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ᰔ pairings: dabi/touya todoroki x fem!reader ᰔ content/tags: mha spoilers, childhood pov, abusive childhoods, childhood crush, blood, allusions to self harm/suicide, explicit language, smut, kinda not really, its smutty talk, angst, allusions to s/a, power dynamics, time jump to when touya is like 26, creative liberties have been taken with the original story, set in the century 2400 ᰔ wc: 10.5k ᰔ a/n: so there is a bit of a weird timeline with this one. instead of touya dying at 13, I've made it he dies at 16 and the subsequent events are a lil delayed, in the manga he is 24 atm but here i have him as 26, please suspend your disbelief for a sec cause the amount of work ive put into this so it makes sense, i almost went crazy

March 10th 2460 Touya: aged nine You: aged eight (and three-quarters)

Breakfast is at five, lunch at twelve, and dinner at seven.

The clock hands tick over the first five graduations and onto the sixth, meaning it is six minutes past seven and dinner is late.

Lateness is not tolerated by the Todoroki clan.

No reason, whether it be big or small, would be accepted nor understood by the head of the family, and punishment for being tardy ranged from groundings to lectures and in the most severe cases, a beating. However, those parameters do not extend to said head, who you think to be more akin to that of a prison warden than a father.

You watch the housekeeper slide the last of the food onto the table and take another look at the clock.

7:08.

The table had been set, food diligently prepared and presented, plates piled high with greens and dripping meat, three different kinds of fish, an array of soups, and other liquid foods. Mrs Todoroki often had trouble eating, so instead opted for warm broths and hot teas, and they were all going cold while you waited for Mr Todoroki to come in from Touya’s nightly training. Saliva coats your tongue as you breathe in the heavenly scents wafting from the mountains of food, your stomach growling in protest at not being filled with the delicious smells.

Ten minutes pass and just before the eleventh has a chance to be observed, the sliding doors to the dining room whoosh open. With the ease and casualness of someone who is above the law of the household, Enji Todoroki strolls in followed closely behind by the eldest sibling.

Touya trails behind his father, movements sluggish and slow, his frail body slumped in exhaustion and what you would only later realise as terror. You can almost see the muck that weighs on his body, dripping off sharp bones in big flat globs of swamp green mud, seeping into the reeds of the tatami mats below. Fresh wounds litter his arms, blooms of dark red blood pock the sterile bandages that were hastily wrapped around his limbs. The stark white began at his wrists and climbed up and up his arms until they disappeared beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. You follow Touya, eyes lingering on his wounds as he sits down opposite you.

“Fuyumi. Is he-“ Your question is hushed, spoken from the corner of your mouth to avoid raising suspicion of the subject.

“He’s okay, we don’t talk about it.” Her answer comes in a rush, eyes darting towards her father like a prey animal watching their stalker. “Just eat.”

Fuyumi’s mouth pulls into a frown for a quick second before her attention moves to the food before her.

You nod, attention shifting from the boy across the table to the plate that had been prepared just for you. A small helping of meat and fish paired with a big serving of rice and vegetables, the nanny even going as far as to put it into a divider plate as though you were a toddler, but you thanked her regardless, smiling up at the haggard-looking woman as she nodded politely and moved onto tending to baby Shouto. The food only holds your attention for so long before you glance back up at Touya, watching as he cuts into his steak with the precision of a man far beyond his years. Each move slow and calculated; every shift of his arms or turn of his head deliberate and purposeful, small actions to avoid raising awareness of his person. Come to think of it, all the children, save for Shouto, moved like that. As if they were in constant apologetic states just for breathing, existing, and with their father you understand why, but it doesn’t stop you from staring at the boy before you.

"Stop looking. He doesn't like it when you stare." Fuyumi whispers, smacking her knee against yours.

"But it looks like it hurts." You whisper back, unable to look away from the red splotches on the white bandages.

You want to ask if he is okay. If he needs a doctor and who did that to him? Was it a bully at school? How was the school not getting involved if he was being bullied this bad?

"Fuyumi," Touya sneers from across the table. "Tell your friend to stop staring at me."

Unabashed hatred simmers in his blue eyes as his glare falls on you. Heat rises to your cheeks, stumbling out an apology, and vowing to never look at him again.

No one had ever looked at you like that. With such hatred and malice, you didn’t even know existed.

"He plays rough, always falling over at school," Mr. Todoroki’s voice booms throughout the room, so loud and sudden it is like a thunderclap on a clear day. "You've got to be more careful, Touya. What would people think if they saw you like this!"

The lack of care for his son’s well-being gives you pause mid-bite. The vegetables fall from your fork as goosebumps skitter along your skin.

What would people think if they saw you like this?

What would they think other than he had been in an accident? Is Touya’s broken body a regular occurrence that people would be so used to seeing that it would start to raise suspicion? Had he been hurt on purpose? Why would Mr. Todoroki say that? Did Mr. Todoroki do that to Touya?

Your attention is pulled outwardly as Natsuo starts to talk about his day, telling his mom and the housekeepers all about the latest games and toys at school, the newest edition of a card game you like captivates you and your thoughts are swept away from the strange boy across from you.

Dinner ended as it always did.

Mr. Todoroki called the housekeeper over to deal with the mess and children as he retired to his office and Mrs Todoroki took her evening walk around the grounds of the estate. You can’t stay the night despite it being a Friday, you’re never allowed to stay the night. Fuyumi had stayed at yours plenty of times, your parents never saying no to another friend but never you at hers. You thanked both her parents and waved bye to her brother before the youngest housekeeper walked you home. That’s how every Friday night ended.

That routine had become a staple in your life, going on two years, before there was a change to the way of things.

------

July 1st 2362 Touya: aged eleven You: aged ten

The shift was subtle and gradual, like the way a house is warmed by a fire on a winter’s eve. Slow and steady, seeping into all corners of the once-frozen house until all you know is warmth and you can’t remember how the cold felt. That’s how you would describe Touya’s presence in your life. From the arctic interactions each Friday night at the dinner table to someone you would call a friend.

The first thaw of the ice wall that had formed around your friend’s brother, was an accident.

Knee deep in the heat of summer, you had rushed over after summer school, swimmers in your backpack and a dream of jumping into the fresh cold heaven that was the local pool. You had come looking for Fuyumi, hell-bent on getting your poor friend out of the stuffy old house and somewhere she could have fun without the risk of her dad making her or her siblings cry.

You had come to hate Mr Todoroki.

He hadn’t done anything to you personally to deserve the contempt you held towards your friend's dad but you had heard enough from Fuyumi. She had told you all the times he made her mom cry. How there would be arguing and then the sounds of breaking plates followed by her mom’s cries. Mrs. Todoroki never said anything was wrong, never alluded to anything other than a mild argument but there had to be something more, right? Adults didn’t cry over nothing!

“ ‘Yumi, let's go to the pool!” you call down the hall. “I’ll buy ice cream this time.”

The housekeeper had let you in, instructing that your friend was in her room finishing up some school work but after you checked her room and found no sign of her, you went looking.

That is how you found Touya.

Walking into the bathroom under the assumption you would find Feyumi, you are greeted with a situation you are not old enough to understand the severity of.

Touya slouched on the bathroom floor, surrounded by bloodied towels, unspooled bandages, and uncapped ointment tubes. A piece of gauze caught between his teeth as he attempts to bandage his bleeding hand.

He shouts at you to leave, his command broken as he hiccups around the sobs falling from him. Scorched skin covering the majority of his arms, fingers red and blistering as they shake.

That image sears into your brain. Imprinting itself onto your eyelids so that each time you fall asleep, you see Touya; broken and bloody.

There isn’t much you remember from that afternoon, only flashes and stills that live in the recesses of your mind.

The feel of the cold tiles on your exposed legs as you knelt before the once terrifying older boy who had never had a single nice thing to say to you.

The smell of salt and metal of his fresh blood.

The sound of Touya’s cries as you peeled incorrectly placed bandages off raw and exposed skin.

The acidic taste of bile in the back of your throat upon first laying eyes on the scene before you.

It had been too much for little you to comprehend so you just forgot most of it. Thrown it into a locked drawer in your mind and lost the key.

That was the beginning of the thaw, a gruesome and bloody beginning to a friendship that spanned years and ended just as horribly.

------

September 23rd 2463 Touya: aged twelve You: aged eleven

“So it's this really old movie that my mum used to watch” you explain as you click on the familiar title screen. “It’s about a girl who gets transported to this weird world and she has to solve some weird riddle to get out.”

Touya looks at you like you had grown a second head but accepts your weird movie recommendation. You sit down next to him, popcorn bucket jiggling as the couch sinks under your frame.

The beginning animation of Spirited Away starts and the familiar tune wraps around you like a warm hug. This was the movie you liked to watch whenever you felt sad, and you noticed Touya was a little sadder than normal these days so you offered to have a movie night. His siblings had all said yes but upon discovering that the movie was one from decades ago, backed out. So with just the two of you left, you sit in silence and watch as the beautiful world comes to life.

It’s a nice moment between the two of you, sharing something so personal with someone you would have never considered a friend and here the two of you were, watching a movie. Like friends!

“I’m gonna call you Chihiro cause all she does is cry and that’s all you do too,” Touya announces as the credits begin to roll.

“I do not!” you retort, slapping his arm lightly. “I cry a normal amount for a girl my age!”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Chihiro.”

------

February 14th 2464 Touya: aged thirteen You: aged twelve

Spring is only a month away yet it feels as if it were the middle of December.

The cold of winter had sunk its claws deep into the city and it seemed as if it did not have plans to let go of it anytime soon. Everyone in Tokyo bundled up against the frost that coated the wind but it wasn’t the cold that had your hands trembling as you gripped a single rose.

It was Valentine's Day and you were about to ask Touya to be yours.

The nerves that had built in your stomach had taken over your extremities. It was as if your entire body was a live wire that every so often touched an exposed pipe and jolted.

In the two years since the bathroom incident, you had grown closer to the oldest Todoroki, sparking a friendship that consisted of more than smiles and shy hellos across the dinner table. Phone calls and text messages were the daily, walking to school and home together was the new norm, all things that one would consider friendly but there was a part within your heart that was growing to like Touya a little more than a friend. You knew it was a crush, you weren’t a little kid anymore, but you also knew that he was unattainable for many reasons. One was that he was a sibling of a close friend and the other being that he was not someone who thought about life that way. There was no room for crushes in Touya’s world. There was only hero work. How to become a hero and then how to become the number one hero.

You had heard this speech a million times. His plans to surpass his father in the rank of heroes and become the ultimate symbol of peace. Heroes had no time for girlfriends, only villains.

But you had no plans of becoming a hero so there was no real reason you shouldn’t try, right? Your mom had bought you the flower this morning, picking up on the crush that you had developed on your friend and very excitedly pushed you to give Touya a gift.

“What do I do with this?” Touya asks, confused as he takes the flower from your hands.

You had stopped halfway through the walk home and turned to your friend, eyes wide with fear, and shoved the bloom into his hands. Originally the plan was to hand it to him as you said goodbye for the afternoon but you were swiftly running out of ways to regulate your breathing to counteract the anxiety wreaking havoc in your stomach.

“It's for you” you answer, eyes trained on your shoes.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you asking me to be your valentine?” There is a pause. “Do you like me?”

Yes.

“No!” you lie, shouting the word even though you didn’t mean to. “I felt bad that you hadn’t gotten anything, so I got you something and there you go, it doesn’t mean I like you.”

You hear footsteps, watching Touya’s shoes move closer to yours. “Just admit, you like me.” He teases.

“I do not!” balling your fists, you stomp your foot. “I already told you why I got them now shut up before I take them back!”

Another pause.

“Thank you,” Touya says gently. “Even if it's just cause you felt bad for me”

Spring had come early for Touya Todoroki.

------

June 28th 2466 Touya: aged fifteen You: aged fourteen

Romance had blossomed between the two of you, then wilted, then blossomed again, then wilted again.

Teenage hormones had been unleashing havoc on your friendship for the past year. One day you were fine and the next, barely speaking but it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

“You two just need some time apart and then you can talk about it, you guys will sort it out.” Your mother had cooed, stroking your hair back as you cried one afternoon after you and Touya had had a ruthless argument.

The topic of fighting was always the same. His insane need to overtake his father and prove him wrong. The need within him had turned insatiable. Morphing from a dream that would one day be achieved with dedication and hard work into something that was turning your best friend into a ravenous beast.

“You’re not listening to me. I need you to listen to me.” Touya shouts as you walk home together.

“I am. You’re just not making sense.” You roll your eyes at your friend, turning your attention away from the raving lunatic walking beside you.

“Why would your dad have it out for you? He’s your dad?”

Touya huffs and stops, hand wrapping around your wrist to pull you back.

“My dad isn’t like your dad. He doesn’t love me or any of us. He just wants us to be better than All Might.” His words are slow as if explaining something to a toddler. “He knows that I am more powerful than him and now he’s scared that I might beat him so he wants me to stop training.”

You groan out his name, annoyed at the constant conversation topic. “Your dad wants you to stop training because you keep hurting yourself. He has told you that a million times, he’s just trying to keep you safe.”

“If he wanted to keep me safe, he wouldn’t have let me train like this. This isn’t about me being safe, this is about me outranking my dad.”

“Touya-“

He continues his tirade. “Enji has realised that I am better than him and Shoto but he doesn’t want his loser son who can only use fire to become the number one hero. I don’t know why you’re on his side. Why can’t you be on my side for once?”

“I am on your side!” you shout, yanking your arm away from his grasp. “I’m always on your side, why do you always make it seem like everyone is against you!”

Touya’s mouth snaps shut at your sudden outburst.

“I can’t keep having this argument with you. I feel like you don’t even want to be my friend so you come up with this stupid stuff to push me away and if you want that, fine. Just tell me so I don’t have to listen to you anymore.” You huff and turn around, starting on your way home without your friend.

You don’t hear his footsteps follow you.

His apology comes in a text later that night.

I'm sorry, Chihiro. Can we still be friends?

------

October 19th 2466 Touya: aged fifteen You: aged fourteen “Can you promise me something?” Touya’s words become mist in the mid-autumn night.

“Depends.”

You turn to face your friend, feeling the dew-soaked grass squish beneath your shoulders. Hidden behind the garden wall, lost within the shrubbery the two of you hid from the housekeepers who had been tasked with wrangling the children in for dinner. Touya had run first, taking off down the hall the second he heard the call of his name and you followed, unaware as to what you were running from but you followed him everywhere so why wouldn’t you now?

“Please don’t forget me.”

“Forget you?” your brows crinkle in confusion. “Why would I forget you? Are you going somewhere?”

Touya is still on his back, attention rapt on the stars twinkling above him.

“Just when we get older and go to different schools and things change, you know.” He sighs. “Just don’t forget me.”

You sit up, concern overtaking your confusion. Why was he talking about this stuff now? Your friend turns to look at you, mouth pulled down in a frown as tears line his cerulean eyes.

“I won't.” You shake your head, scooting closer across the grass and grab his cold hand, interlocking your fingers together, you squeeze and swear an oath. “I promise, I won’t ever forget you.”

November 24th 2367 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged fifteen

Nights come quicker in winter.

Which means less time spent with Touya.

But at least there is a little extra time when he walks you home on an evening.

It is a little awkward. Walking so close together but not actually touching aside from the occasional brush of fingers that sent your heart into a sprint. There is something unspoken between the two of you, something that teeters on the edge of romance but not something that you are both ready to dive into. It’s not like you are kids anymore, if you are going to date, it will be different than if you just liked each other. You will have to act like a girlfriend and not his friend and you didn’t know how to be a girlfriend. Was it any different than how you acted now? Plus, kissing and hand-holding. God, you want to kiss him.

You both stop at the gate of your house. The lights in the living room are on which means your parents are up waiting for you.

Touya drops your backpack at your feet.

There is a beat of stillness between the two of you, the tension rising with every second. You had not spoken a single word to each other the entire walk home and you don’t think you will even say goodbye. Touya offers you a tight smile and steps back, confirming your suspicions of a silent goodbye.

"Hey, I need to tell you something." You blurt out the words, not wanting him to leave just yet.

"Yeah?"

"I…umm," you stammer, slipping your hands into your jacket pockets. "I know it's your birthday in a few weeks, so I wanted to know what you want as a present."

"That's a question, Chihiro” Touya's mouth lifts at the corners. “You said you needed to tell me something."

“I got mixed up." You amend.

"You sure? There isn't anything you need to tell me?" Touya pushes, taking a step to close the gap.

"I'm sure. I just got confused" You nod, affirming your choice of words. “What do you want as a gift?”

"Hmm,” He pauses and takes a few more steps closer, lips pursed as if deep in thought. “Well, I want some of those cookies your mom makes."

Touya stops a few feet from you, close enough for a hug but not close enough that it was weird.

You laugh. "Really? That's it? You don't want a proper present?"

He nods. "Wrap it up, and it'll be a proper present.”

“Okay, cookies it is” You mirror his nod and smile. Your palms start to sweat, cheeks and ears begin to burn as you look up at your best friend.

“Any more questions?”

You shake your head. “Nope, that’s all.”

“Okay, well I’m gonna go 'cause I should have been home ten minutes ago but you are such a slow walker” he teases, bouncing up on his toes.

“I-Um,” you stutter, unable to come up with a snappy comeback due to his proximity. “Go home before you get into trouble.”

“I’m gonna.”

He makes no move to go.

Silence fills the gap.

“Ahh, well I’m going to go since-“

You’re interrupted by a soft kiss against your cheek.

You still, unable to move at the realisation that Touya had just kissed you.

“Okay, I’m going.” He announces and takes a step back. “I’ll see you on Monday?”

You nod, raising a hand in goodbye as he starts back down the street.

“I hope you like me too, 'cause that kiss made me late and my dad’s gonna kill me!” he shouts back, already halfway down the street.

“I do…like you…back” you shout awkwardly, feeling every inch of blood your body had flood into your cheeks. “Good luck. Hope your dad doesn't kill you!”

------

November 30th 2467 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged fifteen

You speak at Touya’s funeral.

The third speaker of the ceremony, having been urged on by Fuyumi and Natsuo despite your protests, and the one to close off the day before his ashes were taken home. You tried not to cry, bottom lip wobbling all day and you would have made it had you not been shoved on stage, microphone held to your face as you unfolded the crumpled sheet you had stuffed into the pocket of your coat.

The rest of the day was a blur as was the week, then the month and only after six full months of grieving daily, crying god only knows how much, did you finally start to see the light at the top of the hole you had buried yourself in but unlike the times you and Touya would play together, his warm hand wasn’t there to help you back up.

------

January 4th 2477 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged twenty-five

You think about Touya Todoroki often.

How your best friend had been killed in some freak accident. How despite his father rushing into the flames to save his son, had come out unscathed yet all that was found was Touya’s jaw bone. It didn’t make sense and you had driven yourself crazy with theories surrounding his death. It was an accident, they had all said. Even if it was an accident, Enji Todoroki was not innocent.

You think about the kind of man Touya could have been if he had lived, what kind of hero he would have become. How he would save the day then turn and smile at his adoring fans, blue eyes blazing bright with pride. You often think about his eyes, remembering how they softened whenever he would smile at you, brighten as you offered half of whatever snack bar you had that day. You think about him enough that you think you’re going crazy when you look up into the eyes of a stranger and see Touya staring back at you.

"Touya?" you whisper as you stare at the strange man.

You had walked headfirst into their chest while crossing the dark street, ducking under awnings to avoid the winter rain. Hoping to cut ten minutes from your usual walk home, desperate to beat your roommate home and into the warm embrace of your apartment’s limited hot water, you took the risk of walking down the alley; what you weren’t hoping for was to bump into your best friend’s dead brother. There was no way it was him, maybe he was a distant Todoroki. Enji did seem like the type to spread it around so maybe a few illegitimate children were running around with the eyes of Endeavour.

His hand reaches out to grab your arm, nails digging into your exposed flesh. You want to wince, to cringe away from him but something within you is telling you to hold your ground. The stranger pulls you closer, all false bravado leaving you as you realise what’s about to happen. Your body tenses, hands uselessly curling into fists at your side.

"Who the fuck are you?" a harsh whisper cuts through the quiet patter of rain.

The hand your arm tightens when you take too long to respond.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” Your answer whooshes from you, all air leaving your body in a single sentence.

The stranger ducks his head to get closer to yours and you turn your face away, afraid to look into the face of the man who had the eyes of a long-lost love. This had to be some sort of joke, right? You were not about to be assaulted by a guy who had Touya’s eyes, there was no way the universe was that cruel.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to I’m sorry, please.” Hot tears roll over your cheeks, your bottom lip quivering as you fight the frown wanting to form. You were not above begging despite knowing it wouldn’t do any good, if there was some way to get out of this situation alive and unscathed, you were going to try it.

“Hey,” the stranger calls to you, shaking you gently. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Great, he’s playing mind games now. You’ve seen enough true crime to know that there are no good people left in the world, especially the ones who lurk in alleyways.

A cold hand reaches out and grips your chin, lifting your face to his. The gesture is intimate, gentle and familiar.

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by it. I'm sorry, I-“You’re sobbing now.

“Look at me” he interrupts, fingers tightening on your cheeks.

He repeats his order when your gaze doesn’t move.

You sniffle, blink back tears that refuse to stop coming, and focus your attention on the man before you.

“I’m not going to hurt you so stop crying,” his voice is soft.

The hand that was on your arm now cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that coat your cheeks. His skin is rough and warm, but there is a bite of something cold on his palm. He holds you with such tenderness you feel a tug at your heart not for any feelings towards the stranger but because you had never been held like this before. That a complete stranger who was probably a crazy psycho villain was holding you with the care you hold a baby animal with.

“I need you to stop crying and answer me, can you do that?” he asks, nodding as his thumb continues to brush over your cheek.

You nod, taking in a shaky breath.

“Good girl.” Heat floods your cheeks. “Now, why is a pretty girl like you walking alone at night?” he asks softly.

You blink up at him, surprised at the switch in demeanour.

“I just finished work and this is shortcut.” you don’t have time to come up with an elaborate lie. “I’m really sorry about the whole name thing, you just look like a friend who died and I thought that maybe he wasn’t actually- I’m sorry” You feel the tears welling up again.

“Well, he’s not me.” He sighs, removing his hands from your face. You kind of miss the warmth they had. “I’m sorry you lost someone, but I don’t think accusing strangers of being dead people is a good idea.”

You nod wordlessly, too stunned at his shift in tone to formulate a response. The man reaches up for the hood of your raincoat, pulling it over your head tight to shield you from the rain.

“I need one more thing from you okay?” he asks, ducking his head to look into your eyes. “You gonna listen to me again?”

“Okay.” Your voice shakes.

“Don’t mention that name to anyone else, alright?”

He waits for your nod and then releases your hood. “You’re such a good listener” The fact he is praising you has your heart spinning. Wasn’t he ready to attack you a few minutes ago?

“Now go home” he nods his head to the exit of the alleyway. You follow his nod and look back at the light-filled street. “And don’t walk down backstreets anymore, you could get hurt.”

By the time you turn back to face him, he is already halfway down the alleyway arms raised in a farewell. You watch as he turns the corner and only when he is gone do you let yourself breathe. ------

March 6th 2477 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged twenty-five

"Let it go, dude," Natsuo sighs for the umpteenth time as he packs his books away. "You're lucky you didn't get hurt. He could have been a complete psycho."

Your friend is right and has been every other time you have brought up the strange man from the alley and you can tell by the way he shoves the textbooks into his backpack that his patience is running thin. Over the years, you had grown closer to Natsuo, looking at him like a little brother who you could force to hang out with and do things Fuyumi didn't want to. Unfortunately for him, he was the first person you called upon meeting the stranger (Knowing Fuyumi would have had a heart attack upon hearing about your encounter). Initially, Natsuo was concerned, terrified for your physical and mental wellbeing even going so far as to suggest letting his father know about the incident to launch a formal investigation but you were quick to shut that down. You hadn’t been hurt and the man didn’t seem to be skulking in alleyways to assault anyone so there is no reason you should get heroes involved.

"Dude, he looked so familiar! I know him," you press on, hands splayed on the library table as you lean in as if you were about to reveal a secret. "I think he was a childhood friend."

You had purposefully omitted the fact the stranger bore a striking resemblance to his dead brother or how his entire aura radiated familiarity and warmth something you only really felt from said brother.

Natsuo laughs and zips his bag closed. " 'Yumi was your only childhood friend."

"Fine, a neighbour, maybe I don't know, but I know him."

"Should I schedule you with my family psych, or will this fade by next month?" You frown at Natsu, sigh, and then give in to his pronounced lack of interest.

"I don't need to see anyone because I know I'm right," you start to pack up your things. "But, just for you, I won't mention it again."

------

May 17th 2477 Touya: aged sixteen You: aged twenty-five

You feel stupid.

Really fucking stupid.

So monumentally stupid with every single decision that has led you to this moment. Led you to stand before a thick metal door, the sliding peephole pulled back to allow the man guarding the entry a view as to who knocked like some girl scout. The box of cookies in your hands does nothing to evade that image.

“I have a meeting with…Dabi?” you look down at your phone, squinting at the blurry name on your screen then back to the man guarding whatever was in that building. “I think.”

You have no idea if you’re being set up. If the person you had been corresponding with was the infamous villain or just some poser but what you have deduced from your months long investigation is that you had in fact met Dabi in that alleyway so whether it was him or not you were about to meet, he is your only lead into finally figuring out what exactly happened to Touya

“You think?” You hear the smirk in his voice at the uncertainty in yours. “I think you might have the wrong door, sweetheart.”

It is the right door. The creepy encrypted message you received gave you this very location with the exact time to arrive. This was a giant risk on your behalf. Trusting strangers on the internet to give you accurate information as opposed to being lured into a trap for human trafficking but the need to know more about the mysterious man you had met weeks ago was gnawing at your insides so much that you were more need than person. The hunt had begun with a very broad search into Touya’s death and the records surrounding the tragedy before very quickly veering into villain records and archives. There was a small lead with a hospital admittance for an unidentified burn victim in a hospital a prefecture over from Tokyo but that went cold when the body of the patient was identified two weeks post mortem through dental records. You had all but given up when a weird email in your spam box caught your eye. It was from an unknown sender, hence the immediate spam allocation, and had nothing but a link to a chat site. There is no amount in the universe to quantify the stupidity in your subsequent actions from clicking the link to chatting with the stranger on the other side of the screen but they had the information you wanted and so you followed their instructions to a bookstore, then a bar and then finally an internet café where you logged into the already open discord chat that had the location of the final meeting point. You quickly snapped a picture of the chat before it disappeared and three days later, here you stand in a deserted alleyway surrounded by boarded-up doors and graffitied walls.

“This is the address I was given.” You explain, holding up the phone so the guy can get a look at the message. “I promise I'm not with the police or anything, I just have some questions for Dabi and I know that makes me sound like I’m a police officer but I’m not and I’ve been looking for him for weeks so please, let me in.”

Your mouth sets in a frown and despite wanting to look intimidating and rough, you know you look like a child pouting in an attempt to get more cake. “Please, I’ll give you some cookies if you want.” A shitty bribe but a bribe nonetheless.

The man snorts. “You really have cookies in that box?”

“Yes. Fresh and homemade made and some of them can be yours if you let me in” You wiggle the box.

There is a beat of silence then the sliding peephole slams shut.

Fuck.

You close your eyes, disappointed in the fact you had come so far only to be shut down by some guy behind a door. Maybe this was the universe stepping in and preventing you from getting killed or trafficked. Maybe you should let this whole thing go.

Just as the last of your hope leaves you, you hear the click of a lock and then the door is sliding open. The man who you had been speaking to not ten seconds ago stands before you, muscular tattooed arms crossed over his equally muscular chest.

“Choc chip?” he asks, eyes trained on the box in your hand.

You nod.

“Fine, come in” The man tilts his head in a gesture to welcome you in. “Leave some on the counter.”

You nod again, your pace quick as you enter the building beyond the door.

The hallway is dim and damp, filled with cardboard and wooden crates stacked along the walls. The ceilings are high with exposed piping and hanging fluorescent bars that would have once lit up the entire walkway. Light bleeds beneath the many doors that line the hall, muted sounds following the flashes of colour that leak from the closed-off rooms. The smell is unpleasant, with mildew and mould growing along every available surface but what did you expect a dirty unoccupied building to smell like?

“Where’s the?” you turn to ask about the counter, but the man has disappeared. The door slides shut caging you in from the outside world, from an escape if need be. “Hello?” you call out and take a step back, dried leaves crunching beneath your feet.

Fuck. Fuck.

You turn on your heels, heading for the door you had stepped through a few seconds ago but are stopped by a familiar voice.

“Did you really bring me cookies?”

You whirl, fingers tightening on the box between them. “Yes, but if you don’t want them, it’s okay. I just thought that I might-“

You watch as the man you had met weeks before steps into the dim light. Breath catches in your throat as you are met with the face of the villain that has filled your screen for weeks now.

Dabi.

He is taller than you remember. Towering a full foot over you, his intimidating figure looms in the dim light. Your eyes follow the line of his scarred skin over his cheeks, down his neck, over exposed collarbones before disappearing beneath the neck of his shirt. Heat fills your face at your wandering gaze and you’re thankful for the lack of lighting.

“Who says I don’t want cookies?” Dabi smirks, taking a step out of the shadows.

“No one.” your answer is a broken stammer, earning a bemused snicker from your companion.

You take in a breath and square your shoulders. “I just don’t want to accuse you of anything.” A better delivery.

The villain hums and takes another step closer. “So, it is you then.”

Another foot closer, and when you don’t back away, one more. His steps are careful; small and reserved as if trying not to frighten you anymore than you already are. The routine is repeated, a hesitant dance of pushing proximity limits until he is less than a foot away. Blue eyes narrowed on you, brows furrowed in intrigue. Same blue as before. Same blue eyes as Touya.

His apprehension and fascination leave as quickly as it came, and you're left staring at a man who looks as if he wants nothing more to do with you.

“So, pretty girl, what can I do for you?” tone casual, pet name rolling off his tongue effortlessly. “You’ve gone through all this trouble to what?”

The thought of lying did cross your mind on your way over but you had already jumped through enough loops to get this meeting, you aren’t in the mood to play games and risk his irritation.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Dabi tilts his head to the side the way an animal does to hear better. There is something so unsettling about the he moves, something not entirely human.

“Talk about what, angel?” his eyes blaze blue as he notices the twitch in your lips at the byname. “About the league? About you? Me?”

“About you.”

Heat pools in your stomach at his affectionate pet name, embarrassment following suit. You should not be letting him get to you the way he is, but it could also be a good bargaining chip. If you couldn’t afford his services monetarily, physical payment would not be entirely painful.

“We can talk about me but first, I want to ask you something.”

“Sure.” The false confidence you had summoned before has not left you yet.

The insincerity of your act is palpable, but Dabi lets you go, lets you take this small win.

“How long did it take you to find me?” his question is genuine, interested in just how exclusive access to him is.

An exhausted sigh leaves your body at the mention of the time that you had put into locating him and his lips quirk at the gesture.

“Four months and 2 weeks, I think.”

An irrationally long time but there are questions that demanding answers.

“So, you’ve spent almost five months thinking about me?” he taunts.

Me. The emphasis on the pronoun doesn’t evade you but you don’t have time to dwell on his excitement.

“Yes. And now I’ve answered two of your questions, can I ask one?”

Dabi shrugs and reaches for the box in your hands. Rough fingers brush against the back of your hands, goosebumps skittering over your skin at the contact. He takes his time opening the small white box, bottom lip pulled between his teeth in contemplation at the contents before him and after a full minute of silent deliberation, does he pick one. Slender unscarred fingers dig into the box, fishing out the biggest and most chocolate filled treat.

“Did you make these?” Dabi holds up the choc chip cookie, inspecting the biscuit in the low light.

“That’s three questions now.” you announce as the unofficial score keeper. “and yes, I made them this morning.”

The making of the desserts had been a coping mechanism on your part. Too nervous to sit still but not so overstimulated you were willing to exercise to shake off the extra energy, you turned to an activity you hadn’t touched since university. The recipe was one you know by heart, having it gifted to you by your mother on your eighteenth birthday, you were free to think as your body worked through the motions. However, the purpose behind you baking said sweets was not entirely self-soothing.

Dabi nods and bites into the biscuit.

“I know you already said you don’t know the guy I mentioned when I first met you and I haven’t mentioned him to anyone again just like you asked me, and I figured with you being a villain, you might have connections that I don’t have and you can access more information as to what happened to him and I promise that I can pay. I’ll pay whatever you want but I don’t really have that much but I’ll pay in food, and that’s kinda why I brought some cookies to show that I can bake but that will only be a small amount because I’m good for a couple thousand-“ you reach into your back pocket to fish out your wallet. “I promise, I won't ever mention this to anyone, but I just really need your help, Dabi.” The juxtaposition of your pastel purple Kuromi wallet holding thousands of dollars as payment for a villain’s services almost makes you chuckle but the lack of recognition from your companion causes you to pocket the purse.

Dabi’s stare is unamused as he chews.

“Why is this guy so important to you?” he asks around a mouthful of chocolate. “You’re willing to blow thousands on some dead guy, not to mention you’ve risked your life coming here, so why is he so special?”

Your fingers curl into a fist, nails digging into your palm before you relax and answer.

“Because he died in a really weird way, and I need to know if there was anything I could have done to prevent it.”

“That’s a stupid reason.” Dabi spits out.

A frown tugs at your mouth.

“He’s dead. Who cares how he died and whether you could stop it or not.” He continues, rolling his eyes as your pout forms. “What’s the real reason you’re looking for answers? There’s something else.”

“It’s stupid.” You mutter, suddenly embarrassed at the reasoning for your investigation.

“Ohh, it can’t be that stupid if you’ve put all this effort in.” Dabi croons. “Come on, angel. You’ve gotta tell me why if I’m gonna do all this work looking for him.”

You take in a deep breath in hopes of smothering the tears that are threatening to spill but the lump sticking in your throat has other plans.

“Because he was my best friend and I loved him and I never got to say goodbye.” You sniff, nose starting to run as the tears build. “Please.”

Dabi stares at you.

“You made these?” the question comes out of left field.

You blink at the villain, unaware as to where he is taking the conversation but answer him nonetheless.

“Yes, I did. It’s stupid I know, bringing cookies as a bargaining chip but I-“

“Your mom’s cookies are better.” Dabi interrupts.

My what? My mom?

“What?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry but her cookies will always be the best.”

Your jaw slackens as you stare at the man before you.

“My mother?”

“Yes. Your mom made better cookies, and it’s not for lack of trying. Yours are really good, but they’ll never beat your mom's.”

Is he fucking with you? Is this some elaborate psychological warfare that he enacted on all his victims? Are you about to die? How does he know about your mother’s cookies?

“Aww, don’t get upset Chihiro. I'm just being honest.”

The nickname rattles your soul.

Touya.

Before you can even register that you are moving, you have crossed the space between your bodies and swung at the villain.

Your clenched fist collides with his jaw, surprising him out of his teasing. Arms wrap around your waist as you collapse against the villain. Your knees break the fall, bones scream out in pain as they slam into the concrete, and you brace for further impact but it never comes. There is a moment when you truly believe you are going to be killed, incinerated into nothing but ash for your assault but nothing happens and so you are left with no other choice but to get answers from the man under you. There is no clear choice as to why you chose violence, some primal part within you acting out of instinct. There isn’t enough time for you brain to catch up or even process that information that had been thrown at you. . In most high-pressure situations, you would retreat inwards and carefully unpack each and every detail of the occurrence like you were a kid under a Christmas tree; not a package left untouched, but you don’t have that luxury in the current moment.

Hot fat tears stream down your face as you grip Dabi’s cheeks in your hand, his skin rough beneath your fingers.

“You’ve been alive this whole time?” you cry, fingers digging into the gaunt flesh and when no answer comes you ask again, the palm of your hand connecting with his cheek in a sharp slap. “You left me to think you were dead, but you’ve been alive?”

Below you, the villain stares up in disbelief. Eyes wide at the mad woman above him, screeching like a banshee let loose. His thin shirt is scrunched tightly between your fingers, pulling the material taunt against his body. You have no control over your actions, feral and bowing to your emotions. You watch as your hand slips to his neck, pushing at the base of his throat.

Finger wraps around your wrist, pulling your weight off his windpipe and then the world shifts.

You are flipped over as easily as a leaf in the wind. Now on your back, the dust that had been kicked up from the floor sticks in your lungs and you cough as you cry.

Dabi hovers above you. Legs on either side of your hips, hands pinning yours above your head preventing you from causing any more harm to him. You try to kick, to wrench your hands from his grasp, throw him off you with your hips but nothing. You fight back against your opponent, teeth gnashing as you desperately try to find purchase on skin but he has done this too many times before to leave anything to chance. All points of access to an injury on his behalf are sealed up, held high above you and there is nothing you can do to reach.

Your cries are loud and deep and aching. Air leaves you with each heaving sob and you fear you may never breathe again. Spit and tears mix in a hot mess across your cheeks and you would wipe away the mess if not for your hands held above.

“I hate you so much.” You seethe, teeth clenched as you breathe in. “I fucking hate you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You hear Dabi apologising over and over again.

A hand brushes over your forehead, then your cheeks, then your jaw.

“You left me.” You wail. “You left me there, all alone.”

Your chest heaves, air being gulped down as if you had been held underwater to the point of drowning and it felt like you had been. You had been held under for so many years and now you were getting a moment of air, and your brain could not process it.

You take a few more breaths, calming the blood roaring in your ears and pounding heart and finally when your breathing returns to a semi-acceptable rhythm, do you finally acknowledge the man above you.

Dabi glides his palm along your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone before resting his fingers along the side of your neck.

“I’m so sorry.”

A frown pulls at the corners of his mouth.

There is no longer a villain before you. Dabi does not exist. The boy above you is Touya. Your Touya.

You knew it. You knew it was him all along.

“Is it really you?” your voice is hoarse from crying.

“If I answer, you need to promise to keep it a secret,” he whispers, free hand curling in the ends of your hair that lay splayed out beneath you.

“Promise.” You nod and hold out your pinkie the way you did so many times as children.

Touya interlocks his pinkie with yours.

Fresh tears prick at your eyes.

“Hi, Touya,” you whisper.

“Hi.” He whispers back, hand pulling away from yours to glide over your jaw and slot into the hair at the nape of your neck. “I missed you.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and pull his body against yours in a bone-crushing hug. A laugh leaves your friend as he loops his arm around the back of your neck, holding you close. You pull back, face now centimetres from him and wait for him to make the next move. Your body follows his breaths, following his lead just the way you would follow him all those years ago. A lump forms in your throat and you know you look insane; hair mused, cheeks flushed and soaked in tears, eyes still red and crying.

Touya closes the distance, mouth hovering above yours and you think he is going to kiss you but nothing comes.

“Did you really love me?”

A sob leaves you involuntarily.

“I loved you so much, you have no idea.” The truth spills from you. “I love you so much.”

At the confession, Touya kisses you.

His mouth is soft on yours in the gentlest of kisses, almost as if he was afraid that you would fall apart if he pushed any harder. You part your lips to test the waters and when Touya follows your lead opening his mouth against yours, you grip onto the shirt bunched up around his waist. He lets you lead, lets you take control and set the pace for the first few minutes. Following your moves and pressure against your body to not push you any more than you already had been but as you whimper beneath him, his demeanour shifts.

Fingers tighten in your hair and the hand that had been holding himself up comes to rest on your waist, slipping beneath your body to pull you closer to him. Your mouth opens wider beneath his and you feel his tongue trace your bottom lip before flicking into your mouth. Menthol and chocolate fill your senses and you scramble for more, hands gripping his face as you desperately try to get your fill of him; of Touya. The steel of the staples bites into your palm but you don’t care, don’t care what form you have him in, you have your Touya back.

You’re being lifted off the floor, hoisted to sit on his lap, feeling the entirety of his body against yours.

You pull away to stare at him, not believing this is happening and that at any moment you are going to wake up or snap out of your delusion.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Touya asks, eyes frantically searching for the reason you aren’t kissing him anymore.

Your chest constricts at his concern. The same sweet and caring boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

“I’m okay, I just-“You stroke his cheeks and he leans into your touch, inhaling a shaky breath. “I missed you so much. There was so much we didn’t get to do.”

He frowns and nuzzles further into your palm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want you to apologise, I just want..” You can’t form the words. Can’t articulate the need within you for him. All these years you’ve held a torch for your deceased best friend. All these years you could have had him with you and now that you do, you aren’t letting go. “I just want you.”

Touya’s frown deepens. “Even now?” His thumbs stroke circles along your clothed skin.

You know he is referring to his crimes. All the bad he has done and probably will do. You do not care. You had long ago abandoned your hope in the heroes of society, having been granted a look into the past of the now top hero. There is nothing for you in that world, nothing on offer that could sway your feelings for the man below you.

“Even now, and tomorrow and the day after that and yesterday and the day before and the month before that” You smile, knowing you weren’t making sense but none of this made sense. “I never forgot about you.”

Touya’s eyebrows knit together in an expression you don’t know and for a moment you panic; worried you had crossed a line that you didn’t know existed. You want to apologise, take back the words that had so carelessly tumbled out but his grip on your body stops you.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he sighs, hands sliding up to press into the small of your back.

“Really?” you beam, unable to stifle the excitement that grows in you at his confession.

You are no longer an adult woman sitting in a dirty and dusty warehouse; you are fifteen and hearing your crush confess words you had been so desperately wishing to be spoken.

Your best friend’s fingers trailing over your spine pull you back to the present.

“Never for a single second,” he tests the waters and slips one hand under the hem of your shirt. “I never wanted to forget you.”

When no protest on your behalf comes, Touya slips his other hand beneath the material and begins to trace shapes into your skin.

“What did you think about?” your question is breathless, head beginning to swim as you feel heat bloom in your stomach.

Touya hums in thought, fingers beginning to climb your ribs. “Good things. Great things actually.” hands splay over the band of your bra. “some bad things but that isn’t important.”

Your thighs slip further apart at the implication; weight now fully resting atop his hips. There is no doubt that he can feel the heat from between your legs, the warmth that had begun to pool in the seam of your panties.

“Bad things?” you ask the question without knowing what kind of answer you would get. “I was nothing but nice to you, what bad things could you be thinking of?”

You feel his cock twitch at your innocence. Perfect.

Your answer comes in the form of an action. Touya leans forward and captures your mouth in a searing kiss. All teeth and tongue as his fingers pressed hard into your spine, holding you against his body as if you are a buoy and he is lost at sea. Your own hands begin to wander, sliding from where they came to rest on his neck, into the hair at the nape of his neck and as he digs his teeth into your bottom, you pull at the strands between your digits.

Touya pulls away, breathless.

“I always kept an eye on you, you know.” he pants, pushing your body away only enough to ogle you freely. “And I’ve gotta say you grew up so well.”

There are two thoughts that cross your mind in that spilt second. One: to bring up the fact he has kept you within his sighs for years, has been in the shadows of you life and how there is a part of you, not that big but enough to plant a seed of betrayal, that you can’t forgive him for that. Two: to throw caution to the wind and give into the part of you that aches for him.

The latter wins out.

“I did always think that Dabi was really handsome” you admit, an air of nonchalance in your words.

“Oh yeah? Even with all the new mods?”

“New mods?” you laugh. “Why do you make it sound like you’ve upgraded a game or something?”

Touya laughs with you.

“I’m serious,” vulnerability swims in his eyes as he looks up at you waiting for praise. “Do you really think that I’m still handsome?”

You nod and duck your head closer to his. “I still think you’re so handsome and you will always be handsome, which is really unfair.”

His lips are pressed against yours in a soft kiss. It's gentle and sweet, with no hint of the darkness lurking just below.

“Even after all these years how do you manage to make me so weak?” Touya pulls away to admire you.”You, my pretty girl, are my weakness.”

He tucks your hair behind your ears, holding your cheeks in his cupped hands and pulls you back in for a kiss and you melt into his touch at the possessive compliment.

“All these years, I never thought I’d get to talk to you again let alone touch you.” His mouth moves to your neck, pressing sloppy open-mouthed kisses against your skin. “but, fuck, have I thought about it.”

Your skin flushes at his confession.

His teeth sink into your neck, hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to break the skin.

“Thought about kissing you like this” his words are slurred.

Slick begins to pool in your panties, the seam of your jeans dampening.

“Thought about having you in my lap, just the way you are and how good you’d feel on my cock.”

Your head swims at his words.

“When I saw you again for the first time a few years ago, it took everything in me to not walk up to you and kiss you right there and then.” He bites lower, nipping at your collarbone.

Rough hands make their way under your shirt, exploring the expanse of your back.

“Thought about holding you and kissing you and taking you home.” he bites again. “God, the amount of time I’ve spent imagining you under me or spread out just for me.” Breathing becomes hard. “All for me, just for me.” He chants your name as if it were a prayer.

You grind your hips over his, feeling his cock hard and aching beneath you. Touya groans against your throat, fingers digging into your skin. Hands begin to wander downwards until they find purchase on the buttons of his pants, stopping at the metal for approval from the man beneath you and when it comes in a rushed yes, please you flick open the clasp. Your movements are awkward and nervous, having never thought this would happen and you can tell Touya is just as jittery. His fingers dip under the waistband of your pants, toying with the soft elastic of the band. Your hands follow his and pull at the material, trying to pull it down but stop at the realisation there is no way you could do this and still look seductive.

“I’m trying really hard to make this hot, but I don’t think it’s gonna work.” You admit, giggling at the absurdity.

Touya shakes his head, removing his hands from your hips to hold your face again. “I don’t want to fuck you here.” He presses a kiss to your nose.

Before you can ask, he is answering.

“I’m not gonna have the first time I fuck you be on a dirty floor in a random building.” A kiss on your right cheek.

“But what if I want that?” you retort, hand reaching down between the two of you.

His breath catches as your fingers brush against his clothed cock.

“I know you want that,” he pulls your hand away and entwines your fingers. “and you know I do too,” A kiss to your left cheek. “But I had a plan back when we were younger,” he brings your hand to his lips. “and I’ve already had so much taken from us that I’m not letting our first time be taken too.”

Your heart squeezes. He really is the same boy you fell in love with.

“So as much as we both want it, please let me do this, okay?”

You pout, a habit you had formed long ago that usually got you what you wanted from him.

“Please, baby.” The pet name is a gut punch.

You nod and hold up your pinkie.

“You promise?”

Touya grins wider than you had ever seen and entwines his finger with yours.

“I promise.”

May 17th 2477 Touya: aged twenty-six You: aged twenty-five

-------

ᰔ a/n: NOT PROOFREAD! ohmygosh, this was a long haul. I wrote it and then rewrote it and then rewrote it and so on and so forth till I got here. tiny TINY smut cause i didn’t wanna write a whole ass thing so I might do a one shot of it later. this exhausted me holy- also shout out to billie eilish lmao her entire new album helped me write this mainly chihiro, the greatest and blue but also harry styles' as it was and madds buckley's brother

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artemis32 · 7 months

Text

Transilience iii

The long-awaited part 3 is here, thank you all for being so patient <33 (you're all going to hate me, but yes, there is going to be a part 4)

word count - 10.1k

tw: mentions of past child neglect, abuse, kidnapping, violence, medical malpractice (they're bad people, what did you expect??), LoV being bad people (mainly Shiggs and Dabi), slight yandere LoV (kind of, but not really), reader is delusional - like, very delusional - dismisses red flags like its nobody's business

mbe masterlist

transilience masterlist

Dabi was… different.

You’d given up what little hope you’d had of Touya still being there, but you didn’t expect there to be such a vast change in his personality.

How could someone who was once so obsessed with the idea of being a hero, of overtaking All Might, become this horrible? And really, there was no other way to describe him but horrible.

From the very first day that you’d been there, he’d done his utmost to isolate you from the other members of his group, whisking you away if they ever got too comfortable around you.

To their credit, none of them had laid a finger on you, though they hadn’t said anything when they saw the freshly burnt handprint on your shoulder either. It felt like a branding mark, a sign of ownership.

You remained wary of them, forever on edge. It became exhausting after a while – never breathing too loudly when one of them was near, hardly eating or sleeping. It got to the point where you nearly passed out from sheer exhaustion.

If he cared, Dabi never said anything.

The isolation was probably what got to you the most. The fear, the anger, the exhaustion – none of it felt as torturous as the loneliness. You weren’t allowed to talk to anyone but the leader, Shigaraki, and Dabi. Who’d decided that, you weren’t sure, but it ate away at your psyche day-by-day until almost nothing remained.

Most days, the only interaction you got was someone bringing your food to you. It was usually the man in the mask who had taken you – Mr Compress, or, you’d learned his name was, though sometimes it would be others in the group.

It was awful. They’d open your door and set a tray of food on the desk next to your bed.

They wouldn’t look at you.

They wouldn’t talk to you.

Nothing.

And you tried. You tried so hard to hold a conversation, to get them to say something, to look at you, but still, nothing.

Shigaraki’s visits were few and far between. Most days he came to see you, it would be to accompany the doctor he brought with him.

You didn’t like that man. He was cold and harsh, and he left bruises that would take weeks to fade away. He’d take samples of your blood too, poking you harshly with the needle if you squirmed too much.

Shigaraki said nothing. He only stood in the corner, silently staring at you.

It was the same when he came to see you alone. He’d come in quietly, sit down by your desk and stare at you for hours.

Sometimes he would speak, but those days were rare.

He’d ask you about your life before they’d taken you, before you’d gotten your quirk.

Originally, you had ignored him, but after weeks of isolation, you’d told him what he wanted to know. He smiled that day. It hurt.

Dabi’s visits were even rarer.

You thought you might dread his visits more than you did being alone.

He told you stories. Stories about his life – both while he’d been living with you, and after. You weren’t sure which you hated more.

While you’d understood how horrible your father was, to hear it first-hand, to hear from Touya himself what he’d gone through… it was almost more than you could handle.

Though right now, you’d take your father and his anger and violence. If you had a choice, you’d choose him over Dabi in an instant.

How pathetic – that you’d choose a monster like your father over your own brother, one who you’d looked up to, one who you’d mourned.

But that sort of thought had become surprisingly common. You’d been missing your family – Shouto, Fuyumi, Natsuo, even your father. Though you couldn’t bring yourself to miss your mother, and you were sure the feeling was mutual.

You tried as best you could, but nothing could stop your gradual descent into despair. You were so lonely, so scared that they’d decide you’d outlived your usefulness.

It was a shame that you were nothing like your family – you lacked Touya’s resolve, Shouto’s strength, even your father’s tenacity and anger. That would surely have helped you, but you were weak.

You were weak and scared, and even gaining a quirk had done nothing to change that.

****

If you had one complaint about how your days went, it had to be about the food they gave you.

It was plain, bland. Not to mention, you received the same thing every single day.

Plain oatmeal for breakfast, plain, dry bread for lunch, and plain, flavourless ramen noodles for dinner. If you were lucky, they’d occasionally throw in a bruised, overripe fruit, or give you of the takeout they’d had for dinner.

You’d gotten to the point of having to choke it down, trying not to gag whenever you saw the same food day after day. You wouldn’t call yourself ungrateful, but it was pretty obvious that no one knew how to cook. After the first two weeks, you’d liken the experience to eating cardboard, taking hours to pick at the plain, odourless lump on your plate before giving up.

That’s how Dabi found you thirty minutes after Mr Compress had bought you your dinner - picking at your plate with half-hearted interest, doing nothing more than moving the now solid pile of ramen from one side to the other.

He shoulders the door open without knocking, kicking it shut behind him with no regard for the slamming that rings out in the corridor beyond. Members of the League knew not to bother him when he was with you - everyone except Shigaraki.

A brown paper bag is chucked your way as he slinks over, slumping down in the chair next to your bed.

The sigh he lets out is one of exhaustion, and if you actually cared about him, you might’ve shown some concern for the weariness in his eyes and the weight on his slumped shoulders. But you don’t.

Instead, you stare down at the paper bag next to you.

“Well?” he asks when you make no move to touch it. “Aren’t ya gonna open it?”

You shrug, still staring.

“That depends.”

He huffs. “On what?”

“If I open it, do I get to leave this room?”

He lets out a frustrated groan, head leaning against the wall as he rubs his hands over his face.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “This again?”

After about the first month and a half of being cooped up in the room they’d shoved you in, you’d decided enough was enough. Seeing the same four walls all day, every day, was driving you insane. So you’d begun asking Dabi if you could be let out, even for a short ten minutes, just to walk around the base, to the end of the hall - anything.

Unsurprisingly, your request had been denied.

So you’d asked again. And again. And again.

It had become routine at this point, and though he had yet to agree, you felt as though you were slowly wearing him down.

Asking Shigaraki didn’t have the same effect. He’d fix you with this eerie, wide-eyed look, sitting in silence until you looked away or changed the topic.

So you stuck with asking Dabi instead, refusing to go along with whatever he asked of you unless you got what you wanted.

It seemed as though the two of you shared the same stubborn streak, and neither of you had given in yet.

“Yes, this again,” you say stubbornly, jutting your chin out at him.

“I’ll go crazy in here if you don’t let me out. It’s not as if I’m asking for a kidney, I just want to take a walk. Blindfold me if you have to, just let me out for a few minutes.”

He says nothing, staring at you for a moment.

“Please?” you ask – no, you plead.

He rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

“Fine,” he says, sighing heavily, nodding slightly.

“Fine. I’ll let you walk around for a bit. There – happy?”

You perk up at that, nodding eagerly, happy for what you consider to be a small victory.

Honestly, considering the circumstances, it’s a massive victory. Any amount of autonomy is cause for celebration, and this was as good as it was going to get for a while.

“Are ya gonna open the bag or not? Or should I change my mind?”

“No! No, I’ll look.”

You scramble to grab the brown paper bag, ripping it open in your haste.

“A… burger?”

Indeed.

It’s a burger, and the smell makes your mouth water. You want to eat it, but you don’t. Instead, you look over at him, quirking your brow in question.

“Eat up, Cupcake,” he says with a smirk.

You scowl at the nickname. It was one in a sea of many – he seemed to sense how much it annoyed you, so he took great time and care in finding different nicknames for you each time he came to visit.

His smirk flattens into a scowl when you don’t immediately respond or go to eat.

“What’s this about?”

“Huh?”

“You only ever bring me food like this- You’re only nice if something’s about to happen. So, what is it?” you ask suspiciously.

He brings his hand up to grip at his chest, gasping in feigned horror.

“Oh! My own sister doesn’t trust me. Whatever shall I do?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Can I not just be nice? Why’re you so suspicious all the time, huh?”

You squint at him. “So… you really don’t want anything in return? You're not going to knock me out and move me to another room or something? You’re not going to run some kind of painful quirk test on me?”

His palm still rests on his chest, right over his heart. He bows his head and closes his eyes.

“Cross my heart. Come on, eat up.”

He stands with a huff, slinking over to your bathroom as you hesitantly begin eating.

There are some clattering sounds as he moves around the bathroom for a moment before it falls silent. He emerges fifteen minutes later, right as you finish the burger.

“Ah, you’re done. Great. Put this on.”

He hands you a jacket and a pair of shoes. You slip them on without question.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Go where?” you ask, palm rubbing contentedly over your full stomach.

“For your damn walk, what else?”

“Now?” you ask, mouth open in shock.

He hums, coming up to you and grasping your forearms before hauling you up.

“Come on, I don’t have all day.”

You stand and trail after him.

****

“Still nothing?”

Hawks hums, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he says with a shrug.

Endeavour lets out a frustrated huff, slamming his hand down on the desk. Everything atop it rattles.

His frame remains tense for a moment before his shoulders slump.

“We’ve checked everywhere,” he says in an even, measured tone. “Why, after six months, have you still not found my daughter?”

Hawks gives him a good-natured smile, eyes crinkled in the corners. “Hm, dunno. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

The temperature of the room steadily climbs the longer Hawks talks.

“After all, it’s been a while. Surely if she wanted to get away from wherever she is, she would have by now, what with that nifty new quirk and all.”

At the mention of your strangely acquired quirk, Endeavour finally cracks. His fingers melt through the surface of his desk, the ornately carved wood caving beneath his warm grip like butter. The look on his face betrays his emotions – it’s a look of pure pain, what with his furrowed brow and quivering lip.

The mighty Endeavour did have a heart after all.

He slumped down into the seat behind him, roughly swiping over his face with calloused palms.

“I–” his voice cracks.

He clears his throat, sniffing and straightening up before he speaks again.

“Hawks, please, be honest.”

Keigo tilts his head to the side, eyeing the redhead curiously.

“Have you done everything in your ability to find my daughter? Does she– does she truly not want to be found?”

He lets out a heavy puff of air, carefully taking a seat across from the distraught man. After a few long, quiet minutes, he finally settles into a seemingly comfortable position, leaning back with one leg propped up over the other.

“I’ve done everything I can,” he says, looking directly into the other man’s eyes. He places his hand over his heart – a gesture of his sincerity. “I haven’t seen her – she really doesn’t seem to want to come back. That, or…”

He shrugs. “Never mind. I’m sorry Endeavour, but there’s nothing more I can do. I’ve helped as much as I can because we’re friends, but I can’t keep neglecting my own work for this.”

The chair scrapes harshly against the polished tiles as he stands, dusting off his jacket while he strides to the door.

“I’ll let you know if I find anything. For now just… relax.”

Hawks leaves the man to wallow in his ever-growing despair.

****

Your legs burn slightly from the stretch, but you welcome it as you pace each corridor eagerly, Dabi trailing a few steps behind you with a slouched frame and barely concealed scowl.

He’d made it clear that he thought your eagerness to go for something as silly as a walk was stupid, but he’d kept many of his comments to himself, choosing instead to mutter under his breath as he directed you through the dimly lit base.

“Left here.”

You turn left, trying to keep yourself from skipping like an idiot. It was one thing to be excited for a walk, but to skip like a child? Dabi would never let you live that down.

The corridors are as dingy as the rest of the building, flickering lights, cracked tiles, chipped paint on the walls. It truly looked like the prison it was.

Oh well. It wasn’t as if you expected any better from a group of villains, especially those that had kidnapped someone without a second thought.

“So, what exactly do you do?” you ask, eyes still flitting from one side of the corridor to the other, taking in as much as you can while you have the opportunity.

“What?”

Dabi sounds bored. He drags his feet as he walks, shoes scuffing against the worn tiles.

You shiver. It’s freezing out here. A part of you was thankful that Dabi had given you the shoes and jacket. Not that you’d ever mention it.

“I mean, I get that you guys are villains and all, and you spend your days coming up with ideas on how to take over the world, but like – what do you do?”

You chance a glance over your shoulder.

He looks perplexed, lips pursed as he stares at you.

“What a dumb question.”

You splutter out in indignation.

“Hey, it’s not a dumb question!”

He hums, staring at the ceiling.

“Take a right.”

You do, waiting in silence for his response.

“We make deals, gather intel, threaten a few people – fun stuff like that.”

He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“I don’t know, that’s about it I guess.”

You pause.

“Sounds boring,” you say with a shrug.

He grunts, prodding the small of your back with his fingers to urge you forward.

“Keep walking.”

You walk past a familiar looking door.

There’s a slight stumble in your step and Dabi has to grab your arm to keep you from landing on your face.

“Come on,” he says, shoving you forward roughly. “Don’t make me regret this by acting all stupid.”

You nod in apology, eyes lingering on the door.

That day you arrived is still stark in your memory – the way they all laughed at you, the fear and anxiousness you’d felt.

Shigaraki and his touch.

The way he’d turned your jacket to dust with a simple brush of his fingers.

Dabi.

Touya.

The mark seared onto your shoulder.

You shiver again, though not from the cold.

The memory of your first night there opens the floodgates, and you’re forced down memory lane as you walk, Dabi’s hand still a warm fixture between your shoulder blades.

You remember the first time Shigaraki came to visit you. You remember the first time he truly hurt you.

You remember what he made you do with your quirk – the quirk shoved upon you, one you’d give up in a heartbeat for the chance to escape this place, to go back in time and be thankful for your lack of quirk.

But would you?

Yes, everything that had happened to you was horrible, and you woke up everyday praying it was some kind of sick nightmare, but would you really give up your quirk in exchange for your freedom?

It was something you’d battled with for a while now.

Would you rather be here, locked up and used as a lab rat, or would you choose to go back to your family and crawl back into their cold, unaccepting arms?

No matter how you looked at the situation, there was no lesser evil amongst the two.

The thought made you laugh to yourself whenever it crossed your mind.

Had you truly reached the point where you lumped your family, your own flesh-and-blood, together with a group of villains?

Yes.

They were one and the same.

Your father, your siblings – your mother.

Everything about them shunned your existence.

If they weren’t overwhelming you, they acted as if you didn’t exist.

You wondered, not for the first time, if they were looking for you – did they miss you? Did they even realise you’d been kidnapped?

Thinking about it - them - got you nowhere.

Your family.

Family.

The word didn’t exactly fit.

The League… They treated you similarly.

They hurt you, physically, mentally, emotionally. They ignored you when you served no purpose to them or their cause. They overwhelmed you, they controlled you when they felt like it.

Dabi – he was the epitome of both.

Both your family and the League, but especially Dabi – they had a certain intensity about them when they looked at you, when they thought you couldn’t see them.

It scared you more than their insults, more than their fists, more than their distain.

They looked at you as if they wanted to consume you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was a look of crazed, unwavering mania. Obsession. But if that was the case, you wouldn’t be beaten and bruised, or locked up in a cage like some sort of pet meant for display.

You shake your head, trembling hands clutching at the bottom of the zip up Dabi had given you.

When did it get this cold?

Dabi distracts you from your thoughts, fingers harshly digging into your side, guiding you roughly down a corridor towards your right.

He tuts at you.

“Pay attention.”

He comes to walk beside you, reaching his arm around you to lay it over your shoulder.

You stiffen up.

The palm of his hand sits perfectly against the scar that sits in the juncture between your neck and shoulder – the one he’d given you.

Having a doctor on hand to run tests on your quirk wasn’t as reassuring as you might have hoped. It meant that no matter what any of them did to you, it could be fixed, and you’d be left with nothing but the mental scars as proof.

The scar Dabi had given you though – that they let you keep.

It had taken a while to heal enough for you to touch it, and you’d spent a few days after delirious with pain. But now, months later, it was fine.

Or, it should be.

But the mental scars from Dabi ran far deeper than anything else you’d been through since they’d taken you.

You hated it when people touched you.

It was the only scar you were allowed to keep, but you wished they’d rid you of it like they did with everything else.

The floodgates of your mind seem to open, the palm on your shoulder acting as a key, and you’re helpless to stop the painful barrage of memories you try so hard to suppress.

****

The first test they’d ever run on you had been the most painful to date. A large part of you had blocked out the memory, too overwhelmed to remember it in anything but short snapshots and glimpses.

You’d been strapped to a medical gurney, probably the most uncomfortable one the League could find.

The cold metal left you covered in goosebumps and shivers that had done nothing to deter the panicked sweat enveloping you, leaving your palms clammy and shaking.

Worse than being restrained and prodded with needles had to be the duration. They’d left you like that for three weeks.

Evidently, they hadn’t felt it necessary for you to eat either, deciding instead to shove a thick feeding tube down your throat. Similarly, you weren’t allowed to sit up or use the bathroom. You weren’t allowed to do anything.

They left you in a drugged haze after the third day, growing tired of your struggles and cries.

And that’s how you spent the first three weeks with the League. Completely exhausted and mentally checked out, staring blankly at the ceiling day in and day out, never so much as twitching a finger as they performed invasive surgeries you were too delirious to feel.

You’d flatlined more times than you care to remember, your heart rate dropping to a monotonous beep.

Blood filled your lungs after they’d punctured the thin membrane.

Your face turned blue from the lack of oxygen after you’d choked on the feeding tube.

You’d had multiple seizures mid-surgery from a number of malpractices.

In the end, you don’t remember much of what had happened. All you recall is waking up out of a daze surrounded by cold, impartial doctors, and being forced to carry on as if nothing had happened.

It was probably better that way. You had a feeling you didn’t want to know the entire truth of what had happened while you were all but comatose.

And beyond that, the training they’d put you through to improve your quirk was just as bad, if not worse.

You imagined that training with your father would have been similar, in that you received painful, unwarranted punishments for failure of any kind.

The only saving grace was that your quirk had improved significantly since the League had taken you.

You clung to that when despair crept up on you. You had a quirk.

Somehow, it didn’t feel as wonderful as you’d hoped it might have years ago.

****

Eventually, Dabi drags you to a halt and out of your thoughts, grasping your forearm with a grip so harsh you’re sure it’ll bruise. If they’ll allow it.

The two of you have stopped before a large set of metal doors. They reflect the flickering lights and make your eyes water. You’re confused – this isn’t your room. Why did he not take you back to your room?

Had he lied to you?

Stupid question.

Of course he lied to you.

You turn to glare at him, heart pounding wildly.

“You liar,” you spit, flinching back in vain as he reaches for you.

He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I am a villain. And I didn’t lie. This is part of your walk – the walk you wanted. So,” he prompts, giving you a slight shove that nearly sends you crashing into the double doors.

“Keep walking.”

****

You hardly dared to breathe.

Not that you could even if you wanted to. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room.

Your brain buffered for another few seconds before you could process what you were seeing.

The room, a large assembly hall, was, as you’d expected, filled with people. Members of the League. Villains.

But there, near the front of the room, looking far too content in a room of people he was supposed to be against–

Wasn’t he–?

Hawks.

The pro-hero Hawks.

Wasn’t Hawks a hero?

Shouldn’t he be fighting? Running? Trying to rescue you?

Why did he look so content? Why was he laughing, smiling next to Twice?

You take a step back, searching blindly for the door handle.

Consequences be damned, you weren’t about to wait around. Whatever was going on here, you wanted nothing to do with it.

Swallowing thickly, you tried to slip out of the room while the villains before you mingled about, as if this was some type of meet and greet or a party.

You weren’t ever really the type of person to feel any degree of self-righteousness, or think yourself better than those around you, but it became difficult when the only people you were surrounded by were villains. You didn’t feel bad about what you thought of them. It wasn’t as if they’d ever find out.

“Ah ah,” someone tuts behind you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Dabi.

What was he getting at? What kind of sick game was he trying to play?

He lightly shoves at the small of your back, pushing you forward. You stumble back into the room, straightening up.

Glancing around cautiously, you all but meld into the wall, praying no one notices you. That hope is dashed as soon as Dabi seizes your forearm and yanks you towards him, walking with an air of ease towards Twice and Hawks.

A million thoughts race through your mind as you try, and fail, to pull away from Dabi. All he spares you is a warning glare before the two of you come to a stop before the winged hero and his animated companion.

Something flickers in Hawks’ eyes when he spots you, a slight glimmer of recognition. It’s gone a moment later, so fast you almost think you imagined it.

“Who’s the kid?” he asks with an air of nonchalance, turning to Dabi. Your brother, if you even still considered him that, spares you one more quick glance, a dark look in his eyes, before responding.

“Tomura’s new experiment.”

That hurt, more than you’d care to admit.

You knew it was true, but that didn’t make it any less hurtful to hear out loud. You’d been denigrated to nothing more than an experiment. Not a person, not a child, but an object to be tested and prodded at. You were little more than an oversized labrat to these people.

Something in your expression must convey the hurt and irritation you try so hard to bury, because Dabi scoffs and wraps his hand around the back of your neck, jerking you closer to him as he tilts his head down to whisper to you. His breath is hot against your ear and it makes you cringe back awkwardly, though you don’t get far.

“What? Did that hurt your feelings?”

You clench your sweat slicked hands into fists, trying to hold your anger at bay, though it does nothing to curb your frustration. And with your frustration comes the familiar feeling of your quirk, unnatural and monstrous, bubbling up in the pit of your stomach as you try so hard to shove it back down.

“No. No, I’m just… tired. From the tests.”

He scoffs, a patronising smirk tugging at his lips. “Aw, of course. You’re tired.”

Twice and Hawks watch silently from the sidelines, not intervening, even as you wince, Dabi’s grip tightening on the nape of your neck.

“Behave. Be a good little lab rat and I won’t have to fry your face, okay?”

His tone is gentle, as if he were talking to an infant, punctuated by the soft strokes of his fingers against your cheek, but his words send a shiver of panic down your spine, locking you in place.

Satisfied with your fear induced obedience, he releases you and turns back to the pair before you, chattering away about some or other plan the League was in the process of reviewing.

None of them pay you any attention for the rest of the night.

****

Hawks seems to linger around base a lot more after that first encounter.

You see him every time the door to your glorified prison cell opens. You see him when the doctor visits to poke and prod at you, when Mr Compress drops by to deliver your meals, even when Shigaraki appears for his rare visits.

The only time he doesn’t appear is when Dabi visits, though that’s rare enough in and of itself.

He never stops to talk, or even stare, only sparing a fleeting glance at you from the corner of his eye, posture tensing slightly, before he continues down the corridor.

You feel a strange tension with him around base. The anxieties you felt before seem to be amplified, your heart rate picking up every time you catch sight of him. A part of you, deep down, hopes that he’s here to help you - to save you. But it’s a childish hope, one you’re sure to squash down as soon as it arises.

The first time he stops and lingers, around three weeks after you first meet him, is to drop your dinner off in place of Mr Compress. It’s a surprise, seeing him instead of the masked villain.

He’s silent the entire time, staring at you with a look of bored curiosity, as if he’s waiting for you to do something entertaining.

You don’t.

You force down the bland food in silence, never once taking your eyes off of him.

He leaves just as silently and quickly as he arrived.

After that day, it slowly starts to become a routine. At first, you rarely see him, but as the weeks turn into months, he becomes one of the only people you interact with. You start expecting to see him instead of the others, and you find out in passing one day that the other members of the League had shirked their duties of caring for you off on to him.

It didn’t bother you as much as it should have - the fact that they viewed you as little more than a chore.

You form a tentative bond with him, one that feels fragile and strained, but it’s better than anything else you’d had up until that moment. He’s the closest thing you have to a friend, to someone that cares about you.

His apparent care for you becomes obvious in the small things he does - the meals he brings you become more edible, something you actually look forward to instead of having to force it down. He visits more often, the short periods in which you see him seemingly becoming longer than they were before.

Four months after that first tentative encounter, Hawks had solidified himself in your dreary daily existence, establishing himself as your sole source of what could only be described as happiness.

You’d, somewhat unwillingly at first, become far more relaxed in his presence, even going as far as to enjoy his company. Some days, you might even say you looked forward to his visits.

Not only did he act as a reprieve from your never ending boredom, with both his company and the gifts he bought you, but also his interventions.

Mr Compress had, on one of his now rare visits, not at all subtly told you that Hawks had convinced the League - specifically Shigaraki - to quote unquote ‘take it easy on you’. His tone had been tinged with something you couldn’t quite identify at the time.

Even Dabi had begun to unironically refer to Hawks as your ‘new best friend’.

He didn’t seem too happy with the new development.

A week later, Hawks, or Keigo, as he’d asked you to call him in private, had paid you one last visit, and you hadn’t seen him since. He’d gifted you one of his fluffy, scarlet feathers the last time he’d visited, for ‘when he wasn’t around’.

It sat waiting neatly on the centre of the singular pillow on your bed one evening, easily catching your eye as you slipped out of the bathroom attached to your room. There was no note left with it, but you didn’t need one. You knew well enough what it meant, and it filled your empty, aching chest with a sort of warm feeling that left you breathless.

After that day, you kept it with you, tucked into your shirt, positioned right over your heart, and at night, you placed it under your pillow. You might’ve felt embarrassed at how much it meant to you, or how attached you were, but it felt like your only lifeline in the miserable four walls of your little room.

In a strange, cosmic joke kind of way, he almost felt like the family you’d never had.

****

The day Shoto had been scarred by your mother had been an odd day. It was one of the rare days since Touya’s death that you’d felt loved, accepted by your family. Everything felt normal. Two months after your fifth birthday, the snow had melted into clear, fresh streams and flowers had begun to bloom.

Sakura.

Your family had spent the day in the park, wandering around while you and Shoto played with Fuyumi in the dewy grass, in awe of the delicate pink blossoms. There’d been a strange tension between your parents that day, one you’d been too young and oblivious to notice.

After a long Spring day spent outside, your family of six had returned home and resumed life as usual. Dinner was a quiet affair, as it usually was, and you’d hurried about your evening routine after you’d felt your mother’s distasteful gaze trained on you for longer than usual.

Fuyumi had, for reasons unknown to you, attached herself to you that evening, insisting on helping you bathe and get into your pyjamas. You’d gone along with it all, happy and unquestioning of her attention on you.

It felt good, having someone care for you - the first person to do so since Touya’s passing.

She’d laid next to you in your bed, reading a children's storybook to you, her fingers gently carding through your hair - the same hair she’d so caringly brushed out an hour before, carefully working each knot out with a patience and kindness reminiscent of a mother.

In the peace and stillness of the moment, you’d failed to notice Rei's shadowy figure in the doorway, watching the two of you through the slight gap in the doorway. If you had bothered to peer over Fuyumi’s shoulder, you might’ve noticed her blanched face, or her hands, clenched into fists so tight her knuckles turned while. You might’ve noticed the wide eyed, crazed expression that had washed over her face, growing in intensity with each passing moment.

But you didn’t notice her.

What you noticed was the commotion not long after she left. You heard her panicked shrieks fifteen minutes later. Shouto’s pained screeches and sobs followed soon after, echoing eerily down the long corridor to your room.

You heard your father’s thundering steps and bellowing rage, felt Natsuo and Fuyumi’s panic, their trembling hands on your shoulders, steering you away from the sight of Shouto’s raw, burnt face.

And you definitely felt the shiver of dread dripping down your spine when your mother turned her crazed eyes on you. She looked almost demonic in that moment, eyes red rimmed and wide, face nearly as stark white as her hair.

She’d tried to approach you, hands outstretched, fingers curled into cruel claws as she reached out for you, and only your father’s firm grip kept her in the kitchen as you were ushered to your room while Shouto was rushed off to the hospital.

You didn’t see much of any of them after that, and in the months following the incident, you felt even further ostracised from your family.

Rei had been institutionalised not too long after that, and the remainder of your family had kept you at arms length ever since, reminding you constantly of your insignificance to their lives - to the family.

****

The scent of soba and egg rolls fills the room, its occupants silent as they eat.

Hawks halts for a moment, the noodles dangling from his chopsticks as he glances to his left, to the hulking flame hero sitting beside him. He hides a small smirk, tilting his head down and clearing his throat before speaking.

“I looked into that lead you told me about - the one about your daughter? It’s a deadend.”

Endeavour tenses, shooting Hawks a pointed look, but it’s too late. Natsuo and Shouto pause, exchanging a tense look across the table, and Fuyumi perks up, her grip tightening on her chopsticks.

“You’ve been looking for her? And you didn’t think to mention it to us?” Natsuo sounds outraged, his hands tightening into fists on the tabletop. “You didn’t think to ask us for help?”

Endeavour’s jaw tightens.

“I didn’t think it was necessary. Allowing you three to help would’ve done nothing but give you false hope and allow you to interfere with my work. You’d do more harm than good.”

“Ah, Endeavour, so harsh! Don’t shoot them down yet,” Hawks interjects, cutting off whatever scathing remark Natsuo was about to spit out. “More eyes and ears are always helpful. I’m sure they could help out in some way.”

His tone is light, but something about the look in his eyes has Endeavour cautious, and his tone becomes firm.

“No. You three will not get involved. That’s final.”

Hawks shrugs, going back to his soba with a quick final quip.

“Well, that’s that. Dad has spoken. Don’t try to help find your sister.”

His words hit their intended mark, evident in the barely concealed rage on Natsuo’s face.

“...yeah. Figures, you wouldn’t want us helping. You don’t actually want to get her back, do you? You probably wish she’s dead in a ditch somewhere, don’t you?”

The silence that rings out after Natsuo’s rant is deafening, oppressive. It makes the air feel stifling and heavy, and no one dares move.

“You know nothing,” Endeavour spits, his eyes alight with a look akin to pure fury. Heat radiates off of him in waves, turning the once cold soba on the table scalding in mere moments.

“I know you scared her off. We all do. We know you’re the reason she ran away in the first place. We know that if she’s hurt, or dead, or worse, then it’s your fault. And I know that I won’t stop blaming you until the day I die.”

Before the situation can escalate further, Fuyumi intervenes.

“Okay, um– Everyone is clearly feeling overwhelmed, and we all miss her, so… so let’s just take a deep breath and calm down, okay? Getting upset with one another won’t bring her back.”

Her half-hearted interference, surprisingly, seems to work, just enough for everyone to cool their tempers slightly. Natsuo lets out a long, deep breath, standing and leaving the room without another word.

Shouto follows close behind, pausing at the threshold for a moment and turning to glower at his father.

“Find her, or we will.”

****

You’re rudely awoken in the middle of the night, sweaty and tangled up in your sheets with someone shaking you harshly by the shoulders.

“Hey, wake up– Wake up.”

You jolt upright, forehead banging against someone else’s. Wincing, you massage the bruising skin of your forehead and shoot a glare to whoever had woken you up.

Hawks.

“Wha-? What’s going on?”

Your words are mumbled, sleep clouding both your mind and your vision.

Kiego firmly grips both your wrists, pulling them away from your face and yanking you to your feet, out of the bed. Your sheets pool at your feet, tangled up between your legs on the cold concrete floor.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

A quick tug towards the door accentuates his words, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach. You put up some resistance, pulling back slightly, trying to ignore the roiling in your stomach.

“Hawk– Keigo, what–? Why are we leaving? Where’s Dabi?”

His expression, from what you can see in the imposing darkness of the room, is hard and guarded, and his grip shifts to your bicep, tightening to an almost painful extent.

“None of that matters. I said we’re leaving, so start walking before I make you.”

You’re thrown off by how short off and rude his words are. He’s nothing like the man you’ve come to consider a friend, and a part of you is almost scared of him at that moment. Something in your expression must give your feelings away, because moments later, his eyes soften alongside his grip, his voice lowering to a whisper.

“I’m getting you out of here. Away from the League. Just… trust me. Please?”

Something about his gaze, his tone - it sways you. Convinces you to believe him.

So you do.

A slow nod is the only confirmation you give, but it’s enough for him to start pulling you towards the door again. You hesitate for only a moment before going along with him, pausing only to grab the scarlet feather laid carefully beneath your pillow.

It’s the only thing you take with you. The only thing you have to your name, the only possession of any value to you.

The low light disguises Keigo’s small smirk when he spots the feather clenched tightly in your grip as you trail after him, though he makes no mention of it. Similarly, you make no mention of his bruising grip.

You don’t encounter anyone in your silent, swift escape, and you almost feel as if it’s too easy, but you don’t point it out to Keigo.

Maybe a part of you is scared of jinxing your good luck.

Or maybe you’re terrified this is some sort of elaborate, cruel trick he’s playing on you.

Regardless, you stay silent, sticking close to his side as you both exit the seedy bar. He immediately scoops you up into his arms, crouching down, powerful thighs flexing beneath him for a moment before he takes flight, soaring out of the alleyway in an instant.

****

“She’s gone.”

The entire League sat gathered around the bar, tense and silent as Hawks speaks, leaning casually against the bar, wings splayed out behind him.

“I dropped off her breakfast this morning and her room was empty. Bathroom too.”

The group looks to Shigaraki, waiting for his reaction.

He’s still, expression blank and guarded. The only sign of tension in his body is the tightening of his hand, clasped into fists at his sides. His jaw works for a moment before he responds, muttering to no one in particular.

“Ruined. All ruined. Those stupid pro heroes are always ruining my plans.”

His agitation becomes obvious as he begins pacing in front of the bar counter, hands clawing uselessly at the pale skin of his neck. Welts form within seconds, raised and red and angry beneath his frantic fingernails.

“It’s Endeavour. It has to be. How did he find out? How?”

The words are muttered below his breath as he paces, not meant for anyone but himself, eyes wide and fretful when his head snaps up. His gaze narrows and sets itself on Dabi.

“Did you know about this?”

Dabi raises his eyebrows, expression cool, seemingly bored as he drawls. “Me? Now, why would I know a thing about this?”

His gaze flits momentarily to Hawks, narrowing.

“If anything, you should be asking bird boy over there. He seemed particularly comfortable around her. Wouldn’t he know something about our little escapee?”

Shigaraki groans and turns on his heel, kicking his leg out and toppling a table in the process. The room is silent for a long while, the only sounds piercing stillness is the resounding clatter of the table striking the floor, and Shigaraki’s own rage filled panting.

Silence stretches out for a few moments as he schools his rage, recomposing himself after his explosive tantrum.

“Bring her back - I don’t care how. I need her. My experiments aren’t done yet. Father won’t be pleased. She’s my experiment. Mine.”

He turns his cold glare to Hawks, then Dabi, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“Find her.”

****

Sometimes, you wonder what life would’ve been like if your mother hadn’t been around. Your siblings too, for that matter.

During the more peaceful moments of your life, you fantasised about life far away, often imagining what it’d be like if you’d been born into a different family entirely.

Maybe you’d be an only child, living in a small rural town by the beach, or on a farm.

It would’ve been peaceful, you think. Calm.

Your parents would dote on you, their only daughter, and they wouldn’t care about your lack of a quirk.

Imagining that sort of kindness made your stomach turn. How would it feel?

Or maybe you’d be one of many children. The oldest child.

You’d protect your younger siblings in the ways you never were. You’d be part of a big happy family, one where you had big Sunday lunches and went on annual vacations. You’d have a family pet, a cat or a dog, adored by everyone in your make believe family.

Or maybe you’d be an orphan.

How sad, that being an orphan without a home was preferable to your own situation.

But you’d be surrounded by other children like you - children without homes, without families.

The thought of a different life left an aching hole where your heart should’ve been.

There were times that you felt bad about wishing for a different life. You’d look at family photos, gazing down at your siblings smiling up at you, their faces joyful and free of concern.

Why couldn’t your life have been like that? Was your lack of a quirk really the only thing that made you so different?

Maybe if you’d been born as Fuyumi instead, with her soft eyes and kind disposition.

Or maybe Natsuo, with his unwavering strength, that glint he got in his eyes when he looked at you - the one that meant that he loved or hated you.

Most often, you imagined what it would be like to have been born as Shouto.

The golden child.

Would you have been grateful? Or would you have hated your family as much as he seemed to hate yours?

What reason did he have for hating them? They treated him like a king. Like their own saviour.

You wish he’d been yours. You wish he’d never grown out of his kindness, like he did when you were five years old and desperate for some kind of connection.

Perhaps things would have been different.

You try to imagine a world in which he took over the role Touya held in your life. You try to imagine a world in which your family protected you, in which they didn’t look down on you like you were scum.

The picture is blank and fuzzy.

You can’t imagine such a world.

But amidst the mess of self-pity and poorly disguised hatred in your mind, you remember small glimpses of happiness in your life with them. It rarely happened, but since you’d been taken by the League, it was as if the floodgates had opened. Memories you’d long since repressed came back in bits and pieces, and surprisingly, they weren’t all bad.

When you were seven years old, your father had hit you. It wasn’t out of the ordinary - in fact, you’d come to expect it.

But it hurt nonetheless. It bruised both your face and your feelings, so you’d escaped to the greenhouse in the garden for a reprieve - somewhere you rarely went.

It had been your mother’s sanctuary, but she’d long since been hospitalised, so you had no fear of seeing her through the thicket. You spent far longer there than you’d thought, and eventually the setting sun illuminated the room, filtering through the glass roof and overhanging foliage. It looked as if the room was on fire, bathed in the warm orange afternoon glow.

That’s where Natsuo found you, huddled up under a counter with your knees to your chest, careful not to jostle your bruised cheek.

He didn’t say anything, or try to coax you out of your shelter. Instead, he sat down next to you with a huff, slightly hunched over beneath the table. He, despite being only ten years old at the time, was already a lot taller than you, and most other children his age. The two of you sat in silence for a long while, not acknowledging one another as you sat side by side.

The memory replayed itself in your mind, almost as clearly as the day it happened.

Some time passes before he speaks.

“When I’m older, I’ll protect you. Like Touya did.”

The words give you pause, and you don't look at him. Thinking back now, you wish you had.

Would his expression have told you what he was thinking?

You’d never know.

“I’m not strong enough right now, but one day, I will be. And then he’ll never hurt you or Sho again. We’ll leave - us and Fuyumi.”

He pauses, bumping his shoulder against yours. You glance up at him and see his mouth pulled tight, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“...I’m sorry for being a bad brother. I… I know I don’t act like it often, but I do love you. I worry about you too.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, averting your gaze. The words, however true they may or may not be, make you feel… wanted. As if he actually sees you as a member of the family, a little sister, and not some pesky waste of space or a punching bag.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course.”

The conversation lulls into silence after that. He sits beside you in silence, staring blankly at the wall of ivy opposite the two of you, and you sit there, still curled up tightly, fighting back tears.

He glances at you for a moment, reaching out to rest his hand on your shoulder. The gesture feels comforting, in a way. As comforting as it can be, coming from him - someone who’s a strange combination of both your older brother, and a complete stranger to you.

The sigh he lets out is heavy, weighed down by an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on, and his thumb gently strokes your swollen cheek. He pulls back as you wince, recoiling as if you’d struck him.

“Come on. Let’s get you some ice for that bruise.”

It felt both strange and pathetic - the fact that that was your fondest memory with Natsuo, at least from what you could remember.

But it felt soothing, in a way, to know that he didn’t completely hate you. Not as much as you’d thought.

It almost gave you hope that your family actually cared. Maybe they were looking for you. Maybe they were worried about you.

And maybe, they even felt remorseful for how they’d treated you.

Or maybe not.

****

“There’s been a… development.”

Endeavour tenses, the vein in his jaw ticking as he eyes Hawks.

“What do you mean?”

Hawks takes a deep breath, his brows scrunching into a faux sombre expression. The hand he lays on Endeavour’s shoulder is meant to be reassuring, but it feels like a death knell, settling heavily on his mind.

“I looked into it, and… she isn’t with the League. I don’t know if she ever was.”

“So… What? She just disappeared? People don’t just vanish off the face of the earth Hawks!”

His temper is boiling over now, despite his attempt to keep it under control. Hawks takes a step back, cautious as he shows his palms in a placating gesture, attempting in vain to calm the quickly growing fury of the man before him.

“I don’t know. I haven’t found a single trace of her. Maybe…”

Hawks schools his features, taking another step back, preparing for the inevitable backlash he’s about to receive.

“Maybe you should let it go. She’s gone, and she’s clearly not coming back.”

The large mahogany desk, once anchored to the floor, flies across the room, slamming against the wall of shelves with a resounding boom, its contents scattered across the office.

Endeavour is the picture of barely restrained rage, shoulders heaving with each panting breath, posture hunched and shuddering, his face red and twisted beyond recognition. Even his voice is barely recognisable.

“How dare you? How dare you suggest I give up? She is my daughter! She might be dead or worse, and you think I should just give up?!”

The air sizzles with each wave radiating off of the flame hero, and the plastic office chair behind him melts like butter, dripping to the floor in a sticky puddle, marring the once perfectly polished tiles.

Hawks quickly backtracks, eyebrows raising at the display of unbridled fury.

“Woah woah, no! I’m not suggesting that at all! I mean… maybe I was, but I can see now how upset that makes you so– Let’s just take a break, okay? Just take some time to… rethink things.”

His eyes flicker to Endeavour’s face, searching for something for a moment.

“Maybe consider allowing your kids to help?”

He shows his palms again before Endeavour can interject.

“I know, I know! It’s just a suggestion. Many hands, and all that. Just… give it some thought, okay? I’ll keep looking and let you know if I find anything.”

He leaves without waiting for a response, a small smirk playing on his lips.

With Endeavour lost in his own self hatred and personal musings, and the League preoccupied with their plans and separate search for you, no one would be looking his way.

****

Keigo was surprisingly wealthy.

Not that you’d expected him to be living in squalor - he was a Pro Hero, after all. A good one too, if his position as number two was anything to go by.

But the blatant decadence of his apartment shocked you.

He’d landed on the balcony smoothly, after a long forty minute flight, gently setting you down and leading you inside.

While he may have been accustomed to flying, you weren’t so lucky, and you felt as though you’d left your stomach back at the League’s base. Or maybe you’d lost it mid flight.

He seemed to pick up on your disorientation, guiding you to the plush couch with an unexpected tenderness. He’d allowed you to gather your bearings, bringing you a fuzzy blanket to stave off the odd chill in his apartment, and a tall glass of water, the condensation beading down the sides.

You’d been thirstier than you’d expected, chugging down the contents in mere moments, gulped down in six seconds flat.

Evidently, you’d been more exhausted than you thought too, dozing off less than fifteen minutes later. You felt Keigo there, his gentle hands helping you lay down and covering you with the blanket.

Now, when you wake up hours later, dazed and drooling, in a bed far too large for one person, Keigo’s gone, and the only indicator of his presence were the few scarlet feathers strewn across the fluffy duvet.

You spend a while combing the apartment for him, tentatively calling out his name as you wander the wide halls, but he’s nowhere to be found. Likewise, you note, at the back of your mind, the distinct lack of a front door.

There’s an off-kilter niggling at the back of your mind, but you brush it off, shifting your search to the kitchen after yet another unsuccessful ten minutes of searching. Evidently, exploring after hours of surprisingly deep sleep made you thirsty. You stand there, leaning against the marble countertop, chugging a tall glass of water, then another, and a third, until you feel bloated and almost sick. Only then do you set your glass down in the sink and move on from the kitchen.

His apartment is large, far too extravagant, but you suppose that must’ve been his taste.

You wander around the space aimlessly for a while, longer than you expected.

Why did he need this much space? Did he live with someone else?

The three tall glasses of water you’d chugged catch up to you far too quickly, and you shuffle to the first bathroom you find, paying no mind to your surroundings.

After taking care of your business and washing your hands, you exit the bathroom and stop short when you spot Keigo standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his face blank. Neither of you move for a long while, but eventually he blinks, eyes clearing as he assesses you.

“You feeling better?”

His tone is light and airy, the same Keigo you’ve grown accustomed to. It sets you at ease, the tension you hadn’t noticed in your shoulders melting away, trailing down your spine like a trickle of water.

“...yeah. Much.”

There’s a long pause, neither of you moving or saying anything. You clear your throat.

“Um, I never thanked you. For helping me, I mean. So… thank you.”

You incline your head slightly, straightening up. He stares at you for a long moment, sighing as he shifts to the side, a clear indication for you to leave the room. You do, shuffling past him awkwardly and making your way back to the living room.

The ceilings are tall, nearly over twelve feet, making the room seem larger and more exposed than it truly is. You sit back down on the couch, shifting about for a moment, settling down as Keigo seats himself down near you.

After a while, when it becomes apparent that he has no plan of breaking the simmering silence, you decide to take it upon yourself.

“I– Can I go home now?”

Home.

You didn’t know what that was. Not anymore.

It wasn’t with your father, on his sprawling estate. It wasn’t your four walled prison cell with the League. It certainly wasn’t with Touya.

The realisation that you had nowhere to go, no one to care for you… It was startling, and left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Keigo stares at you, head dipped forward so it appears almost as if he’s leering at you through his lashes. His golden eyes are alight with a strange intensity, and he takes a deep breath, seemingly thinking over his words.

“About that. See… I think it’s better if you stay with me for a bit. Just to… acclimate. You understand, right?”

His tone leaves little room for argument, but you try nonetheless.

“What? But wouldn’t– I don’t want to impose. I should really get back to my… family.”

The words die out on your tongue.

Now, out in the open, free from both the League and your family, you’re not so sure you want to return to the Todoroki home. You’d never had a choice before. It felt freeing, in a way, finally having the power to decide what you wanted without someone else breathing down your neck, trying to influence your decision.

Keigo raises a brow, the look that he gives you filled with a mix of pity, and something far more calculated and knowing.

“Do you? Do you want to go back to them? To him? The media may not be privy to what happens behind closed doors, but I’ve worked around Endeavour long enough to recognise the fact that he has a bit of a hot temper. Are you really willing to leave one prison cell for another?”

His words are like a stone dropped in your stomach, settling heavily in your already uneasy gut.

It sparks something inside you, a deep seated realisation. Keigo was offering you a way out. Freedom. True freedom. Or, at least, as close as you could get to it. You wouldn’t have to be subjected to the whims of others, of what they wanted for you.

Keigo was offering you a choice.

Maybe not in so many words, but the offer was there. You’d be a fool not to take him up on it.

Your throat bobs as you swallow, fists clenched tightly in your lap as you meet his gaze.

“I’ll stay.”

He smiles, eyes filled with light, seemingly glowing in the early morning rays that filter through the tall windows, gaze intense and trained solely on you. You shiver, wrapping your arms around your midsection as goosebumps dance over your skin.

It’s so cold in here.

“Wonderful.”

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