Symbiote (MHA x F!READER)

8 | Training and oddities

There's not much to say tho :(y/n)

((y/n) couldn't exactly say she'd had a friend before coming here, and this pink-haired girl—her self-proclaimed best friend—was one of the warmest people she'd met so far. She felt a pang of guilt, wishing she could trust her with everything. But, then again, trusting someone meant opening up, and (y/n) wasn't sure she was ready for that yet. The fear of ruining this rare bond kept her from revealing too much, but for now, she allowed herself the comfort of the girl's soothing presence.

Stepping into the warmth of the shower, the familiar tune of "Cryin'" by Aerosmith blasted through the speakers of her playlist. She let the sound fill the bathroom, and for a moment, she allowed herself to relax. The hot water rushed over her face, cascading down her shoulders and back, soothing the tension in her muscles. Her mind, for once, went quiet.

She stared at the collection of scars crisscrossing her skin. Each mark held a memory, a battle fought. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. These scars told her story. They were a map of her pain, her victories, her survival. She had earned each one, and as much as they reminded her of what she'd been through, they also reminded her of what she had become: A warrior who had bled, but who had survived.

Yeah, she could still feel it. The arena, the blood, the fight. If they let her loose in the coliseum now—if they unleashed the warriors and the beasts—she would tear through them. She would fight until her last breath because that's all she'd ever known.

Her smile deepened as the thought rippled through her.

She had a purpose now.

No longer was she the lab rat strapped to a chair, drained and experimented on by faceless doctors. She wasn't a fugitive either. She wasn't running anymore. The people who'd wanted her gone—they were probably long dead. After all, she was from 140 years ago, weren't they?

Her grin widened as the water rushed down her face, lifting her chin toward the ceiling. She had nothing left to hide.

Freedom. Real freedom. She had finally tasted it, and it was sweeter than she ever thought it could be.

In the depths of her heart, she felt the flame burning brighter—hotter. This world had given her a chance, and she was going to make the most of it. She wasn't just surviving anymore. She was going to free the people who still lived in chains, just like she once had. She would make sure no one ever had to feel as trapped as she once did.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to trust someone, too.

· · ─────── · 5:30 A.M.· ─────── · ·

"You ready kid?" Aizawa said, his eyebags bigger than usual.

(y/n) finished stretching, casting a glance at the teacher. She cracked her neck in response, her focus sharpening as she slid her hands into her sleeveless gloves.

"Bring it, Zawa-sensei!" she shot back confidently.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "You seem a bit too confident," he said, unraveling his scarf. "Remember—you can't use Venom. Just your abilities, no tendrils."

She gave a determined nod, assuming her stance. Her left arm and foot were in front of her, her right arm held across her chest just behind. "It's enough with that."

Aizawa's scarf shot toward her, but she dodged the first strike with ease, her reflexes sharp. She charged forward, intent on tackling the teacher, but before she could reach him, she felt a tingle at the back of her neck. She jumped, narrowly avoiding the scarf aiming for her feet.