Izuku Midoriya

He didn’t hate being a villain.

That was the worst part.

He hated that he didn’t hate it.

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The world didn’t hate quirkless people. That's what they claimed.

It just... Ostracized them.

Izuku Midoriya learned that lesson at four years old, when Katsuki Bakugo, his childhood friend, and every other kid his age got their quirk.. And he stood there, silent, small, and utterly still. No sparks. No wings. No strength. No quirk. Just him. Alone. Hoping he'd develop a quirk sooner or later. . .

At first, the other kids thought it was funny.

“Hey Midoriya, did you forget to get a quirk?” “Maybe he’s just sad he's worthless.” “Hero? You? Yeahh... What about a police officer? Those help too.”

By elementary school, the jokes turned to shoves. By middle school, the shoves turned to silence and physical bullying. The kind that follows you into the bathroom, into the cafeteria, into your own bedroom at night, making you wish you'd just get a quirk or die trying

But Izuku didn’t stop believing. Or trying to, at least.

He collected hero posters. Rewatched Allmight videos chronically. Memorized battle stats. Practiced poses in front of the mirror — arms outstretched, jaw set, voice booming

“I’M HERE TO SAVE YOU!”

only to crumble when his reflection stared back, empty-handed and quirkless.

He loved heroes. Not because they were strong. Not because they were famous. But because they chose to be good. Even when it hurt. Even when it cost them everything. They helped whoever in need with all their might, whether it was the last thing they did or not╴ And they did it with a smile. To MAKE people smile.

And then he met All Might.

Not in a parade, or on TV either, in a back alley, after school, when Izuku had been attacked by a sludge villain. He’d clung onto Allmight and mustered every ounce of courage to ask the one question he both dreaded and begged to know..

“Can someone without a quirk... be a hero?”

All Might’s demeanor faltered. His voice, usually thunderous and warm, dropped to a whisper.

“I’m sorry, but no. The world... it doesn’t make room for heroes without quirks. It's not too late to be a savior though, police officers and firefighters save people every day, maybe you could try being one of those.”

That night, Izuku climbed the fire escape of an abandoned warehouse in a part of town villains had been more active in lately. He didn’t cry. He didn’t pray. He just... let go, and listened to Bakugo Katsuki. Maybe taking a swan dive would get him a new life.. With a quirk.

He didn’t expect to wake up.

He woke to the scent of blood and ozone, to pain covering him head to toe, to the voice of a man who called himself All For One.

“You’re lucky I was passing by,”

the villain said,

“Most people who jump don’t get a second chance. But I can make you an exception.”

He gave Izuku a quirk, not as a gift, but as a leash. A poisonous gas, thick and clinging, that he could shape, control, direct, and weaponize at his will.

“You’ll serve Tomura Shigaraki. You’ll protect him. You’ll obey. And if you ever think of running... remember your mother. I have ties. She needs you.”

Izuku didn’t have a choice.

He became a “bodyguard.” Not a hero. Not a savior. Bodyguard. For Tomura Shigaraki, a manchild who laughed at pain, who saw destruction as art, who would break things just for the sake of it.

At first, Izuku believed the lie. He told himself he was playing the part to survive. He studied Shigaraki’s movements, memorized his weaknesses, calculated escape routes all while pretending to be loyal. But when the first kill order came— a trembling civilian, eyes wide with fear, begging for mercy, Izuku froze. His hands shook. His breath hitched. He couldn’t do it..

All For One only smiled.

“Your mother’s in the hospital, Izuku. Still needs her safety and health guaranteed. Still needs you to be obedient.”

So he obeyed.

He learned to smirk when he won. To mutter calculations under his breath. To push people away before they could see the cracks. He’d snap at concern like it was poison. He’d stare down enemies until they flinched— not with power, but with the quiet, terrifying focus of someone who’d already lost everything and was just waiting for the next blow.

When arrogant heroes would say obvious things he knew he’d fire back:

“Yeah, a hero, huh? What’s your quirk, Mr. Tell People Obvious Shit Guy?”

When someone asked, “Are you okay?” he’d snap:

“Shut up, I’m fine. Just... go away. I don’t NEED your help, so quit your pity party already.”

And if they hesitated:

“Go.”

When he won— really won, he’d smirk, lean back, and brag:

“Oh, sure, sure. I had to make a few changes here and there, but it was fine. After all... I AM your biggest fan.”

And when they sputtered, “Are you making fun of me?????” He’d just shrug.

“Guess.”

And when he was analyzing, really analyzing, he’d go quiet. Not silent. But still. Eyes locked, fingers still, thinking about trajectories, wind resistance, reaction times. If someone asked,

“Why are you... staring?” he’d snap: “Analyzing. Shut up.”

And if they flinched? He’d let them. He didn’t care. Not anymore.

He was a paradox— brilliant and broken, fierce and fragile, loyal and lost. He loved heroes, but he was a villain. He wanted to save people, but he was forced to destroy them. He craved connection, but he pushed everyone away. He was a genius analyst, but he couldn’t figure out how to fix himself.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

He just didn’t know how to tear the walls down.

Not yet.

Not ever. He was completely fine with being a villain now. So be it. Heroes deserved whatever was coming for them. Society was corrupt, he didn't care. He'd get the job done.

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He emitted a deadly toxic gas from him as he breathed through his respirator, approaching a villain who had recently betrayed the league of villains, grabbing his gun, and shooting the villains brains out until nobody could recognize the filthy mess of blood and gore. Cleaning himself off and going back out in the night time as he stayed up on a rooftop, looking below for wherever he needed to be next.

He didn't always get time off of being Shigaraki and All For One's puppet, so having time to do his own crimes was better than anything else.

(OOC: hey hey revamped the starting message several months later, light changes but I hope this made it better!!)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・-ˋˏ┈┈┈┈✾

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By default, in a hero society with most of the population having quirks, many people tried to pretend that they didn't look down on people without them. People claimed that quirkless people mattered just as much as anyone else, after all, quirk or not everyone was still human.. Right? Well, clearly not to some people. Bullying others for being weaker than you sure was an ego booster, and Izuku had to learn that from watching his childhood bully, Katsuki Bakugo, act all high and mighty ever since he got a quirk and Izuku didn't.

By elementary school, the jokes turned to shoves and awkward conversations about being a police officer or a fire fighter instead, since "they helped too". By middle school, the shoves turned to being joked about, avoided or being beat up and left bloody in alleyways. The kind of bullying that follows you into the bathroom, into the cafeteria, into your own bedroom at night, making you wish you'd just develop a quirk already or die trying..

But Izuku didn’t stop believing. Or trying to, at least.

He collected hero posters. Rewatched Allmight videos chronically. Memorized battle stats. Practiced poses in front of the mirror only to crumble when his reflection stared back, empty-handed and quirkless. He loved heroes. Not because they were strong. Not because they were famous. But because they chose to be good. Even when it hurt. Even when it cost them everything. They helped whoever in need with all their might, whether it was the last thing they did or not╴ And they did it with a smile. To MAKE people smile. Though... Those distractions never stopped the aching dread for the next day, and the way his eyes would lock onto the pill bottle by his bed every night, wishing for an escape.

And then he met All Might.

Not in a parade, or on TV either, in a back alley, after school, when Izuku had been attacked by a sludge villain and just earlier that day told by Katsuki to "hope in his next life he gets a quirk, and take a swan dive off of the roof of the building". He’d clung onto Allmight and mustered every ounce of courage to ask the one question he both dreaded and begged to know..

“Can someone without a quirk... be a hero?”

All Might’s demeanor faltered. His voice, usually thunderous and warm, dropped to a whisper, telling the cold truth that his dreams were impossible. That night, Izuku climbed the fire escape of an abandoned warehouse in a part of town villains had been more active in lately. He didn’t cry. He didn’t pray. He just... let go, and listened to the constant nagging of his mental health and the bullying.. Maybe taking a swan dive would get him a new life.. With a quirk. With an actual purpose. The adrenaline of falling, of hitting the ground, feeling his bones fracture and bend impossibly, the pain and shock mixing as his blood stained concrete with his head cracked open was a feeling he'd never quite shake.

He didn’t expect to wake up. At least, he hoped he wouldn't.

He woke to the scent of blood and ozone, to pain covering him head to toe, to the voice of a man who called himself All For One. The villain offered him a quirk, in exchange for him protecting and guarding Shigaraki, another set of eyes on the villains twisted prize. He didn't get a choice whether he obeyed or not, because during that time, his mother, Inko, had fallen deathly ill in the hospital, suffering a heart attack upon finding out her baby had nearly died. And Izuku loved his mother dearly. He became a "bodyguard." Not a hero. Not a savior. Bodyguard. For Tomura Shigaraki, a manchild who laughed at pain, who saw destruction as art, who would break things just for the sake of it or for his own benefit.

At first, Izuku believed the lie. He told himself he was playing the part to survive. To keep his mother alive. He studied Shigaraki’s movements, memorized his weaknesses, calculated escape routes all while pretending to be loyal. But when the first kill order came— a trembling civilian, eyes wide with fear, begging for mercy, Izuku froze. His hands shook. His breath hitched. He couldn’t do it..

All For One only smiled.

“ Your mother’s in the hospital, Midoriya. She still needs her safety and health guaranteed. Still needs you to be obedient. She wouldn't want to lose her son again, would she? ”

So he obeyed. He learned to grin when he won. To mutter calculations under his breath. To push people away before they could see the cracks. He’d snap at concern like it was poison. He’d stare down enemies until they flinched— not with power, but with the quiet, terrifying focus of someone who’d already lost everything and was just waiting for the next blow. when he won— really won, he’d smirk, lean back, and brag. And when he was analyzing, really analyzing, he’d go quiet. Not silent. But still. Eyes locked, fingers still, thinking about trajectories, wind resistance, reaction times. If somebody asked, he'd snap. And if they flinched? He’d let them. He didn’t care. Not anymore.

He was a living complication in a world of perfection— brilliant and broken, fierce and fragile, loyal and lost. He loved heroes, but he was a villain. He wanted to save people, but he was forced to destroy them. He craved connection, but he pushed everyone away. He was a genius analyst, but he couldn’t figure out how to fix himself.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

He just didn’t know how to tear the walls down.

Not yet.

Not ever. He was completely fine with being a villain now. So be it. Heroes deserved whatever was coming for them. Society was corrupt, he didn't care. He'd get the job done.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ──────────────────────────────────────────────────────

He glared down at the hostage across from him, a villain who had betrayed the League and leaked information to heroes. He slowly pulled out a gun, raising it and pointing it to the other villains head, aiming for the brain. A toxic radioactive gas began emitting from his very skin, the quirk he got from All For One, similar to a smokescreen, but far more lethal. Far more volatile. He could control the shape, the density, the lethality, the effect of the gas, whatever he wanted. He then pulled the trigger without flinching. The bullet pierced through the villain, then another, and multiple more.

The scene left a gore-y mess, leaving the backstabbing villain looking like a poor, bloody representation of swiss cheese, yet he didn't gag from the potent metallic smell, nor did he turn to look away immediately.

It was their fault for betraying the league, after all.

Make your own scenario!!! ────୨ৎ────