Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Midnight and Vlad King strode through the quiet morning halls of U.A., the sound of their boots echoing faintly as golden sunlight spilled in from the tall windows like a spotlight of truth ready to interrogate. They were here earlier than most days as last night they had been emailed for a scheduled meeting about their progress with the students and another project system. It was early in the morning and the sun was still low in the sky. Shining through the large UA windows

Midnight:
“So Vladly,” she purred, shielding her eyes with a hand as the sun stabbed her retinas like an overly dramatic stage light. “I heard through the ever-reliable staff grapevine that something… interesting went down between you and a certain student’s mother..” Her voice was playful, but like a cat circling a bird, she was already halfway through planning how to pounce. The kind of playful that came with claws

Vlad King:
He stiffened like someone just dumped a bucket of ice on his neck. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be discussing unprofessional rumors, Midnight,” he replied, eyes forward, tone steady, He tried to sound calm, professional. But the twitch in his left eyebrow told another story.

Midnight:
“Oh please, you glorified Capri Sun blood clot,” she waved dismissively, smirking. “Just spill already. Or I’ll ask your student directly—Maybe even in front of his friends. You know I will..”

Vlad King stopped walking, visibly weighing the consequences. With a heavy sigh of a man who had deep regrets and a student's pride he felt he needed to, he turned to her.

Vlad King:
“Fine. Everything was fine—normal, professional even. I was going around collecting signatures from the parents for the dorm agreement. Miss Tetsutetsu was the last one on my list.” He took a deep breath. like he was ready to confess to murder, rather talk about how he spent that night.

“It was late when I arrived. She handed me what I thought was juice—turned out it was wine. I didn’t want to be rude..”

Midnight:
Gasps theatrically “Oh no! A single glass of red? Weak in the knees? You fragile Victorian maiden, you. Hate to take you out for a drink.”

Vlad King:
“Kayama, I wasn’t finished,” he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was physically holding back a migraine. “We kept talking. And well after, 5 or 6 glasses. She started venting about her recent divorce—which happened last month, so everything was still weighing on her—and how she’s worried about Tetsutetsu. Says he always acts cheerful, but she’s convinced he’s bottling things up.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck like he could erase the memory through friction

“I don’t know what it was—the time, the wine, or the amount, the exhaustion from driving. I put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. She… responded by leaning into me. And then…” he paused, feeling like he aged five years just from admitting this to Midnight of all people “…it happened fast and it happened.”

Midnight:
Eyes wide, gleaming with unholy gossip-fueled glee “You slept with her?!”

Vlad King:
“She made me breakfast the next morning,” he said flatly, like that somehow made it less tragic. “I left after saying goodbye after a long night of………………experiencing miss Tetsutetsu. I haven't been able to look Tetsutetsu in the eye since. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know. At least… God, I hope not.”” A long beat of silence passed as they walked.

Midnight:
“Did she peck you on the check before your left, was she all lovey dovey after. Well, I’ll give you this—you might be the first teacher at UA to traumatize himself more than the students.”

Vlad King:
“Please never bring this up again.”

The silence between them stretched on longer than Vlad felt comfortable dealing with, broken only by Midnight’s giggling. Glancing up the hallway, the iconic golden blonde hair could be spotted. Pale and skinny. All might was here, he was walking their way or just in their direction. He was dressed in a suit way too big for his skinny body. A little drift of air made him shiver ever so slightly.

Vlad king:
“morning sir, I hope it’s been great.” he said as they stopped in front of Nezu room

Midnight:
“Morning sexy” she said as she walked around Vlad king, not stopping for chit chat as she disappeared into the Nezu office.

All Might:
"A" - Yawn  - "A good morning to you as well.” as he was turned and followed behind midnight.

Inside the Nezu office, Aizawa and present mic were already seated on the large plush couches. Present mic and Azawia was as usual, one dressed to impress while the other looked like he just got out of bed. Aizawa was.....present. He tried staying awake, though he wanted to sleep he was fighting Present mic. but present mic was letting (forcing) him lean on his shoulder. Nezu sat calmly in his chair, a porcelain teacup nestled in his paws. The steam curled delicately in the air, but the glint in his beady little eyes.

Quietly the three of them sat down with the rest. The air is still, the Ac heater on and providing warmth but it is more annoying than anything.

Nezu:
“Good morning everyone. I'm quite happy to announce that students in classes 1A and 1B all signed their papers for the dorm housing system. I hope by the end of the school day, students will officially be moved into their new on-campus housing. Now i have something special i have to discuss with you all”

All Might:
clearing his throat gently  “Forgive the interruption, Principal Nezu, but shouldn’t we wait for Ectoplasm and Cementoss ?”

Nezu:
“Not necessary. Ectoplasm is currently overseas for a family matter and won’t return until next week. or till further notice”

Present mic:
“And my stony boy Cementoss?” he said with enthusiasm while combing his hair back. Wearing shades despite it being early enough in the morning the street light should still be on

Aizawa:
“hizashi quiet…quiet down, your being too loud” he said his eyes barely open. As hair cast down his face while he had his head on present mic’s shoulder

Nezu:
“taking his daughter to her first chemo session. He'll be back Wednesday. Both have been emailed the briefing materials for this morning’s meeting.”
Mic’s smile dimmed slightly, shades catching a little less light. He lowered his hands.

Present Mic:
“...Bummer.”

A moment of silence passed.

Nezu:
“Which brings us to today’s real topic. U.A. 's rehabilitation initiative. ” He took a sip of tea, then set it down with an audible click. “As you know, with the recent uptick in juvenile villain apprehensions, especially following the Bakugo incident, the board has approved our proposal for a pilot rehabilitation program for young offenders.”

He looked at Aizawa.

Nezu:
“And our first candidate… is Himiko Toga. ”

The room tensed like someone had just started juggling grenades.

Vlad King:
“Wait… she’s being rehabilitated ? Here? At U.A.?”

Nezu:
“Precisely. We have secured her in a specialized containment dorm within the grounds, under heavy supervision. This is a controlled experiment to determine if quirk-offenders under eighteen can be turned from the villain path.”

Midnight:
“And you decided to launch this now? During dorm week? That’s like handing out tasers at a water park.”

Nezu:
“Timing is everything, Kayama. The paperwork aligned.”

Aizawa:
grumbles “I’m too sober for this…”

Present Mic: 
"your to sober of anything"

Nezu:
“Which is why I’ll need two staff volunteers to rotate monitoring duties for the next two weeks. Strictly non-combat, behavioral observation only.”

He smiled brightly.

Nezu:
“Any takers?”

Everyone looked at each other.

Present Mic:
“...So, like... are we talking babysitting or babysitting a knife goblin?”

Nezu:
“Oh yes.”

Chapter Text

The excuses started rolling in like a bad improv skit nobody rehearsed. Aizawa didn’t even look up from the spot on the carpet he’d been staring at with the intensity of a war veteran remembering trench warfare. His tone was flat. Unapologetic. Like the cats had diplomatic immunity.

Aizawa:
"I have too many cats at home."

Midnight:
"I can't. I'm on my period. Horrible cramps. If she runs, I'm not chasing—I'll just cheer from the floor."

She gave a dismissive flick of her wrist, already mentally drafting a will in which she bequeathed her job to literally anyone else.

Present Mic:
“SHHHOOOTAAA… has too many cats. And I’ve got a radio station to run. Deadlines, you know.”

He struck a pose like he was on the cover of a DJ magazine, but the only thing spinning was his excuse.

All might:
All Might raised his hand “I believe—”

Nezu: Nezu sipped his tea without breaking eye contact with All Might, whose nervous energy made him seem like a very tall chihuahua. looking at All Might “All Might, you already have three feet in the grave. Please stop trying to plant a fourth.” He didn't blink. The words were said with the crisp, cheerful

All Might
shrank slightly. “...Understood.” A beat passed. Then, with narrowed eyes, “Wait—Yamada, how do the number of Aizawa’s cats affect you?”

Aizawa and Present Mic in unison: “We're... '‘Roommates'’.”

The room fell into a beat of suspicious silence.

Present Mic:
“Also, I don’t like getting home late. Self-care, baby.”

Midnight: “
Sure you are.” She narrowed her eyes with gossip vision. “Two healthy, fully functioning adult men. Living together for four years. Not a single hook-up? Not even a moment of sexual tension? Nothing even mildly erotic?”

Present Mic:
“Yeah? So what?”

Midnight:
“Sure, I’ll believe you when you’re straight.”

Present Mic:
“But I am.”

Midnight:
“No, you’re not. I know.”

Present Mic:
“Hearsay!” He pointed dramatically, like this was a courtroom and not just a weirdly warm, overlit staff meeting.

Midnight:
“I was at the breakup party, remember? Kiako dumped you, I was there. Aizawa was there. You were crying into a bottle of plum sake, and—don’t you dare lie—you tried to hand Aizawa your number. Said you wanted to ‘make your ex jealous.’ I’m pretty sure WE made eye contact before you yanked him into the most pitiful, sloppy drunk kiss I've ever witnessed.”

Aizawa:
grumbling “And then he puked on my carpet. And almost in my mouth.”

Present Mic:
“It was a rug, Shouta.And it had a you-shaped crater lying on it every day like a sleepy fossil. Let’s not throw stones when you live in a glass nap. So let's not point fingers, huh?”

Midnight lunged like a jungle cat with a vendetta.

Midnight:
“Give me your phone, I know there’s dirt in there DJ Deniability! The kind that gets you banned from dating apps.” 

Present Mic:
“VLAD—MY MAN, MY BLOOD BRO, BATTLE BUDDY, MY DOG LOVING HERO—HELP! She’s going for the vault! There’s drafts in there! There’s an unfinished ballad titled ‘Emo in E Minor’! She can’t see that! SHE CAN"T SEEEEE. She is going to steal my dirt bag pick up lines i send shoootttaaa in the middle of the night” he yelp as a lime with the words dirt bag fell out his pocket

Midnight cackled, one hand firmly gripping his arm, the other scrabbling for his phone like they were reenacting a fight scene.

Aizawa:
slumped halfway off the couch, eyes hollow “Coffee or a grave. I don’t care which. Just give me one of them.”

Vlad King:
turning to Nezu “Should we… step in?”

Nezu:
“Let them eat their cake. I’m deeply entertained by how this devolved.” he said his beady eyes sparking as Midnight falls behind the coach with a THUD. “Also Vlad, you haven’t given-”

Vlad king:
not even looking away as midnight forces Present mics to unlocked his phone with his thumb “i'll take over duty for Toga, i'll do both shifts as to not bother” hand waving in the his collages direction “them”

Present mic:
"ow ow ow ow. Kayama let go."

Nezu:
“oh that's great to hear. In fact i was hoping you would say yes” he grinned, before sliding over a contract

Vlad king:
“what is this” he said picking it up the document”

Nezu:
“A contract making you temporary legal guardian of Himiko Toga.”
 Slides another one over. “This one makes you her permanent guardian if rehabilitation is successful.”
And another. “And this is her UA dorm agreement since she is a minor and so she can’t sign it herself.”

There was a long pause. Vlad picked up the papers like they were radioactive.

From behind the couch, Present Mic screamed.
Present Mic: “SHE FOUND THE POETRYYYYY!”

Midnight:
“This one says, ‘Your eyes are like late-night ramen: salty, hot, and make me question my life choices.’ YOU TRIED TO SEDUCE HIM WITH THAT?”

Aizawa:
“I’m going to let the cats eat me when I die. I want you all to know that. Also Midnight I wrote that.”

Vlad King felt a moment of hesitation as he stared at the paperwork laid down in front of him. Two of them bore Toga’s name in crisp, judicial ink—bold enough to shout. The third was laced with the familiar dormitory jargon: curfews, visitor limits, dietary needs, psychological contingencies. The works. For the betterment of a child , he thought bitterly, lips tightening. Or was it more like giving a certified psycho direct access to his home, food supply, and rapidly deteriorating sanity.

His fingers hovered. The pen, slick with indecision, trembled between his calloused thumb and forefinger. He could feel All Might’s eyes behind him. Not just watching— judging. Like a paragon-shaped ghost whispering, Be better. Go beyond. Adopt the stabby one. His chest tightened.

— Why am I stopping? —

He’d fought villains, spilled blood, shattered bones. He’d dragged students out of burning forests. But this? One paperclip away from becoming Dad to a serial knife-licker ? Nezu’s voice cut through his spiraling like a scalpel dipped in honey.

Nezu: “Is everything all right, Mister Kan? The palms of your hands appear… sweaty.” Pause. “I understand this decision is a heavy one. Especially since it’s the first time U.A. is attempting something like this. a… rehabilitation instead of incarceration. A child, not a criminal. At least—not yet.”

Vlad swallowed, mouth dry as printer paper. All Might finally spoke, voice low and loaded with that familiar bittersweet nobility:

All Might: “This isn’t about comfort. It’s about responsibility. Someone has to carry the weight of the new era we’re trying to build. I did my part. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it.”

His words weren’t a command, but they hit like a thrown shield.

Vlad glanced down again at the papers. Legal. Permanent. Binding. It wasn’t just a signature. It was a gamble—with his time, his trust, maybe even his life. But it was also a chance. A chance to prove something could change. A chance to catch someone before they truly drowned. A chance to be more than just the angry teacher who barked at kids to hydrate. He gritted his teeth.

Vlad King: “Fine. But if she stabs me before breakfast, I’m making her write the apology letter in cursive in front of my entire class.” And with that, he signed each paper—hand trembled every so slightly, heroic instincts screaming, future uncertain for his…..Daughter(?).

The ever so cheery nezu blurted out to the present teachers

Nezu: “Congrats mister Sekijiro Kan, by the time the paperwork is completed. Toga will hopeful have herself set up for pick up transport”

All might: All Might: “Not to be rude, Principal Nezu, but is that all? I have an engagement before eight.” (Translation: Izuku needs another life lesson or hug. Probably both. Or a promised punch in the face for what he had done cause of the )

Nazu: “oh yes, to avoid the potential favoritism in class. I will have toga settled in with the class A1 lot ”

Present mic: “Hah! Looks like Lady Luck keeps throwing bricks at your head, Eraser.”

Aizawa: groaning in regret. “Two of her obsessions are in my class”

Midnight : currently scrolling through photos on the present mic’s phone still. She was sprawled out pn the floor behind the coach “Damn, Aizawa, I kinda get what Ms. Joke sees in you now. Good lord . Too bad in half of these you’ve got so much hair in your mouth it looks like you're choking on a blonde wig.”

Present mic lounged at midnight.

Present mic: “get out of my photo gallery”

Chapter Text

Four Days Later

Vlad King pulled into the lot just past 8:00 am , the sky overcast and the wind sharp enough to tug at his jacket. It was his day off, and he dressed the part—red-and-black jacket over a dark shirt, brown leather pants scuffed from age. He slammed the driver-side door of his pickup truck shut, only to nearly slip on the patchy concrete beneath his boots.

The air smelled faintly of ozone and reinforced protocols.

Up ahead, five armored personnel filed out of a matte black security van—big, blocky, and shaped like it’d been built with paranoia in mind. Their visors were dark, helmets unmarked, but the way they moved told Vlad all he needed to know: zero tolerance. No humor. No room for mistakes.

Head Guard: “Check yourselves for cuts or scrapes! We can’t allow a single drop of blood near her!”

The voice was commanding, sharp, and far louder than her short frame should’ve allowed. Vlad blinked—if All Might in his prime had ever screamed orders during boot camp, this woman would’ve made the perfect demo reel. A quick chorus of “Clear!” echoed from the guards as they patted themselves down.

Head Guard: “Now have the person next to you check you.”

Another round of “Clear!” went up—but this time it stalled. 

One of the guards pointed at a colleague.

Goro: “Ikaru’s got a scratch. Right arm.”

Everything stopped.

The head guard turned on her heel so fast it cracked like a whip. She stormed toward ikaru, visor nearly touching his.

Head Guard: “Are you a fucking idiot, Ikaru? Are you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

Head Guard: “Because if that brat so much as smells that scratch and manages to get a taste—if she transforms into a near-perfect copy of you—then we’ve got a rogue mimic with a kill streak. And guess what?”

She stabbed a finger into his chest.

Head Guard: “We wouldn’t hesitate to drop you right along with her. Because we won’t risk even a 1% chance she gets loose.”

Ikaru swallowed, nodded stiffly. Vlad watched the whole exchange without a word. He wasn’t sure which one he pitied more—Toga, or the idiots they had to assign to keep her in a box. Vlad took a single step forward. The concrete beneath his boot let out a subtle crunch, just enough to echo in the tense silence. That was all it took.

The Head Guard’s head snapped toward him—not the usual turn, but a jarring, full-frontal 180⁰ swivel without her shoulders moving an inch like an owl. It was like watching a puppet on invisible strings, or a horror movie frame that forgot to blink.

Her quirk, clearly, wasn’t built for comfort. The ball-jointed movement of her limbs and neck let her twist and contort in ways no normal person should. Vlad’s instincts kicked in—briefly wondering if quirks like hers came with chiropractor insurance or just trauma. She stared at him down with cold fury.

Head Guard: “Did I say you could move?” Her voice cracked like a whip—flat, loud, absolute. “I don’t give a shit what your title is—hero, teacher, King of Romania for all I care. Until I say you can piss yourself, you will not piss yourself. Do you understand me?” she yelled a clear attempt of intimation that was working on Vlad.

She stomped toward him with sharp, almost mechanical precision—her back still facing him. The effect was unnatural, unnerving. She closed the distance in five clicking steps and yanked Vlad down by the front of his jacket, dragging him to eye level in a single move.

Head Guard: “DO YOU HEAR ME?” 

Her voice exploded an inch from his face. Vlad blinked once. He didn’t flinch, but he did seriously start to reevaluate his decision to leave the house this morning if he had known this had with this women

Vlad King: “…L-Loud and clear.” 

The head guard’s head snapped back into its proper position with an audible click —like an action figure rejecting a bad pose. Without missing a beat, she unclipped her radio from her hip and barked a clean, practiced command into it.

Head Guard: “Unit Three. Confirm containment transfer. Execute exposure protocol.”

No sooner had her thumb left the mic than the armored truck’s rear doors creaked open. A hydraulic hiss escaped, almost like a sigh of pity from the truck itself. Out slid a reinforced dolly, steel and glass reinforced—a mobile restraint rig straight out of an Arkham fanboy’s wet dream. And strapped to it, locked down in enough belts and biometric locks to make even the most paranoid warden sleep soundly, was Himiko Toga.

Her head lolled to one side lazily as the daylight touched her face for the first time in who-knows-how-long. A neck brace, wrist manacles, and a full torso strap pinned her tight like she was trying to impersonate a fashionable burrito. Even her legs were cinched to the frame, ankles held at perfect right angles with dull rubber boots. And yet… she somehow still managed to look like a teenager stuck at a family reunion.

Toga’s expression? A tired mash-up of bored boredom, annoyed indifference, and the faintest sprinkle of awkward shame . Like she got caught shoplifting tampons and now has to do a walk of shame with a police escort. She didn’t look dangerous at this moment—she looked inconvenienced .

Her bangs hung uneven over tired eyes, and her hair was tied back in the world’s saddest twin-buns. Her usual manic grin? Now just a slight twist at the corner of her lips, like she was trying to figure out if this situation was tragic or just stupidly funny. A beat passed. Vlad shifted uncomfortably as the dolly wheeled its way forward. The guards flanked it tightly—every step a ritual, every motion ready to trigger a failsafe. Toga’s eyes met Vlad’s, lidded and unimpressed. She blinked slowly.

The time for wasting was none. The Head Guard’s voice cut through the field like a blade.

Head Guard: “Goro, on standby for evac. Noemi, Chou—start unwrapping the girl. Rookie, get the shock collar and switch.”

Vlad’s jaw clenched, a vein protruding on his forehead — Shock collar ? — He stepped forward before he even realized.

Vlad: “The hell do you mean, ‘shock collar’?”

One of the guards men stepped between them as Vlad approached forward, hands raising to singal not to come any closer. His voice was calm and laid-back, but his muscles were coiled tight as a barbed coil wire.

Chou: “Mister Kan, easy. It’s standard procedure.”

Vlad: “Standard my ass. I’m not letting you slap one of those things on a kid. She’ll be fine without it.”

Head Guard: “She is a murderer. She can’t be trusted.”

Vlad: “I do not care. I’m her guardian now. If she acts out, I’ll handle it.” The Head Guard’s jaw twitched. She opened her mouth to protest, but—Vlad, cut her off: “She’s. A. Child.” The two locked eyes—one burning with misplaced conviction about a psycho blood hungry child. 

the other a cold glacier of protocol and battle scars.

Head Guard, muttering through her teeth: “Fuckin’ heroes and their foolish ideals.”

Then louder, snapping to her squad without missing a beat:

Head Guard: “Forget the shocker. Rookie—just be on standby. Oxy-Coag won’t be useful here.”

Chou and Noemi moved in, professional but cautious. They didn’t look at the girl. They didn’t have to. They already knew what they were dealing with.

Toga had been sealed in a portable containment rig, more metal than human at first glance—limbs folded in padded locks, IV lines still dripping into her pale arm. There was a heavy muzzle clamped over the lower half of her face, etched with bite marks that weren’t from her. The way she twitched as the locks disengaged made it clear: sedatives were wearing off.

Chou: “Vitals are stabilizing. She’s waking up.”

Noemi: “Mobility returning. She’ll try to move in 3... 2...”

A soft, slurred groan slipped out beneath the muzzle. Toga blinked slowly like a cat in sunlight, the whites of her eyes bloodshot. Confusion first. Then awareness. And then—recognition. She saw Vlad. Her head tilted. Despite everything—despite the shackles, the drug haze, the harsh sun overhead— she smiled.

Vlad’s gut twisted. Not with fear. Not with regret. But something worse. Guilt. He stepped forward instinctively, but the Head Guard shot a glance that could stop a charging Nomu.

Head Guard: “Wait for full clearance.”

Vlad: “She’s awake. She’s fine.”

Head Guard: “She’s calculating.”

Toga’s fingers twitched in her restraints. Her eyes flicked over the team. Rookie. Chou. Noemi. Goro. Then back to Vlad. She leaned her head against the side of the rig and gave a content sigh. Or maybe it was a laugh. It was hard to tell with the muzzle still strapped on.

Rookie, quietly: “She’s… small.”

Chou: “And that’s why she’s dangerous. Still taller than the boss Sayaka though.”

Head guard: “i heard that chou, keep your mouth shut or i’m gonna pull your electric coils out your arm and staple them around your throat”

The two guards went stiff and stood in position at Sayaka’s voice. Vlad ignored them. He crouched to her level.

Vlad: “You know who I am? And I hope you know why I'm here.”

Toga’s pupils widened.

She gave a slow, deliberate nod.

Vlad: “Good. You’re coming with me. Not them. Me.”

Her response was a breathy giggle that rattled the muzzle. The locks clicked open. One by one. Noemi’s hands hovered near the neck just in case, while Chou backed off to let Goro slide a compact case toward the back of the rig—ready to expand into a portable shield if needed.

But nothing happened . — Toga didn’t lunge. Didn’t bite. She just slumped forward, caught by Vlad’s arms before she hit the ground.

Head Guard: voice flat “If she bites you, don’t come crying to us.”

Vlad: “I’ll take my chances.” He lifted her. She was lighter than expected. Still warm. Still here. And as her head lolled against his shoulder, her muffled voice rasped out—

Toga: “You smell like... clean soap and blood... papa Vlad~”

Chapter Text

The drive back had been quiet.

Not peaceful. Not even uncomfortable. Just… quiet in the way a minefield is quiet. Vlad kept his eyes on the road, hands gripping the wheel like he was afraid it might leap out of his fingers and run.

Vlad kept his eyes on the road, hands clenched on the wheel like he was afraid it might leap out of his fingers and bolt. Beside him, Toga was curled up in the passenger seat. She hadn’t said a word since the "Papa Vlad" thing. Just leaned against the window, her breath fogging up the glass as she stared outside. eyes flicking between her reflection and the outside world like she wasn’t sure which version of it she liked more.

Every now and then, she hummed. Off-key. Cheerful.

Like a horror movie wind chime someone forgot to cut from the final edit.

VLAD’S HOME – MID AFTERNOON

He shoved the key into the door and opened it with the force of a man trying very hard to pretend he was fine. The interior was modest—neat, masculine, a little too clean. Lots of dark reds and blacks. Some hero memorabilia. A framed newspaper clipping hung crookedly on the wall, catching the light like a wound that wouldn’t heal straight.

He stepped in first, turned around, and gestured vaguely.

Vlad:
"Shoes off.”

Toga tilted her head at him like he’d asked her to remove her skin. But she obeyed—slowly, dramatically, toeing them off like she was in a stage play. Her sock had a hole in the toe. She wiggled it at him. Grinned like she expected applause.

Vlad:
"...Yeah. That’s gonna be a problem.”

He walked ahead, muttering to himself as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Vlad:
"Alright, rules. Let’s set ’em down before I lose my sanity—”

She was already on the couch. Curled up, knees to chest, like she’d been living there her whole life. She looked too small for the room. Like someone had dropped a cursed porcelain doll into a bachelor pad.

Vlad sighing:
"Okay. Rule one. Don’t kill anyone. Including me.”

She held up two fingers, tilting her head.

Toga:
"How many accidental stabbings am I allowed?”

Vlad:
"Zero.”

Toga:
"Ughhh… this is bullshit. Can’t I just stab a little ?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her like she was a customer at the DMV who just asked to drive blindfolded. She pouted. Not in a mocking way. In a genuinely disappointed preteen who just got told she can’t have a pet bat way. He sighed again— he was going to be sighing a lot —and looked her over.

She was still in the institutional straightjacket-style clothes from transport. White canvas. Buckles. Restraints loosened, but still visible like the ghosts of cuffs. The sleeves were too long and frayed at the ends. There was a spot near her collar where something— someone —had stitched a name tag on, then ripped it off again.

Vlad grumbling:
"…Gonna need to get you actual clothes.”

He muttered it more to himself than her, already dreading the logistics. He knew nothing about teen girl fashion. Scratch that—he knew less than nothing. His only fashion experience involved either combat gear or trying to make his one good blazer not smell like a gym. Toga stretched lazily on the couch like a cat in someone else’s house.

Toga:
"Can I pick ‘em out? Something cute. Maybe with bloodstains on it already so I don’t get yelled at later.”

Vlad:
"No.”

Toga:
"What about skulls?”

Vlad:
"…Maybe.”

She grinned, sharp and satisfied.

Toga:
"I like you, Papa Vlad. You’re weird.”

He stared at her for a long moment. She looked back like she didn’t have a single secret in the world, even though he knew damn well her whole personality was made out of secrets sewn together with trauma and knives.

Vlad:
"…Go take a shower. I’ll figure out food and… something.”

He rubbed his face with both hands like he could smother the exhaustion out of it.

Vlad:
"Bathroom’s down the hall, second door. Towels are in the cabinet. Don’t touch the stuff under the sink.”

Toga: already standing
"Because it’s dangerous?”

Vlad:
"Because it’s bleach and plumbing tools. And if you drink either of them, I will cry. ”

She giggled on her way down the hall. Not evil giggling. Just normal. Just... wrong because of how normal it sounded. And suddenly, Vlad King—the blood hero, the tough guy with the iron will—was left standing alone in his too-clean kitchen, staring at the fridge like it owed him answers.

Toga:
"I like it here. It's got that ‘man secretly lives alone because he doesn’t know how to share’ kind of vibe.”

Vlad:
"...Thanks. I think.”

He pulled out his phone and opened a food delivery app named { ※⁂ ALL BITE ⁂※ } . Scrolled. Scrolled more. Debated for too long about whether to get sushi or hot meals. Finally gave up and tapped on a local bento place with decent reviews and a low chance of food poisoning.

Vlad:
"Are you allergic to anything?”

Toga grinning:
"Just rules.”

He paused. Blinked at her. Then I kept scrolling.

Vlad deadpan:
"Noted. No peanuts then.”

FORTY MINUTES LATER – KITCHEN TABLE

She hadn’t spoken much while waiting for the food—just wandered the apartment like a bored ghost, occasionally asking weird questions like:

• “Do you have any knives you don’t love?”

• "Can I sleep in the bathtub if I feel bitey?”

• “Would it be weird if I named your toaster?”

He tried not to answer most of them.

The table was too small for this to feel like a real dinner. The overhead light buzzed softly. The takeout bags lay open between them—two bento boxes, some dumplings, and enough rice to soak up the existential dread currently pooling in Vlad’s brain.

Toga sat cross-legged in the chair across from him, happily swinging one foot back and forth as she plucked dumplings from her box with chopsticks like a seasoned pro. Her muzzle was gone now, locked up with the rest of her transfer gear. She hadn't asked for it. She just… took it off and tossed it into the trash the moment no one stopped her.

She hummed between bites. Something cheerful and off-tempo. A commercial jingle, maybe. Something old.

Vlad didn’t say anything. He just watched. And it hit him— how normal she looked. Hair a little messy. Shirt way too big. Legs tucked under her like she owned the place. If you didn’t know who she was—if you didn’t know what she’d done—she looked like any teenage girl. Any kid. Some overworked single dad’s niece visiting for the summer . She snorted at something on his phone and popped another dumpling in her mouth.

Vlad (internal):
~ She’s just a kid. If you strip away the blood, the files, the incident reports… She's just a girl who hums and eats like she hasn’t seen food in three days. Which, technically, she probably hasn’t. ~

He shifted in his chair, picked at his food without really tasting it.

Vlad (internal):
~ How the hell am I supposed to control her fixation with blood? Talk her out of it? Discipline her? Buy her a punching bag and hope it’s enough to keep her from treating the kitchen knives like toys? ~

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

Vlad (internal):
~ No. Screw that. Let Nezu figure that part out. He's the one who signed me up for this science fair project with a criminal record. ~

Toga glanced up for half a second—catching his eye—and offered a crooked smile. Still chewing. Rice on her lip. He looked away quickly. There was another problem creeping into his brain. Bigger than logistics. Bigger than blood.—The others. His students. Aizawa's students—How the hell was he supposed to explain this to his class? How was he supposed to walk into that room, into 1-B, and casually drop,

“Hey gang, meet your new dorm neighbor. She used to try and kill people but now she’s trying breakfast instead. Please be nice.”

No. That wouldn’t fly. Especially not with 1-A right next door. He thought about Tsuyu—quiet, observant.
About Ochaco—earnest, emotional, devastated when they’d brought Toga in after the Training Camp incident.

They were the first ones to really see her.
The first to realize she wasn’t just playing a villain. She was one.

He remembered the moment they returned to base, Ochaco in tears, Tsuyu with that stern silence that meant she was deeply, deeply unsettled.

Vlad (internal):
~They’re gonna hate this. ~
~ They’re gonna hate me. ~
~  Maybe they’ll blame me for it. For letting her in. For protecting her. ~

He clenched his jaw, pushed his rice aside. Across the table, Toga let out a happy little sigh.

Toga:
“That was soooo good. I haven’t had real food in, like, forever. Are you gonna eat the last dumpling or are you gonna let it cry itself to sleep?”

He blinked, looked at her. She was already reaching for it like it answered her directly.

Vlad:
"Take it.” he said sliding his container over to her.

Toga gleefully:
"Thanks, Papa Vlad~!”

He winced, just slightly.

Vlad (internal):
~ And then there’s that. ~

He stood up without a word and carried his half-eaten box to the trash. She watched him go, licking sauce from her fingers, as he spooned his meal in to the rubbish bin.

Toga:
"So…” She dragged out the word like a kid asking if dessert was still on the table. Her arms stretched back over her head in a lazy arc as she stood, pushing her chair out with the backs of her legs. She picked up her empty bento box and the crumpled napkin like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Toga:
"You gonna give me one of those heroic speeches now?” She turned toward him with a mischievous tilt of her head. "Y’know. ‘You’re better than this, Himiko.’ ‘You can turn over a new leaf, Himiko.’ ‘Let this be the first step on your path to redemption, Himiko.’” She mimed a dramatic hand gesture, eyes wide with fake sincerity.

Toga:
"Bleh.”

Vlad didn’t answer. Just walked to the sink, turned on the tap, and filled it with hot water. The faucet gurgled. Steam curled up like lazy ghosts. He rolled up his sleeves.

Vlad:
"If I did…” He began rinsing the plastic container, fingers moving methodically under the water. "Would you actually listen?”

Toga:
"………”

Vlad:
"………”

Toga:
"………”

Vlad:
"………”

Toga:
"No.”

He didn’t look up. Just scrubbed the edge of the box with his thumb until it squeaked.

Vlad:
"Then my answer’s the same.” A quiet thunk as he set the clean box on the drying rack. "Because why bother saying it if you wouldn’t listen.” Her mouth opened, like she had something to say back—but nothing came out. She just stood there, holding the napkin like it had answers written in it.

Chapter Text

Unplugging the drain , Vlad and Toga stood in silence, watching the last of the cloudy dishwater swirl down the sink like a lazy whirlpool. There was no metaphor. It was just dirty water disappearing into dark pipes.—Still, neither of them spoke.—Vlad reached for the tea towel hanging from the oven handle and turned, holding it out toward her. His eyes met hers—flat, stern, tired. Placing the towel in her hands.

Vlad (internally):
~ Her hands are small. ~

Vlad:
“Don’t. Touch. The. Knives” he said frim and gruff. “Once you're done drying the dishes, don’t worry about putting them away, just stack them on the bench. I'll put them away” He hesitated for a second—sighing, softening, just a little. “I expect you to be ready for a shower when i get back with clothes. That being said—don’t touch anything in the bathroom cupboards, don’t touch my razors, and don’t drink the chemicals. ”

He turned away before she could come up with a cheeky response. She was already smirking, probably thinking of something involving shampoo and stab wounds. He walked off down the hallway, feet thudding against the wood. One hand flicked lights on as he passed—each room, the kind of dim that only cities can give you when the sun goes earlier before it’s supposed to.

The hallway was decorated with pictures of his old U.A days, his family, one or two pictures of his ex, and his dog who is currently at his parents house until he can trust that toga and his best bud won’t try and kill each other. The door to his room was at the end of the hallway, currently with a little poster flag from some show he never watched pinned over a hole that he made after a really bad day of working as a hero.

Opening the door to his room, it was pretty Dim. Clean. Quiet. Hero costume neatly folded in one corner. A punching bag leaned against the wall like a guest that had overstayed its welcome. A large unused dog bed at the foot of his queen sized bed, the dog bed had a bunch of dog toys and kid toys but one of them was particularly over use (cause it was Hwhee’s favorite toy).

Vlad (internally):
~ clothes, clothes. She needs some clothes ~

He ran a hand through his hair, already imagining the absolute social apocalypse of taking Toga clothes shopping in public. She’d probably ask for something with knives printed on it. Or try to steal something red just to “set the mood.”

And he had no idea what girls wore these days.
Crop tops? Leggings? Frilly demon-witch punk sweaters?

Could he ask Midnight? No.
Could he ask his ex? Absolutely not.
Could he ask Tetsutetsu Tamsin? Bad idea, why even consider the idea, that's his student’s mother.
Could he send Toga to ask? That would be an even worse idea than the one before.

Vlad (internally):
~ Tetsutetsu’s mom would probably send lingerie just to screw with me. ~

He dug through the bottom drawers of his dresser, pulling out old T-shirts from charity runs and faded sweats from his pre-hero gym days. Most of them were black or red, and all of them would be too big for her—but it was something. He grabbed a hoodie too, one that had “Blood for the Blood God (donate today!)” on the front. Hopefully she wouldn’t read into it.

Vlad:
“Right. Oversized hoodie it is. Maybe she’ll think it’s ‘aesthetic’ or whatever.”

He muttered as he tugged out a maroon hoodie and a pair of black track pants that had seen better years but fewer stab wounds. At least they were soft. And clean. Mostly.

Vlad (internally):
~ This is fine. Girls like oversized crap, right? That’s what half the internet is. Soft grunge. Gloomcore. Murder gremlin chic. Whatever the hell that means. ~

He turned, letting the clothes rest over his arm, and pulled out his phone from his back pocket.

He checked his messages.
The screen lit up, aggressive in the dim hallway. Notifications pinged in from the faculty group chat like someone had thrown a grenade into a chicken coop. 

U.A. STAFF – [27 UNREAD MESSAGES] - [3 direct messages]

He scrolled.

The top one was from Power Loader, all caps as always (for such a tech genius, he sure hasn't figured out how to text).

Power Loader⛈️🚦:
-> WAIT SHE'S LIVING HERE???
-> WITH US???
-> NEZU??? WHAT THE HELL
-> @ECTOPLASM -

Ectoplasm 🖨️👁️:
-> (Auto Reply: Out of Office - "Currently overseas due to family matters. Please direct emergencies to Cementoss." )

Midnight 🕛🍷:
-> Oh, it gets better.
-> Guess who signed the adoption paperwork.
-> Guess who’s playing Daddy Dearest 🖤

Cementoss🪨🤖:
-> Just caught up. She's in OUR dorm system? Are we... okay with that?
-> I leave for one medical appointment and y’all start running a halfway house for knife goblins.

Snipe🔫🪓:
-> She stabby or reformed?

Midnight🕛🍷:
-> She breathes like someone who’s thinking about stabbing.
  ⇲: replying to Snipe text

Hound Dog🐕🐕‍🦺:
-> @ValdKing - This is gonna be a damn headache. It's the weekend tomorrow, so I will be coming around to test her. Possibly throw in from counseling  

Eraserhead🧟‍♀️☕:
-> You all were cc’d in the notice from Nezu. Try reading next time.

Power Loader⛈️🚦:
-> WE DID, AIZAWA. IT JUST SUCKS.
  ⇲: replying to Eraserhead text.

Lunch Rush🍳🔪:
-> @ValdKing - Does she have any dietary restrictions?
-> @ValdKing - I feel like she’d be into raw liver.
-> @ValdKing - I need to prep menus.

Nezu🪇🐀:
-> @All
-> Please be respectful.
-> Himiko Toga is currently undergoing rehabilitation, and her care is under Mr. Kan’s direct supervision.
-> She is not to be treated differently unless her behavior warrants it.
-> @Lunch Rush - I heard she does. Also, she prefers pork buns and tonkatsu.

Present Mic🎙️📢:
-> 🐷🍱🍥🍜
-> I haven’t even meet her yet. But damn I like her taste ngl

Eraserhead🧟‍♀️☕:
-> @ValdKing - Sekijiro, if she stabs anyone, I’m gonna make her grade papers for my class as punishment.

Vlad (internally):
~ Great. We’re already the trending gossip of the faculty lounge. ~

He kept scrolling, dread building with each message. Eventually, three direct texts each popped up from Aizawa, Hound Dog, and Midnight in his private messages.

Eraserhead🧟‍♀️☕:
-> Heard she arrived okay. You okay? want me to come over for the first night to make sure she doesn't try anything? It's fine since I have papers to grade anyway. normally up until 1 in the morning, be far easier on since i can simply have you double check them for me while I'm there.

---

Hound Dog🐕🐕‍🦺:
-> I will be around your place at 8AM if that's fine, message back if that's too early for you

---

(- ! !- NEW -! ! -)
Midnight🕛🍷:
-> So, Vlad. Buddy, Honey, Vampy. Done any more nights of “Experiencing students' mothers.” since the last time? {||} UwU ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ) {||}

Vlad stared at the screen a moment longer than necessary. He didn’t answer. Not yet. Through he did delete Midnights direct message without replying to her baited message. The U.A chat was still buzzing with activity (most present mic and midnight sending gif). Vlad pressed the backlight off with a weary thumb, stuffing his phone into his back pocket with the defeated grace of a man who had just seen way too much personality packed into one group chat. He sighed.

Walking out of his room he stumped his pinky

Vlad:
“ow ow ow.” he whispered as he clutched his toe. Before walking out just to stub his pinky again on one of the hallway desks. “shi iiiii-”

Vlad (internally):
~ Midnight needs to be banned from emojis. And the Japanese language. And maybe society for a week. ~

He turned down the hall and returned to the kitchen, arms stacked with clothes. Toga hadn’t moved much. She was still drying dishes like it was the most normal thing in the world, humming again—tuneless, low, distracted. The towel was half-draped over her hand, the other half flopping off a plate like a flag of casual disobedience. She looked up as he entered. Saw the clothes in his arm. Didn’t comment on them. Instead:

Toga:
“You know, I thought there’d be more…” She shrugged, holding up a bowl, inspecting its sparkle like she was grading it for a cooking show.

Vlad:
“More what?” His voice came out more tired than annoyed, a dull scrape of tone rather than anything sharp. He set the clothes down beside the sink, gently nudging a damp fork out of the way before it could bleed condensation into the fabric. His hands lingered a moment longer than necessary—an unconscious stall, as if bracing for her answer.

Toga:
“…Noise. Screaming. Cops with tranq guns. Something dramatic.” She rotated the bowl in her hands with idle curiosity, like it might whisper secrets if she caught the light just right. Her reflection curved in the ceramic—distorted, upside-down.  “Instead, I get adopted by a guy who smells like rust and hospital soap, and my first night ends with dishes.”

Vlad:
“You want the tranq guns back?”  He raised an eyebrow, dry and unimpressed, but not unkind. His tone was all gravel and deadpan—classic Vlad—but his eyes stayed locked on her hands, subtly watching how she moved. Her fingers. Her posture. Not because he thought she’d stab him.

 …Okay. Maybe a little because he thought she might stab him.

Toga:
“Nah. The vest didn’t fit right anyway.” The bowl clattered a little too loudly into the rack, startling the spoon next to it. But the next plate she dried and placed like she was tucking in a baby. Her grin had too many teeth to be sweet.  “I liked the sirens though.”

Vlad:
“Well, sorry to disappoint. I left my dramatic monologue in my other pants.”  He jerked a thumb at the folded stack of clothes. “These’ll have to do. Oversized hoodie. Soft pants. Try not to drown in them.”

She turned her head and eyed the clothes like they might spontaneously combust. Her nose wrinkled slightly at the slogan on the hoodie, and she held it up by the sleeve as though it might bite. The baggy maroon fabric sagged down from her arms like a vampire cape designed by a middle-aged dad.

Toga:  
“Oooh. Blood for the Blood God? You sure you’re not in a cult?” Her voice was light, but her eyes flicked over him curiously—half-joking, half not. Like she really wouldn’t be surprised if he said yes. grinning, the kind that said I would join a cult, actually, if the vibes were right.

Vlad:
“I donate blood. That’s what the shirt’s for.” A pause. Then more firmly:  “Also… no cults. I don’t need you signing yourself off into a pact with the unknown”

Toga:
“Lame.”  She sounded genuinely disappointed. But she took the clothes anyway, stacking them over her arm like it wasn’t weird. Then she glanced down the hallway with the focus of someone mapping out every possible escape route, or possibly every lock she might pick if given ten minutes alone and a paperclip.

Toga:
“Bathroom’s that way?”

Vlad:  “Bathroom’s down the hall, second door.”  He gave her the look. The Dad Look. The don’t-make-me-regret-this kind. “You’ll know it by the giant bottle of shampoo that isn’t for drinking. I mean it—if I hear a crash, I’m kicking the door in.”

Toga: “You’re no fun.” She was already walking away, sockless and unnervingly quiet for someone with such loud energy. She paused, just long enough to look over her shoulder.

Toga:
“…But thanks. For the clothes. And for not putting the collar on.”

It wasn’t said with sweetness. There wasn’t a single drop of syrup in her voice. But it wasn’t sarcastic either. No teeth. No fangs. Just something flat. Quiet. A rare, too-human fragment in a day made mostly of weird and sharp edges. She disappeared down the hallway, clothes in hand, humming again—soft this time. Indistinct. The kind of tune that might have been a lullaby or a death march if you tilted your head wrong.

Vlad He leaned back against the counter and exhaled through his nose like he was deflating. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from today, but this sure as hell hadn’t been it. His gaze followed her down the hallway, not out of suspicion, but because it felt surreal. Like watching a ghost try on the shape of a regular teenager.

Vlad (internally):
~ If she weren’t… her… I’d probably just be bitching about how long her showers take. ~

The kettle clicked behind him. He didn’t remember turning it on, but that was fine. He needed something hot, bitter, and scalding. Tea would do. He poured a cup, took a sip, and immediately regretted not adding whiskey.

Tomorrow would be the hard part. Explaining her to the students. Especially to Aizawa’s students: Ochaco and Tsuyu— the ones who fought her . He’d read the reports. It hadn’t been a battle. It had been personal. Toga had grinned the entire time like she was on a date, and Ochaco had looked seconds from snapping. How the hell did he soften that ? He thought through the idea again. Playing out what if’s

“Hey class, I brought the girl who tried to kill you into our safe living space. Please welcome her nicely.”

Nezu would call it an “opportunity for emotional growth.”
Vlad just called it a goddamn minefield.
He took another sip of his tea and winced. Too hot.

Vlad (internally):
~ Great. I’ve adopted a stab-happy teen sociopath and pissed off half the faculty chat after dinner. Tomorrow, I get to traumatize my students. ~

The hallway lights flickered for a second, and he silently dared them to go out. He sighed again, louder this time. Then turned to make sure none of the steak knives were within reach or that had gone missing from the rack, when she got out of the shower. He wasn’t taking any chances.

Vlad (internally):
~ That better not be the Jaws theme. ~

Chapter Text

The hallway clock read exactly 8:00 AM. Vlad’s pinky toe throbbed from last night’s stubs, and his brain was still struggling to boot up fully. then just as Vlad sat down a heavy pounding rattled the front door. The sound was less “polite knock” and more “small army storming a fortress.” Vlad sighed, rubbing sleep crust from his eyes as he shuffled to the door.

The door swung open before Vlad could even grab the handle properly. !Hound Dog stood there, coffee in one hand, while making causal camo pants and black shirt look like tactical gear, Hound dog stood there with a serious expression with a faint shine of his caines while he couldn't decide if he was going to snarl or bark like a mutt.

Hound Dog:
“Morning, Vlad king. Ready for your Saturday nightmare?”

Vlad King:
Look like he was parepared to throw him out, before Hound Dog could step inside. “No, I forgot we were coming last night.” Vlad said combing his morning hair back. fingers getting snagged through the knots.

Hound Dog:
Putting a hand on the door frame leaning on it. "Toga, she's—"

Vlad King:
 Vlad intrupted "A sleep" his voice lowering while he was raising his hand up.

Hound Dog snarled at Vlad. stepping into the door he sniffed the air; he could smell the breakfast roasting in the simple oven over at the small kitchen. Vlad stepped back, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he could squeeze the fatigue out of his skull. The smell of breakfast was actually... almost normal. Almost comforting. Which made the tension sitting between him and Hound Dog thicken, like grease on a frying pan.

Hound Dog crossed his arms, his gaze flicking toward the hallway, where faint snoring floated out from behind a closed door.

Hound Dog:
“She’s holding it together better than I expected. But I’m not here for a status update. I’m here to see if you’re ready for round two.”

Vlad (internally):
~ Round two? Great. As if one day with a knife enthusiast wasn’t enough to make me question my life choices .~

Hound Dog smirked, stepping fully inside now. The door clicked shut behind him before knelt down and he started to to take off his boots.

Hound Dog:
“Counseling session starts in twenty.”

Vlad King:
Vlad groaned, running a hand through his messy hair again. “Right. Nothing says ‘welcome home’ like a small crowd evaluating your life decisions.”

Hound Dog:
Hound Dog shrugged, unbothered. “Better we do it early before she decides to disappear or stab something.”

Vlad (internally):
~ Welcome to parenting a teenage villain in rehab, just a hell of a lot of stabbing potential and way too many unsolicited visitors. ~

The oven timer dinged, sharp enough to make Vlad flinch. He muttered something that sounded like a curse and shuffled toward the kitchen, tossing a glance over his shoulder at Hound Dog, who was now standing like a watchdog with arms folded, tail practically wagging in irritation you could almost hear.

Vlad King:
“You want eggs, or you planning to stare at me until I growl back?”

Hound Dog:
“I’ll take coffee. Black. 3 sugers”

Vlad grunted, setting a mug down harder than necessary. Steam curled up as the bitter liquid poured, filling the silence with a hiss. From the hallway, the snoring stopped. A beat of quiet followed—too quiet like someone was waking and relizing to themselves that yesterday was not a dream. Then, the soft rustling of blankets before they soft footsteps. Hound Dog’s ears twitched. He didn’t look, but Vlad saw the tension coil in his shoulders like a spring.

Vlad King (internally):
~ Great. Because all things know that I needed today was a live-stress test. ~

The bedroom door creaked. Toga appeared, wrapped in one of Vlad’s oversized hoodies, sleeves dangling past her hands, hair a tangled halo. Her eyes locked on Hound Dog like a cat sizing up a particularly loud vacuum cleaner.

Toga:
“…You brought the mutt.”

Hound Dog:
Hound Dog’s lip curled—not quite a snarl, but enough to flash those canines. “You’re up early. Good. Saves me the trouble of dragging you out of bed.”

Toga:
Toga tilted her head, smile stretching sharp and thin.“Aw. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Dragging me by the scruff like a bad little puppy.”

Vlad King:
Vlad nearly choked on his coffee. “Alright. No blood before breakfast, house rules.”

That earned him twin looks: one amused, one murderous. Great. Just what his morning needed—a front-row seat to a staring contest between a feral wolf and a feral cat.

Hound Dog gave a low rumble, something between a laugh and a warning growl. Toga flinched a fraction—almost imperceptible, but Vlad caught it. Then she masked it with a singsong hum, sliding toward the oven with too much ease for someone who’d just woken up. Toga just kept smiling, bright-eyed and feral, like this was the best entertainment she’d had in weeks.

Hound Dog:
“Counseling. Twenty minutes. And no knives.”

Toga:
“Define knives.”

Vlad felt his eye twitch, at this. 
Vlad (internally):
~ Oh yeah. This is going great. fuck my morning or whatever, i should have just replied back to the Hound Dog last night not to come. ~

The smell of roasted breakfast hung in the air, warm and deceptively calm compared to the live landmine in the room. Toga crouched slightly, peering into the oven like a curious cat, her messy hair falling forward. She ignored the heat radiating against her cheeks as if it weren’t even there. The oversized hoodie swallowed her frame, dangling sleeves brushing the handle when she reached to steady herself.

Vlad (internally):
~ no, no, No don't think like, like this....this is good for her.....hopefully. ~

Hound Dog tracked her with those sharp, feral eyes, every muscle primed. He didn’t move an inch, but his stance screamed try something, I dare you. The faint sound of claws against tile when he shifted his weight made the back of Vlad’s neck prickle.

Toga:
cheerfully to herself, without looking to both adults. drooling over the oven. “Smells nice. Is that for me, or is this some kind of last-meal thing?”

Vlad:
his voice chanage to a deadpan convaying the tone of annyonce at how Toga still believed at this was cage and not her 'new' home “Breakfast. Not an execution. Please just sit down.”

She turned then slow, deliberate, with that razor-edged smile that always seemed two seconds away from blood. For a heartbeat, her gaze slid past Vlad and latched on to Hound Dog like a spotlight. Toga’s smile didn’t falter, but something in her eyes flickered—curiosity, challenge, maybe both. She sauntered toward the table, bare feet whispering against the tile, and dropped into a chair like she owned it. Hoodie sleeves dangled as she rested her chin in her hands.

Toga:
“Twenty minutes, huh? That’s barely enough time for coffee and a murder confession.”

Vlad:
“No murder. No confessions. No—”

Toga:
“—Fun? Boo. Rehab sucks.”

Hound Dog’s claws clicked softly against the floor as he shifted closer, shadow looming like a storm cloud.

Hound Dog:
“Rehab isn’t supposed to be fun.”

Toga:
Her grin grew wider, as if this was a challenge “Then you’re doing a great job, mutt.”

She kicked her legs idly under the table, eyes never leaving his. The air felt taut, like a wire ready to snap. Vlad set the plate of eggs down with a little more force than necessary. Toga perked up, grabbing the fork with all the enthusiasm of a child at a carnival. She stabbed a piece of egg and popped it into her mouth, humming like it was a gourmet meal. Over the rim of his coffee mug, Hound Dog watched her like a hawk. Every bite she took sounded louder than it should, or maybe that was just Vlad’s fraying nerves amplifying everything.

Toga:
mouth half-full, cheerful “Mmm… You cook better than the dorm food. Guess you’re good for something after all, Vladie.”

Vlad’s jaw ticked. Vladie. Fantastic. New nickname unlocked.

Hound Dog:
“Show some respect. This isn’t a sleepover. It’s a program. You screw this up, you’re out.”

Toga tilted her head, swallowing slowly, grin never dimming.

Toga:
“Out where? Back to the fun stuff? You promise?”

Her tone was sweet, like spun sugar, but the words had razors tucked inside. Vlad set his coffee down with a heavy clink before Hound Dog could bite.

Vlad King:
“Enough. We’re not doing this over eggs. Eat. Then counseling. Then whatever’s next.”

Hound Dog leaned forward slightly, his shadow spilling over the table. His voice dropped a notch, low and growly.

Hound Dog:
“You think this is a joke, brat? One wrong move—”

Toga cut him off with a sharp little laugh, bright and echoing in the small kitchen.

Toga:
“One wrong move, and what? You’ll bite me? Rip out my throat? That’s cute.”

For a fraction of a second, the air cracked. Vlad felt it—the dangerous kind of quiet before a fight. Hound Dog’s claws flexed against the tile. Toga’s grin stretched wider, eyes gleaming like molten gold. Vlad slammed his hand down on the table—not hard enough to break it, but enough to make the plates jump.

Vlad King:
“House. Rules. No knives. No blood. No threats before caffeine finishes hitting my system. Got it?”

The room went still. Then, slowly, Toga’s smile softened into something less sharp. Almost girlish.

Toga:
her voice taking a sing song note to it. “Got it, Dad.”

Vlad froze mid-breath. Hound Dog choked on his coffee.

Hound Dog:
“…What did you just call him?”

Toga’s grin came back full force, wicked and sweet all at once.

Toga:
“You heard me, Mutt. Daddy Vlad. Kinda fits, don’t you think? He’s feeding me, housing me… scolding me…plus he is my current legal gradian” She tapped the fork against her lip thoughtfully, eyes flicking between the two men like a cat toying with its prey. “Next thing you know, he’ll be tucking me in and reading bedtime stories.”

Vlad King (internally):
~ …I hate my life. I actually, genuinely hate my life. ~

Hound Dog snarled this time—no hiding it, just a full, guttural rumble that vibrated in his chest. Vlad shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel.

Vlad King:
“You so much as growl at her again, and you can take your coffee and your counseling team back to the parking lot.”

That shut him up—for now. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t argue. Toga just sat there, chin in her hands, smiling like she’d just won a prize at a carnival. The oven ticked as it cooled. Outside, somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped—a sharp, lonely sound against the taut silence in Vlad’s kitchen. Vlad took a long sip of coffee and muttered under his breath:

Vlad King:
“…Saturday’s going to kill me. if only i didn't give up drinking like I use to”

Toga:
“Don’t worry, Daddy. I’ll do it first.” She winked. Vlad didn’t even bother looking up. He just kept drinking.

Chapter Text

MORIAN GRAVESHADOW POV:

It was the same every day for Morian. Wake up, pulled out one of nine bone goloms from his closet just so it would carry his stuff for him. Before dragging himself to campus, find his way to Class 3A. Nothing changed. He’d nod at the same people in the same hallways, hear the same chatter about training exercises and hero gossip, then slide into his seat with the kind of weary silence that had long since become his trademark.

Kaida would usually catch him before homeroom—bright, insistent, unwilling to let his walls keep her out completely. She’d talk, he’d answer, sometimes with a grunt, sometimes with clipped words, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Then, of course, came the ritual 'surprise' ambush: Nejire and Mirio’s running commentary on “the anatomy of the human body,” as they liked to call it. In reality, it was just their excuse to needle him, to prod the giant, grumpy cat of the class until they got a reaction. Morian would respond the same way he always did—flat, clinical, detached, giving short answers that stripped all humor out of the conversation. Which only made them laugh harder.

He never understood why. Maybe it was the contrast. Maybe his deadpan stare was comedy gold to people who thrived on noise and light. Whatever the reason, they kept at it, and he kept glaring at them with the same unamused look that had been carved onto his face these last three years living on U.A. grounds.

By the time the laughter died down, it was usually homeroom. Class 3A’s teacher, Miss Midnight, always made an entrance. For her, mornings were a coin flip—either she played the part of a responsible educator, crisp and focused, or she “entertained” herself by harassing her students with questions, jabs, and theatrics before finally getting to the news of the day. Predictable, if nothing else.

The same old routine. The same old loop.
Well—until today.

Cut to third class period:

It happened during Cementoss’ lecture. The classroom smelled faintly of chalk and damp cement, the result of Cementoss’ habit of reshaping the podium when he got excited about symbolism.

Morian sat in the back row; his massive frame folded into the chair like a bored gargoyle. His left hand idly worked a crossword puzzle in the margins of his notebook; his right hand held his ever-present recorder, a cheap purple thing that clicked softly every few seconds. He wasn’t even listening to the playback—just the sound of it starting and stopping soothed him.

Half paying attention was normal for him. Half living was normal for him. His head was somewhere else entirely floating in the aftertaste of the dream he’d had the night before.

They were always the same.

The same looping script, playing over and over like someone had pressed repeat on his subconscious.

First, he would wake up tied down to a bed, the restraints cold against his wrists and ankles. The world around him shifted from nightmarish oceans of blood—thick, metallic-smelling, waves lapping against the bedframe—to barren deserts where the sand was red as fresh arterial spray.

The sky was always night. The stars were always gold. And he always knew, deep in the marrow of his bones, that those golden lights were not stars at all. They were eyes. He knew whose eyes they were, too—he just couldn’t remember who. The memory burned away every time he woke.

He was dressed in his old uniform more often than not. Sometimes, just his boxers. Humiliating, vulnerable.

And then, from the ocean of blood, they would crawl. Things that looked almost human, but not. Their skin pale as milk, stretched too tight over mannequin-like frames. Their hair the same deep blood red as the sea, knotted into perfect buns. And their faces—no eyes, no noses, just mouths. Rows of teeth where there shouldn’t have been any.

They never screamed. They never spoke. They just climbed onto the bed and started to eat him alive.

Every. Single. Night.

He hadn’t told a soul. Why would he? Imagine sitting across from a classmate, telling them you’d spent another night strapped to a phantom bed, gnawed apart by faceless women while staring into a sky of golden eyes — and then explaining why you woke up stiff under the sheets. No thanks. He wasn’t stupid enough to give anyone that kind of leverage. Morian consentration was broken due to cuting his finger over a little gap on his pencil, his eyes light up purple as he cursed under his breath.

Focusing on the wound, hollow bone started to grow overing the wound and sealing the blood from spreading. Morian adjusted in his seat, shoulders tightening under his U.A uniform. The crossword blurred for a moment before coming back into focus. Across the room, Kaida was scribbling notes furiously, her quirk’s training band gleaming faintly under the classroom lights. Ren sat two seats over, flicking a lighter open and shut despite Cementoss’s withering glare.

Morian’s finger finished knitting itself shut under the bone patch. He flexed it once, twice, just to make sure. The ache was dull, manageable. He pressed the bone sheath into place and let it sit there, white against pale skin, a crude bandage until he could peel it off later.

But before the class/him could returnback to normal, everyon heard the sound of soft knocking on the door. Cementoss broke off mid-sentence, frowned, and moved to the door. He opened it to reveal Aizawa, looking as tired as ever but with a sharpness in his gaze that made Morian’s stomach tighten. Their conversation was quiet — too quiet for him to catch from the back row — but short.

Cementoss:
“Morian,” Cementoss said finally, his tone oddly serious. “Aizawa needs to talk with you.”

The room went still, Morian stood, chair scraping against the floor. He ignored the way a few classmates turned to watch him, their curiosity like needles pricking at the back of his neck. He followed Aizawa out into the hallway, the sound of the classroom door shutting behind them cutting off the low murmur of voices. Aizawa didn’t say anything at first, just started walking. Morian matched his pace in silence, his long strides keeping up easily. The hall was empty — too early for lunch, too late for stragglers.

The hallway felt unnaturally quiet as Morian followed Aizawa, his heavy steps echoing against the tile. Aizawa didn’t look back, didn’t bother explaining — which only made Morian’s jaw tighten. He could tell something was off. Aizawa only pulled students out mid-lesson for one of three reasons: disciplinary issues, emergencies, or things too classified to risk being overheard. They stopped at an empty staff lounge. Aizawa shut the door behind them, then leaned against the wall, scarf trailing loosely around his neck.

Aizawa:
“You’re being reassigned,” Aizawa said, voice flat as ever.

Morian:
Morian frowned. “What do you mean, reassigned?”

Aizawa:
“You’ve been chosen to keep an eye on a transfer student.”

Morian:
Morian’s brows drew together. “No.”

Aizawa:
Aizawa didn’t blink. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

Morian:
“It sounded like one.” Morian crossed his arms over his chest, towering even more than usual. “Find someone else. I don’t babysit. I’m not a mentor. I’m not even a good class rep.”

Aizawa:
Aizawa let out a slow sigh, clearly bracing for the argument. “It’s not optional. This one is… different. Nezu thinks you’re the only student who can handle it.”

Morian:
“Then Nezu’s lost his mind.”

A faint rustle broke the tension — Aizawa’s scarf uncoiled from around his neck, the capture weapon snapping outward like a striking snake. It twisted once, twice, then— Nezu popped out of the folds like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, landing neatly on Aizawa’s shoulder.

Nezu:
“On the contrary,” Nezu said, smiling far too pleasantly for Morian’s liking. “I’m in perfect health, and I assure you, my mind is sharper than ever.”

Morian’s eyes narrowed as Nezu produced a familiar black folder from seemingly nowhere, letting it dangle from his tiny paws. 

Nezu:
“You know,” Nezu said lightly, “I really do admire how stubborn you can be. It’s a rare quality, though often inconvenient.”

Morian:
Morian’s stomach sank. “Put that away.”

Nezu:
Nezu ignored him, flipping the folder open with one claw and glancing down at the first page. “Morian Graveshadow. Age seventeen. Quirk: Necromancy. Psychological assessment—”

Morian lunged, trying to snatch the file from Nezu’s hands. The principal hopped lightly out of reach, landing atop the arm of a nearby chair. “Ah-ah. Temper, temper.” Nezu held the folder out just far enough to taunt him.

Nezu:
“You wouldn’t want me to read the part about your—what was it again? Ah yes. ‘Incident at age eight.’ So messy.”

Morian’s nails dug deeper into his palms, puncturing skin. He didn’t even feel the pain — just the warmth of blood sliding over his fingers. Bone prickled under the skin of his forearms, aching to grow, to lash out, to do something other than stand here and be handled like a weapon.

Morian:
“What does this have to do with your transfer student?” he forced out, voice rough.

Nezu:
Nezu’s grin turned foxlike. “Everything. Because this transfer is someone you’ve met before. Someone from your middle school days. Someone who might benefit from knowing that you turned out rather well despite the circumstances.”

For the first time, Morian’s expression cracked. His pupils narrowed, a flash of recognition cutting across his features before he schooled them back into stone.

Morian:
“You don’t mean—”

Nezu:
“Oh, but I do. Your dear old under grade classmate: Himiko Toga.” Nezu snapped the folder shut and tucked it under one arm. “Which is why you’ll be assigned to watch over her. Not constantly — Aizawa here will shoulder most of the supervision — but when she’s in class, training, or otherwise on campus, you’ll ensure she doesn’t feel… outnumbered. Or cornered.”

Morian’s jaw tightened until it ached. “I’m not a babysitter,” he said, quieter now, almost dangerous.

Nezu:
“No,” Nezu agreed. “You’re not. You’re a deterrent. A very tall, very intimidating deterrent who can keep the more… judgmental students from doing anything regrettable.”

Aizawa:
Aizawa’s gaze softened just a fraction. “This isn’t just for her sake. It’s for yours, too. You’ve been restless. Spiraling. You need something to pull you out of it.”

The words hit harder than Morian expected. He swallowed down a retort that burned like bile.

Nezu:
Nezu, satisfied, hopped to the floor. “Excellent. Then it’s settled.” The black folder disappeared into the scarf, and just like that, the air seemed to lighten. Nezu’s cheer sharpened again. “Come along, Morian. Time to meet your transfer student.”

Morian didn’t move right away. His hands were still bleeding, bone claws just barely retracted. He stared at the red smears in his palms like they were something alive, then wiped them on his trousers, leaving dark stains on pale fabric. When he finally walked back toward the classroom, his steps were slow, deliberate. His mind was already spinning.

She was here. Somewhere on campus.

By the time he reached the door to 3-A, his pulse had settled into a slow, steady thud — the kind that always came before a fight.