

“This one’s not from Giran.”  The tall man, Dabi, shoots back.  “Toga picked her up.”

The blonde in question grins wide, showcasing a set of very white, very sharp teeth.  It was a wonder she even needed a knife to slice anyone.  “Ohhhhhh, she was just so cute!  I tried to–”

Another voice cuts her off.  “I know you’re crazy, but come on.  You can’t bring just anyone back here.  We don’t need any more liabilities.”  The man sitting at the bar, a slender, pale thing scratches idly at his neck.  Judging from the trademark hand clutching his face, he’s Shigaraki– the big boss of this ragtag band of misfits.  He’s the one you need to convince.

You reach into your pocket, and in an instant, every person in the room flinches.  There’s a blistering heat at your neck and you wince, holding up your hands in a show of surrender.  The burning subsides, but there’s still warmth– a warning.  Perhaps it wasn’t wise to make sudden movements in a room full of wanted villains.  You made a mental note to avoid them in the future.  That is, if you managed to survive this encounter.  The way things were going, you weren’t sure.

“Who the hell are you?”  Shigaraki stands, waiting.

You gesture to your mouth, then your pocket again, moving ever so slowly.  Thankfully, Toga speaks up before anyone gets the wrong idea.

“She can’t talk, Tomura.  You’ve got to let her write it out.”  She continues to babble, even as you pull out your phone and start typing.  “She left me the prettiest message in blood and I…”

You twist the screen, letting the tiny text do the speaking for you.  Shigaraki steps forward, yanking your phone from your hand.  You notice the way he keeps his pinky finger far out to the side.  Does he still have to think about controlling his quirk, or is it second nature by now?  You push the question from your head, instead choosing to focus on his reaction to your hastily-composed message.

“The whole incident with Katsuki Bakugo– do you wish that things had happened differently?”

“What is this supposed to mean?”  He’s not happy, that much is for sure.  Still, you figure you’ll take your chances.  You hold out your hand, praying he’ll give you your phone and not turn you into a pile of dust.  For a second, he looks like he really considers the latter option, but after a tense moment, he hands you the device.  You type out another message– short and sweet.

“I could be your Bakugo.”

When he reads the message and peers up at you, glaring through grey-tinged fingers, you know it’s now or never.  You take a deep breath and focus on not going overboard.  The place needed to stay intact if you wanted to stay alive and more importantly, make a good impression.  You exhale, puffing out dark cloud of smoke.  There’s a flicker pulsing outward from your mouth, barely distinguishable through the smog.  A flame– it’s tiny though.  You hope they don’t mistake your restraint for weakness.  Hell, at this point you hope they don’t mistake your “restraint” for a sign of aggression.  You relax a little when nobody tries to kill you immediately.

For the first time since you’d arrived, the League’s leader stops his scratching, dropping a hand to his side.  He reads over your message again, then hands your phone back without saying a word.  When he makes a gesture aimed at somebody behind you, the fiery hand at your neck recedes.

“Why do you want to join?”  He holds out his hand, expecting a reply.

“Heroes don’t get to burn the guys they don’t like.  Bad people do.”

“Do you think we’re bad people?”

You shrug, then smile.  It must’ve been a good enough answer because he doesn’t ask any more questions.  He just gets this twisted grin, and you figure you’re a member of the League of Villains now.

Series this work belongs to: