#sero soulmate

[uravitypng]

soulmate hanta who is completely oblivious to that fact that he is your soulmate. everybody is born with a soulmate mark, a scribble of words that are the first words your soulmate utters to you placed somewhere along your hip. hanta sero who is nonchalant and chill about things that he doesn't realise he's already met his soulmate. they met on the first day of ua and he didn't even notice, and you... well you noticed but how could you tell him.

everyone's going around introducing themselves, he doesn't introduce himself though. your bag was neatly tucked away under your desk, already ready to start class when hanta somehow tripped over it, he caught himself in the last minute

"fuck, that could've gone really bad." he grinned at you and you were too stunned to speak, your body felt warm, like fireworks exploding and the warmth left over from sparklers their bright vivid colours flowing through you, you found your soulmate. you didn't get the chance to reply to him, an authoritative voice started speaking, aizawa sensei, and then class started.

you tried really bad to talk to him but he oozed of confidence and friendless, if the roles were reversed and you tripped over his bag you don't even think you would of been able to say something, you'd probably just rush off in embarrassment. he jokes around with everyone and you fade away in the background, you didn't even mean to, it wasn't your intention, you told yourself that when you started ua and started the hero course you'd put yourself out there more but that changed when the idea of talking to your soulmate was so daunting.

soulmate hanta who lays in his hammock with his arm of his face, groaning because you are just so adorable! and you won't talk to him, you're quiet anyway but around him it's like you don't say anything. he doesn't even know if he's ever heard you talk. he frowns at the idea that you won't talk to him because you don't like him, he wants you to like him, he wants you to talk to him! everything about you leaves him in a tizzy- the way you smile, your laugh, your anime pins stuck to your bag, how you got bakugou to open up to you even before kirishima. he can't explain it but he just wants to be near you.

you want to be near him, you want to ask him about his favourite manga, you want to know more about him but you conclude your soulmate wants nothing to do with you. you've only spoken to him once, a month into meeting each other, and he didn't say anything about your mark. he didn't have any reaction. you were talking to bakugou, arguing over who did better in the practical today out of the two of you and you're too involved in proving that you were better that you don't realise hanta and kaminari have walked up to you both. you've spoken to kaminari on a couple of occasions he's nice but a bit too complimentary to girls for your liking and you haven't said one single word to hanta, overthinking every little thing. "oi, you two which one of us was stronger today in our practical?" bakugou shouts over to them.

you don't remember kaminari's response, you remember hanta's, "i mean you're good bakugou but she's miles ahead of you." your heart soars, you don't think you've ever been so happy in your life. shouting ensues, lots of shouting, bakugou calling hanta blind and various other insults.

over all that you say, "thanks sero, you were great too," the end of your sentence gets quieter and you stutter more. they can barely hear you over all the shouting. hanta doesn't look at you or make any acknowledge of what you just said, like 'oh hey, that's what my soulmate mark says' nothing. he heard you but he didn't want anything to do with you. the rejection hurt but you knew something like this would happen, you never expected him to like you but you would've liked him to say something like 'i'm not interested but i still want to be friends with you.'

the lack of any acknowledge on his behalf made it clear to you and you don't want to disrespect his wishes, if he doesn't want to get to know you then you won't force yourself into his life. what you didn't realise is your soulmate didn't even hear what you said... he didn't reject you at all he just didn't hear.

five minutes beforehand he was almost dragging denki by his sleeve over to you and bakugou because he wants to talk to you. he's had this warm fuzzy feeling from the first moment he's seen you and it's just grown and grown.

soulmate hanta is buzzing now that everyone is moving into dorms because surely that means you'll have to talk to him.

soulmate hanta who inserts himself into your life. that anime pin on your bag? he's asking if you've read the manga. he's making teasing jabs at bakugou with you about how his cooking for everyone gives it away that he loves all of the class, bakugou always tells him to fuck off and you have a fit of giggles. he gives you ideas when he can see you're struggling and hit a road block with your hero costume support items. he'll swing you with him to the roof of tallest towers in the city and talk for hours until the sun comes up about the future and plans for being a pro. he's loud and sociable and brings you out of your shell to speak up when he can see that you want but are too afraid to, he's there to give you a push but also relax with you in the dorms when he can tell that you don't have the energy for everyone. he'll bring snacks and you'll watch films and he'll speak to you gently and soothingly that puts your mind at ease when you get overwhelmed. he'll read you manga while you rest your head on his lap and you'll get overly competitive when it comes to mario kart.

you don't understand why your soulmate had this change of mindset about you, maybe it's because you're all living together but now you have him in your life you're not jeopardising that. the time you share with everyone is amazing, and the time you and hanta share with everyone is amazing but when you're just together alone that amazing turns into perfection. you want to bottle up those moments with a glass and keep them forever.

falling in love with hanta didn't surprise you, you knew it would happen sooner or later. you never spoke to each other about being soulmates or relationships (you thought you knew why) you didn't engage in conversations with the rest of the class about it either. you didn't want to put hanta on the spot like that, 'yeah, i've found my soulmate guys, i spend every day with him but he rejected me. oh look! here he comes now, hi sero!' you were wrong though. it didn't happen like you thought it did.

soulmate hanta who isn't just called 'hanta' in your head but when you speak to him or about him, after eight years of knowing each other you've gotten past the use of family names. the first time he heard you speak it his heart skipped a beat. your heads were pressed together and you were under a blanket asleep. you both drifted off at some point during film night, it was time for you both to start joint patrol so you woke him up, whispering his name. you joined the same agency so that meant you liked doing as much joint patrol with each other as possible.

soulmate hanta who's never been in a relationship before and is a complete virgin. he doesn't care about other girls, not even to look their way for a night, all he cares about is you. the idea of even dating a girl riddles him with guilt over how he wishes it was you. hanta is fully aware that you've never been in a relationship either.

soulmate hanta can't bare to look you in the eyes and hear about the person you love or how you're yearning to find your soulmate. he couldn't bare that pain. the idea that you have someone out there- it kills him. in that sense he's insecure, he knows he should be supportive and ask about your soulmate, it seems that every other person has had at least one conversation about it but he just can't. you've never even had a relationship and he knows he should ask why but then you might ask him the same question and the reason would be- you.

the thought that his words may be written on your hip never cross his mind, he's never been in denial that he loves you but he never thought it was reciprocated.

the thought that he himself has a soulmate never, even for a second, flits through in his mind. he doesn't think he's met them and he doesn't care if he does. they won't be you.

[todorokis-girl]

I Never Knew You Were Alive - Soulmate AU (IV) NSFW

Chapter IV: What are we doing?

No actual dabi in this one

Chapter I: So it starts Chapter II: A late arrival Chapter III: belive of be doomed Chapter IV: What are we doing? Chapter V: Last minute encounter Chapter VI: Deciding to fall in love with you

masterlist

Next Chapter

This one is smut...there's really nothing else to say.... There's a lot of self indulgence here. I am so sorry.

The following months were fraught with tension, especially whenever her missions hinted at any involvement with the League of Villains. The delicate and precarious relationship with Touya weighed heavily on her mind, and she was acutely aware of the potential danger it posed not just to herself but to civilians and fellow heroes. Despite her best efforts to avoid him, it was impossible to escape his shadow entirely.

Surprisingly, they bumped into each other a few times after their initial encounter. These meetings were fleeting, marked by brief, silent exchanges of glances rather than words or violence. The first time she saw him again was during one of her nightly walks. The city was shrouded in darkness, and the air was crisp and cold. She was passing through a dimly lit alley when she felt his presence and spotted him from the corner of her eye. Her heart raced as their eyes met. He stood at the far end of the alley; his silhouette framed by the faint glow of a distant streetlamp.

The second encounter was during a mission. She was part of a covert operation to gather intelligence on a rumored League hideout. The abandoned warehouse was eerily quiet, the air thick with anticipation. As she moved through the shadows, she sensed him before she saw him. He was watching her from a distance, his intense gaze burning into her. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. But just like the previous encounter, he made no move to harm her. He simply watched, his eyes filled with a mixture of intensity and something she couldn't quite decipher.

With each silent encounter, the tension between them grew, a palpable force that was impossible to ignore. The air seemed to crackle with electricity whenever he was near, and she found herself both drawn to and terrified of him. The sexual tension was undeniable, a magnetic pull that she didn't know how to handle. She was even more confused, as along with this sensation, the threat he had made to her loomed over her every thought. 

Touya’s physical presence was overwhelming. His tall, lean frame exuded a raw, almost dangerous charisma. His pale skin contrasted starkly with his dark, tousled hair, which framed his angular face. His eyes, a vivid shade of turquoise, were piercing and intense, holding a depth of emotion that belied his villainous persona. The scars that marred his skin only added to his allure, a testament to the pain and suffering he had endured. There was a rugged handsomeness to him, a dark allure that was impossible to resist. His voice, low and husky, sent shivers down her spine whenever she heard it. She had no idea if to attribute these thoughts to the fact that they were fated for each other, or simple raw attraction. 

The way he moved was almost predatory, graceful and confident, like a panther stalking its prey. She couldn't help but be captivated by him, despite the danger he represented. Every glance, every fleeting moment they shared was charged with an intensity that left her breathless. The memory of his touch lingered on her skin, a reminder of the night he had threatened her.

This was definitely not something she could talk to Keigo about. It felt shameful to admit her attraction to a villain, but it was also understandable. Touya was her soulmate, her one true match. He was supposed to be the one person who could satisfy her and make her feel something real. The bond between soulmates was supposed to be unbreakable, a connection that transcended all else. But the reality of their situation was far more complicated.

She often found herself lost in thought, replaying their encounters in her mind. The memory of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the way his presence made her heart race – it was all-consuming. She was caught in a web of conflicting emotions, torn between her duty as a hero and her undeniable attraction to him.

Late at night, she would lie awake, her mind racing with thoughts of him. She could still feel the heat of his hand around her neck, the way his breath had brushed against her skin. It was intoxicating, and she hated herself for wanting more. The thought of him consumed her, filling her dreams and waking moments alike. She yearned for him, despite knowing how dangerous that desire was.

He wasn’t just her soulmate, he was the enemy, the one threatening her students. What would Keigo think? Aizawa? Hell… what would hero society think if they found out? 

Yet, she couldn't deny the truth. Touya was her soulmate, and no matter how twisted their relationship, that bond remained. She could feel it in her very soul, a connection that refused to be severed. It was both a blessing and a curse, a source of both strength and torment. She was trapped in a dance with darkness, unable to escape the pull of the man who was supposed to be her other half.

As she navigated her missions and daily life, the tension never fully dissipated. It lingered, a constant reminder of the battle raging within her. She was determined to find a way to reach him, to make him see the truth of their bond. But each encounter left her more confused, more conflicted, and more desperate for answers. The path ahead was uncertain, and the stakes were higher than ever. But she couldn't give up. Not on him, and not on herself.

The last time before the cataclysmic event, she hadn’t gone out looking for him, but they found each other. She was returning from one of her rare midnight patrols, enjoying a can of iced coffee. The city was quiet at this hour, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by an eerie stillness. The streetlights cast long, dim shadows on the empty sidewalks, and the occasional car passed by, its headlights slicing through the darkness.

Tomorrow was Saturday, and she didn’t have to work, but she had a weekly meeting with her best friend and needed to grade some assignments. She sighed, knowing she needed a lot more than a can of iced coffee to keep her going. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the looming presence that had been tracking her.

She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to look at the alleyway, carefully adjusting her vision to peer into the dark. The alley was narrow, lined with overflowing dumpsters and scattered debris, the smell of mold lingering in the air. After a couple of seconds, she could start making out his shape. His silhouette was unmistakable, even in the dim light. Then she saw his eyes, two burning points of blue in the darkness. They held each other's gaze, and she felt a lump form in her throat, a mix of fear and pent-up desire.

When she was about to step away, he finally approached her, stopping at the very edge of the alley, right at the line where he would be stepping out into the light. The faint glow from the streetlamp illuminated his features partially, highlighting the intensity in his eyes and the harsh lines of his face. His presence was imposing, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body even from a distance.

She took a sharp breath and braced herself, hoping today wouldn’t be the day she fought him, not in her current state. Her heart pounded in her chest, a rapid drumbeat of anxiety and anticipation.

“I’m not ready to talk, I don’t want to fight, I don’t trust you; I’m tired of the tension,” he said, his voice low and intense. His gaze held her captive, his eyes burning with unresolved emotions. Confused, she scrunched her eyebrows, wondering what she was meant to do. Her heart raced in her chest, the confusion still present.

“Let’s get rid of it,” he added, his words a dark, compelling command. Setting backwars into the alley, almost pulling her to follow him. 

And with that, she was convinced. She couldn’t deny the magnetic pull between them, the way his presence stirred something deep within her.

The narrow alleyway provided a cloak of secrecy, shielding them from prying eyes and the hustle of the city beyond. The faint glow of distant streetlights cast eerie shadows against the worn brick walls, adding to the clandestine atmosphere of their rendezvous. The air hung heavy with anticipation, thick with the scent of urban decay and the heady aroma of their shared desire.

The world around them disappeared as their bodies collided with a desperate need that had been building for months, probably years. The alley was a confined space, filled with the mingled scents of the city and their shared passion. The rough texture of the brick wall pressed against her back contrasted sharply with the heat of his body. His touch was both rough and tender, a confusing mix that left her craving more.

He roughtly pulled her sweater to rest above her breast and desperately pulled her bra downward to expose her breast, the sounds she made echoed in the confined space. At that moment, she couldn’t think even if she wanted to. Her mind was a haze of sensation and emotion, a whirlwind of heat and urgency. She could feel every scar, every line of his muscular form, and it drove her wild with a longing she couldn’t control.

Witth heavy breast and a hint of desperating, he lowered his pants to his waist and after urging her to be quick, grabbed her ass, and lifted her up to rest against the wall, held up by his arms; her legs around me. Her shorts and underware carefully dangling from her ankle. 

There was something taboo in this clandestine encounter, knowing they were not supposed to be together. She was his enemy; she was his soulmate.

His hand cupped her breast, his fingers tweaking her nipple. A gasp escaped her lips, a shiver running down her spine. It was as if electricity crackled in the air, the atmosphere crackling with tension and anticipation. Sweat dripped down their bodies, mingling between them, a testament to their overwhelming connection.

Heat pulsed through her veins, fueling the ravenous beast within. He whispered obscenities in her ear, probing her with his tongue, and she shivered at the filthy words.

"Fuck me, dammit," she cried out, her hips grinding against him. "Take me."

He echoed the sentiment, his voice raw and primal as he grabbed her and smashed her against the cold, unforgiving wall. The impact sent a jolt of pleasure through her limbs, echoing the primal core of their need.

His length throbbed between them, and with a violent thrust, he entered her. Their bodies moved in a syncopated rhythm, both in harmony and discord, a clash of need and fury.

"God, Touya," she moaned, her voice bouncing off the cold walls of the alley. Her head rolled backwards, hitting the surface with a dull thud. His name on her lips was a mix of love, fear, and lust, an intoxication that tasted sweeter than any drug could.

The pain of his grip on her hip, the primal frenzy of his thrusts as he invaded her: all of it fed that insatiable hunger within her. Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist as she took him deeper, each thrust forcing her closer to the edge.

"You like that?" Touya asked, his voice a low growl, savage and raw. The question sent a chill down her spine, and she couldn't help but nod eagerly. She wanted to give herself to him completely; she was beyond the point of shame or fear.

Her heart raced as he took her, his movements becoming stronger, urgent and intensifying with each passing moment. Her body shuddered around him, her walls clenching around his length as she met his rhythm.

Touya pulled on her hair, forcing her to arch her back, giving him better access to her heaving chest. He bent down to take a hard nipple into his mouth, sucking on it with a greed that made her cry out in pure bliss.

His other hand moved between their bodies, his thumb finding her swollen nub. Pressure and friction, a divine combination she couldn't resist. She bucked her hips, pressing herself harder against him, urging him on as her pleasure mounted.

"Don't stop," she panted. The sound of their bodies moving together reverberated through the alley, mingling with the distant sounds of the city.

Touya continued his sensual assault, driving her to the brink of madness. The tension built inside her, her core ached with anticipation. His moans on her ear were becoming maddening, aiding in the sensitivity and pleasure. 

Her body, wet and warm, clung to him. He groaned his satisfaction, his length fully sheathed inside her as he established a hard, insistent rhythm. She could hardly breathe, her ability to form words vanished as her senses heightened to a fever pitch.

The slap of their bodies echoed in the narrow confines of the alley, a reminder of their forbidden union. Her back remained glued to the icy bricks, while his hands roamed her body mercilessly. The mix of hot and cold on her skin sending her farther down her path. She was used to conflicting temperatures on her skin, but this time it made every inch of her body more aware. 

He cupped her breasts in his calloused palms, pinching her sensitive nipples with a cruel force that made her gasp. He growled, letting go of one nipple only to grip the other more fiercely. Her breathes quickened, each one panting out in rhythm with her growing need, she could feel herself getting closer, a white hot sensation running though up her spine skin. 

"God, Touya, I'm so fucking close," she cried, her voice hoarse. Her body trembled as her lips parted wider, gasping for air, her eyelids fluttering as the orgasm approached. Every thrust making her moans louder.

“Careful, someone might hear the little hero” He grinned, his lips curling up into a wicked smile, hearing her pleas drove him wild. Gripping her hips tight, he buried his thrusts deep inside her, relishing the sensation as his length pounded against her sensitive spot. Pleasure consumed her body as her walls closed around him, wet and greedy, demanding every inch he could give her. He felt her cum on his cock, and he saw her. Her eyes rolled back with one last moan, no, scream; twitching and she desperately looked for something to grab onto. 

He had no intentoon oh helping her lower her moans, it wasn’t exactly his problem whow saw. With a mischeavious lick of his lips he grabbed her hips again, knowing she hadn’t finished her orgasm and continued to thrust into her. 

He was close to his own orgasm, and he was gonna use her to finish even if she couldn’t take it anymore. He made sure to watch her, sounds wilder and louder as he speed up closing on his own high. 

With one deep groan, he attached his teeth to her shoulder, near the baase of her neck, bitting as hard as he could, finishing himself off deep inside her. 

"This. Is. Fucking. Insane," she managed to pant as she carefully attempted to catch her breath, she looked into his eyes studying him carefulluy "What are we even doing?" She didn’t understand what she was doing, and to be quite frank, she was yet to figure out how she felt about it… emotionally. 

"Savoring. Each. Other." He ground out in response, between his own harsh breaths. His tongue traced the shell of her ear before he nipped at her earlobe. She gasped, her body responding to his touch like he was a drug she couldn't get enough of.

"You liked that, didn't you?" he whispered, his voice thick with desire. She moaned, her legs involuntarily shuttering around him. He pressed himself against her, his hardness throbbing against her core, a reminder of the intimacy they shared and the larger connection that lay between them.

He took in the bite he had left on her, red and angry, and licked it. It was gonna leave a mar, and it was going to bruise; and he wasn’t going to let her forget any of this. 

She gruided her hands under his shirt. Her hands trailed between his toned abs and up to his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles underneath ripple. She took the moment, and the opportunity to study his scars, and soutures and how the alternating textures felt on her skin, allowig herself the oportunity to familiarize herself with the warmth of his body, almost memorizing his temperature; who knew when she’d have the oportunity to do this again (more like who knew, if she would allow herself to do this again). It was a moment of intimacy unlike any other, a fleeting connection between two souls bound by fate, one that she increasingly though would never stick. 

But even as she reveled in the sensation, permitting herself the moment of intimacy, a part of her couldn't shake the nagging doubt that lingered at the back of her mind. She knew what this was, and the moment he decided he got his fill, she had to run. 

She didn’t look up at him, but he studied her carefully, he was just as confused as she was. He had never felt the desire for anyone that he had felt for her, and he needed to know why. Now that he knew, it terrefied him, this wasn’t about love or even wanting to have anything with his soulmate; he just couldn’t stand the tension any longer.

As she leaned back against the brick wall, using it for support, Touya couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt wash over him. He had allowed himself to be drawn into this moment of vulnerability, to let down his guard and succumb to the allure of her touch. And now, as they stood there in the darkness, he couldn't help but wonder what it all meant.

She swallowed, her breath finally staying, as she quickly pulled on her clothes back on properly. She was moving quicker than she though she could and felt her eyes begging to water, finally, after a moment of calm the current reality swallowing her whole. 

“Thank you; for…” She used her hands to sort of half haeartedly signal to the encouter; and he looked at her uninterested. 

“Leave” he finalized adjusting his own clothes and began to walk away, she didn’t know how to feel or why; and as much as she expected and knew this would be the reaction, it still hurt her.

He himself was confused, but he knew, even if he wanted to belive her, even if he trusted her, even if he begged for it; they could never really be together. He didn’t know if she understood their circumstances, but one day it’s click. He was sure of it. 

tags: @staygoldsquatchling02

[gojospinkietoe]

idiot 1 and idiot 2

[dira333]

A Sign of Love - Sero x Deaf!Reader

Anon Request for my Follower Celebration.

A/N: Please keep in mind that I am not deaf and do not have any deaf friends to ask for reference. I wrote this from Sero's perspective as someone who's probably hasn't met a deaf person before.

Y/N's deaf and while I could technically write her as being able lip read or talk, both things are not universally true for all deaf people, so I chose to keep them out of it. If Shinma sounds like a dick, that's because he is. He's the Bakugo of Support Class 1.

“That’s the cool thing about U.A. You meet Students from all over…” 

Sero nods as Kaminari drowns on. He’d been thinking the same thing.

“And if you want to meet your soulmate, you just have to get out there, right?” Kaminari laughs, not noticing the way Sero straightens instantly. 

Right. That topic again.

“Yeah, absolutely.” Sero laughs, a little forcefully, but Kaminari is as attentive as a teaspoon.

“What’s yours, by the way?” Kaminari asks to Sero’s absolute horror.

“What’s my what?” He tries to buy himself time.

“Your soulmate mark. Mine’s on my ass. The placement is really weird but at least it’s still visible, I heard of one guy’s mark that was-”

“Don’t tell that story!” Jirou’s earphone jack stabs itself into Kanimari’s shoulder, interrupting the boy at just the right time. “It’s nasty.”

“Thanks.” Sero grins back at her. “By the way, do you know if we have English Homework?”

Jirou eyes him in a way that tells him she’s got all the attentiveness that Kaminari is clearly lacking.

“I don’t think we do. But Present Mic mentioned something about a surprise test.”

“What?!” Kaminari’s positively forgotten the topic now, panic clear in his eyes. “When? I haven’t studied in ages.”

“Don’t worry.” There’s a scheming gleam in Jirou's eyes as she pulls him with her. “I can help you study.”

-

Sero’s not sure how he’s done it, but somehow he’s managed to not only survive his first year at U.A. but also keep his secret… well, a secret.

Not that there had been plenty of time to dwell on it, with the League of Villains after them and the World as they knew it at war. 

But he realized, well into their second year, that his classmates - now close friends - still had no idea. It’s not that he thought they’d give him a hard time - he’s been through hell and back with these guys - but how does one bring up a topic like this?

“Hey, you’ve known me as the lighthearted guy but I actually don’t have a soulmate and it makes me a little depressed at times?” No, that would just get everyone’s mood down.

“Do you want to date me? I know you have a soulmate mark but I don’t and why not have a good time until you find the love of your life?” Yeah, that just sucked.

With his luck, he could also just try and go through the next one and a half year keeping this secret. If no one knew, no one would pity him.

-

“Hey, Sero!” Uraraka almost crashes into him as he exits the elevator. “Could you do me a huge favor?”

“I don’t know, what’s it about?”

“I’m supposed to be at Gunhead’s agency in twenty minutes and I’m already late but Midoriya asked me to take these notebooks over to Hatsume. Could you deliver them? He mentioned that she needs them today!”

“Oh, yeah, that’s no problem.” She hands him the heavy bag stacked with notebooks. 

“Thanks! You’re the best!” Uraraka’s gone before he can say anything else.

It’s a shame, really, that she’s already found her soulmate. He’d always thought that she was cute, even if a little intense at times.

It hadn’t been that much of a surprise to find out that her soulmate was Bakugo, of all people. He did pity her sometimes though. Her soulmate mark, his first words to her, were scribbled along her stomach. It hadn’t been nice words, spoken in the heat of the Sports Festival, and Bakugo’s writing was messy at best.

To go your whole life with an insult covering your stomach… maybe having now soulmate mark was for the best after all.

-

“Hatsume?” Sero calls out into the support lab. He can barely see anyone in between the machines whirring around. With the music playing in the background it’s no surprise that he doesn’t get a reaction.

Someone with vibrant green hair bobs from side to side behind a table filled with bubbling chemicals and Sero waves his hand in their direction, hoping to get their attention.

Nothing. He steps around a table, careful not to bump into the Robot that’s either working or destroying itself.

“Hey!” He waves his hand again. Behind the vibrant green hair, a door opens. 

Sero’s jaw slackens.

Has he ever seen the U.A. Uniform fit someone so well? It’s like it was made for you in mind. 

You don’t notice him at first as you walk alongside the wall, keep out of the reach of the room’s madness. Sero’s unable not to follow you with his eyes. There’s the slope of your nose, the shape of your eyes, the color of your hair - he can’t get enough of it, has never felt like this before. Is this what falling in love feels like?

You turn right at the end of the room, hand already on the door handle. 

He swallows nervously, tries to think of something to say but his mouth is empty. He waves awkwardly and you smile shyly, wave back before you slip out of the room, out of his sight, out of reach.

“Wow.” A high voice pipes up from somewhere to his left.

When he turns, he can see the person the vibrant green hair belongs to. It’s a boy, about as tall as Mineta was in his first year.

“You just looked like a loser.”

“Thanks.” Sero clears his throat awkwardly. “What’s… uh… What’s her name.”

“Y/N.” The boy blinks back at him, not offering more information. And maybe that’s for the best. It’s creepy to ask others about you, right?

“First year?” His mouth seems to think otherwise.

“Obviously. Are you looking for something or just here to ogle?”

“I’m not-” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “I have a delivery for Hatsume.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

-

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Midoriya asks, confusion clear in his voice. “It’s really no hassle for me to get these back to Hatsume myself.”

“No, no. I insist.” Sero’s been trying to think of reasons to go back to the Support Labs for days, he’s not going to let his chance slip now that it’s here.

This time, you’re nowhere in sight. He waits half an hour, makes more small talk with Hatsume than he has in all the time before but you’re nowhere to be seen. 

“Do the… uh… Do the First Years have their own Labs?” He asks a week later when he’s there to get Bakugo’s grenades updated. He offered to take the walk for his friend and Bakugo had looked at him like he’d lost his mind. He probably had. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s the next room on the left.” Hatsume nods without looking up from the project she’s working on. “Would you hold this up for a moment?” 

“Do you have anything… you, uh, have to take over there?” There’s a thin line of sweat collecting at his hairline now, even though Hatsume’s still focused primarily at whatever she’s building. 

“I do, actually. Do you want to deliver it for me?” Hatsume offers him a smile and Sero knows he’s been found out.

“Yeah.” His shoulders slump. “If I could, that would be nice.”

“Shinma’s over there too, but I think it’s cute that Y/N’s got her own fanclub.” Something changes in Hatsume’s features and the look she gives him is absolutely menacing. “But if you’re going to be a creep about it, just remember that I have updated my babies.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He chokes out and Hatsume’s back to normal, grinning at him with delight.

“Great. Take this to Y/N and this is for Shinma. Don’t mix them up or I’ll be mad.”

-

“What are you doing here?” The green goblin stares him down from where he’s sitting.

“Doing Hatsume a favor.” Sero bluffs back. “Who’s Shinma?”

“That’s me.” The green goblin narrows his eyes at the package before looking up at him again. “So you’re after Hatsume now?”

“I’m not after anybody.” He grits though his teeth. “I’m just trying to be nice. Where’s Y/N? This package is for her.”

“At the back.” 

Sero nods and walks on before Shinma can decide to keep him company on this task.

Now, only seconds from meeting you, he’s growing nervous again.

He’s had more than a week to think up what he wants to say. It still sounds terrible in his head.

Sero steps around a Robot and comes face to face with you.

It’s too sudden for his poor heart that’s trying to beat out of his chest.

“I, uh, hi!” He waves his hand awkwardly. “You’re pretty. Shit, I mean, I’ve got something for you.”

You blink for a second before you pull a notebook from your desk and hand it to him.

When he looks at you in confusion, you point at your lips then at the notebook. 

“You want me to write something down?” He asks, still confused.

“She’s deaf.” Shinma’s voice cuts throug the noise of the Lab. “You have to write down what you want to say.”

“Oh.” Now it’s his turn to blink and he pulls the Notebook closer to himself, scribbles down what he meant to say.

He watches, a little horrified, as the twinkle in your eyes dies down when you read his words. Whatever he wrote seems to have been the wrong thing.

So he pulls back the Notebook before you can take it away and scribbles on.

“I think you’re cool. I’d like to get to know you better.”

You’re smile’s a little sad but you nod and shrug, point at the Robot you’ve been working on.

It’s hard work to write everything down by hand and when his hand starts cramping, he pulls out his phone, uses his notes app to type.

It’s probably only been about fifteen minutes when Shinma appears behind him, clearing his throat loudly. 

“Don’t you have classes to go to, tape-boy?” 

“Oh, shit.” He’s going to be so late. But, if he’s going to be late already, he’s going to make this worth it. Sero jots down his number on the notebook, circling it for good measure and points at himself before he dashes out of the Lab, your awkward smile imprinted in his mind.

-

Detention is keeping him busy as well as studying for the upcoming test. 

You’ve only messaged him once to let him know your own number.

He’s sent you a few memes but since your answers are luke-warm at best, he’s holding back on that for now.

“Wow.” Kaminari looks up at him. They were actually supposed to be studying but Kaminari had made the mistake of asking him how he was doing and Sero couldn’t stop himself the moment he opened his mouth. “You’re like, totally in love with that girl.”

“No, I… Yeah.” He sighs weakly.

“Well, what’s the big deal? Just ask her about her soulmark and get it over with. She has to be if you feel this strongly.”

“She’s not my soulmate.” 

Kaminari furrows his brows at his dejected tone.

“What do you mean? How do you know?”

“I don’t have a mark.”

Silence.  

“Are you sure?” Kaminari asks after a moment. “You know there was this one guy-”

“Yeah, I checked.” Sero cuts him off. “Multiple times. I’m one hundred percent sure that I have no soulmate mark.”

“Wow.” Kaminari falls silent. 

“Yeah.” Sero fiddles with his tape, too anxious to calm down. “God, and I know that sounds selfish, but I… I thought it’s just her looks, but she’s genuinely funny and so smart and…I don’t know… but I’d take a week or even a day, no matter how long I get with her until she meets her actual soulmate. Is that selfish?”

“Yeah.” Kaminari’s looking actually worried now. “She probably has her own soulmate mark and thought you’d be hers until you wrote your first message.”

His friends words, said carelessly at best, cut through his heart like Aoyama’s laser.

All strength leaves his legs and he sinks onto the floor, grabs his books to hide behind.

“Let’s study then-”

“Are you su-”

“Just study, okay?!”

-

Sero’s in the library when someone taps him on the shoulder.

When he turns, he’s surprised to find him smiling shyly. He hasn’t seen you in a week.

“Hi.” He signs, embarrassed that he couldn’t help himself. You just wouldn’t leave his mind, no matter how much you tried.

Your face lights up and you sign back. “Hi, how are you?”

He halts. Realizing that he forgot the sign for “good.” He holds his hand up to ask you to wait and pulls his phone from his pocket, typing as fast as he can.

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“I’m okay. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.” He turns his phone over to you, surprised to see you hide your face behind your hands instead.

You’re embarrassed. But, about what?

Eventually, you take his phone from him. Your fingertips touch his, warm and soft and so not his to touch, he has to remind himself. 

You take your time typing, deleting something, and typing again. 

When you hand him his phone, your hands are shaking.

“Do you have a soulmark?” He reads. He swallows thickly and shakes his head.

To his surprise, this doesn’t seem to sink your mood. Instead, your eyes light up.

You hold up your hand, set down your bag and slip out of your cardigan.

“What-” He asks before he realizes that you can’t hear him. You won’t take his phone back, so all he can do is wait until you roll up the sleeve of your shirt.

On the curve of your elbow, right above your joint, sits a tattoo. The writing is small, but he’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.

“I, uh, hi!” He reads. “You’re pretty. Shit, I mean, I’ve got something for you.”

His heart stops beating for a second before it thunders on twice as fast. He reaches out his hand, looks up at you to ask for permission. You nod, step a little closer until his fingers close around your arm. Your skin is warm beneath his fingertips, he can feel his heartbeat thrumming through his veins.

His words are inked into your skin. You’re his soulmate. But-”

Your hand is warm against his cheek, pulling him out of his reverie. 

“I” You gesture to yourself. “Do not speak.” You tap against his own, empty skin.

He hands over his phone and you type.

“My father is deaf, my mother is not. They told me this could happen.”

“How did you figure out that it was me?”

“Shinma told me.” You grin at his surprise. “He’s got good ears.”

Damn, Sero thinks. He’s going to have to start being nice to the green goblin.

-

You sign something. Sero snickers.

Kaminari whines lowly in his throat. 

“That’s so mean!” He calls out. “Don’t have secret conversations while I’m present.”

“You could learn sign language.” Sero points out, signing while talking. Your eyes crinkle from smiling too hard. He loves that look on you.

“You’ve seen me struggle with English.” Kaminari points out. “How can you even propose that idea?”

“Your loss, not mine.” Sero grins and signs something else, just for you.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” 

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[dolliedarlin]

THE PA | SIX ⏤BAKUSQUAD POLY

SUM. : its paradise finally finding and spending time with your soulmates, you want to treasure your precious time together for as long as possible

PAIR. : bakusquad poly x personal assistant reader

LENGTH : 5.6k

G. : fluff ; soulmate au ; poly au ; prohero au ; timeskip au ; time spent together is precious

WARNING : sexual tension ; kissing ; suggestive ; a fat slice of cuteness 

A/N : i’m so sorry for the extended wait my loves, thank you all so much for waiting so patiently for this update. a lot of things happened this past year. There are many reasons but I don’t have the time to explain, all I can say is that I’m so so grateful for all of your patience and I hope to make up for it by writing every day now that it’s the holidays and I have the time to write something other than my thesis/dissertation. 

PREV.

“Um…Bakugou-san?” you whisper hesitantly, resisting the urge to fidget about, considering the position you were currently in.

“Hmmm?” the blonde gruffly hums from behind you. Still too skittish to answer, Bakugou takes advantage of your silence to shift his attention away from paperwork and wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you closer and nuzzling his face into your neck, “What is it?” he whispers back after revelling in your alluring scent, beaconing him to keep you trapped for longer in his lap. 

“I have a lot of work to do too,” you wail with a whine, face and neck overheating from his touch. The close contact and affectionate skinship is something you still have to get used to and you’ve begged all of your soulmates to give you time to get accustomed to it. They try their best to honour your wishes but also admit that they will always have their moments of weakness, even Bakugou. If it has anything to do with you, they will always have a weakness.

“Just a few more minutes,” Bakugou presses his words into the exposed column of your neck as he further buries his face into your skin. His large hands roam the rest of your body but one eventually finds its place clutching the curve of your waist as the other rests against your shapely thigh. You’re flustered to say the least but understand that it’s only natural for your soulmates to get this needy as you have a terrible habit of pulling away from their amorous advances, no matter how demure. It could be a simple brush of hands but you still panic from it. You feel horrible for being so timid but the others have assured you that they find your shyness to be very endearing.   

You’re always holding up such a sophisticated and elegant appearance as his personal assistant; your eyes focused, your frame confident and your tongue polite and professional with a touch of dignified zest, befitting a woman of your occupation and standing. You have the job because you are capable, punctual, reliable and hard working - you do your assigned tasks exceptionally well. But to see you reduced to shy glances, an acquiescent frame and clement articulations has the proud hero on his knees and ready to service you in every which way. It’s what you deserve, after all, as his beautiful, beautiful soulmate. 

You’re always holding up such a sophisticated and elegant appearance as his personal assistant; your eyes focused, your frame confident and your tongue polite and professional with a touch of dignified zest, befitting a woman of your occupation and standing. You have the job because you are capable, punctual, reliable and hard working - you do your assigned tasks exceptionally well. But to see you reduced to shy glances, an acquiescent frame and clement articulations has the proud hero on his knees and ready to service you in every which way. It’s what you deserve, after all, as his beautiful, beautiful soulmate. 

You’re always holding up such a sophisticated and elegant appearance as his personal assistant; your eyes focused, your frame confident and your tongue polite and professional with a touch of dignified zest, befitting a woman of your occupation and standing. You have the job because you are capable, punctual, reliable and hard working - you do your assigned tasks exceptionally well. But to see you reduced to shy glances, an acquiescent frame and clement articulations has the proud hero on his knees and ready to service you in every which way. It’s what you deserve, after all, as his beautiful, beautiful soulmate. 

Bakugou almost laughs at himself for being such a hypocrite; he’s always the first to berate his other soulmates for smothering you with affection and using you as a distraction from work. And yet…here he is, distracting you and himself during the work day. Defeated, Bakugou finally lets his head fall back and breathes out a chuckle indicative of his trounce. 

“Alright, you can go…” smiling up at him in thanks, you move to get off his lap but are stopped by the slight squeeze of his hands, “but first, gimme those lips,” he doesn’t give you a moment to respond before he’s confining your lips to a passion-filled kiss. It wasn’t just one kiss he took from you, he took several, growing hungrier and hungrier after each one until he finally let you go with a proud grin. You hurry to the door and wish him well on his own workload, too embarrassed to meet his gaze as you close the door behind you. 

If you had even an ounce of courage to catch a glance of him before exiting his office, you would’ve seen him licking his lips and wiping your smudged lipstick from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. A satisfied smirk contours the line of his lips as he examines the pretty colour on his thumb and kisses it with a hum of fulfilment. 

You always taste so sweet… 

He’s typically not a fan of sugar but the sugar on your lips is something he’ll always hunger for. 

Making it out of Bakugou’s office, you immediately pull out your pocket mirror and check your appearance. Smudged lipstick. You click your tongue but smile and go about reapplying your favourite colour when you make it back to your desk. Your hair needs fixing too and new ruffles on your work dress needs flattening but it’s easily manageable. Looking around, you’re safe from any prying eyes and sigh in relief before continuing to go about finally doing your work. 

You love your soulmates dearly and wish you could reciprocate their advances with just as much vigour but you care for their careers and public image too much; they’ve worked so hard to get this far, you can’t let them throw all that away just for you. 

At least nobody but you, Bakguou and a small handful of upper management individuals and Proheros actually enter the top floor of the Dynamight Agency so you’re pretty safe from any prying eyes or loose gossip. As long as you maintain your clean and professional appearance in front of your colleagues, you and Bakugou will be free of any scandalous rumours. 

Since uncovering your bond with the other five proheroes, you’ve since then successfully moved into their shared modern, luxury estate. It appears that there are gated clusters of high-end properties scattered strategically across Tokyo, where only the top Proheroes reside, so that, when called to emergencies, they are able to arrive at locations in their allocated radius at a reasonable time. 

It’s early morning and you’re freshly out of the shower after having finished your morning exercise at the home gym, when you smell something delicious in the air. 

You had already combed hair oils through your damp hair, did your skincare and pulled on your undergarments in the spacious bathroom; you were ready to return to your room so as to get dressed but your rumbling tummy couldn’t resist the enticing seduction of aromatic food in the air. 

Tightly tucking your bath towel snug around your figure, you cautiously make your way to the downstairs kitchen, trying to figure out who would be in there so early in the morning. Usually, the only other person awake right now is Bakugou as he likes taking his morning run in the crisp cool air of daybreak. Other than him, you find it hard to place who could be cooking up breakfast so early in the morning. 

It wouldn’t be long before you finally find out who the culprit is, however, and you couldn’t be happier to make the discovery as it came with a great view. Standing at the stove stood Kirishima, shirtless and with a simple apron on, his chequered pyjama bottoms loosely clinging onto his frame from the sharp lines of muscle carving out his brawny waist and hips.     

“Good morning, (Y/N)!” Kirishima greets with his back still turned, shocking you but it’s to be expected. His trained senses must have traced your figure from the top of the stairs all the way to the kitchen door. 

“How did you know it was me?” you ask, tilting your head and leaning against the door frame, amused by his jovial attitude. Just seeing him (or any one of your soulmates) makes you happy. 

Kirishima shrugs his shoulders, “the sound of your footsteps are different to the others,” his answer made your brows raise in surprise. Was he really that acutely tuned into you and the others’ gaits? 

“What are the differences?” you ask out of pure curiosity as you watch him step away from the stove and plate the delicious breakfast he cooked up for everyone. 

“Yours are the softest and most steadily paced. Sero’s are almost silent and are the slowest but most consistently paced, Bakugou’s steps are relatively quick and stomp-y, like he’s always trying to get somewhere quickly,” both of you chuckle at his carefully used descriptor for your typically hot-headed soulmate. Kirishima is now reaching into the cupboards to lay out everyone’s favourite drinks with their favourite glasses or mugs, “Mina’s steps usually kinda follows a tune or rhythm and Denki tends to be the most ‘messy’ but fun,” he puts into air quotes as he approaches you and pulls you close by the waist. You place your hands around his neck as you tilt your head up to peer at him with questioning eyes, “his pace ranges from slow to fast and wide to short strides,” you both smile at each other and he leans in to press his forehead against yours, “now…it’s breakfast time~” he chimes and pulls back with a grin. 

You giggle and nod, completely forgetting your state of dress, the morning fuzziness clouding your usually alert state, “right, thank you Ei~” you sing happily, stomach already craving for a bite of the filling breakfast laid out across the table. 

“No; thank you~“ Kirishima matches your tune-filled voice but his statement brings a question to the tip of your tongue.

“What do you mea-? Ah!” you squeal when the red head playfully bites your exposed shoulder. 

“You’re so cute, babe,” he whispers and kisses your skin, an apology for the reddening bite he marked into it. 

“Ow! Stop it!” you laugh and try to push him away.

“No can do, I gotta bite you for being so cute and sexy,” 

“What did I do?~” you whine. This makes Kirishima pull away with a raised brow, giving you an up and down look before prompting you to look down at yourself. 

“Oh!” he hums in satisfaction from your flustered stance when you quickly realise how severely underdressed you are. Granted you have your underwear on but you were still in just your towel.  

“I know you don’t mean to but,” Kirishima whistles softly, winking at you after he makes a show of looking you up and down again, “you look so…tempting right now,”

Feeling uncharacteristically courageous, you flirt with your eyes and smile innocently, “maybe that’s what I want to do…” 

Not a second passes before you’re swept up into your soulmate’s muscular arms and placed to sit on the kitchen counter. Kirishima already has your lips in a heated dance with his own as his hands hold you close at the waist. Your own hands make their way into his soft hair, untamed by his usual gel. At some point, your towel comes off and Kirishima throws away his apron. Although it starts off heated, your passionate lip-lock tango with the red-head slows to prolonged kisses, as soft as moonlight and as relaxed as the lazy summer breeze. The main focus shifted in that same change of pace. Instead, the two of you focused on each other’s skin, enjoying the warmth and touch of the other. It felt nice to feel the skin of your thighs around his naked waist as well as feeling your exposed back with his rough hands. It made you sigh contentedly into his mouth as he smiled against your connected lips. 

At last, the two of you part for air but stay pressed against one another with your foreheads touching and your eyes staring deeply into each other’s loving gaze. 

“You’re so soft…” Kirishima compliments in a hush, so that only you could hear him - not that there was anybody else around to eavesdrop on you. It’s one of the main reasons why he loves touching you so much. He loves how your skin seems to always welcome his touch with a softness unique to you. His other soulmates have their own individual feel but yours is a delicate velvet that the roughed-up hero always appreciates - similar to Mina but still exclusive to you. 

“And you’re all scarred up…” you return, eyes somehow frowning at him.

“I’m not a rough person,” as if to demonstrate he gives you another feather-soft kiss. 

You giggle, still speaking in whispers, “I know…but it’s sexy,” he grins widely and pulls away to laugh aloud. 

“You really need to stop that, babe, you always make it so hard for me to be gentle with you,” an embarrassing heat rises to your cheeks as you look away bashfully. He moves back, leaving you sitting atop the kitchen counter and returns shortly after to pull his giant shirt over your figure, swamping you in the fabric. Once dressed in his shirt, Kirishima brings you down from your perch and chuckles at your appearance. He loves seeing you in his clothes so much; it makes you look so much more lovable than you already are.

“I’m sorry,” you don’t really mean the apology from the cheeky smile on your face but Kirishima accepts it, he doesn’t really want you to stop either. 

“Should we wake the others-?”

RING! RING! RING!

A blaring alarm cuts through the once calm atmosphere and prompts Kirishima to check the hero device he and the rest of your prohero soulmates always keep on their person. 

 “What is it, Kiri?” you ask, worry in your eyes as the red-head quickly goes about getting dressed into his hero suit. 

“There’s an emergency nearby so I’m heading out,” fully-dressed, Kirishima grabs a quick bite of breakfast before heading to the front door with you following close behind, “don’t worry, beautiful,” he reassures you with a smile after putting on his shoes. 

“I know you’re strong but please be careful,” he thanks you for your concern and pulls you into a final kiss before he’s rushing off. 

“I’ll be home soon!” He calls back as you wave him goodbye from the open doorway, attempting a brave smile with concern swimming in your hollowed-out chest. Within the house, there’s a flurry of movement as the others abruptly rise from their sleep and rush to put on their own hero suits - they probably rose to the alarm too. Even though more of them were soon going to be joining Kirishima, you felt more assured then when you saw him rushing off to the scene alone. If they work together then they’ll be able to stay safe.

You know they’ll get home safely.  

A rustling from the shrubbery nearby catches your attention and you freeze in place. This is a gated private community, the likelihood that someone could sneak in would be very low on the scale. Approaching the uniform, decorative flora in your outdoor slippers and Kiri’s shirt, you peak over and spot nothing. Relief washes over your head. The paranoia over potentially getting caught by paparazzi and aggressive media personnel was slowly getting to you and it’s anxiety inducing; you can’t even happily spend time with your newly discovered soulmates. 

You shake any remaining negative emotions out of your frame and re-enter the house, ready to wish the rest of your soulmates goodbye as they ready themselves to join Kirishima for a villain attack. 

It’s a surprise how you could have ever survived so long without having Mina as your selfcare partner. You already took good care of your skin and hair before but, with Mina, the routine became so much more fun and entertaining, especially when she was able to rope in the others to join you. She could be very convincing. 

Denki was the one who actively sought you two out to do some selfcare together; Kiri and Sero were up for doing anything with you two, trusting in your knowledge of the topic and love of them to be well taken care of. But it was Bakugou who put up some resistance. He always eventually succumbed to your demands, however, grumbling here and there under his breath but you could see that he enjoyed being pampered, especially when it was by you and Mina. You two are their favourite girls after all. Soon enough, you’re sure he will be the one to seek you two out for the weekly routine pampering session, he was a man all about routine, after all.

One of the main things you liked to look forward to about this whole routine was the shopping aspect. It was always fun to pile skin care and self care products up in your individual baskets, hoping to share your findings with one another when you met up at the check-out counter. 

This time, Mina had been very excited to shop together with you all in search of a new clay mask she had been anticipating the release of from one of her favourite skincare brands. The two of you planned an entire night based around that clay mask and Mina made sure she was off patrol duty so that she could experience it with you. Sero was kind enough to take on her shift so that you two could spend quality time together, to which you both rewarded him with plenty of kisses and cuddles. 

“If either of you want another pamper night but it falls on Mina’s shift, always tell me first and I’ll happily switch shifts,” Sero voiced out, his face littered with lipstick kisses and a dopey smile stretched out across his lips.

One problem was that the search for that particular clay mask took longer than expected. It appeared as though everyone had been out to purchase it too so splitting up to cover more ground in the store was definitely a good idea. The two of you managed to meet up at the spot the clay mask was being sold and swiped up two tubs of it with an enthusiastic cheer. 

“Let’s hurry and pay so we can start our selfcare date night early today,” Mina whispered in happiness beside you as you nodded along. You displayed a smile despite the ominous feeling you felt following you about the store. It was your paranoia acting up again; you hate to say it but you easily complied with it by keeping a modest distance from the pinkette who had been trying to link arms with you on the way to the cash register, “what’s wrong, (Y/N)?”

“Oh nothing…” you hesitated but let her have her way in standing close to you. It’s just your paranoia, you don’t want it taking over fully and tarnishing your relationship even though it came from a good place. 

Night soon fell and after seeing off Sero, you and Mina moved to her room, where she played her self care playlist through her portable speaker, laid out some yummy snacks to share along with all the self care necessities the two of you would soon be spoiling yourselves in. The first order of business was a shower. You took it together and helped each other with your hair, giggling at the bubbles the shampoo made, talked through your favourite body scrub, helped give one another shoulder massages when helping to lather up the body wash and squealed in unison from the final burst of ice-cold water to tighten up your hair follicles. 

“That took longer than expected,” you laughed, catching sight of the clock on the wall. It had been about an hour or so since you and Mina entered the shower together. 

“Yeah but it was worth it, that was such a fun but relaxing shower,” Mina sighs in content as she stretches out in her bathrobe on the bed. The shoulder massage you gave her did magic to her usually tense back muscles, she’ll be sure to brag about this to her other soulmates in the hopes that she’ll be able to playfully induce some jealousy whilst simultaneously praising more of your hidden skills and talents.

“Yeah~” you reciprocate her sigh of content, “as much as I love the boys, I love our girl time too,” the two of you hummed in agreement and stayed sprawled out on the bed with a towel under your wet hair for several more minutes before eventually agreeing to continue your self care session. 

While your hair was still wet, you treated your scalp and hair-ends with hair oils, using a scalp massager on each other when doing so. After that came the much anticipated clay mask. 

“We have to be careful with clay masks,” Mina warns as she applies the mask onto your face as you close your eyes, she was using the small spatula provided and secretly admired the sweet features of your face while doing so. This was a good idea. The pinkette loves seeing you relaxed and happy rather than stressed and serious, though a pair of furrowed brows, a firm gaze and your elegant silhouette did have a big, flustering effect on her. 

“Why is that?”

“We can’t move our faces once it begins to dry because then it’ll crack,” 

“Oh yeah…” she giggles at your realisation, how could you have forgotten that? Nevertheless, it was eventually your turn to apply the mask on her. 

“Mmmm~ you have a really gentle touch, (Y/N),” Mina praises, her voice lazy from the peacefulness and happy from your company. You wanted to reply but your mask was already setting in and you didn’t want to ruin Mina’s work in applying an even coat for you so you settled with humming in return. 

When Mina’s mask was done, the two of you resorted to communicating through writing. You both danced to songs with straight faces and helped give each other cute pedicures while waiting for the timer you set up. It was really hard to keep from laughing when you danced to songs, staring at each other with straight faces. You were doing a pretty good job until Mina turned to the side, faced you and started to twerk with the most deadpan face you had ever seen on her. 

Naturally, you had a laughing fit, cracking up your dried mask and soon had the pinkette cracking up her mask too when your laughter became too contagious. 

“Oh my god! Your face! Your Face!” you wheezed.

“No! Look at your face! HAHAHAHA!” the two of you laughed your butts off until you heard the boys walk into the house from downstairs. You wanted to go and greet them but Mina shook her head and pulled you close, “you wanna do something fun?”

How could you say no? 

Now you’re waiting at either side of the door and waiting for one of your four potential victims to pass through and scare the living daylights out of. You were hoping it would be Denki first but from the heavy footsteps and light cordial whistling, you could tell that it was going to be Kirishima…

And, soon enough, the red-head walked into view as you and Mina shared a mischievous look, anticipating his surprise. Just as the red-head was a step or two away, you both jumped out and pulled funny faces to accompany your cracked up face masks. 

“Woah!” Kirishima jumped and clutched at his heart but laughed it off like the good sport he is, “You two really scared me there! Haha! Looking cute~” he gives you both a kiss and walks off but not before giving you both a light slap on the butt, “Good luck with the other three~”

Denki was the one that came next and he had the most exaggerated expression; screaming like a little girl. It sets you and Mina off into hysterics as you high-five with the pride of achieving such a funny response. Of course, the blonde didn’t like this or, at least, pretended like he didn’t because his revenge only came in the form of tickles. He too wished you and Mina good luck with the others. 

“Next time you two decide to do masks, don’t forget to invite me to join in too!” The electric hero pouts cutely while you and Mina give him kisses of apology before promising to include him in your next face mask session. 

Sero didn’t get scared like you hoped. Instead, he grins toothily at you both and leans down to meet your eyes since he’s so tall and gives you both a soft kiss on the lips. 

“Nice try cuties,” he chuckles at your adorable pouty faces, having to hold himself back from cooing at you, “if only Denki didn’t come before me and squeal like a little girl,” the three of you laughed loudly before shushing up in anticipation for the final victim as Sero walks off as well. 

When the time finally came, Bakugou flinched and Mina didn't miss the opportunity to tease him for it. Naturally, the spiky blonde’s hot-headedness makes him angry and he scoops you and Mina up in both arms before stomping off into the bathroom. 

“Wash that stupid mask off already! It’ll dry out your skin!” 

So he has been listening to your ramblings about self-care…

Sero has developed the most romantic pastime and, at your shy request, he also takes the time to teach you what he’s been able to learn on his own. 

Sat in between his long, outstretched legs, Sero guides you through a melodic arrangement of chords on his acoustic guitar. He is patient and his large hands guide your unpracticed fingers through the movement with a kind warmth. In his dark eyes, there is a soft tenderness reserved only for you in appreciation for your interest in his hobby and the genuine effort you put into doing your best. 

It’s already been a few weeks and you’re already a handful of sessions in with him. The start was rough and full of giggles but now you were already able to successfully play a sweet little tune with minimal help from the tape-hero. 

Time spent together like this always sets such a comfortable atmosphere that will only be remembered with fondness, at least, it does for Sero. For you, a perfectionist at heart, remain unsatisfied with your nominal progress. 

“It’s okay, pretty, no need to push yourself. You have the prettiest little hands so don’t stress too much over being unable to reach the tough chords right away, you’ll adapt over time,” in an attempt to comfort you, he presses a languid kiss to your temple from behind.

“My hands aren’t small!” you stretch out your hands and wiggle your fingers in a feeble attempt to demonstrate your statement. 

“Well…” Sero stretches out his own hands to compare his against yours and smirks at the defeated groan you give. 

“Your hands aren’t a fair comparison because yours are just abnormally big!”

“And yours are abnormally small…” he teases and tightly wraps his arms around you in order to tame your small tantrum of protest. You’re too cute sometimes, “It’s not a bad thing, Bonita,”

“You make it sound like a bad thing…”

“These pretty hands have done a lot of things. Amazing, incredibly things and now they’re attempting to learn a passion of mine, something they aren’t obligated to do, which, in my opinion…” he holds your hands in his and brings them to his lips, whispering into the skin covering your knuckles, “makes it the most amazing thing they’ve ever done thus far,”

In the silence, Sero presses another kiss against your temple and realises the sudden new heat of your skin. It’s a clear indication of your newly flustered state and makes the signature toothy grin splay out over his lips; you really are the cutest. 

“You’re too much sometimes, Hanta,”

“Listen…” he whispers into the skin of your shoulder after already having pulled down your shirt collar for better access, “if you want, you can have free access to my guitar whenever you’re free,” he promises, “even if I’m not around, you can practise as much as you want. You have my express permission,” he kisses your shoulder once more, “surprise me, Bonita,”

Every chance you were able to practise without Sero, you took the opportunity with determination underpinned by your deep desire to surprise him with your solitary progress. 

A week or two passes and you’re finally able to repeat the tune that Sero often strums effortlessly on the guitar and you rush to demonstrate your success to him as he is relaxing in a hammock within the garden between two trees.

“Sero! Sero! Look at what I can do!” You call out, giddy with excitement and his guitar in your arms. Stopping before his hammock, you wait for him to sit up with a lazy smile and focus his full attention onto you. You then begin to play with a look of full concentration on your face and triumphantly serenade him with the same romantic tune he’s been subtly serenading you with during each of your guitar sessions. 

Once you strum the last tune, he showers you in applause and whistles in glee at your achievement. 

“That was amazing! You did so well, come here, Bonita,” he opens his arms for you whilst still in the hammock. With a squeal of happiness, you join him and cuddle up in his arms, the guitar leaning against one of the trees you were nestled between, “I’m so proud of you,” he praises as you kick your legs in happiness, “you’re so cute when you get all giddy like this,” he presses a kiss to the crown of your head and his voice lowers dangerously, “it makes me want to do unspeakable things to you” he laughs as you squeal from the shock and embarrassment his confession brings you, “but, I did make a promise and I’m following strict instructions from Katsuki to be gentle with you. For now, it’s going to have to wait - until then…” Sero lifts your chin up to look deeply into your beautiful eyes and playfully pouts at you, “try to stop being so unintentionally seductive,” he tucks your face into his collar as holds you in an affectionate embrace. A calm wind rocks your cuddled up figures within the hammock and your heart beats in momentary happiness.

You don’t want to admit it but you feel the ominous feeling of being watched once again and quickly make an excuse to return to the house. The excuse you come up with has you mentioning something about remembering the forecast for rain later so Sero gets up soon after you and puts his hammock away whilst taking a mental note of your unusual behaviour to potentially discuss with the others later on. 

“How is this possible?!” Denki gapes in astonishment from beside you, his hands clutching at his hair as you smile triumphantly. The blonde has taken you out to his favourite arcade, a secluded treasure tucked away in a quiet alley within the city. He’s a regular who manages to fail at winning any plushies at all the claw machines and yet, here you were winning him a pikachu plushie on your first try. 

“Here you go, Denki,” you chirp happily, handing over the Pikachu toy. It suits him so well, he deserves to have it and you’re happy to have made the effort to win it for him.

“How did you do that?” The electric hero almost begs on his knees for some sort of guidance. There’s no way you could have defeated the undefeatable claw machine without having some sort of secret technique or past experiences. He always loses all his tokens trying to win plushies and you make it look so easy. He wants to get you a cute plushie too!

“Haha! I don’t know,” you shrug with a bright smile, “I just know that I wanted to give you that Pikachu toy,” at your answer, Denki forgets all about his jealousy and allows his awe of you to skyrocket. You’re so cute. So very cute!

“Eeep!” you squealed from being swept up in his arms. With your hands on his shoulders, you look down at him as he adoringly stares up at you. There are countless butterflies in your stomach that you try to suppress but it’s no use when you catch sight of his devoted, lovestruck expression. 

“You’re too good for me,” 

Seeing as the arcade was mostly deserted, you dared to lean down and press a kiss against his awaiting, pink lips, “I could say the same about you,” Denki grins widely at your comment and locks your lips into another kiss. 

You offer to win him another plushie but he insists on winning you one himself so as to even the odds. Unfortunately, despite his determination, he ends up losing all his tokens and you were left comforting him on his loses. He was really cute about it though. There was a fire in his eyes that sealed his determination into a pointed focus aimed solely at the claw and the buttons of the machine. It was admirable and his actions alone were worth all the plushies on display put together and more. 

“Thank you Denki,” 

“For what?” your soulmate deflates and melts into his seat, strawberry slushie cradled in his hands for comfort, “I didn’t win you a plushie even though I used up all of my tokens,”

“You put up a good fight and that was what mattered,” you pressed a soft kiss against his cheek, prompting a bright blush to flourish over his expression. 

“I still want to win you a plushie though…” he mumbles under his breath, pouting like a defeated and grumpy child, making him even cuter in your eyes. 

“Maybe next time…”

The sinister feeling prodding your senses around every public interaction with your soulmates is just your paranoia. For the most part, you’ve been as careful as possible to keep the intimate interactions private. You need to keep your soulmate's reputation and public image in mind, afterall. They take such good care of you that you should do the same but in your own way. Having multiple soulmates is incredibly taboo and you don’t want to ruin your new found happiness. All you want is to treasure this bliss forever. 

NEXT ; BNHA MLIST

TAGLIST : 

@hangesidekick​ ;  @emotionalfangirl2002​ ; @kookie02​ ; @lordbugs​ ; @answer-the-sirens​ ; @toobsessedsstuff​ ; @moonbinnie0983​ ; @kinba-ri​ ; @beaniebanby​ ;  @themoonandlover​ ; @ravensfeatheruniverse​ ;  @barbra-annbunny​ ; @Modmochi ; @maybeisthemoon​ ; @a-book-lover-things​ ; @thathoneybee3 ; @lostinbooksblog​ ; @moonlightaangel​ ; @cocoa-bitter​ ; @mysteriousparker​ ; @mha-baku-todo-deku-kiri​ ; @dangerousluv1​ ; @pansexualproblemchild​ ; @peacchfuz​ ; @skywalkerstyles​ ; @chwlogy​ ; @acuario2​ ; @juliannaelee​ ; @levimeko​ ; @neutralchaosintheworld​ ; @saccharisa​ ; @no1herothatlookslikeavillain​

[bi-focal12]

please tell me Izuku’s “a bf is someone who takes you to the amusement park and holds your hand and shares a crepe with you” is from some obscure All Might movie with a romantic subplot

Tsu: hey Ochako, do you want to go to the amusement park this weekend?

Izuku: *gasps*

Ochako: yeah, sure :)

Izuku: *starts to cry* I’m so happy for you two!

And Katsuki would be the only other one in the room who gets it bc they’re the worlds biggest All Might nerds

[lunar-lover-writes15]

Prompt: Touching your soulmate leaves a temporary mark that fades after a few hours.

Not original idea! MHA edition part 1:

Izuku: now, his would be an Apple Green color and sometimes there would be Teal streaks in the marks. Your hands would be covered in color. He would draw little hearts on your arms and cheeks. The back of your hands, your forehead, your cheeks, and lips would have color on them because he would always kisses you there.

Kirishima: the color that he would leave would be a Ruby Red color and there would always be Grey specks or dots. Your arms would always have color on them and you face would be peppered with marks. He would sometimes draw little waves with shark fins coming out of the waves on your legs but he would always do it if he had your permission.

Bakugou: everyone knows to not flirt with you because of the “X’s” and explosion drawings and “f*ck off they’re mine!’s” all over your arms in Orange and Red with Dark Green specks. He would cup your face a lot so your face had a lot of color on it. Your hands would be filled with color and your forehead would be littered with colored kiss marks.

Denki: his would be an Electric Yellow color with little Black lightning bolts. Your arms would be filled with lightning bolts and stars. Your eyelids would always have color on them and so would your hands.

Shinsou: Dark Purple marks with Black and Lavender specks would be all over your hands and forehead. Your arms would have little hearts drawn on them. Your face would have a little cat nose and whiskers and your hands would have kitty paw drawings and you wouldn’t mind it.

Sero: Black and White stripes would wrap around your arms and your lips would always be colored. The back of your hands would have a kiss mark and a heart.

Tenya: the marks would be a Navy Blue color with a Grey hint to it. Cloud marks and Harry Potter styled glasses would be on your arms. Though the back of your knees would be covered with color because he always picks you up like how a Disney prince would pick up a princess. And your hands would have color on them too.

PART ONE IS FINISHED GOOD DAY/NIGHT THIS TOOK WAY TO LONG!!

[mistghost]

𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒆…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He sees you walking down the aisle with your white dress and your bouquet of flowers. At that moment the world stops for him, it’s like he’s seeing an angel and he’s in heaven. Seeing you so happy and beautiful makes him want to cry. Surely enough he cries, he swore he wouldn’t, but seeing you like this on your wedding day made his heart feel full. Why wouldn’t he cry? You were the love of his life, his soulmate. He wants to stop crying but he can’t. He’s just to happy. By the time you arrive to the alter you are also crying, with one hand you wipe his tears and he swore he could die happily right at that moment. He composes himself and looks at you with such loving and adoring eyes. Mentally promising himself to always love you, protect you, cherish you, support you until death separates you both.

“Let’s already get married, shall we love?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Portas D Ace, Vinsmoke Sanji, Sabo, Monkey D. Luffy, Izuku Midoriya, Hanta Sero, Denki Kaminari, Eijirou Kirishima, Spirit Albarn, Yato, Kyōjurō Rengoku, Tengen Uzui, Uzumaki Naruto, Minato Namikaze, Hashirama Senju, Izumi Miyamura, Toru Ishikawa, your favorite character…

[todorokis-girl]

I Never Knew You Were Alive - Soulmate AU (III)

Chapter III: Belive or be Doomed

Touya x f!reader

I've actually been supper excited about this story, and I MIGHT be stretching it out more than I have to.

No actual dabi in this one

Chapter I: So it starts Chapter II: A late arrival Chapter III: belive of be doomed Chapter IV: What are we doing? Chapter V: Last minute encounter Chapter VI: Deciding to fall in love with you

masterlist

Next chapter

She walked the dark streets, carefully considering whether she should really do this. Hawks had insisted that it was both stupid and dangerous, and she couldn't disagree. But there was no way to avoid it; she had to see this through.

The city's seedy underbelly had a foreboding air, a stark contrast to the vibrant, bustling areas she usually patrolled. The broken streetlights cast a dim glow, their flickering bulbs only accentuating the shadows. Graffiti marred the crumbling walls, and the stench of decay permeated the air. The occasional rustle from a nearby alley or the distant clatter of a can reminded her of the ever-present dangers lurking in the darkness.

Dressed in plain clothes rather than her hero suit, she tried to blend in, taking what appeared to be a casual stroll in the middle of the night through a dangerous part of town. The quiet, deserted streets gave her a moment to think, her footsteps echoing in the silence. She passed by boarded-up shops and derelict buildings, their windows shattered and interiors long abandoned. The eerie silence was punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional distant siren.

When she opened her eyes, she saw him, standing at the end of the sidewalk, staring at her. The moment she noticed him, he turned and walked into an abandoned building.

"Wait!"

She followed him without hesitation, her steps guided by an almost instinctual pull. The building loomed ahead, its facade covered in grime and ivy, windows like dark, empty eyes staring back at her. The entrance was a gaping maw, swallowing the faint light from the street. She didn't take the time to look where she was going, and soon found herself enveloped in pitch-black darkness. The interior smelled of mold and rot, the air heavy with dust that clung to her throat with every breath.

Despite the lack of light, she somehow knew where to go. The name on her arm itched, urging her forward, and with each step, the pressure in her heart intensified. The entrance to the abandoned building loomed ahead, a gaping maw of darkness. The doorway, framed by crumbling bricks and overgrown with ivy, seemed to invite her into its depths. Shattered glass crunched beneath her feet as she crossed the threshold, the air inside heavy with the scent of mold and decay. The faint, distant sound of dripping water echoed through the cavernous space, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

She turned to her right and sensed his presence, but instead of moving to grab him, she just stood there, facing the darkness.

“Any reason you’re not jumping to arrest me?” The darkness spoke, his voice resonating through the void. It was the first time she heard him speak, and the calmness in his tone was oddly soothing, almost addictive. Yet she felt defensive, knowing that his awareness of her intentions made the situation precarious.

“No need to feel so anxious, just making an observation,” she replied, her eyes slowly adjusting to the surroundings as she searched for a place to sit. The interior of the building was in a state of advanced disrepair, with broken beams and collapsed walls casting jagged shadows. Debris littered the floor, and the smell of dampness and decay permeated the air. The scant light filtering through the boarded-up windows barely illuminated the space, casting eerie, shifting patterns on the ground.

Dizzy and overwhelmed, she was determined to go through with this. She spotted a precarious-looking chair against the far wall and cautiously made her way toward it, her heart pounding with every step. She could feel the tension radiating from him, adding to the heaviness in the room.

“I’ve been looking for you ever since the fire last month.”

“Isn’t everyone?” he responded, his voice carrying a hint of amusement and challenge.

The tension between them was palpable, a mix of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. She knew this encounter was fraught with danger, but it was also a chance to confront the truths they had both been avoiding.

She sighed, the weight of her thoughts pressing heavily on her chest. Of course, everyone was looking for him; he was one of the most wanted villains right now. But she wasn't here to arrest him, at least not at this moment. “My soulmate,” she began, her voice trembling, “he died when I was 13. I never got to meet him.” She swallowed, trying to find the right words to explain herself. “Your quirk… I think it could turn into ice at some point, not as a quirk awakening, but… just as growth.”

The room seemed to close in around her as she spoke, the shadows dancing with her unease. She could barely make out his silhouette, a dark figure in an even darker void, but his presence was unmistakable. The oppressive silence that followed her words made her skin crawl, each second stretching into an eternity.

Her mind raced with thoughts and memories, the pain of her past intertwining with the fear of the present. The abandoned building, with its haunting atmosphere, felt like a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil. Every creak and groan of the old structure seemed to echo her doubts and regrets.

She shifted uneasily on the rickety chair, her eyes darting around the room. The walls, covered in graffiti and grime, seemed to close in on her. The only light came from a flickering bulb somewhere in the distance, casting a sickly yellow glow that did little to alleviate the darkness.

The intensity of his silence was almost unbearable. She could feel his gaze on her, piercing through the gloom, and she fought to keep her composure. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, and she felt an overwhelming urge to flee, to escape the suffocating pressure that threatened to crush her.

But she stayed, determined to see this through. The name on her arm itched again, a reminder of her purpose. She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the fear and uncertainty that swirled around her like a tempest. She had come this far, and she couldn’t turn back now.

“Your flame…” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “it felt different. It wasn’t just fire; it was something else, something more. I need to understand why. I need to understand you.”

Her words hung in the air, a fragile bridge between them. She could sense his internal conflict, the struggle between the persona he had created and the remnants of the boy he used to be. The tension crackled like static electricity, a palpable force that threatened to snap at any moment.

The room around them seemed to close in, the darkness pressing in from all sides. The distant sounds of the city outside were muffled, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them. The air was heavy with dust and decay, the scent of old wood and forgotten memories mingling with the sharp tang of rust and mold. Every creak of the building, every flicker of the dim light, seemed to underscore the intensity of their confrontation.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and filled with a complexity of emotions. “You think you know me?” His tone was laced with bitterness and curiosity, a challenge and a plea wrapped into one.

“I’m not claiming to know you, I’m just… trying to figure this out. I felt it on me, and I’ve stood in fire; I’ve been burned by fire, caused by quirks or naturally occurring. Fire doesn’t feel like that, not to me. Fire terrifies me. I have to concentrate a million times harder to keep myself from burning just to walk through it, and I can never manage it well during an active fight.” Her heart rate increased, driven by a mix of hope, desperation, and confusion. “But I wanted to stay in it. I wanted to stop and be in your flame… forever. It was so calming… nostalgic.”

Her voice wavered, and her eyes started to water. She paused to process her emotions, waiting for him to respond. Yet again, nothing. The silence felt like an abyss, threatening to swallow her whole. The shadows in the room seemed to grow darker, the faint light barely holding them at bay.

“I’m going to say something that I’m not even sure of, but the fact that I looked for you all this time should be a clear sign of what this means to me.” She took a deep breath, tears spilling onto the ground, glistening briefly in the dim light before disappearing into the dusty floor. “If I’m wrong, I hope me letting you go will allow you to forgive me for putting this on you; if I’m right… well, I don’t want you to answer either way.”

The air between them was thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, each beat a reminder of the gravity of this encounter. She was walking a tightrope, one misstep away from disaster, but she was determined to find her way across.

In the dim light, she saw him shift, his outline becoming clearer. The vulnerability in his posture was almost imperceptible, but it was there, a flicker of the person he once was. It gave her a sliver of hope, a reason to keep pushing forward despite the darkness that surrounded them. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was nervous, but she felt most of that anxiety was coming from him, even if she had no way of knowing for sure.

“Dabi. I think you’re Touya. I think you’re Touya Todoroki, and if I’m right, you’ve known who I am for a long time.” She stopped, fighting back a sob, overwhelmed by a river of emotions. This was more than she had anticipated, and it was tearing her apart. She wanted to cry, but that had to wait. “If that’s true, why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you try? I wanted to be with you, all my life all I’ve ever wanted was you, however that was. You left, faked your own death, and came back a villain, but never once did you think that maybe you could send a letter. A sign of life.”

The room felt like it was holding its breath, the silence after her words echoing louder than any noise. Her tears fell freely now, and she didn’t bother to wipe them away. She stood there, raw and vulnerable, waiting for a response that might never come. The light flickered again, casting long shadows that seemed to dance around them, as if the building itself was listening to their exchange.

He remained silent, and unchaging, his figure a dark silhouette against the faint light. The seconds dragged on, each one an eternity. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the war between the persona he had become and the boy he once was. The vulnerability in his posture was almost heartbreaking, a reminder of the pain and loss that had shaped both of their lives.

Deep down, she knew she was right, and she wasn’t crying for herself; she was crying for both of them. She stood up from the spot she had taken on the rusty chair, deciding to return to UA. She had said what she needed to, and his lack of reaction showed that even if she was right, he didn’t care. She meant nothing to him.

Either way, Touya was dead. Even if his former self was standing in front of her, he was gone. She swallowed and took a step back, ready to let go; let Touya be burned and dead. Insisting on a connection with him would be dysfunctional and selfish on both their ends.

She heard footsteps approaching, slowly coming closer. She could feel him standing in front of her, the intense warmth radiating from his body. She was tempted to reach out and touch him. He was less than a step away, but she couldn’t see him. She couldn’t even see herself in the darkness. She quickly braced herself for whatever was coming. 

“You want me to believe you didn’t know?” The question struck her like a physical blow, her heart plummeting into a deep chasm of despair. An overwhelming heat surged through her body, intensifying the gravity of the moment. This revelation shifted the narrative drastically; to him, it meant she had deliberately rejected him. He had kept his distance, believing she didn’t want him.

“I never stopped feeling things, yours or mine,” he continued, his voice laden with the weight of suppressed emotions.

“What?” she stammered, struggling to process the accusation. Her mind raced, searching for a coherent response. “I… I didn’t… I swear,” she pleaded, her voice cracking under the strain.

“Try again when you believe your own lies,” he hissed, his breath hot against her face. His hand moved deliberately, slowly wrapping around her neck. The gesture was a mix of threat and disdain, his fingers pressing just hard enough to convey his dominance. The heat of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, an unsettling mix of fear and something else, something she didn't want to acknowledge. The proximity of his body, the intensity of his gaze, it all created a confusing blend of emotions that left her feeling raw and exposed.

“For the sake of giving you a chance, I’m not killing you today. Next time, you might not be so lucky.” He tightened his grip momentarily, a final warning, before releasing her with a shove. The force of his push made her stagger, and she barely managed to stay on her feet. Her hand instinctively went to her neck, where the heat of his touch lingered, a ghostly reminder of their encounter.

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with unspoken hatred and a twisted undercurrent of something almost primal. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat resonating with a confusing mixture of anger, fear, and a strange, unwanted attraction. The darkness seemed to close in around her, amplifying every sensation, every emotion.

She watched as he retreated back into the shadows, his silhouette disappearing into the black void. The oppressive silence returned, only broken by her ragged breathing. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, the realization of his hatred cutting deep, while a small, treacherous part of her was drawn to the intensity of his presence

The dilapidated room around her seemed to echo her inner turmoil. The flickering light cast eerie shadows on the cracked walls, the air thick with dust and the scent of decay. She felt a profound sense of loneliness, the weight of their encounter pressing down on her like a physical burden. Her tears fell onto the dusty floor, mingling with the dirt and grime, a stark contrast to the heat and passion she had just experienced.

She stumbled back, pressing a hand to her throat where his grip had been, feeling the residual heat from his fingers. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the danger she had narrowly escaped. She looked around the abandoned building, its dilapidated state a stark contrast to the turmoil within her. The silence was oppressive, broken only by her ragged breathing.

For a moment, she struggled to gather her thoughts, her mind a whirlwind of fear, confusion, and the painful sting of betrayal. How could he think she had rejected him? The realization that he had misinterpreted her actions cut deep, adding to her emotional turmoil. She sank to her knees, her body trembling as the weight of the encounter settled over her.

The room seemed colder now, the earlier warmth from his presence dissipating into a chilling emptiness. Her tears fell onto the dusty floor, creating tiny dark spots that mirrored the growing darkness in her heart. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the stark isolation of the moment.

Her eyes welled with tears as she replayed his words in her mind. The venom in his voice, the coldness in his touch, and the haunting promise of a darker future if they met again. She knew she had to pull herself together, to find a way to make him understand the truth, but for now, the enormity of what had just happened overwhelmed her.

In the stillness of the night, she felt an aching loneliness, a stark contrast to the brief, terrifying closeness they had shared. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to steady her breathing and gather the strength to stand. The path ahead was fraught with danger, and she knew she had to be stronger, more resilient, if she was to survive and find a way to reach him.

The building creaked around her, the sounds of its decay echoing her own sense of disrepair. As she stepped toward the exit, the flickering light seemed to fade, casting the room into deeper shadows. She was alone, but she carried with her a glimmer of determination, a faint hope that maybe, somehow, she could reach the boy he once was and pull him from the flames of his own making.

As she walked away from the abandoned building, her mind churned with a tumultuous mix of emotions. The encounter with Dabi, or perhaps Touya, had left her shaken to the core. Each step felt heavy, as if she were carrying the weight of the entire world on her shoulders.

Her thoughts kept circling back to the words he had spoken, the accusations he had hurled at her with such venom. How could he believe she had rejected him? How could he think she didn’t want him? The pain of his misunderstanding cut deep, slicing through her heart like a knife. She had spent years searching for him, longing for him, and now he stood before her, believing she had turned her back on him.

The night air was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered from his touch. She shivered, a shudder running down her spine, but it was not from the cold. It was from the knowledge that the path ahead would be treacherous, filled with obstacles and dangers she could scarcely imagine; but she would not falter. She would not give up. She would find a way to break through to him, to make him see the truth, even if it meant risking everything she held dear.

She picked her phone from her pocket to check the time: 4:00 a.m. The early hour felt like a cruel reminder of how little time she had left before her morning patrols began. Groaning bitterly, she realized she had to get ready quickly. The promise she made to her best friend to call him if and when she found Dabi lingered in her mind. Reluctantly, she scrolled through her contacts, the screen's soft glow illuminating her weary face. She decided to call him, even though she hated the idea of disturbing him. He was an early riser, and she was almost certain he’d be awake anyway, but there was always a chance he was still sleeping, and she hoped she wasn’t waking him up.

After a couple of rings, he finally picked up, his voice sounding wide awake, which relieved her a bit. “Hey there, lovely morning today,” he greeted, his tone bright and cheerful.

She raised an eyebrow in confusion, her exhaustion making it hard to process his upbeat demeanor. “Yes?” she responded, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yes,” he repeated, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “What’s up, birdie?”

“I found Dabi, and we talked,” she said, swallowing the lump that was building up in her throat again. The pain of the interaction was still fresh, her arms wrapping protectively around herself as she spoke. The night had started hopeful, but now she felt lonelier than ever. Her soulmate had just threatened to kill her, and he thought she didn’t want to be with him.

“How’d it go?” he asked, still sounding chipper and blissfully unaware. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he might know more than he let on about the villain's feelings for her.

“Well, I have a target on my head, and my number one hater is the one person who is supposed to love me,” she said, her voice breaking as she struggled to hold back tears. The weight of her words hung heavily in the air.

“Whoa, what do you mean?” he asked, his tone shifting to concern, the seriousness of her situation starting to sink in.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “He thinks I rejected him. He said I lied, that I didn’t care. He nearly killed me, but he decided to spare me this time.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, the tension palpable even through the phone. “That’s... intense,” he finally said, his voice softer, filled with empathy. “Are you okay?”

“Physically, yes. Emotionally... not so much,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I just don’t understand how everything got so twisted. He was my soulmate. I’ve been searching for him, trying to find a way to reach him, and now...”

“Now he’s a villain who thinks you don’t want him,” he finished for her, the reality of her words sinking in.

“Exactly,” she whispered, feeling the tears finally spill over, the emotional dam breaking. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t just let this go, but I don’t know how to fix it either.”

Her friend sighed deeply on the other end of the line, the sound filled with both frustration and determination. “We’ll figure it out together, okay? You’re not alone in this. We’ll find a way to make him understand.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her, the gesture bringing her a small measure of comfort. “Thanks,” she said softly, her voice filled with gratitude. “I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, birdie,” he replied gently, his voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. “Now, get ready for your patrols. We’ll talk more later.”

She ended the call and took a moment to collect herself, the stillness of the night wrapping around her like a heavy blanket. Despite everything, she felt a glimmer of hope. With her friend’s support, she believed she could find a way to reach Dabi and make him see the truth. She wiped her tears away, took a deep breath, and steeled herself for the day ahead. The path would be challenging, but she was determined to navigate it, one step at a time.

With one last breath, she continued on the path back to the school, hoping that for some miraculous reason she could stay in and play chaperone to the kids. Despite only living there for one week, she had already almost fallen in love with the class.

[lizzy06]

Sero Hanta x Reader Fic Recs!! (Tumblr/Ao3/Wattpad)

My Hero Academia Fic Rec Masterlist

all in a day's quirk/tumblr link ✨✨by @andypantsx3/ andypantsx3 (oneshot, friends to lovers, fluff, smut<18+>)Sero gets hit with a quirk that makes others see him as the person they are most attracted to. Which you really wish you had known before you opened your mouth and gave him your usual, “Hey, Sero!”. [COMPLETED]

Trash Polka-- A Sero Hanta X FemReader/ Tattoo Parlor AU  ✨✨ (neighbours, fluff, humor)Today is move day, and unbeknownst to you, you actually rented an apartment right above a tattoo parlor with an exceptionally cute owner, who is now your new landlord. .. But you don't particularly mind… and, the owner seems sweet, so who are you to complain ?[COMPLETED]

Infiltration Complete! ✨✨by animepseud (multipurposeroom)(fake dating, fluff, humor)The adventures of Sero (codename Hunter), you (his pretend wife), and your attempts at investigating a murder while trying not to fall madly in love with each other by the end of it (mission impossible).[COMPLETED]

 he was like the Sun ✨by @rainybubbles (oneshot, fluff) Maybe it was your childish obsession with stars that led you to him. After all, if you took a closer look, he was like the Sun.[COMPLETED]

skintight✨ by @saturnsorbits (oneshot, suggestive, fluff) Sero's got an embarrassing problem.[COMPLETED]

it’s a date ✨by @shinaus (oneshot, fake datings, friends to lovers)The invitation was to a party this coming weekend, which they have insisted within it that you had to bring your boyfriend too.[COMPLETED]

do re mi by @mythiccheroacademia (oneshot, angst, toxic relationship, cheating) Sero loved you. He loved you with everything he had. But he thinks he hates you just the same.[COMPLETED]

Fall In Love With Me. by Itsjustadrian(neighbours, friends to lovers, fluff) You have had the misfortune of being neighbors with the pro-hero cellophane. It wouldn’t be bad if you didn’t embarrass yourself the first encounter you had with him.[COMPLETED]

Daddy’s Little Hero ✨by Madysenpai(oneshot, parent! sero and reader, domestic fluff, family feels) Pro hero Cellophane tends to stay busy with his hero work, but on his day off he forces you to get out of the house while he spends the day with your daughter.[COMPLETED]

your initials paint my skin ✨by whatisreggieshortfor (oneshot, soulmate au, angst with happy ending)You just want to be a hero. You don’t want a soulmate, don’t want the bond. But… you’re kind of stuck to him. Pun intended.[COMPLETED]

always have, always will by Kumi(oneshot, childhood friends, angst) Sero Hanta doesn’t know a life without you by his side. For as long as he can remember, you’ve always been there. You’ve always been his person—always have, always will. Or so he thought.[COMPLETED]

Love (Sero Hanta x Reader) by dirtyoatmeall(oneshot, fluff, insecure! reader, comfort)In which you are insecure and believe Sero couldn't love you back. In which you are so utterly wrong.[COMPLETED]

Why Kaminari Is Not Allowed To Do Grocery Shopping✨ by jumix  (oneshot, fluff, humor) It started, as many things in Sero’s life apparently do, with Kaminari wanting Oreos. aka 5 times Sero goes to the grocery store + 1 time he left with more than just the groceries.[COMPLETED]

Like Father Like Daughter ✨by Jessimatsu_girl(oneshot, fluff, just parenthood guys) Your sweet little girl is worried that she'll gets a quirk like her Papa.[COMPLETED]

Spider-Man✨ by animepseud (multipurposeroom)(oneshot, fluff)Sero is a pro hero and an adult who struggles with being a pro hero and an adult. You are (kind of) a Cellophane fan. Though things get cute nothing really gets resolved but sometimes it doesn't really matter.[COMPLETED]

It Started With A Postcard by NyxDeLaNuit (oneshot, strangers to lovers, fluff, smut) Sero loves his friends, but he's desperate to talk to someone who doesn't know who he is…[COMPLETED]

Me & You Together by kingexpl0sionmurder(oneshot, fluff, secret admirer) “What? Who sent me flowers?”[COMPLETED]

It’s worth it. by Madysenpai (friends with benefits, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, smut)Sero and you are friends with benefits, you wanted more but knew you couldn’t have it. Sero knows your relationship with him only goes so far, so why is he so jealous of Todoroki?

The Things That Bind Us by lunadoesntexist(fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pinning) You were alone… and then he showed up.[COMPLETED]

Blankets & Banter by Stumbleduck(oneshot, fluff) It’s the Bakusquad’s not so weekly sleepover of shenanigans, video games and hopefully no fires. But after getting very little sleep the night before you start to doze off on a certain tape user’s shoulder…[COMPLETED]

BREADTH: Sero Hanta by KaigaraX (oneshot, fluff)Someone You Loved - Featuring: The Hero & Exactly As You Saw.[COMPLETED]

A Sign of Love✨ by @dira333/ Fogfire (oneshot, soulmate au) Everyone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed on their body. Well, everyone but Sero.[COMPLETED]

[dira333]

Wild Dreams - Sero Hanta x Soulmate Reader

For my Follower Celebration - requested by @fuzztacular

and before anyone asks: Denki's soulmate is blind as a bat without her glasses and mistook him for a friend

“Hey, sexy lady.” 

You look up from the breakfast you’ve been preparing. 

Hanta’s standing in the doorway, exhaustion pulling on the bags under his eyes. He’s still in his Hero Costume, looking almost as dashing as when he left yesterday evening.

You, on the other hand, are wearing one of his shirts that you pretended to throw out months ago and threadbare pajama shirts, your hair hasn’t seen a brush and you’re pretty sure you forgot to take off your make up last night.

But that’s Hanta for you. Flirting with you even when he’s falling asleep standing up.

“Hey yourself.” You wave your spatula at him. “Do you want to have breakfast with me?”

“I want to sleep with you. In our bed. Just… eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Could we do that?”

You laugh. “You can, but I will be off to work in an hour.”

He takes two steps and drapes himself over your shoulders. “Please?” He whines. “The bed isn’t the same without you.”

“Five minutes.” You agree easily. “Go wash up.”

“YAY!” He presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek and dances out of the kitchen while you finish your breakfast.

You’re not surprised to find him fast asleep by the time you step into your bedroom. 

He’s curled into himself, leaving just enough space for you to slip in between his arms. 

You close your eyes, trusting your phone alarm to wake you up - and allow yourself to slip dream…

-

Years before

“This sucks.” Hanta mutters and pops another handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“What sucks?” Denki’s been fiddlling with his phone, his Nachos precarily balanced on his drink.

“Soulmates.”

“Oh, that again?”

“Yes, that again! I can’t believe I’m the only one in our class who doesn’t have a soulmate.”

“You don’t know that.” Denki repeats his mantra for the hundredth time. “You just don’t have any visible clues.”

“Even Mineta has a Soulmate! He might not have found it yet, but how cool is that? Only being able to see colours when you meet them? That way you know for sure who it is.”

“You could have the same type as Todoroki. Your soulmate is just ultracareful that’s why you haven’t felt any pain yet.”

“Nah.” Hanta shakes his head. “I told you, I don’t have a soulmate. Just accept it and feel lucky about your own.”

Denki levels him with a glare. Right at the collar of his shirt sits his soulmark, four words written out in scraggly handwriting, spelling “What’s up, Dumbass?”

“You shouldn’t give up that easily,” a voice behind him says and Hanta turns, surprised to see the prettiest girl he’s probably ever met.

“I…” He starts, mouth dry, words dying on his tongue.

“Couldn’t help but overhear.” You stick out your tongue as you smile. “But you could be a dreamsharer? Everyone in my family is one.”

“That can’t be.” Hanta shakes his head. “My dreams haven’t changed at all ever since I remember.”

“What a shame.” You put one hand on his arm as you speak and his mouth runs dry again.

“What are your dreams like, then?”

Hanta looks over at Denki who’s eyes are as big as saucers now, urging him to keep talking. 

“I, uh… they’re pretty active? Like there’s this new anime that I started watching lately and I keep dreaming that I’m in it.”

You laugh. “Don’t tell me it’s Haikyuu. I keep thinking that I’d make such a great Libero but I keep dreaming of myself as the Ace.”

“You watch that too? That’s funny, it’s the other way around for me! I think the Ace’s are the coolest, especially Asahi or Iwaizumi, but I always dream of myself as the Libero.”

Your smile grows. 

“What a coincidence.” You draw the words out and flick your eyes to the front where the doors to the cinema hall open. 

“I think you should give me your number.” You say, words coming out so smooth Hanta thinks he’s misheard you. “Just in case we dream of each other tonight. You never know.”

-

When your alarm goes off, Hanta is dreaming of swinging from building to building, the night sky clear and full of stars above him.

You don’t feel bad to leave him to his own dreams when they’re as nice as today, even less when you know that this has been the last night shift for a while.

Join My Taglist

[dashielldeveron]

soulmate trope | shigaraki tomura

Shigaraki’s route of soulmate trope.

"post-canon shigaraki? canon isn't even finished as of when this was posted on 4 january 2024!"

yeah. thank god. gives us time to write our own endings. and obviously i will be wrong about some things. i recommend you read at least one other route, preferably dabi’s, before reading this one. warnings: female reader. manga spoilers up to around chapter 390-411ish, based on language used by others to describe shigaraki and his trauma. bodily consequences to his trauma (some things are intended to read as AFO having forced an ED on shigaraki, but this is not made definitive). sexual content. stalking. gore (in a game). reader is experiencing a type of gifted kid burnout.

~28k

There’s a hentai book lying on your bed.

You’ve never seen it before.

Flipping through it, you winced at the positions the large-titted, ponytailed woman was manhandled into, and though you were frankly impressed that she managed to wear such intricate lingerie underneath her everyday business attire, the protagonist only just got home from work; let her decompress for, like, ten minutes before railing her against the window, please.

Whom did you know who would read volume four of something called GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK?

Unfortunately, you were burdened with knowledge about your friends’ sexual habits, and some of them, therefore, were already ruled out: Shinsou only read erotica because he preferred his own imagination to any images hentai or live-action could provide, and Monoma only read hentai in which the woman’s eyes had hearts in them to let the reader know she’s enjoying it—not to mention Monoma wouldn’t buy a hard copy of it, let alone a story that didn’t have more plot and character development to it. There wasn’t enough drool for Sero to be interested, and the male protagonist wasn’t enough of a twink for Kaminari to project onto, so whose was this?

Moreover, who the fuck would come all the way back to your old school’s campus to break into your room to leave it on your bed? (Shinsou would be your best bet for that part, but whenever he finished a patrol nowadays, he went directly to sleep, and his and Monoma’s flat was across town.)

You cat, Dango, jumped onto the bed, slithering up next to you and bumping her head on your elbow affectionately.

“Is this yours?” you asked her, and she sniffed the book before climbing into your lap.

You tossed the book aside to pet your cat with both hands, and you resolved not to think about it any longer, even though the cringy way the mangaka depicted the female orgasm was burnt onto your brain.

***

Hopping to put your heel back into a ballet flat, you held the phone between your ear and shoulder while you struggled towards the lift. “I’ve got to cancel on you, Ochaco,” you said, flipping the back of your blazer collar down and adjusting the lapels, “I’m, fuck—I’m not gonna be able to make it this evening, so just go without me.”

Uraraka sighed on her end. “Okay. I know a lot of us were excited to see you after so long—there’s a card Tsu’s made us all to sign, and everything—but we’ll manage. ‘Spose we’ll just have a routine night at the bar and reschedule when you can make it. I miss you,” she said, “and I’m pretty sure I can say the same for everyone.”

The elevator door slid open, and you entered. “All of you are so clingy. I’ve only been away from the agency for around two months, and you know where to find me.” You mashed the button for the ground floor. “In fact, it’s embarrassingly easy to access me.”

“Well, we’re very busy,” said Uraraka, “People are very eager to conscript us for missions, even if they really could be done by the police. U.A. alumni have somehow upticked in their popularity even more since we graduated—”

“Ochaco, I know. I was there. Allow me to weep for your success. I am playing the world’s tiniest violin.” You shifted your bag’s full weight onto your shoulder and exited into the commons. “But listen. I’ve got to go; I’m running late this morning. I couldn’t find my pantyhose even though I laid them out last night, and they weren’t in any of my cat’s usual hiding places. I had to turn my flat upside down and still never found them.” The outside doors slid open when you approached, and the harsh, morning wind upset your hair on impact. “Give everyone my love, O. Tell Todoroki to smile in his next interview.” Eyes darting across your surroundings for any witnesses, you shrank in on yourself and bit the inside of your cheek. “And tell everyone I’m sorry, okay?”

By the time you arrived at U.A.’s administration building, the wind had been joined by a light drizzle that would probably morph into a storm within the hour, a prediction compounded by a plethora of faculty umbrellas in and beside the stand by the sliding doors. The front office was gloriously vacant, though, so you were able to slip behind the front desk without someone rebuking you for being—you shook the computer mouse to wake it up, the clock popping up in the corner—seventeen minutes late.

(You’d graduated with the rest of the class six months ago, and you’d founded the all-girls agency uptown, with most of the women in the graduating class joining to form an instant powerhouse of the industry.

Founding an agency appealed to a good deal of graduates, but you were the only one to go the distance: you were the one to actually make the calls, fill out the paperwork, get aggravating shit done, and by the time to move into the building, it had pleased you to no end that Midoriya had asked you for help on kickstarting his own.

And then two months ago, you’d pulled off, frankly, what was supposed to be an impossible rescue. For the first time, you were getting enormous amounts of attention, from civilians, from press, from other heroes—and you were being followed, never having more than a moment to yourself—always being watched, either from well-wishers or nay-sayers—and sometimes, the analytical critic, eager to point out your faults in the rescue mission to try to drag you out of the hero scene.

You hated yourself for this, but they won.

Too many expectations. All sinking down on you, as if no other hero existed while the light shone in your direction. [And you hated yourself for even daring to consider this—what reprehensible audacity, but—but was this how All Might had felt?]

You’d had something next door to a panic attack when a convenience store, a regular stop in your weekly routine, filmed your reaction to how they’d auctioned off your signed receipt for over nine hundred thousand yen. Breaking their cameras, Shinsou had to escort you out of there in a rush and call Aizawa for help.

Sobbing into Shinsou’s phone on the soggy concrete of a darkened alleyway, you did something you never fathomed you’d ever do, something you could never see any of your friends ever doing, something that seemed as alien and unthinkable as sticking your hand into a pit of needles: you begged Aizawa to get you out of the hero business.

You’ve been handled with care and relocated into a surprising covert secretarial job in the U.A. admin, Nezu’s logic was that you’d adjust to one person needing you at a time, say, over email or at the desk, and if you only answered the phone with only a shortened version of your name, then no intruding civilian would be the wiser.

The job was easy, anyway. Paid well for what it was, but perhaps that was simply standard for U.A. Nowhere nearly as well paying or exciting as working as a hero, but you were adjusting into mundanity. Some days had stretches of hours in which you didn’t interact with anyone, sitting at the front desk without a task, and you even had a few days in which you’d gone in, piddled around at the desk for your whole shift without seeing another soul, and gone home.

Your friends were always so busy. The two times you’ve been able to meet with them contained nothing but conversation about hero work, or else everything was somehow tangentially related to it, and you found yourself unable to contribute to the conversation. Both times, you’d left early, a little overstimulated, leaving Shinsou to make your excuses.

And Shinsou, bless him. Not avoiding you on purpose. In fact, you knew he’d drop almost anything for you to hang out, but you knew his schedule and how little rest he got. So, it was more of a self-imposed boundary on your side, taking into account that he needed sleep more than he needed to spend time with you.

So, yes, some of it was directly your fault, but you were achingly, astonishingly lonely, with an ever-lowering threshold for tolerance of outside stimulation, ultimately feeling like you didn’t belong here.)

Pens aligned. Coaster. Check the school email for—good, no emails. No voicemail. Get out your planner and write your hours in it to look busy. Hey, your water bottle’s nearing empty; maybe you could go fill it or even waste time brewing coffee. But where’s your work mug? You probably left it on the cleaning rack next to the office sink. You should go check.

“Hey,” said Aizawa out of nowhere, ignoring how you jumped out of your own skin, “Good morning. Are you doing a specific job at the moment?”

You gripped the arms of your swivel chair to ground yourself. Is this a test? “I was about to take a moment to make some coffee,” you said, because never let someone in a position of authority know that you were doing jackshit, “Is there something I can help you with, Aizawa-sensei?”

Frowning, he dipped his chin into his capture weapon, still tucked closely to his neck to shield him from the wind, and he shifted his weight to one leg, his fingers tapping in a ripple on the reception desk. “You don’t have to call me that anymore.”

“I’m gonna,” you said, “How can I help?”

Please don’t need anything. Please don’t need anythi—

“Permission has just cleared for me to assign you a long-term task.”

Shit, you thought, internally wincing at how he used the term task and not mission, as if you’d be plunged into the ice-cold water of a panic attack at the word. The kid gloves that everyone handled you with somehow both ingratiated and insulted you.

“You’ll be paid for it,” Aizawa continued, “and it’s low stakes interaction, not even face-to-face. It’s all online.” Aizawa clasped his hands on the desk and hunched over the top of it, the ends of his scarf trailing down onto your keyboard. “You’ll recall moving some boxes into room 310.”

“Of course.” Early in your first month back at U.A., you’d helped clean out and move some boxes into 310 in the same hall that housed Aizawa, Eri, and now you—you’d unofficially dubbed it as U.A.’s drawer to shove social rejects. “Is someone about to move in?”

“He’s been moved in for a while,” said Aizawa, pulling his capture weapon away from his neck, “Keep all of this quiet. You’re allowed to know because I’ve advocated for you, because I trust in you and in your ability to do this well.” Aizawa paused, the silence dragging on much longer than usual. His eyes glazed over, as if considering how to phrase his next proposal.

You waved your hand, prompting him to continue.

His eyes focused again. “The new person is a ward of the school, but All Might and I are his primary—caretakers isn’t quite the right term, and nor is supervisors, so perhaps it’s better to—”

“No, I get it,” you said, “This person is an adult, but they’re not quite independent. Go on.”

Aizawa paused, brow furrowed just slightly as he scrutinised you again, but he nodded slowly after a moment. “I’ll allow him to introduce himself to you. He doesn’t need me to set up expectations. What’s important for you to know, regarding your own participation, is that he’s very new to the hero scene and is receiving his hero training later in life than usual. He won’t be attending class but will be trained personally by select U.A. faculty, mostly All Might, Nezu, and me.”

“Is he officially a student?”

 “On paper.” Something strange passed across Aizawa’s face, but you couldn’t name it. “Where you come in is his socialisation. He’s spent most of his life in disciplinary isolation. Because of the adults raising him, his instincts trend towards distrust and animosity.”

So, Aizawa wanted you spend time with him until he was no longer bad with people, like spending time with feral cats at animal shelters until they’re ready to be adopted. “So, he’s distrustful. Hostile. Angry,” you said, scratching the side of your head, “Is he—do you think he’ll bring up bad stuff I’ve done to use it against me?”

“He doesn’t know who you are, aside from someone trusted by U.A. with hero experience,” said Aizawa, shaking his head, “and you can choose what information you give him.”

“Does he,” you said, sucking in through your teeth, “Does this guy know about how you’re going about this? I think—wouldn’t he be insulted if he knew about how you’re socialising him like an animal?”

Aizawa looked over his shoulder at the empty office, but he bent farther over the desk and spoke softly, anyway. “Recently, when I was training him at night, he expressed that he never knows what to do when someone wants to talk to him after mission, whether it’s successful or not. He froze entirely when a senior citizen thanked him last week, and that’s when we decided something tactile needed to be done. Since he’s grown used to me, you’re the solution.”

Okay. A volatile man, someone who couldn’t go to U.A. at the average age but for whom Aizawa, Nezu, and All Might were making an exception, even going so far as to personally take him out at night to practise hero work.

Hm. Fishy.

But if the good, good men who took care of you wanted you take care of another misplaced person, then you’re going to do it to the best of your ability.

“I hope I can live up to your expectations,” you said, making a note in your planner, “What am I doing?”

“I need you to learn how to play a video game,” said Aizawa, “and I need you to be absolute shit at it.”

***

For you to help some loser with socialisation, he would be teaching you how to play some janky, twenty-five-year-old MMORPG called Cipherstone—and not even the current, polished version of it; you had to sign up for an account on the version preserving the game exactly as it was in 2007. Nostalgia reasons, apparently.

You nudged Dango out aside to check your bedside clock. The discord call would start in five minutes, and you were making your Cipherstone account, completely unable to come up with a suitable username.

“Don’t connect it to your other online accounts or your actual identity,” Aizawa had said that morning.

Dango’s tiny prance across your stomach was not helping, and you couldn’t use Dango in your username, because if someone knew about your cat (and hopefully no one did, because cats were not allowed in the dorms), then a Dango username could be linked back to the real you. You plopped your head back on your pillow, knocking against the headboard. What’s something that couldn’t be traced back to you? Slumping, you let your head fall to the side and sulked.

The hentai book peeked out from underneath a jacket on your dirty clothes chair.

GinsengTea

That username is unavailable.

Well. You couldn’t use your birthdate as added numbers. You kept typing.

GinsengTea69

That username is unavailable.

You’re not about to try Lustful Ballsack. Maybe if you put aside your secretarial propensity for being correct for a moment.

GinzengTea

Username available!

Oh, thank God. You sorted out your password and started customising your character, though you couldn’t do much with the negative six billion pixels you were dealing with, and oh, is that the noise discord makes for a call? You plugged in your earbuds and clicked the answer button.

“Hello?” you asked into the microphone on your earbud cord, narrowing your eyes at his profile picture of a rotund, cartoon mouse. Username Tenkopeito. Looks like he ran into the same spelling trouble you did.

“Greetings and salutations,” he said, his tinny, rasping, just-got-out-of-bed, gruff-from-lack-of-use voice striking you with about fifty psychic damage, “I am Aizawa-sensei’s pupil, here to teach you about the intricacies of Cipherstone. It will be my pleasure—”

“Cut that shit out,” you said, narrowing your eyes at his profile picture: actually, that mouse was so round because it had just swallowed an enormous piece of konpeito whole, with the little star spikes jutting out underneath its fur. “No one talks like that. You sound fake as fuck.”

“I see,” he said after a beat, tone deflating to sound resigned (and though he’d relaxed, it somehow sounded as if talking this way took more effort, like it physically strained his vocal cords). “Am I not supposed to be nice?”

“You weren’t exactly being nice. You were using a customer service voice—which is being polite, not nice. Not even kind. Politeness is usually some sort of put-on affectation of niceness, forced for the situation. I understand if that’s what you think you need to do when you talk to people as a hero, but in hero work, since the stakes are high, you need to be genuine, or at least sound like you are.” Dango crawled across your stomach again, but you lifted her off before she could settle into a loaf on your keyboard. “In the field, it’s often hard to be kind because of how involved you get as a hero; being kind takes effort and drains you emotionally. Kindness implies there’s some sort of reciprocity, some sort of ongoing relationship. You can choose to be kind if you want, but it may wear on you in the long run. What will probably be healthiest for you, on your side, is if you aim to be nice, meaning being honest in a gentle way, framing situations positively but realistically for listeners. The public doesn’t want to be lied to and told everything’s fine, but telling them the harshness of reality doesn’t go over well. Kills morale.”

“Holy shit.” He was scratching something close to his microphone—it must be a fairly good mic, since you could deduce short fingernails against a dry surface. “That’s…a lot.”

“It is. But you can do it. All it takes is practise, and that’s what I’m here for,” you said, moving Dango from your keyboard again, “And I didn’t mean to overwhelm you with all of that; it just came out—I, uh, I happen to know a lot about the way heroes present themselves.” Swallowing thickly, you ran your tongue over your lower lip. “Why don’t we begin with what you were saying before? But in the actual way you talk, please. You need to be comfortable in your own voice.”

His mic picked up the distant noise of slurping through a straw, against what sounded like the bottom of a metal cup, which clinked when he set it back down. “Have you played Cipherstone before?”

“Total newcomer. Though I’ve seen some screenshots in memes.”

“Cool,” he said in a way that was clear it was not cool, “I can’t add you to my in-game friends list until you get off Tutorial Island. Share your screen with me until then.”

All right. You can be bad at this. You can be so bad at this. “What’s a screen?” Not that bad, idiot! “I mean,” you said, fumbling, “How do I share my screen with you?”

The scratching grew louder. “Bottom left. Screen button. Right click. Share option.”

“Ah.” You should probably lure him into thinking you’re competent while there was a literal tutorial onscreen so that he would be more frustrated with you later. “Gotcha.”

For a few seconds after your avatar popped onscreen for the first time, nothing came through but the 8-bit tutorial music. “Is that what you look like in real life?” he finally asked.

“No,” you said, not exactly lying. The character had her hair down in her face (which you wouldn’t normally do when you were on patrol, since it could get in the way of physical hero work), and, hoping to endear yourself to this weirdo, you’d chosen the sluttiest shirt: while none of the horrible pixelated options showed any boob whatsoever, the poor rendering still managed to convey that the top was off-shoulder. Again, not great for hero work. “In real life, I’ve much, much more panache.”

Another silence, during which you assumed he was looking up the word. “So, you click on the screen to go where you want to walk, on either the overall game interface or in the mini-map in the corner. Your destination will show up—”

“Wait, what should I call you, screwboy?”

“—as a red flag,” he said, frown audible, his rasping voice screeching to a stop the way brakes are slowly applied to the wheels of a train. “Not screwboy.”

“I’m not calling you by your handle. Not only is it cringe, but you won’t have to answer to it anywhere else in your life. If you don’t want to give me your name, that’s fine. I could call you by your hero name, if you like; it’d help you get used to answering to it. But no, I’m not calling you your username,” you said, shoulders slacking once Dango finally settled in a ball at your hip, “Especially since you couldn’t even get the correct spelling of Ten Konpeito.”

“It’s—it’s not supposed to say that,” he said, sputtering with a groan coming in at the end, “It’s a play on my name, and including the n makes it harder to say aloud. I think these things through; I have to be aware of my public image and branding now; that’s the whole point of this stupid—my name is Tenko, you asshole.”

“Oh, you’re gonna call civilians asshole?” You clicked your tongue. “Bad. Bad and evil. Speaking from experience, people don’t like that.”

“Just fu—just click on the map.”

“Fine. But you can’t fool me with your medieval, point-and-click game,” you said, clicking to pick up a fishing net, “Incidentally, the oldest known fishing net is the net of Antrea, crafted of willow and dating back to 8300 B.C.”

Tenko paused. “What would be the socially expected response to that?”

Your avatar fished for shrimps. “Oh, usually people yell at me. Get mad for bringing up total non sequiturs. My friend Bakugou is fond of telling me that I’m a collection of those bottle caps with facts printed on the inside.”

“Would…would you like me to get angry? Am I supposed to? I was under the impression I was supposed to curb my anger. To be nice.”

Your inventory filled with shrimps.

“You only need one shrimp,” said Tenko.

“You’ll thank me when we have food later,” you said, continuing to fish for shrimps.

“It’s the tutorial,” he said, frown creeping into his voice, “You won’t keep any resources from it. You should go chop the tree down to light a fire.”

“Well, hell. I want my shrimps.” You clicked away from the fishing spot and onto a tree. “Nothing’s happening.”

Tenko cleared his throat. “You need to talk to the woodcutting tutor first. She’ll give you an axe.”

“I thought this game had magic,” you said, guiding Dango’s head away from blocking the screen, “Can’t I just get logs with magic?”

“No, it’s—you must want me to get angry. As a test.” Scratching. “Magic comes later. Not for getting logs.”

You interpreted that as a sign to make the rest of the tutorial go smoothly. You followed the instructions for a few silent minutes, proving to him that you could read, and when you reached the end of the tutorial, a wizard teleported you to the crossroads of a town centre.

“Ah,” you said, genuinely surprised as other players’ avatars, decked out in what must be high-level gear, dashed past, “I don’t know where I am.”

“You can turn your screen-sharing off now.” Tenko typed on what sounded like a mechanical keyboard. “I’m over here. I’ve got—by the fountain—white hair, all black clothes. I’m not—there you are.”

Dozens of other players were running past the two of you, the only bare, new players in the area. Tenko’s pixelated avatar waved at you. Cheeky bitch. He’s so poorly animated and so very 2007 that it gave no indication what he could look like in real life. But he’s chosen to have a black t-shirt as his default, so he has to be a slut.

You resisted the urge to ask to feel his pixelated bicep. “You don’t have any equipment. I thought you’ve played Cipherstone before?”

“My main account is max-ed out. I started a new account to grow at the same rate as you. Before anything else, notice where we are,” said Tenko, “We’re in the centre of the city of Renfield. Get familiar with it. Think of it as home. It’s where you’ll always come back to when you get lost.”

It’s a barely animated town centre, with a short path up the stairs to a castle door and a few market stalls split between fountains.

“I have no idea what that means, Tenko.”

“It means that—that,” Tenko said, and stopped.

You couldn’t stop grinning, biting at your lower lip to keep from laughing—he’d let out a flustered huff, sounding a little strangled, because you’d said his name for the first time—and, judging by how long this delicious silence was dragging on, Tenko was probably his given name, not the family name. Beautiful, really, that a guy his age (however old he was, but he’s at least the same as you, since he couldn’t attend U.A. at the usual time) could get this nervous over a woman calling him by his name.

Tenko recovered in a way that showed he didn’t: “It means that you are always able to cast one spell, regardless of magic level,” he said in a rush, “It is a homing spell that teleports you back to this spot, so even if you get lost, you can always get back to Renfield. You can teleport other ways, too, but that’s for another time, and I need a cup of coffee.” He inhaled sharply.

It's only the first day, so you should go easy on him. Let his moment of awkwardness go.

However, Aizawa gave you a mission.

Excuse you, a task.

“Do you plan on getting flustered every time a civilian calls you by name?” you asked, petting between Dango’s ears, “Or are you planning on avoiding as much publicity as possible by being an underground hero like Aizawa?”

“I don’t—they’re not going to—it’s different with you. I can already tell,” said Tenko (you froze, fingers curled into Dango’s fur), “because I’m going to have some sort of working relationship with you. I assume you’re here to stay.”

Putting it that way made your heartbeat throb around your ears. You decided you could ask directly. “Tenko’s your first name, then?”

“Yeah.” He must have covered his hand with his mouth, muffling his voice at first. “But people usually—people have been calling me something else.”

“Then I can call you something else, if you like,” you said, getting back to petting Dango behind her ears and resolving to treat him with the same tenderness—he must need it, since no one in his life knows him well enough to call him by his given name.

“No, I think you should,” he said a bit too quickly, “Call me that. Tenko. I’m tired of that other stuff. Click on something to keep from logging out, by the way. There’s a timer.” Mechanical typing noises. “No, Aizawa-sensei wants me to be better. Of all things, I need to learn to respond to my real name.”

You squinted at your screen, as if the methodical rise and fall of his avatar’s chest could betray how he was feeling. Something had to have happened to this guy to make him feel this way about such a basic part of his identity, to make other people avoid his real name so universally. Aizawa couldn’t’ve have assigned you this task just to socialise him; something else was unfolding here. How did you enter the equation? If you’re supposed to guide someone who’s also lost their direction in life, you’re a hell of a bad candidate.

But what if you fuck up Aizawa’s plan, whatever it was?

Your recent history is riddled with things going downhill. What if you somehow screwed over Tenko? You’d be dragging someone else down with you, down to…the beginning again, a humiliating re-start, back at your fucking school, when the rest of your friends were out living the dream you’d all crafted together, the dream that apparently could go on without you in it.

Well. Enough of that. Distract yourself. Distract Tenko, too. “Got it. I want a hat.”

“What?”

“I want a hat,” you said, clicking the space around the fountain for your avatar to walk, “My head is cold. How do we get a hat? Hats. You should get one, too.”

“Hats. Very well,” said Tenko, clicking to face you across the shitty fountain, “Do you want one that’s purely decorative or one that has some sort of stats? Decorative ones we can get within a minute, with good RNG, by killing goblins across the bridge. There’s a low chance we could get a low-tier wizard’s hat doing that, too.”

“Then it will be a pleasure killing goblins with you, Tenko.”

“Mm,” he said at the back of his throat, “First, we’ll need to obtain some sort of weapons, since bare-handed punching them will take forever. We could either talk to the melee tutor to get a temporary sword or start wi—actually, we should talk to the melee tutor. Melee will probably be the easiest fighting style for you right now, and it’ll be the simplest, since you won’t have to worry about running out of ammunition or runes.”

“Sure,” you said, leaning back in bed, “Do we go starboard or port?”

“You can just call them east and west, y’know. And we go north.”

To be obstinate, you clicked the opposite direction that Tenkopeito was going, and the moment you ran offscreen, Tenko spoke in a low, grumbling voice into his microphone. “No, don’t run away from me. Come back here.”

The rumble in his voice shot warmth straight to your lower stomach, the nature of the encounter between the two of you changing in a second. Your avatar kept running to her destination, your hand frozen and hovering above the tracking pad. You blinked, your throat drying. Snapping back into it, you ran back to Tenko, who seemed unaware of what he just did to you—and he almost negated your arousal in the way he kept talking about sword upgrades and something called RNG.

Uh.

“—now, it’ll take about ten minutes, but it’ll seem like two hours of hard labour. Follow me across the bridge. Follow—there’s a follow mechanic, if you’ll right-click on me.”

Oh, you’ll right-click him, all right. You needed to know more about Tenko—why you’ve been paired off, what Aizawa’s planning for him, what—a tinge of shame soured at the back of your tongue, because what currently gripped you were minutiae: more about him, what he looks like, what he likes, what he does for fun, if you’re…the sort of person he’d get along with in real life, if you hadn’t been forced together.

God, get over yourself. You spend two months away from men your age, and now, you’re thirsting over someone you don’t even know because he said one hot thing. You needed to be socialised—no, stop. This isn’t about you. Stop thinking about what his hands would feel like on you, what he’d sound like grunting into your ear as he ground against you—

“You’ve been quiet for a minute,” said Tenko, slashing the first goblin, “Are you all right?”

A very heroic question when you haven’t been thinking too heroically. The thought of his voice muttering against your neck still grasped you tightly. “I’m having—technical difficulties.”

***

Poking your head outside of your dorm/apartment door, you scanned the hallway for witnesses. You gripped the handle of Dango’s carrier, still hidden behind the door inside your dorm, and you nodded back at her when she meowed at you.

“I know, baby,” you said, listening for footsteps, “We’ll be outside soon enough. Gotta check for people, though.”

Okay, nothing coming. You shifted Dango’s carrier out of your dorm and pulled out your key, sticking it in the lock at the same time as a door opened down the hall.

Too fast—you had to prod her carrier back inside, your foot stuck in the crack between wall and door, just as—as Midoriya strode down the hall. Keys jangling. Civilian clothes (a Froppy hoodie, in fact).

“Oh, hello!” Midoriya only seemed to notice you once you were struggling to close the door despite the carrier being the way, and hopefully you thrust it fully inside swiftly enough for him not to catch the flash of burgundy. He trotted up to you, hands in the pockets of his worn cargo pants. “I didn’t think you’d be around. Do you not have work today?”

Dango meowed mournfully through the door, and you stepped in front of it. “It’s my lunch break. I’m going for a walk.”

Midoriya nodded, and he glanced over his shoulder back to the room he’d left. “Gotcha, gotcha. Good weather for it, especially after that storm earlier this week.” easy smile stretched across his face as he faced you again, but his gaze weighed down on you, as if the number one hero’s attention magnified your failures in comparison to his rise to the top—and the fact that he didn’t mean to pressure you only exacerbated the feeling.

“Uh,” you said, stuffing your keys in your backpack and setting it on the ground, as if you’re not waiting to go back inside, “May I ask what you’re doing here? Don’t you have better—aren’t you busy?”

Chuckling, Midoriya scratched the back of his neck (and oh, in that laughter, he was hiding something). “I make time. I’m just visiting,” he said, jerking his head back towards the end of the hall, “A friend. I want to take care to see him regularly. I didn’t know you lived on the same hall.”

“If you can call it living,” you said, and for some reason, Midoriya frowned, took a step closer to you, and said your name under his breath, eyes fucking wide and too damn concerned for your comfort. Fuck, you only meant to make a self-depredating joke, not make the situation serious. 

“You—you know that you can reach out to us. I mean that. If you’re scared you’re gonna burden any of us—”

You’d squatted down to go through your bag, just to have something to do, to have an excuse to not look him in the eyes. If you were going to cry—which you were not!—then the number one hero’s not going to get to witness it.

“—then reach out to me, at least. I’ve got time, or else I can make it.” Midoriya was kneeling next to you, and you kept your eyes on the inside of your backpack. “If it makes you feel less like you’re bothering any of us, I could check in with you when I come see my friend. I’d already be on campus. I wouldn’t be going out of my way.” He sighed to fill the space when you didn’t answer. “What are you looking for?”

“I can’t find my planner,” you invented, and, acting like you were upset, you zipped your backpack again. “I think I need to go back inside to locate it.”

He shifted his jaw, and he glanced down at your bag and back at you. “Come with me to the vending machines, at least?”

The new symbol of peace, asking to spend time with you. You didn’t deserve it, so you shook your head. “I don’t have much time left in my break. I think I’d better let you go.”

Shifting his jaw, Midoriya tilted his head at you, his eyes glinting. “All right,” he said slowly, “You know yourself better than anyone else. Do what you need to. Rest up.” He started walking backwards towards the stairs. “And I want to see you more—we all do. I’ll see you the next time I come around. Maybe the three of us could hang out?”

“Sure,” you said, shoving your key in the lock to let a thrashing Dango out of her misery.

***

“The church. It’s the one with the altar icon in the minimap.”

You clicked enough so that your avatar would backtrack. “How am I supposed to know that’s the church? Is that icon supposed to be an altar? It looks nothing like an altar. It looks more like a steaming cup of tea.”

“That’s fair,” said Tenko into his headset, “but this is the easiest quest in the game. How are you having this much trouble with it?”

“Oh, stop that,” you said, reaching his character in front of the priest, “It’s intuitive to you because you’ve been playing this for years. Do we kill this guy?”

“What? No. He’s going to give us each the key to a dungeon underneath the church.”

“How can he give us both a key if there’s only one?” You clicked through the dialogue with the priest, and a key appeared in your inventory. “Also, how accurate is this dungeon? Because if this is a broadly medieval game, then the dungeons will be closer to underground bathrooms rather than, like, creepy and wet with shackles and bones. That was popularised by Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe.”

“How the hell do you know that,” Tenko asked flatly, “Ne—never mind. It doesn’t matter. Follow me to the trapdoor outside.”

You did, and it was locked. “Are we allowed to do this?” you asked, clicking on the key and then the lock, “Will we get arrested for trespassing?”

“Wha—no. No, we’re supposed to in order to progress the quest. In fact, our characters do a frankly criminal amount of breaking and entering throughout the game and never get checked for it. Hey, don’t go down there without me.”

Your character had only just gone down the trapdoor, prompting a blackout loading screen, but you popped back up to the surface before you could get a good look around. Your character stood next to Tenko’s, still next to the trapdoor. “What’s the holdup? I thought the only step was to use the key on the door. Did I skip something?”

“No, I—huh,” said Tenko, cutting himself off with a tinge of frustration creeping into his voice, “I lost the key.”

Raising a brow, you tilted your head. “What? How’d you lose it?”

“I don’t know. It was in my inventory one minute, and now it’s not. I didn’t touch it.” His mic picked up light scratching. “You’re not supposed to be able to lose the key, but I guess I can go back to the priest to get another. You wait—”

“Hold up,” you said, brow furrowed, “I have it. It’s in my inventory.”

“The hell? Are you sure it’s not just your own key?”

“Positive. I have two of them now. Same key, right next to each other. Want me to share my screen?”

“No, I—I believe you.” Tenko took a moment. “I’m not familiar with this sort of glitch, where an item from one player’s inventory randomly transfers to another’s. This doesn’t even happen, in my experience, but maybe it’s because this is one of the earliest quests coded into the game. It’s twenty-five-year-old code at this point, and it might have glitched because we’re both trying to perform the same quest actions on the same game tick.”

“Sure,” you said, “So, what do I do? Do I drop the key for you to pick up, or?”

“It disappears if you drop it. Trade me. Right-click, trade option.”

Once the key was traded, the two of you went down the trapdoor and wove your way back into the underground headquarters of a low-level cult, vacant for the moment but with evidence of rituals on the walls and floors, particularly in front of their bloodstained altar.

“Okay, we’re in their headquarters,” you said, making your character walk up the aisle, “What now? Priest guy didn’t give us any instructions.”

His avatar followed you and sat on the only programmed-to-be-sittable seat in the pew, his black cape (that he stole from a highwayman’s corpse) folding under his legs. “Actually, he did. You just clicked through his dialogue.”

“Because you’re here to tell me what to do, Quest Man.”

“Click on the—” Tenko heaved an enormous sigh, microphone sparking. “You figure it out. What’s clickable in this room? What has examine text?”

You hovered your mouse over most of the room, and nothing popped up with the examine option, except for something on the altar. “It’s this weird-looking, severed hand, isn’t it? This thing standing up on a slice of wrist by itself?” Your character walked nearer to it, fingers splayed widely enough to hold an in-game apple. “Weirdest ring-holder I’ve ever seen.”

When Tenko didn’t say anything, you glanced towards his character, but he was still sitting on the pew.

“Is this whole quest a pun? Because it’s one of the easiest quests, so they’re giving us a lot of guidance, so it’s like they’re holding our hands to get it through?”

That broke his silence: he scoffed into the mic. “I doubt it,” he said, “You need to grab the hand for the quest to keep going.”

“Fine,” you said, clicking the hand, and the instant your avatar touched it, a zombie spawned from the altar and began to attack you. “Dude! Did you know that thing was gonna jump me?” you asked, clicking away a few spaces but turning around to stab at it with your stupid bronze dagger, “And you just sat there? You could’ve warned me.”

“I did, and the priest did, and the duke who gave us this quest did. That’s why we went and baked all those pies in your inventory, yeah? For you to eat during this fight?”

Your character kept missing hits. “Yeah, but—like! I didn’t know the fight would be now.”

“Hey, relax.” Tenko’s voice sounded muffled, like his mouth was smushed as his fist dug into his cheek. “It’s only a level 12, and you’re level 9. Not too big of a difference. With your armour and weapon, you out-level it.”

The miss sound effect spoke for itself.

“You’ll kill it eventually. You won’t always hit zeroes, so it’ll pass.”

Though your character dealt her first damage, you frowned. “That’s…that’s actually really good advice, Tenko. The stuff you just said would work well if you were trying to calm someone down—reminding people of reality and emphasising perseverance over luck or natural talent are some of the better ways to encourage people.”

“Is that so,” he asked flatly, trying to put off a yawn and failing, “I haven’t—I wasn’t thinking about hero work. Just thinking about the game.”

“Well, it was nice,” you said, “and it seemed like it came naturally. Mind if I ask if something caused it?”

He yawned again, but he must have leant away from the mic so that you wouldn’t hear anything besides the initial inhale. “Nothing special happened today, but I’m too tired to get irritated. Therapy took a lot out of me today.”

Therapy. Therapy. Okay, so he’s got an official diagnosis somewhere. The word today implies that it’s a regular thing, and for some reason, this session was more intense. Intense emotionally? Physically? What kind of therapy? Well, they offered cognitive behavioural therapy on campus, but considering his non-traditional student status, his might be outsourced. Plus, if you, a former hero but technically a civilian, are being implemented into his care plan without being informed directly—

“You usually don’t go this long without saying some inane non sequitur,” said Tenko, that same, strange scratching picking up on the mic, “Snap out of it. You’re gonna get killed by the easiest quest boss in the game.”

Making an undignified noise, you shook yourself and spam-clicked on a cherry pie for your character to eat until she was healed completely, and then you clicked on the zombie to attack again.

“Why’d you pause when I said therapy? Surprised I’d go? Think that sort of thing is below me?”

“Of course not,” you said, trying to seem like you were focused on the fight so that he wouldn’t get nervous about sharing personal information, “Therapy good. Therapy great. Everyone needs to go to therapy.” Since he appeared to be taking this casually, you could probably ask after the type without it seeming too intrusive. “What kind? CBT? That’s what—”

“You think U.A. would arrange for me to get my cock and balls tortured? That wouldn’t qualify as therapy for me, certainly, and there’s no way that U.A. would pay for—”

“Not fucking cock-and-ball torture, you muppet; cognitive behavioural therapy. The sitting-down-with-therapist-to-talk-about-your-trauma-and-restructuring-the-way-you-think-through-practise type. You fuckin’ pervert,” you said, grinning at his avatar onscreen.

“Good to know. I didn’t know the name for it.”

“It’s good that you made this mistake with me instead of with Aizawa-sensei.”

“He’s probably more inclined towards bondage. Congratulations on killing your first boss,” said Tenko, and you blinked in surprise at your character: you’d defeated the zombie while staring at him. It fell to the ground, dropping bones and some sort of arrows.

“Take those. Check to see if they’re iron or steel. All right, equip them in your ammo slot for now so that they don’t take up an inventory space.”

You did so. “Why didn’t it attack me with the arrows if it were holding them?”

“There’s no logic to it besides that arrows are on its drop table. It’s coded to attack by punching you in the face, which doesn’t involve arrows.”

“Sure. Now, let’s get out of the cult basement; I wanna bake more pies until we can make apple ones. Did you know that the first record of fruit pies was around 1600? That means these fruit pies are anachronistic, since this game pitches itself as medieval.”

“Is that…” The hesitance had you beaming, daring him to actually ask it. “Is that not medieval?”

“Tenko, get your head out of your ass. For reference, 1600 is arguably the year the Azuchi-Momoyama period ended and the Edo period began. The game frames itself as medieval European, and 1600 is hard Renaissance-slash-Early-Modern. That’s Shakespeare times, screwboy.”

Only silence on your headphones. Character still on the pew. You made your character walk over to his to perform the curtsy emote, and in real life, you frowned. “Did I go too far there? Bit too annoying? I’m really sorry if I’m bothering you with this sort of thing; my friends say that I—”

“Nothing’s wrong. I needed a moment,” came Tenko’s voice, quiet and steady, “I could hear you smiling, and it was—it was good.”

Inhaling sharply, you pressed a fist to your mouth. Great. Fucking fabulous. Goddammit, you hadn’t aimed for it to go this way, but were you now the one getting flustered at something as simple as—

“Do most people consider a long pause in conversation rude? Did I fuck up with that?”

“No! No, of course not,” you were saying, trying to recover but still startled at how he was able to flip the vibe of your conversations in so few words, words that seemed so casual to him but grabbed you by the throat/cunt, “Especially since you followed-up with a check-in of how it might be strange; a lot of times, people will be comforted by checking to see if something’s okay with them personally…”

Frowning, you trailed off when another avatar entered the cult’s sanctuary and strode up the aisle. You hovered over the new guy’s stupid frog mask to see his username was Venomothman.

“Fucking great,” grumbled Tenko, “Here comes someone else to break our immersion. Ignore him. I’ll go ahead and fight the zombie so that we can get out of here.”

“The zombie’s dead. You don’t have to fight him,” you said, as Venomothman sat directly on top of Tenkopeito, with both avatars glitching as they took up the same space on the pew.

Tenko made some sort of noise in the back of his throat. “No, I have to kill it, too. It’s like each of us is the only one doing the quest, so in your version, the evil has been defeated, but in my version—it’s this thing called an instance—”

Venomothman: wow a couple questing together

Venomothman: bet ur one guy on two accounts

Venomothman: roleplaying that he can get a gf

The new guy’s in-text chat appeared in yellow font above his avatar’s frog-faced head, and somehow, the boggly, green eyes made his words more irritating.

Venomothman: leave the basement sometimes ya incel

“Some people are assholes recreationally,” said Tenko, making his avatar stand to go to the altar as the clatter of mechanical typing came through the mic, “Let me get rid of this fucking scumba—wait.”

 Venomothman: ur doing too much work to stare at pixelated ass

“Would it be correct for a hero to insult someone online?”

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “Eh. You’re not on duty, and you’re not under any persona connected with your public branding. I would say go for it, but since you’re trying to be better with people, you may want to practise.”

Venomothman: somehow this is even more pathetic than never knowing the touch of a woman at all

“Then I’ll shut him down. The shit-talking isn’t bothering me so much as his breaking our immersion in the game,” said Tenko, grabbing the hand on the altar to start his instance of the fight, “I’m trying to cultivate a particular experience for you, and he’s a fucker who won’t stop yapping. Give me a second.”

Venomothman: is this what does it for you??

Venomothman: why no response

Venomothman: hard to type with one hand, isn’t it, ******* shithead

You laughed through your nose. “Cipherstone censors the word fuck?”

“It censors fuck; it censors cunt,” said Tenko, avatar casting a weak air spell at the zombie, slowly, slowly draining its health, “Everything else is fair game.”

“Will it censor variations of cunt? Like, if I typed in cuntbag? Or—actually, let’s find that out later,” you said, tapping the buttons on your earbud cord to turn up the volume, “Let’s practise navigating difficult social interactions. What’s our goal here in this conversation? Is it to continue to engage?”

“No.” His spell missed, and the zombie landed a hit on his character, prompting him to eat half of a pie. “It’s to close the interaction. Therefore, I need to say something concise that invites no response, right? I’m assuming that a simple fuck off is unacceptable.”

“You’re getting better at this, y’know?”

“Is that condescension I detect?”

“Only a little.” You slumped back against your headboard and reached for the bottle of water on your bedside table. “Actually—no. No condescension. Genuinely, Tenko, you’re picking up on this stuff easily, and it’s impressive. You’ll be able to walk little old ladies across the street with style and flair in no time.” 

“Hilarious,” he said, voice restrained and tight at the mention of his name (too easy—he gives himself away aurally so freely; who knows what you could read off of him when you had a visual?), “I’m sure no one wants me touching them. Can I—hm.” He sounded like he was pressing his fist against his face somehow. “Why you keep bothering to compliment me? Most people bitch down to me like I’ve spat my own cum in their coffee.”

“Wha—how about because you deserve to be complimented? Listen,” you said, electing to brush over his vivid simile, “Silent admiration rots. By keeping in appreciation or gratitude, you’re not doing anyone any good. Kind regards are meant to be shared. Like, now, if I held back any positive thoughts concerning your growth, then you might not feel encouraged to keep going.”

“Like I’m gonna go around fucking complimenting ev—”

“I’m not saying you have to,” you said, “but consider trying it more often. See if anything turns out better. And be sure to be sincere about it—obviously.”

“This is bullshit.”

“Just consider it. So. What has he told us about himself based on how he’s insulted you?”

“He’s so low-level that it looks like he just created his account. His stats are even lower than ours,” said Tenko, speaking more quickly now that it was a subject he was more comfortable with, unequipping his wand to punch the zombie instead, “But he’s gone out of his way to get the frog mask.”

“His words, Tenko,” you said, unscrewing the cap and doing your fucking darndest to pinch your mouth from smiling at his slight hitch when you said his name, “I’m trying to get you to notice on whom he looks down and what that means for his personal social status.”

“Right,” he said a bit too quickly, a bit of a break in his voice on the word, “He’s debasing me for—oh, you’re brilliant. How the hell do you notice these things? He’s using basement dweller as insult, meaning he considers himself above that. Leave it to me.”

You muted yourself briefly to glug down water; you didn’t know how sensitive the mic was on your earbuds, but considering that you could catch onto Tenko’s occasional rustling of what sounded like plastic bags on his side or typing on his mechanical keyboard, as he was right now, you would prefer not to be emitting the same.

Tenkopeito: Your mom wishes you would come out of your room to talk with the rest of the family more often

You spluttered into your water bottle as the yellow text appeared above his head, and you unmuted yourself. “That is not what I meant for you to—”

“Was I being mean?” The mic caught the creak of Tenko’s chair as he leant back in it, and you could picture him defensive and pouting as he crossed his arms (and it struck you that you couldn’t imagine his face. Grimacing, you bit the inside of your cheek). “I wasn’t being rude. I could be so much crueller, but I thought this would be more of a devastating blow. Living on the same floor as your family isn’t the same as living in the basement, so I’m acknowledging his level of social power while still demeaning—”

Venomothman: i mean you right

Venomothman: lmao how tf did you know it was me

“I think we should log out,” you said, wiping the water off of your chin with the back of your hand and setting the bottle back on the bedside table.

Over Tenko’s microphone, you heard the shrill pitch of a custom ringtone and a startled but violent shuffle at the noise. “Hold on. I’m getting a call,” he said, voice coming through at a distance, as if he’d knocked his mic aside.

“Oh? Who is it?”

It took him a minute, but Tenko eventually replied, “A friend.”

That must be a damn good microphone, because you could still pick up on Tenko’s side of the conversation a few feet away. “Yes, hello?” he asked, a bit more brusquely than you’d heard him before.

“Oh. I didn’t,” he was saying, “How was I supposed to know that you’d—yes, that’s her. The one working with Aizawa-sensei.”

Very nice, you were thinking, as you unlocked your own phone to check your messages. Very good for him to have friends. Not that you would’ve pegged him as the absolute loner type, because he proved to be adaptable and quick on his feet, but since Aizawa’d recruited you for interpersonal help, you’d considered that he may not have friends. So, good on him for having at least one friend, it seemed, who cared enough to create an account on some stupid video game solely to annoy him.

“—cool of you to make an account to hang out with me. Stop fucking laughing; I am trying to be kind to you, shitstain. Okay. I don’t know. I haven’t been in contact with him in the past two days. I’ve been busy. Let me check.” Tenko leant back towards the mic to address you. “Do we have a schedule for the rest of the week? For instance, are we doing this again on Thursday?”

“I thought we were,” you said, scanning your room for your planner so that you could check your calendar, “Did something come up?”

“It’s not imperative that I go,” Tenko was saying into your ear, while you picked up your laptop to walk over to your U.A.-issued desk, “but another friend who’s been out of town will finally be back then. We might hang out.”

“Psh, go with your friends,” you said, delighted that he had more than one (fighting envy that it was so easy for them to meet up), “We can do this another time.”

“Understood,” Tenko said and backed away from the mic.

Venomothman: so have you sucked his dick yet

Tenko’s incensed shout of “Touya!” had you turning down the volume.

Venomothman: not to be the world’s worst wingman, but my dude is packing. and goes commando all the time.

Venomothman: and i would know. “i” sometimes “did” our “laundry”

You: what’s with all those quotation marks

Venomothman: and do you know the last time it was sucked? never

(Fucking hell. This Touya was walking you back into forbidden territory: the sexualisation of Tenko. After that first session, when you’d been turned on by his confident, rumbling voice as he’d given you an order, you’d felt guilty for sexualising him for the rest of the night. It was as if instead of friend-zoning him, you’d sex-zoned him, only able to see him as a sexual person/object. For the sake of your mission task, that felt unfair.

Or maybe you weren’t even sexualising him. Maybe your brain was appropriately interpreting what he’d done as sexual.

Whatever. Something in your gut was begging you not to see Tenko only through romantic or sexual lenses right now, and you couldn’t explain why.

And talking about Tenko’s apparently massive dick was not helping.)

Tenkopeito: Touya if you don’t ******* shut up I am going to tear off your other arm

Venomothman: no need, boss man

You heard Tenko sigh and say into his phone, sounding exhausted, “I’m not your boss anymore, Touya.”

Venomothman: no need, douchebag

***

Draped over the side of your bed, you dangled a shoelace in front of the gap in an attempt to coax Dango out from underneath. “Dango, sweetie,” you said, whipping the shoelace to the side, “Come out here so that I can look you in the eyes. Where is my planner, you whore?”

At a firm knock on your door, you shot up, dropping the lace. “Never mind,” you said, sliding off the bed, “Stay hidden.”

You opened your door on Aizawa, bare arm raised in mid-knock, wisps of hair plastered to his forehead by dried sweat, and a sweatshirt tied around his waist. He took two seconds to look over you before saying, “Get dressed. Civilian clothes. You have three minutes.”

Throwing on yesterday’s outfit, you rushed to follow Aizawa out of the dorm and off campus, nearly stepping on his heels while he wove through night pedestrians, pulling on his own sweatshirt to minimise skin contact once the crowd thickened.

You flipped up your coat collar to sneak a glance over your shoulder. “Is this a test?”

Aizawa combed his fingers back through his hair, gaze straight ahead. “Not for you.”

“Right.” You stepped more lightly, naturally falling back into patrol patterns: noting exits (narrow alleyways favouring the left side, underground into the subway station), checking vantage points (upper-storey windows in the resident buildings, non-industrial rooftops), honing in on light sources (yellow- and LED-tinted streetlamps, ambience from open businesses) and physical presence (close enough to brush shoulders with passerby [putting you on edge, because the slightest touch could be pivotal]). You had to consciously unclench your jaw, body flooded with stress it hadn’t felt in months. Swiping at the inner corner of your eye, you asked, “Does it have anything to do with the guy in the black hoodie and face mask following us?”

Aizawa laughed through his nose, once. “All right, then. What’s that ice cream place you and Shinsou went to all the time? Take us there.”

Bewildered, you changed directions to head towards Nekozawa’s, with Aizawa placing a hand on your shoulder to slow your pace, and by the time you pushed open Nekozawa’s glass door to the glowing, pink parlour, you were prepared to hold it open for your follower in the face mask. You watched his broad back as he ordered some ungodly, radioactive-blue ice cream with gummy bears before retreating to a table outside despite the dropping temperature, and Aizawa gestured you forward so that he could pay for the three of you.

Holding your ice cream, you hesitated at the door, swaying underneath the seasonal cat decorations dangling from the ceiling.

“Go on,” said Aizawa, retrieving the U.A. card from his wallet, “I’ve got to make a phone call, so don’t wait up. Don’t be too harsh on him; we’re here because he did a good job in the field today. Tailing you was extra practise.”

Nodding, you nudged open the door, bracing yourself at the cold, night air, and let it drift shut behind you as you approached the table, the farthest one from the pink lights.

Hood pulled up, Tenko bent over his blue monstrosity, face mask hanging by a loop over his left ear. Scuffing your boots on the concrete to announce your presence, you sat across from him, setting your cup on the cast iron before swinging your leg over the bench. You managed a cursory glance over what appeared to be a sketchbook before he closed it, and once he’d stowed it away, he swopped his spoon to his dominant hand to keep eating.

“You draw, Tenko?” To make him feel more comfortable, you kept your gaze towards Aizawa inside on the phone. “Do you think you’re any good?”

“Not yet. But I’m gonna be,” he said, clicking his pen and clenching it in his left hand, “I’ve got all these fucking artist’s gloves, so I might as well put ‘em to use.”

“Very nice,” you said, nodding, closing your eyes as you dipped your spoon into your ice cream, “But as a reminder, you don’t have to be good at something to enjoy it. I love doing stuff I’m absolute shit at. It reminds me of medieval bestiaries. They didn’t know shit about animals, but, boy howdy, did they have fun illustrating them. Did you know a weasel used to be called a polecat?”

Tenko huffed, his face mask fluttering. “It really is you.”

“Of course it is,” you said, beaming, and for the first time, you looked at him.

Tension flooded your teacup of a body and overflowed into the saucer and onto the floor. Heightened by the cold, a vein on the back of your hand strained and pulsed visibly, and, jaw locking, you lunged over the tabletop to grab him by the shoulders, shaking him.

“What the hell is wrong with you‽” You climbed over the table, pushed his ice cream out of the way (he shot out a hand to save it from toppling off the table, and he ripped off his face mask to set it aside before it fell to the ground), and planted your foot on his thigh and your elbows on his chest, caging him in as you forced him flat on the bench. “Why the fuck are you using your real name in your fucking Cipherstone username, you fucking moron‽ People could fucking track you!”

The man who had been Shigaraki Tomura eyed your fists in his hoodie and then his cup of ice cream. “You didn’t have a problem with it before.”

“I—” This idiot! “I didn’t know it was you. There are a lot of Tenkos.”

“Then there’s my logic,” he said, hands dangling by his sides, making no attempt to touch you—you didn’t know if you appreciated it or not. “I thought you knew who I was.”

“No, I fucking—I would have given you advice that was more specific to you, over the spiel I was giving interns.” Releasing your grip on his hoodie, you sat back up and scooted over on the tabletop. Though you wanted to keep holding him, to hug him after all he’s been through, he probably wouldn’t want that. “I’m—sorry about tackling you. I, uh—fuck,” you said, and, grimacing, you slid his ice cream back to him and reached across for your own, pretending with everything you’ve got that it was perfectly normal that you were sitting on a table next to Shigaraki Tomura, who’s been teaching you to play a video game, who’s apparently living at the end of the hall, who’s decorated his door with Eri’s silver tinsel for Christmas, who’s banned from drinking caffeine, who could rest his fucking head on your thigh if he wanted. Normal. Yeah.

“Again, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep doing that,” he said, fishing out a gummy bear like you hadn’t lunged at him, “Your reaction was reasonable.”

“It—it wasn’t, really,” you said, laughing nervously, “I wasn’t expecting you. I mean, no one knows what—what happened to you. Afterwards. It was really unclear.”

“It was that way on purpose,” said Tenko, “It was thought to be better to emphasise the total destruction of All for One instead of whatever happened to his leftovers.” He shifted a bear to his back molars to bite into the frozen gummy better. “Nezu-sensei decided it was better to keep it muddled for now.”

Muddled was a good way to put it. There’d been so much chaos at the end of the war that so much never was accounted for. You’d think that the location of Shigaraki’s body would be high on the list, but satisfaction was found simply in the splintered, spectacular remains of AFO. Shigaraki’s name wasn’t cleared, per se, but in the aftermath, Midoriya especially stressed that yes, Shigaraki committed atrocities, but he’d been abused, groomed, and literally bodily possessed by AFO to think that way. Didn’t excuse him, but wasn’t entirely his fault.

The locations of the other PLF members—well, the core of the League, really—were public, if not vague. Spinner was in the States at a rehab that specialised in heteromorph trauma; Toga was at a local women’s facility called Sakura Grove, and Dabi was living with his family—he must have been that Touya on the phone, holy shit.

So, here he was, sitting on the bench at the same ice cream parlour you visited with the same friends who fought him, hunched over in oversized, black clothes you suspected were Aizawa’s, broad shoulders and faded scars out of place in the pink lights, white hair pulled back in a blunt ponytail with his bangs flopping over his forehead, seemingly unbothered by the toe of your boot pressing against his denim-covered thigh.

God. He’s scratched at his neck so much that it looks like he’s been beheaded with a blunt axe.

Tenko’s eyes flickered up to you, their colour deepening to crimson in the tinted lights. “So. You’ve got questions.”

“Are you okay?”

Tenko swallowed with effort, scowling. “Don’t start with a hard one.”

“Right,” you said, throat drying, “Who knows you’re staying at U.A.?”

“Faculty and staff. My therapist. The police force. The ramen shop Aizawa-sensei and I go to. The intensive rehab I was at before. The top of the hero commission. Touya, Touya’s father, Spinner, Toga. Eri and Midoriya,” he said, tongue swiping over his lower lip, “You.”

Somehow both fewer and more than you’d figured. “What exactly…is the situation? Aizawa-sensei was vague.”

“Officially, I’m like Eri: a ward of U.A. My old rehab thought I was good enough to live off their campus, so I’m back here, where I can be watched by people capable enough to bring me down if I go crazy again,” he said, brow furrowed as he traced the side of his cup with his spoon, “I should resent that, but it’s not like I have anywhere else to go, especially somewhere as comfortable as this. This is fucking stupid to say aloud, but fucking—fuckin’ All Might is the closest thing I have to family now, along with Midoriya.”

“I’m not following.”

“My grandma was the holder of One for All before All Might had it.” He pointed at you with his spoon. “So you can make the connection from there. But it’s stupid; I’m stupid—” He was shaking his head and staring into his lap. “—because it’s like I have a brother in Midoriya and a goddamn father in All Might—and then Aizawa-sensei’s acting like a dad, too, to me and Eri, and Nezu-sensei? Nezu-sensei is so fucking cool,” said Tenko, dragging his hand down his face, “He’s got a driver’s license! I don’t even have one of those. And he can type fucking 210 words per minute with those little rat paws, and I’m still getting used to using all five fingers, fuck.”

Cute. You scraped the bottom of your cup. “Hey, I think you type well.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why it takes me so long to reply in the in-game chat function. Why I prefer communicating over voice call. Learning new habits, and shit.” Tenko stabbed his ice cream with his spoon. “Nezu-sensei has arranged for me to train as an aftermath-clean-up hero. I had been—” His fingers on one hand circled the thumb of the other. “—in discussion with him in rehab about what I could do, and we decided I could consistently help when there’s collapsed buildings after attacks; I could dust the wreckage so that we could find hostages or make it easier to clean up and rebuild, and Aizawa-sensei and All Might-sensei have been working with me to control what parts of what I touch gets dusted so that I could create pitfall traps for holding criminals. It’s…going. It’s going,” he said, curling his lips in his mouth to moisten them, and with narrowed, determined eyes, he took another bite of ice cream, the blue staining the inside of his lips.

“Tenko, that’s a really cool application of your quirk. I hope you can find more,” you said, tilting your head and smiling down at him, “but—I have to ask—aren’t you tired?”

Tenko rolled his eyes. “Of course. You’re part of the group ensuring I don’t have caffeine.”

“No, I mean,” you said, shaking your head, “I mean, you don’t have to be perceived as useful. You’re—you’re just fine if you wanted to rest. You’re worthwhile just as you, not as—as a job, as a, I don’t know, a redeemed hero or anything. You can just be Tenko.”

“I know. My therapist keeps reminding me. But one of the most vivid memories I have from when I was living in that house,” said Tenko, sneering, “is that I desperately wanted to be a hero and that I would pretend to be one a lot. While I’m aware that I can never atone for what I’ve done, if I did nothing but rest, I’d be alone with my thoughts. And with what I’m learning to do, as a hero, someday, someone might…need me. Need my help. I imagine that’s a good feeling.”

You sat back, leaning on your hands, the cast-iron pattern cutting into your palms, to survey him. “You’re very much re-writing my first impressions of you as my gaming buddy and as the post-war Shigaraki. You’re surprisingly well-adjusted.”

He snorted. “I shouldn’t think it’s surprising. I’ve had almost a year and a half in intensive rehab, and I’m still in therapy every day.” He started listing on his fingers, starting with his thumb. “I’m on antidepressants; I know where my next meal’s coming from and when I’ll get it; I consistently have a safe roof over my head, and I know my friends are getting that, too. I have mentors who care for me as a human person instead of as a tool. I get to stay in contact with my friends and get to make new ones,” he said, nodding curtly at you before quickly looking away, “I’m fucking away from that sadistic fuckface. He’s goddamn dead and burned away to nothing. That’s the main thing. Everything else is a bonus.”

Tenko sighed, bangs fluttering with the movement, his shoulders straining as he leaned onto both his elbows on the table. He sighed again and scooped the last gummy bear out of his cup, and you let the silence carry on while you finished eating.

“Long phone call,” Tenko said eventually.

An increasingly grumpy Aizawa was leaning against the glittery wall inside, phone between his ear and shoulder, and furiously scraping the inside of his ice cream cup.

“Yeah,” you said, “but it’s been good talking to you, Tenko. I really appreciate you telling me all of this.”

“I would’ve talked about it sooner, but I figured you knew who I was and didn’t want to address it,” said Tenko, tapping his fingers one by one on the table.

Pulling the collar of your coat closer to your neck, you frowned, hesitating on how to phrase it. You watched your breath cloud in the night air before settling on, “There’s an off-switch?”

Brow pinching very slightly, Tenko followed your gaze to his hand, with all five fingers coming to rest on the cast iron, and he tapped all five of them on it for emphasis. “Yeah. There always has been. All for One kept it from me. Power of belief kept me jittery and alert my whole life.”

“So long as you thought you’d destroy anything you touched, you would?”

He nodded. “That bitch.”

“Agreed. We should kill him.”

And Tenko laughed. Just for a moment, barely making any noise, but he smiled with his teeth, grin stretching across his face as he looked away and eventually closing his lips, the smile lingering for a few more precious seconds.

***

You closed your laptop to answer the phone at work, clearing your throat to ready your receptionist voice before you picked up. “U.A. University Administration; how may I help you?”

“I need you to fucking murder me,” Tenko spat through the phone, angry and panicked, “I need you to rip out my bones and suck out my guts through a straw. He fucking let me hold onto them, and I’ve fucking gone and lost such a fucking iconic piece of—”

“Tenko, please, take a breath,” you said, relaxing your customer service mode but clutching the phone to your ear, and after catching the eye of the woman with jars of strawberry preserves waiting to see Nezu, you slumped over in your seat so that she couldn’t see you over the desk’s overhang. “Tell me what’s wrong. We can fix it. Are you alone? Is everyone else busy? Do you need to come sit with me?”

“I—fuck,” he said, and you heard some deliberately slow breathing, but his voice still had an irate, twitchy edge afterwards. “During our practise patrol last night, Aizawa-sensei was talking about support equipment for me. I’d never given it much thought, because it’s always been just me and my hands. He leant me his Eraser Goggles for me to think about for my—and I don’t know where they fucking are,” he said, inhaling sharply on the last word, “I’d left them on my desk, but I’d taken them up to the roof to sketch them, and then I’d brought them back to my dorm—”

“And Aizawa-sensei must have swung by to pick them up since then,” you said, pushing yourself back to slide in your swivel chair to the back of the reception desk, “because he was here at the beginning of my shift to print something off, and the goggles are on top of the printer. Relax, Tenko.”

“Hooooooly fuck, you’re kidding,” said Tenko, audibly deflating, and you smiled to yourself as you slid their band around your wrist.

You kicked yourself back up to the front. “You’re okay. You’re not gonna get in trouble. I’ll bring them by at the end of my shift.” You sat up straight, and the strawberry preserves woman was shooting a concerned look in your direction. “I’m at work, though, so I think we’d better end the call soon. Anything else you need?”

Tenko hummed into the phone. “Not really. You can’t be that busy.”

You smiled again, feeling—feeling domestic, as if he were your boyfriend calling you during work hours. How strange, Shigaraki Tomura. How interesting. “Would you believe I was grinding in Cipherstone when you called?”

“And you don’t call yourself a gamer,” he said, clearing his throat multiple times, “What skills?”

“Woodcutting and firemaking,” you said, opening your laptop again, “Are you feeling under the weather? Your voice had a bit of a rasp there.” Sounded like his old voice for a moment.

“Further cementing that Aizawa-sensei’s right to be worried about you. He says your brain’s going haywire analysing any detail work you can get, because you’re not out in the field anymore,” said Tenko, clearing his throat again (?), “Am I your new project?”

“Tell me what’s wrong, lest I pick up some damn throat lozenges for you before I come home,” you said, and a voice in the back of your head screamed that that threat was extremely cosy and intimate, especially since you’re claiming both of you have a home in the same place—which, sure, you both lived on the same hallway, but so did Aizawa and Eri, and please shut up; Shimura Tenko needs a friend, not a lover right now. Besides, that stupid hallway wasn’t really home for either of you but was more like a temporary holding cell.

“Fine. I’ve been throwing up all morning.”

“Thank you,” you said, electing not to make a pregnancy joke, “Do you need to see Recovery Girl?”

“No, I’m used to it, and I’ve already talked to her about it. I threw up a lot out of anxiety and stress when I was growing up with All for One, and now I’m throwing up because my body can’t handle the amount of food it’s getting regularly, which is fucking ridiculous, since it’s still less than a normal person’s version of three meals a day.”

What. The fuck. How can he casually drop details of deep trauma like it’s nothing? How could AFO let a child keep vomiting out of stress for years and years and never interfere? Well. Yeah, he could. You supposed that Shigaraki’s voice, as you first heard it as the USJ incident, was the ultimate result of that heavy strain on his throat for years. Explains some things about his teeth back then, too.

God. If AFO weren’t dead, you’d strangle him. Keeping a child physically weak because he’d be easier to mould. It was known that AFO had been psychologically manipulating Shigaraki, but now that you thought about it, manipulating his physical growth would have served AFO, too, since he was planning to move into Shigaraki’s body.

And what did this guy do now that he’s got bodily autonomy? Oh. Just. Play some video games. Talk with his friends. Try out some new hobbies. Make crafts with Eri.

It’s a shame AFO didn’t have a grave, because you’d be skiving off work to drown it in acid.

“My stomach is killing me,” said Tenko, “I’ve got to hang up to drink something and go to sleep. Knock on my door when you get home. I want to start a new quest as soon as you finish work.”

Home. He’d said it, too. He probably didn’t mean it in the same, domestic way that you’d been entertaining, but it made your heart swell. “Okay, Tenko. See you then.”

***

His therapist had assigned him homework: go on a planned, public outing with a peer, and stay out for at least an hour.

It wasn’t exactly a picnic you were packing, you kept telling yourself, scooting behind Tenko to get to the spice cabinet in the dorm kitchen, because that’d be too close to a date rather than homework. But the two of you packed a meal to take, with Eri sitting on the kitchen counter while she nibbled at rabbit-cut apple slices, and she held the thermos of decaf tea in her lap until it was time to stow it away.

After a short train ride and a quiet walk through midtown, Tenko stopped you in front of the back gate to what appeared to be a restored, historical estate, judging by the golden shachihoko shibi on each corner of polished hip-and-gable rooftops of the extensively aristocratic—mansion? palace?—that you could make out in across the distance of its sprawling grounds, the immediacy of which was the excessively well-kept, traditional garden that you and Tenko were breaking into.

“Is this legal?” you asked as Tenko reached through the grate to unlatch the doorway.

“I have an in with the gardener,” he said, sweeping the gate open for you and gesturing brusquely for you to enter.

“No, that wasn’t a joke,” you said, taking the few steps inside, finding yourself planted onto a polished, level stepping stone, and staring down a squeaky clean tsukubai despite the thin layer of frost over the water’s surface as the whole bowl began to freeze, “You can’t be doing anything even vaguely illegal, Tenko.”

When you said his name, he closed his eyes, pausing for just a hair in his relatching the gate, before facing you and shifting the strap of his bag farther up his shoulder. “Prude. Yes, we have permission from the owner.”

He kept looking back over his shoulder at you as he led you through the gardens, hopping across stepping stones to pass over a carefully shaped brook that led to a tiny waterfall near stone lanterns, weaving through trellises with the wintry shells of wisteria vines and shaped evergreens. He tutted and rolled his eyes when you stopped at the waterlily-coated koi pond, its fish swimming and flicking their tails in the artificially heated water (for some, odd reason, what appeared to be a compact duck coop had been constructed near the pond’s edge, its wood new and un-bleached by the sun like the rest of garden décor). You’d been about to ask about it when Tenko had jumped out of his skin at the sound of a deer scare, bamboo tapping stone.

“Stop laughing,” Tenko said, cheeks burning (and you tried not to take too much pleasure in that, but you couldn’t help it).

“Oh, a sensitive boy, a delicate boy,” you said, grinning as you hopped onto the same stone as him, cool, clouding breaths mixing together in the proximity, and you yourself could feel heat rise to your face. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Good traits to have, actually. Means you’re feeling secure and comfortable in your surroundings, if you’re off-set that easily.” Feeling bold—it was the cold; it was how the proximity already flustered him; it was how his hands were full because of the bag; it was—whatever—you reached for his silly All Might scarf and re-tied the front, fluffing it up to cover more of his neck.

You made the mistake of making eye contact: full of caution, his eyes kept darting from your hands to your face, searching for something, his lips parted, otherwise completely fucking frozen.

Were you making him uncomfortable? You stilled, your fingers still in the fringe of his scarf, tension tightening in your chest and jaw (clenching).

Tenko noticed. And—and to this day, you can’t believe he fucking did this—he ran his tongue over his lower lip and lifted his chin, exposing more of his neck to you. He then was suddenly very interested in the koi pond, the ruddiness spreading from his cheeks to his ears.

Throat dry, you gave his scarf a final tug and patted it (?) to show (??) a job well done (???). “Yeah,” you said, smoothly, like a smooth person, like someone who adjusts scarves of hot, in-process-of-reformation villains on the regular, “Where are we going?”

Tenko spun on his heel and strode away, muttering what sounded like, “Right into my grave.”

You pretended not to hear it and let him lead you to the only building unattached to the main house: a small, traditional teahouse that had a recent addition to it in the back. The creak of the bamboo engawa when you climbed onto it was muffled underneath the bright pealing of windchimes strung across the covered porch. Tenko was already kneeling at the tearoom’s sunken fireplace inside, its handle carved into a fish, fiery as its kindling, and was unpacking the travel teacups from the bag as you closed the door behind you, shutting out the cold, enveloped by the comfortable heat trapped inside by the cushioned walls.

Tenko must have arranged for this space to have been prepared for you. A kotatsu with floor cushions was tucked near the fireplace, pre-heated, with two further space heaters in the unoccupied corners, cords trailing into what must be a hallway linking the traditional and modern rooms, the latter of which was shut off from view. Beside a red-tinted wooden dresser stood an oddly empty tokonoma, and instead of a scroll or painting, amidst bits of pieces of scotch tape hastily half-torn off the back was a shittily cut-out, paper heart.

Shaking your head, you took a step towards Tenko, and the floor chirped at you, freezing you in place.

“Yeah, I don’t know why they do that,” said Tenko, pushing on his knees to stand, “They just do.”

“These must be nightingale floors,” you said, crossing to the kotatsu, a bird under each step, “The chirping’s caused by the way the nails rub against the v-shaped clamps holding the floor together. Have you been to Nijō Castle in Kyoto? These are in the hallway—supposedly used as a security measure, but who knows.”

“You need a hobby.” Tenko ripped the paper heart from the back of the tokonoma, crumpling it in his fist. A shred of it remained under the scrap of tape on the wall, which he bent towards to scrape off with a blunt fingernail.

“I have several,” you said, easing down onto a cushion and unfolding your legs underneath the kotatsu blanket, the luxurious heat swaddling your legs and hips. You fought the urge to curl up underneath it entirely.

“How many of them involve getting your ass thrashed by me in Cipherstone?” Tenko retrieved the bag from the sunken fireplace before returning to the kotatsu, and he sat on your left, resting the bag between the two of you.

You took the thermos of decaf tea when he handed it to you. “Tenko, you’ve been playing that game for years, and I just began. Of course my ass is gonna be thrashed by—you know how the game works. You have all of this previous information about the game that I don’t have.”

Tenko scoffed and slid your teacup across the kotatsu’s surface.  “As if I could conceal any information from you. You’re too…eh.” He waved it off, shaking his head.

“I’m too what?” You unscrewed the thermos lid, and steam surged upwards, rising to caress the planes of your face.

“It’s been unfair of Aizawa-sensei to make me tail you,” said Tenko, leaning your way, all five fingers curled around his own teacup as he stretched across the tabletop. “I’d have a chance of success if it were anyone else.”

“I’ll give you that,” you said, pouring steaming, amber tea with slices of yuzu into Tenko’s cup, “You’re getting quite good at it, not that you were bad in the first place. But yeah, it’s a bit mean of him to test your tracking skills on me.” He’d never said to stop, so you poured until liquid almost overflowed at the rim.

He gasped at the heat but nudged his teacup back to his place at the table, unable to hold it in his palm anymore. “I think I would’ve preferred working with Hound Dog-sensei for that. He’s less detail-oriented. I could win, if it weren’t you.” Jutting out his lower lip, Tenko glared down at his tea for a moment before slumping in his seat to slurp at the tea without picking it up.

“Don’t feel bad about it. It was literally and actually my focus for hero work, profiling and detail shit and being aware of my surroundings. Information stuff. Infiltration stuff.” Setting the thermos on the far corner, you cupped your hands loosely around your teacup, appreciating the warmth and getting cosier by the minute.

Tenko was rooting through the bag for the other thermoses, full of sukiyaki for each of you. “It’s clear you’ve worked hard to hone your skills. Were you this talented as a student?”

You accepted the new thermos, fingers clenching tightly around it. “Uh. I think I may have been better back then. More focused. More passionate, anyway. I had to think about it really hard back then, make conscious decisions to notice things, and now I think I do it instinctively. I think I’m slipping because of that.”

“Hm,” said Tenko, tongue rubbing over his teeth behind closed lips, and he opened his mouth to say something but shut it, instead twisting off the cap to his soup thermos. He took the first sip of sukiyaki broth and—and was absolutely beautiful (you couldn’t make sense of it beyond that; he was a mess of details that you couldn’t fit together into a larger picture that made any sense: white eyelashes light against his cheeks as they fluttered shut, face muscles relaxed, scars overlapping with laugh lines, cracked lips becoming moistened by the soup, both hands cupped around his thermos like a child, no strain to his posture, baggy hoodie swallowing him up, kotatsu blanket yanked up to his hips to cover his crossed legs, scar on the corner of his mouth delicately shifting with his baffled smirk when he caught you staring, a strange pink rising to the tips of his ears). “What?”

Uh. Hm. You pinched the bridge of your nose and then moved to rub your eyelids. “What were you going to say about me?” you asked, and you withdrew your hand from your face to raise the soup thermos to your lips, taking a mouthful of noodles and the sweet, salty broth.

Tenko shook his head. “I’m trying to avoid thoughts that fall back into my old habits.”

“Try me,” you said, holding his gaze when he met it, “I won’t tell.”

Weary, he broke eye contact, and he fixated on fishing out a certain slice of green onion. “We needed someone like you back then.”

Back then? When he—oh.

Back in the League.

Though you attempted to hide your grin by taking a sip of sukiyaki, you caught his eyes flicker to it. “You would’ve taken me? You would’ve let me in?”

“Would you have joined?” he shot back, a bit too quickly.

“No,” you said, rolling your shoulders and settling down farther underneath the kotatsu, “Never. But since you shared something you shouldn’t’ve, I’ll do the same.” You set your thermos down to rub your eyes again—God, you couldn’t look at him for too long, lest your intrusive thoughts hand you your ass. “I thought about it. About joining you.”

You dragged your hand down your face, peeking between your fingers at a muted clink. Tenko was staring at you, something fucking unreadable in his scrounched eyes, and both hands lay five-fingered and flat on the kotatsu, steam from his open thermos fluffing up hair on one side of his head. “You’re not serious. You wouldn’t have.”

“Not in the way you think,” you said, tilting your head back, “but I often thought, in the aftermath of the Paranormal Liberation Raid, what I could’ve done, if I’d known what I know now. And as the rest of the war was unfolding, I only wanted it more.”

Tenko blinked, slowly. “Tell me what you would’ve done.”

“Oh, you would’ve hated me, down to the dregs of my very soul,” you said, shifting to sit on your knees, “I would’ve started after your fight with Re-Destro, after the PLF was established. When you were letting allllllllll those heroes in, the sidekicks, the nobodies, anyone who seemed like they were with the cause. I would’ve infiltrated. Slipped in without notice. Hawks did, with the Commission, but I would’ve been going in as a free agent.”

“No one notices a U.A. student slide in between the masses. Re-Destro’s lackeys wouldn’t notice you at the door like I would. You get in,” Tenko said, taking his thermos in hand again but still engrossed in you, “What then?”

“There was a short period of time between the PLF establishment and your procedure, right? Around a month? That’s when I go. I worm my way into the good graces of some of the nine lieutenants—I’ve decided my pipeline would’ve been Geten to Toga to you. You’d just come out of an enormous battle, with Re-Destro and that city and Gigantomachia for a whole month. I heard you were bandaged up, on crutches, that you’d lost fingers that you regrew in that regeneration tank,” you said, eyes on his hands, one in a fist in his lap and the other around his thermos, five fingers pressing onto the grip but the pinkie finger hitched farther up than the rest, “That you’d given a speech and made your appearances regardless. That you’d pushed yourself to your limit and then broke yourself a little more. And you would’ve loathed me, because I would’ve come in, earned my way to your side, and I would’ve put my hand on your shoulder, slid it up your neck to cup your cheek to ask Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to rest?” You smiled and huffed, shoving it down, and though his hard stare should’ve pinned you to your seat, you pushed on the corner of the kotatsu to edge yourself over to his side, a knee on his cushion. “I like to think that you’ve sighed, sulked a bit, reluctant to admit anything was wrong at all, because back then, you had no use for moonlight. But I would’ve made you look at me, taken you to a bed, made you lie down until your eyes fluttered shut and the tension swept through your body and left. And you would rest,” you said, finding yourself leaning over him very slightly, knees touching his, just enough so that he leant backwards just a fraction, “I would’ve made that month so soft for you. I would’ve taken care of you, when nobody was fucking paying attention to you in the way that they should’ve. I fucking—I wanted it.” You gripped the front of his hoodie, fist grasping more fabric than necessary to shake him. “I wanted it. I wanted to care for you. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know. And you were fucking alone, in an unfamiliar place, and it kills me to think about that.”

You ducked your head to wipe your watery eyes on your sleeve, taking a breath—and realising what you were doing. You loosened your grip, but before you could pull away, Tenko was cat-like quick to grab your sleeve—why won’t he touch you?

“I wouldn’t have accepted your help,” he said, quiet, controlled, holding you down with his eyes, hand shifting to curve under your sleeved wrist, signalling that you could escape at any time, “That was after the worst month of my life, fighting Machia, and I wouldn’t have accepted it. I had too much to do. I would’ve shaken you off.”

“No, you wouldn’t’ve.”

“I would’ve,” he said, a bare finger, featherlight, skimming over the tender, bare skin of the underside of your wrist (oh, wow), “I wouldn’t trust that easily in that short of a time. You’d have met me, and that’d be it. If you’d persisted, I would’ve ripped you to shreds and tossed you aside.”

“Tenko,” you said, both relief and tightness blooming from your wrist, “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

The hallway shoji slammed open, somehow rattling as it slid in its tracks and shook the walls, and you and Tenko scrambled apart, with you jolting backwards on your hands, grappling for your seat cushion, and Tenko banging his thermos on the kotatsu, hastily wrestling with keeping it upright as he flung his body to the side.

“Hey, fuck you, Touya,” Tenko spluttered out, elbowing himself upright as—as fucking Dabi strode inside, hands in the deep pockets of his black sweatpants. “You said you’d stay in the main house.”

“Don’t mind me,” said Touya, cool as you please, raising both of his hands in defence, “I had to ensure you’re not fucking in my bed.”

“What is—” Tenko clambered to his feet to cross to him, chirping with each stomp, and whisper-shouting once he’d corralled Touya into a far corner. “I said we’d hang out later today, Touya. You swore you’d stay inside and watch Naruto this afternoon.”

The polite thing to do would be to appear fascinated by the tea. You returned to your cushion and poured yourself another cup.

“Yeah, but I’ve been told I’ve got shit to do later. I’ve got to go to this fuckin’—fuckin’ family stuff. I don’t wanna get into it,” said Touya, at full volume, “and I wanted to check that your girl was real. Y’know, she looks nothing like someone who’d have GinzengTea as her username. Have you given it to her already?”

“Shut the fuck up. I was just about to do that, if you hadn’t interrupted, cockhead.”

“Cool,” he said, a bird-note as he shifted his weight, “I wanna see what she thinks.”

“Hell, no—”

“I helped pick ‘em out. Let me watch and have an ohagi, and I’ll leave,” said Touya, chirping towards you before he finished the sentence, and Tenko followed him, muttering under his breath.

Touya sat on the bare tatami next to you, joints cracking as he yanked the kotatsu blanket up his legs, shooting you a small salute and a concerningly charming smile. “Hey,” he said, tilting his head, eyes half-lidded, smile stretching to show more of his even, white teeth, “I’ve seen you before, yeah? When was the last time you laid eyes on me?”

Tenko pelted him in the chest with a plastic-wrapped ohagi, cutting off the ooze of charisma. “Show-off,” he said, nudging another sweetened rice ball your way.

You nodded but didn’t move to unwrap it, since you were still working on your sukiyaki. “I’m surprised you remember, Touya,” you said, the name feeling strange on your tongue, “It must’ve been years since I elbowed you in the tit.”

Eyes lighting the fuck up, you snapped towards Tenko when he laughed into his plastic wrap: still not loud, still not making any vocalisation with it, but releasing a heavy, sharp burst of air with a wide, open grin. He hunched over to hide more of it, using both hands to unwrap his ohagi—and in the moment he realised he’d been unwrapping it with only his pointer fingers and thumbs, he dropped the rest of his fingers onto the rice ball, still smirking to himself.

Biting your lip in your own smile, you turned back to Touya (you caught his moment of mild alarm at how thrilled you were when Tenko laughed—or maybe it was alarm at Tenko laughing at all—but Touya relaxed his eyebrows and shut his mouth the second you faced him again). “God, yeah, it must have been before that last battle that we’d met in a fight, and I’d gotten close enough to hit you, and…” You shook your head. “Actually, I don’t wanna talk about that stuff. It’s not who we are now.”

“That’s fine.” Touya nodded towards Tenko and took a bite of his ohagi. “Shimura, don’t you have something to give her?”

Shimura. That was his last name, you supposed, but wasn’t it odd that Tenko called Touya by his given name and that Touya called Tenko by his family name? Tenko didn’t make you call him Shimura. Well, you supposed that there’s only one Shimura now, and because of the number of Todorokis, it paid to be specific—

“Here.” Tenko set a flat box in front of you, flipping the buckle of his bag back over. “I was going to give it to you with more formality, but since this bastard showed up, I’m doing it like this.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, brow furrowed, you unpacked a pair of pale blue headphones, soft to the touch with a mesh headband so that your head wouldn’t ache.

“Noise-cancelling,” Tenko said, gabbling, frowning very slightly, “Rechargeable. There’s a detachable microphone so it can function as a headset. I wanted to do something good for you.” His eyes darted towards Touya, and they dropped to his ohagi’s bulging filling, seeping out onto the plastic wrap. “You need them, anyway. I’ve been sick of hearing you through those shitty earbuds; their sound is terrible, and when you said you’d lost your only pair—which I don’t fucking understand how you can lose those things, because they just fucking show up in my shit all the time, like a goddamn plague—I thought you needed something quality—just to make it easier on my end, obviously, so that I don’t have to tell you to yell into that shitty, built-in micropho—”

“Tenko,” you said, reaching over to place your tea-hot hand over the back of his, fingers curving with his along ohagi’s edge, “Thank you so much. I adore them. I’m really grateful that you would think of me.”

Tenko froze, the same as he had when you’d adjusted his scarf. Unable to look you in the eye, like a prey animal, stiff, shoulders tense, colour rushing up his neck to his face and ears again—but this time, he lifted his hand just a hair from his ohagi to press back into your palm, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Hoo, boy,” said Touya, startling the both of you when he slammed his hands on the kotatsu to push himself up, “I’ve had enough. I’ve had my little snack. I’m leaving.” Once on his feet, he stretched, pressing his hands to his lower back and arching it, grunting.

“Good fucking riddance, cocksucker,” said Tenko, rising and grabbing Touya by the elbow to haul him to the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Touya, dragging his feet, chirping slurred and confused by his movement, and when Tenko had him at the wall, trying to shove him out, Touya, smirking under your watch, whispered something to Tenko while forcing something into his palm. Touya ducked out as Tenko looked at what he’d accepted and, letting out a yelp, dusted whatever it was before he hurried back to the kotatsu.

(When you left the teahouse half an hour later, you discovered that he’d decayed only the wrapper and not the condom itself.)

***

“One moment, please. Nezu-sensei is in a meeting right now, but he’ll be out momentarily. Please take a number—yes, the ticket puncher when you first came in,” you said to yet another impatient and pissed client in the admin waiting room, packed to the gills with parents, press, vendors, potential sponsors, and, for some reason, Mt. Lady’s entire representative team. “By the door. If you’ll take a seat, we’ll be with you shortly.”

God, you could punt Nezu for this. Not that there was anything wrong with establishing a new, annual event for U.A.—a cherry blossom garden-set, competitive scavenger hunt coming up in the spring—but because of his casual comment that it would rise to the same importance as the Sports Festival, you were swamped with those eager to invest early. Unable to take a break, you had to work with your head bowed, desperately hoping none of these people recognised you and your failure, when all you wanted was to reply to Tenko’s messages on Cipherstone that morning.

Tenkopeito: You’ll like the next quest. You can pet a dog in it

Tenkopeito: Come over to my room this evening so that we can talk in person

Was he intending to speak with innuendo or with such sincerity that it cut right through you? Moreover, was he aware he was even doing it? Based on what you’ve observed, Tenko had no idea what he was doing to you, nor did he know how hard you were trying not to act on your attraction, though you weren’t even doing a great job of suppressing it.

It’s strange: Tenko evoked some strange, unnameable emotion in you like nothing else. You wanted to coddle him; you wanted to play stupid video games with him; you wanted to sweep his hair out of his eyes, and though you kept telling yourself that you didn’t, you wanted him to tell you how to touch yourself, how to touch him. You brushed it off. Another time. Perhaps never.

“Oh, hi!” Former pro-hero Ragdoll squealed your family name, making you jump in your seat. “It is you. I couldn’t tell from farther back in the line.” Fuck, Ragdoll would recognise you, since she and the rest of the Wild, Wild Pussycats trained Class A, and she specifically spent time with you on your tracking skills because of her Search quirk.

Don’t cause a scene. “Hello, Shiretoko,” you said, doing your best not to let your face be seen from over the reception desk’s overhang, “It’s good to see you. How can I help?”

When she beamed, she was as bright as ever. “Oh! The Pussycats want to offer our services for the scavenger hunt! We wanna get back into charity and civilian events now that we’re back from our mission for—but wait, you know all about that!” You didn’t. But her cheerful voice carried, and people were already turning towards Ragdoll, part of a hero team ranked in the top thirty. “I wanna hear more about what you’ve been up to! Since you left the hero business, no one’s known where you’ve been! Gosh, have you been behind this dreary old desk the whole time?” Ragdoll leant over the overhang, flicking at a loose strand of your hair. “I thought you were sent out on missions out of the country! Like, really important, top-secret stuff. It’s weird seeing you in an office, especially since I consider you a mini me. Why are you back at your alma mater? Did your agency not want you anymore?”

She wasn’t meaning to be cruel. Her loud, blunt sincerity, though, drew the attention of onlookers, and their flashes of recognition, subsequent judgment, and turning away made your chest tight. “I needed a break. That’s all.”

A thin, blonde woman in a burgundy overcoat leaning against the wall immediately next to the reception had been evaluating you, scanning you from top to bottom during the exchange. She didn’t bother hiding her curiosity, and when you shakily handled the rest of the conversation with Ragdoll, she turned to the short, softly featured man beside her. “You know her?” She hadn’t even tried to quiet her voice; it jolted you from Ragdoll, but you steeled yourself and continued printing off a schedule for her—and from the depths of your brain came the woman’s identity: Uwabami, the snake hero, one who usually flaunted her celebrity status but currently dressed down, without her hair snakes (a rattlesnake, a yellow king cobra, and a Japanese rat snake, which—shut up! You don’t need this information right now! Can you be fucking sane, please?).

Her sidekick—no, an intern, a student at U.A., some fuckin’ twink in the year below you, name escaping you at the moment—had some iota of tact when he looked you over, slanting his body away, as if he weren’t staring. “Yes,” he said, trying not to let you hear, “She’s my former senpai and nothing more to me. We didn’t run in the same circles. She’s the one who made that rescue a few months back, the one that got a lot of online backlash.”

“No, seriously,” Ragdoll was saying, “Why are you back at U.A.? Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”

“My—” People behind Ragdoll in line were listening. Trying not to show it. Your throat ran dry, and you couldn’t think of a lie or a pleasant half-truth. “My flat was compromised. My address was leaked, and eventually, people were—look, Shiretoko,” you said, forcing the words out of your mouth, “I really don’t want to talk about this. Here’s the printed schedule. I’ll talk to you later.”

You slid the paper across the counter, and she took it, waving goodbye and still beaming.

“Is this what happens when a hero career doesn’t work out? They just shove you back where someone will take you? At any old office desk?” that fucking twink was asking Uwabami, “I can’t—it honestly scares me to think I could lose myself and be misplaced like that. It’s wasting talent, don’t you think?”

“How can I help you?” you asked the next person in line through gritted teeth.

When Uwabami lowered her sunglasses to glance over them, you inhaled sharply and swung your swivel chair so that you wouldn’t see her. “I don’t know about that. Maybe this dreadful administration office is where she’s meant to be.”

Biting his lip, he shifted his jaw and crossed his arms, slumping against the wall. “You’ll always have a place for me, right, Uwabami? I don’t want this to happen to me.”

“Yes, I can print you out a copy of the same schedule. If you’ll allow me a moment to print.”

“Of course, Kakeru,” Uwabami said, ignorant of how you were gripping a pencil so tightly that it could snap any second, “You’ll never be left behind.” But then she fucking stared you down, deliberately holding eye contact while you were at the printer, and she said, “You’ll never need a place to hide. I’ll make sure you don’t fail.”

“Hey, how about you shut up?” you hissed, ripping the printer-warm schedule from the tray and storming back to your current client to shove it into their hands. “Aren’t Japanese rat snakes supposed to be in hibernation this time of year, anyway?”

***

Someone in Mt. Lady’s group recorded it. Someone posted it.

wizardjenkins11: jesus christ who knew u.a. had its own island of misfit toys

emotionalsupportdynamightsweat: nice to see that she kept her snark, but what is she doing back at school?? don’t heroes have some sort of paperwork component to their work. why isn’t she still at an agency

blood-is-thiccer: lol ua’s the only one who’d take the bitch. she’s being rude as hell to an actual pro hero. lameass quirk anyway and ass flat as hell lmao she fucken deserved that guy lighting her mailbox on fire

LynchianTiddies: You’re encouraging domestic terrorism???

blood-is-thiccer: that’s not domestic terrorism

LynchianTiddies: Then what, pray fucking tell, is it??

blood-is-thiccer: wikipedia.org/wiki/Vandalism

XylemPhloemBuckaroo: no but I get what that guy was saying about wasting talent tho. Out of everyone in that class a, she’s the only one not topping the fucking hero charts rn. She’s the only one who’s left hero work. What makes her weaker than the rest of her classmates? What happened to her to make her like this?

koiboi69: wouldn’t you quit if people were camping outside your house/work/grocerystore? And also FUCK, man, there’s no fucking need to say she’s fucking weak. that’s kicking her while she’s down

XylemPhloemBuckaroo: I’m not kicking her while she’s down. I’m stating facts and asking reasonable questions.

koiboi69: bro wouldn’t YOU feel down if you’d didn’t have a home to go back to??? going back to u.a. is like admitting defeat, like you couldn’t handle it on your own and need protection

mawatadaddysgorl: i love seeing updates on her bc it makes me feel so good about what i’m doing with my life

***

Uraraka and Shinsou texted you but couldn’t call, let alone come from across town. Aizawa was AWOL, and Dango was hiding under your bed, so you, blotchy-faced and damp, were crumpled on the floor outside of room 310, eating vending machine bullshit and waiting for Tenko to return home.

Exactly all the insecurities you’d been stuffing down for months and months, brought out to air in front of everyone. Instead of doomscrolling, you locked your phone and slid it across the hallway carpet, burying your face in your hands and stomach lurching to the thought that you might soon be plastered everywhere in sight, again. Another round of intensive laying low loomed on the horizon, especially now that your location was made public. Your little secretary job was good enough, and relocating elsewhere on campus would lead to more job training, which would be a bitch.

Where was Tenko? You needed him here to say something irreverent and vindictive. Something unhinged. Or you needed him to hold you, pull you into his lap, and bitch about the whole thing while watching a movie. Tenko had messaged you to come by after work, so why wasn’t he…?

The staircase door hissed open, Tenko pushing it with his back, reusable grocery bags on his arms, and—and wearing a cape? Who the fuck wears a cape casu—oh shit he’s in his hero costume.

You’d heard that he had one, designed by the same company that’d made Midoriya’s and Shouto’s, and the similarities were clear: a boxy sort of design due to thick fabric that still somehow hugged his chest, a minimalist utility belt, and sturdy, knee-capping boots, positively flaming scarlet in contrast to the dark greys of the rest of his jumpsuit. The most obvious connection with another hero, though, made your chest throb: his cloak fastened with the same clasp his grandmother’s had. His dust-blocking respirator lay around his neck for the moment, but what was most embarrassing for you was how your brain fucking wheezed like a boiling kettle at his bare arms, biceps bulging, every fucking inch of skin down to his fingertips completely on display like a goddamn slut.

Whore behaviour. Whore behaviour! You had to duck your head when he squatted next to you, because oh, now you could see the stretch marks on his upper arms, because he’d gotten large way too quickly to be healthy, and smell his fading Old Spice and sweat from being out on what must have been an emergency call, and he was setting his grocery bags aside, reaching out to graze your shoulder, and wow, he’d been complaining about how he didn’t have abs yet despite working out five days a week now that his stamina had increased, but that fabric clung to his lower abdomen, looking very, very flat.

Initially pinching the fabric of your sweater, he shifted his jaw and laid his hand on your shoulder. “Who am I dusting?”

“God, Tenko,” you said, trying to look anywhere but his arms, or his abdomen, or his fucking lips, but he was leaning so much over you that he occupied most of your line of vision, and the only way to avoid seeing anything besides wisps of white hair was to gaze at the popcorned ceiling. “You’re not supposed to do that anymore.”

“Oh, yeah? Who am I dusting?” He squeezed your shoulder, stretching his thumb out to rub at your collarbone.

“Unless you can dust everyone in the country, I don’t think decay will help.”

Tenko clicked his tongue. “I have been explicitly told not to do that,” he said, shifting to sit on his knees, “I have—” He dug into a grocery bag for a moment. “—this for you. You like this shit, right?” Tenko pressed a bottle of pink lemonade into your hands.

“Fucking. Fuck. I do,” you said, passing the condensation-coated bottle from one hand to another, chest tightening, blinking to keep the water levels low, “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me this.”

“I know that,” he said with a dismissive wave, and he paused, fists in his lap. “Would it help if I gave you a hug?”

(What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the—)

“Yeah,” you said calmly, like a calm person, and when Tenko opened his (muscular) arms, you crawled into them, wrapping your own around his back to rest between his shoulder blades. You rested your chin in a fold of his cape, cheek pressing against the side of his respirator, and you frowned as his embrace tightened, pulling you closer in a sloppy, unpractised sort of way, grounded by the steady rise and fall of his very solid chest.

(This felt…affectionate. Romantic, even.

But Shigaraki Tomura didn’t do romance, and you don’t—you’re not—you wouldn’t dream of being conceited enough to read someone’s perhaps thoughtless actions as flirtation, because why would someone be flirting with you? No one did that in general, and being U.A.’s humiliating problem child exacerbated the fact.

Moreover, why would the man who was Shigaraki Tomura, in the middle of his rehabilitation and re-discovery of self, even in the microscopic chance that he had the mental energy to experience romantic feelings, aim that romantic impulse towards you? It would make more sense if he liked someone he’d known for a while, like Touya or Spinner or Toga, and if his romantic feelings leant towards recuperative trauma-bonding, wouldn’t it be more apt to feel for someone at his rehab? His therapist, maybe? He’d idolised Aizawa before he’d met him, and even that would make more sense than latching onto someone as late in the process as you.

He’d gotten flustered when you’d tied his scarf, and Touya’s played terrible wingman. But still. You couldn’t know. You can’t read into this, even though reading into things had been your job, because—because no one would want you. You’ll have to…You’ll have to gather more evidence. You couldn’t be certain.)

Tenko hummed, chin digging into your shoulder, blowing strands of your hair out of his face. “I calmed a kid down earlier by hugging her. Is this working for you?”

(…oh.)

You sniffled and hid your mouth in his cape so that he couldn’t catch your pout. “That’s—that’s good that a kid allowed you to comfort her. What happened?”

“Pipes broke in an old apartment building in the Takoba district. The third floor collapsed under the pressure, and it trapped families in part of the building. I was called out to dust the rubble trapping them,” Tenko said, tapping his fingers high on your back in a ripple, “and they had me dust some other walls to help start the repairs. It was cool. And this one little girl who’d gotten out before the rest of her family was really nervous, and she was sticking to me, holding onto my cape. I was telling her that everything was gonna be okay, like you’ve taught me, and when I asked how she was doing, this fuckin’ kid extended her arms to me. So, I fucking hugged her. Picked her up so she could see what was happening better. It was weird, but it felt good.” Tenko sighed. “I hate how it wants me to be kind more.”

And fuck, fuck, that’s the last straw to this horrible day, and you’re crying, silently, controlling your breathing to keep Tenko from finding out, because goddammit, this idiot bastard man was surprisingly easy to love.

You buried your face fully in his shoulder, hoping he couldn’t feel any wetness through his costume, and you and Tenko sat in the quiet of the hallway for a minute, interrupted only by the A/C kicking in.

Tenko tried to part the two of you enough to look you in the face, but you doubled down, curling your fingers into the fabric of his jumpsuit and keeping your head bowed. Scoffing, he sat upright, making you follow his movements to stay hidden. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong yet?”

“Forget all that shit I’ve taught you,” you said, grumbling to his tits now that he’d changed positions, hating how stopped up you sounded already, “It doesn’t matter what you fucking do in the public’s eye, because there’s always gonna be someone who hates you. You can’t please everyone, so just fucking be yourself. That’s funnier, anyway.”

“Did you psychoanalyse some press member’s pathetic sex life, or something? Deduce an affair based on the way he knots his tie? Announce the state of his dick to the whole room because of the length of his pants?”

“Fuck off, Tenko. I’m not some pretentious-ass Sherlock Holmes bitch,” you said, pursing your lips and instinctively pulling back to glare at him—

And the moment you did, Tenko cupped your face in his hands, soft at the palm and strongly calloused along his fingers, keeping you facing towards him no matter how hard you tried to jerk away, struggling to stay upright. “You are crying.”

“No, I’m not,” you said, just as a falling tear touched his thumb. As you adjusted to his grip, your hands fell to his thighs, pressing against them in fists.

“Hm. Well, you don’t have to tell me,” he said, eyes on another tear trailing down the other cheek, “but you’re joining me to watch a movie with Eri. I got snacks on the way home.”

You sighed, taking in how big his hands were and how much of your face they encompassed, trying to memorise their feeling until they were snatched away forever. “I thought we were gonna start a new quest tonight. I was excited.”

Tenko balked and shifted into a sceptical grin. “You wanted to play Ciperstone tonight?” he asked, both thumbs rubbing your cheekbones and moving to swipe underneath your eyes.

You sighed again, shoulders heaving as Tenko released your face to flick tears off of his hand. “I didn’t want to be myself for a few hours.”

Tenko pushed on his knees to stand. “That’s actually related to what I originally wanted to talk to you about. Furthering the working-with-others mission,” he said, and he extended his hand to help you up. “What do you know about Dungeons and Dragons?”

***

“God fucking dammit!” Tenko slammed his palm to his forehead and leant back to balance on the kitchen chair’s back legs and then combed his fingers back through his hair, upsetting some strands from his ponytail. Groaning, he crooked his face your way, smushed his face against the chair back, and pointed towards his forehead, where a red splot was forming. “Hit me as hard as you can.”

“Being bludgeoned won’t change the fact that you rolled a three,” you said, nodding towards his d20, “I ignore his whining and continue to drain the fig tree to charge my spell.”

Behind the DM screen, Shinsou rolled his own dice, and once his eyebrows had shot up to his hairline, he turned to Midoriya. “I need you to roll two d12s and a d4.”

Tenko bolted upright, hastily sweeping his bangs out of his face. “Wait, what does Midoriya have to do with it? He’s across the fucking grove! He’s engaged in close-ranged combat.”

You turned away from Shinsou’s sly grin and towards Tenko, mouth nearly a straight line, yanking another cluster of grapes from the communal bowl, and shoving two grapes in his mouth. He pinched at his lower lip as he chewed, twisting and peeling at dead skin, frowning as he focused on his character sheet, scanning it for some sort of information he was forgetting and absentmindedly raising his knee to his chest, the heel of his foot propped on the seat of his chair (thank God his jeans were from Best Jeanist’s Moulded to Your Ass line: the denim strained with his muscles. Your eye twitched). In this particular morning, with the five of you squared off at Aizawa’s kitchen table, papers and dice strewn among grocery store bakery cinnamon rolls and coffee cups (Tenko’s was full of gatorade instead of coffee, much to his chagrin), as Tenko was throwing grapes into Touya’s mouth while Shinsou did math, the narwhal house slippers dangling off Tenko’s feet, it struck you that Shigaraki Tomura had become just some guy. One who went for walks to clear his head, who spent hours failing to do a kickflip on Present Mic’s skateboard, who used emoticons over emojis, who got nervous in fast food drive-throughs, who collected hero merch (of Aizawa fervently and Present Mic against his will), who was losing his sensitivity to foods like leeks and onions, a man who was growing more and more exquisitely mundane.

And goddamn, he’s clever and perceptive and patient and cheeky in a devastatingly attractive way, and he’s flustered easily, eager to do a thing correctly, and utterly, totally captivating in his endless discoveries of what it means to be alive.

You timed it so that the shudder and shock crossing his face could pass as response to Shinsou’s description of how Tenko’s enchanted crossbow bolt missed the Spirit Realm Necromancer entirely, instead sinking into the sacred Grand Oak and instantly shattering the tree as if it were glass, its elaborate root system holding up the floating grove splintering into thousands of tiny shards, the ground beneath your party’s feet crumbling at the slightest suggestion of the shifting of weight. But really he curled in his lips with a furrowed brow and stuttering breath when you reached underneath the table to graze the back of his hand, and when he forced himself to relax, shoulders slackening, frown fading, Tenko spread his fingers to cover more of his denim-clad thigh, which you took as a timid sort of consent. Biting the inside of your cheek, you eased your palm over the back of Tenko’s hand, lacing your fingers through his and going through the motions of reacting to Shinsou’s shattered earth. Neither of you looked at each other while Midoriya’s character suffered the Necromancer’s spell to increase gravity, each movement of Midoriya’s bulky, steel armour accelerating the fall of the floating grove. By the time each of you had had enough turns to land on solid ground, preserving little of the sacred grove but all surviving, Tenko finally squeezed your fingers back, curling his own to grip them more firmly, keeping your hand pinned to his thigh, steeling himself, sitting up straight, and proposing getting close enough to the Necromancer to drive a crossbow bolt directly into his skull.

Midoriya was already muttering to himself over the effectiveness of the action while Shinsou worked, and Touya irreverently flicked his dice at Tenko, chugging coffee with his other hand. “You plunge the bolt by hand into the Necromancer’s head,” said Shinsou, “but with your strength debuff still in effect, you only nick him.”

“I try stabbing it through his ear.”

“It goes through,” said Shinsou, nodding and running his hand back through his hair, which sprung back into place, “It doesn’t pierce the neocortex, so he can still summon another—“

“I stomp him to death with my hooves,” said Touya, picking at his teeth and running his tongue over the spot.

The rest of you turned to him slowly in various states of incredulity.

“You don’t have hooves, Touya,” you said, tilting your head at the same time Tenko rubbed his thumb over yours, prompting your breath to hitch and a strange warmth to travel through your body, making you feel dizzy.

Touya grimaced and reached for a cinnamon roll. “I take off my leather breeches and boots to reveal my hooves. I have been a satyr masquerading as a human this whole time.” He leant forward on his elbow, glaring at Shinsou and gesturing with his cinnamon roll. “I stomp him. To death. With my hooves.”

Tenko sneered, his teeth cutting into his lower lip, but he merely opened his mouth and closed it, poking his tongue into his cheek. “I suppose maiming a party member wouldn’t coincide with my character’s chaotic good alignment,” he said, heaving a huge sigh to—oh, that cunning rat bastard—to conceal how he flipped his hand over in yours to touch palms, weaving your fingers back together and squeezing again, planting them back on his upper leg, massaging between your knuckles with his thumb.

“What’d you just roll?”

“Nineteen,” said Touya, casting Shinsou a slice of his most charming smile.

Midoriya let out a little laugh as Shinsou bitterly plopped his head on his fist. “Fuck you, Touya. Congratulations. You clomp over to the Necromancer and stomp all over him. Stompy stomp stomp stompy stomp. It’s difficult to watch at the insane speed you’re going, so no one stops you from doing such a good job pounding him that he’s ground into dust. Bits of him drift away in the wind.”

Here Midoriya winced. “Weren’t we supposed to retrieve the soul crystal embedded in his gauntlet? We can’t get our reward from that Silver Age dragon rider if we don’t have it.”

“Correct,” said Shinsou, glancing down at his notes, “It has been stomped to smithereens. You can’t even make out what parts of the pile of dust were once flesh.”

Ready to bolt, Touya was getting up from the table and holding up his hands in defence, but before Midoriya could start a speech that would have been more apt for the number one hero to use on patrol rather than during a DND game, the door to Aizawa’s flat opened, and in he walked, covering his yawn with the back of his hand. He halted at the sight of the five of you around his kitchen table, taking in the scattered papers and remnants of breakfast before settling on your DM. “Shinsou,” Aizawa began, disappointment outweighing the exhaustion in his voice.

“You’re the only one with a table that could fit all of us,” Shinsou said, spinning in his chair to face him, “This dormitory doesn’t have a good common area like the student ones do. Would you really prefer us to—”

“We can find you a table; there’s plenty on campus.” Aizawa lifted his goggles over his head to set them on the counter. “Is this why Monoma kept slowing me down during patrol?”

“No,” you and Shinsou said, while Tenko said, “Yes.”

Aizawa actually smiled as he unwound his capture weapon from around his neck. “Look who’s the only one telling the truth.”

“Why would I lie to you, sensei?”

Touya smacked Tenko on the arm. “Suck-up.”

“You promise?” Tenko shot back, nose wrinkling with his grin.

“This coffee had better be amazing, because it’s the only thing keeping me from kicking you all out right now,” said Aizawa, rubbing a dry eye with the heel of his palm, other hand outstretched for someone to pass him a mug.

Tenko’s thumb bent inward to swipe the inside of your palm, a silent protest while he drank from his stupid little mug of gatorade, and when he noticed what was at the bottom, he flinched. It must have been Touya who’d put your dice in Tenko’s cup.

***

Following the video of you insulting Uwabami, you’re garnering an unnerving amount of attention again, but it’s clearly someone different than last time. Whoever your stalker(s) was this time around, they were careless and unsubtle—and this confidence to be careless left you jumping at the slightest sound when you were alone.

Furthermore, you legitimately couldn’t deduce your stalker’s motivations, because no clear message linked his actions. At first, you chalked it up to the dorm’s shitty dryer eating your bright blue thong, but when you couldn’t find your lip balm or trolley pass or eventually your favourite sweater, you concluded that something else was at play here, further cemented by more and more tiny things going missing—things that, if you were stalking someone, you would’ve selected as small enough not to miss.

But bizarrely, your stalker left shit of his own lying about. A phone charger appeared underneath your pillow; loose change and a travel pack of alcoholic wipes showed up in your bathroom sink. Hello Kitty band-aids, a hair clip that looked like one of Rumi’s ears, deep-moisturising hand cream, a tiny lizard keychain with a white hamburglar mask drawn on. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. What could your stalker be trying to say besides he could access your personal space with ease? Hoarding it all in the drawer with the GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK hentai, you were struck with the notion that this may have been going on even before the video.

God, you missed when this school felt more like home instead of a holding cell, back when Shinsou and Uraraka and the rest were all still living together with you, when you could simply turn the corner to the common area to demand who took your laundry detergent and get an answer immediately (you also missed taking Aoyama’s bougie food, though you suspected that towards the end he was buying extra specifically for you). You sent an email to Aizawa about the potential break in security, and he promised to monitor the situation, though there was no evidence of physical entry.

Evidence. It’s been on your mind.

Sure, Tenko’s done stuff that could be read as romantic: how he plops your hand onto his head to demand you play with his hair, how he hovers whenever Touya stands too closely to you, how he gets upset on your behalf when people glare at you in public.

(Tenko grabbed your elbow, breaking your focus on the clothing rank. “We’re going.”

“But we haven’t found you a red coat yet.”

He lifted the hangers from your arm and slid them back onto the rack, despite belonging elsewhere. “Don’t care. I don’t like the way the cashier’s looking at you,” he said, jerking his head their direction, and when you tilted your head to glance at them over his shoulder, Tenko tapped your chin twice, guiding you to look back at him. “You shouldn’t have to be on guard when I’m with you.”)

If you were reading into it—and you were—Tenko was being so careful with talking about the pro-hero scene around you that it was almost as if he’d gotten a mission task from Aizawa to distract you from anything that might make you feel bad about yourself.

(“I hear you’re causing a lot of paperwork for my old man,” said Touya, pulling out another floor cushion from the storage space in the teahouse wall, “He hates that you’ve had to dust so many structures near his agency. He’s a decrepit creature of habit, and now that his commute is different, he’s—”

“Hey, Touya, tell us what flower bulbs you planted this winter,” Tenko said abruptly, clamping the lid on the pot hanging over the sunken fireplace, “Tell us what your garden’ll look like in spring.”

You shut your book, even though you’d just opened it. “Wait, are you saying that Touya is the one who keeps this garden? That’s—”

“You like it, sweetheart?” Touya dropped his cushion next to yours, ignoring the way Tenko was glaring daggers into his back. “Think it’s impressive?”

“Holy shit; I thought we were in the back of some professionally restored historical site the first time we came here,” you said, smiling at how Tenko’s petulant stomps to his seat chirruped, even when he scooted his own cushion towards yours (adorable; you’d think he didn’t like you giving attention to anyone else).

“Well,” said Touya, propping his hands on the kotatsu so that he could get a better view of Tenko, “With enormous pride and a huge erection, I’m pleased to announce that this garden is all my hard work.”

“Stop that,” barked Tenko, jabbing a finger towards Touya, “Stop bringing up your cock.”

“I could talk about yours, if you want. His monster cock is excruciatingly leaky and so shaped.”

Groaning, Tenko clonked his forehead on the kotatsu’s tabletop before Touya could say anything else, arm still outstretched. He peeked out from underneath his bangs towards you, tension leaving his body at your burst of laughter.)

He’s also taken your comment about silent admiration to heart. Over the discord call (through very comfortable headphones), you’d made a dumb joke about not being able to play for long, and he’d shut up immediately. When you’d confessed to lying and hoping you’d scared him, he’d replied seriously: “I want to protect my time with you. I don’t like it being taken away. I feel better when you’re with me.”

You’d frozen in the middle of weaving bowstrings while his character continued stringing them onto bows. You’d never have gotten that sort of remark at the beginning of your relationship. Tenko must genuinely be listening to you.

Anyway. You decided in the event that Tenko was collecting evidence, too, that you would leave him some.

The first time you’d been in his room had been for a specific purpose, which was to help him rub in his new facial scar moisturiser (not to take them away, or anything, because Tenko wanted to keep them, claiming he wouldn’t recognise himself in the mirror if he didn’t have his scars—and you thought they were devastatingly attractive, anyway—but just to keep them hydrated enough not to itch), but now you were here just to spend time in the same space. You were reading on his bed (oh, hohoho, his bed), and Tenko was drawing in his sketchbook on his couch by the window. With his mouth pinched in concentration, he squinted down at his paper, swiping away eraser shavings with his artist-gloved hand.

Drawing by natural light. Tenko was in room 310 because of its wide windows. It had been his one request when U.A. was placing him.

AFO had deliberately raised him in a bedroom without windows. You’d kill him if he weren’t already dead.

Thankfully, AFO’s influence was absent from Tenko’s dorm: Naruto sheets from Touya, an old Nintendo DS on his bedside table with Nintendogs in the cartridge slot, Present Mic’s skateboard propped against the coatrack that held only a black hoodie, unfolded but clean laundry in a basket next to a dresser with prescription bottles atop it, a mirror that served more as a bulletin board of Eraserhead merch than as a way to check his reflection, red shoes by the doorway, books borrowed from everyone from All Might to Shinsou to the ramen delivery guy strewn across the room, on shelves, his computer desk, his rug. The thing Tenko’d had to explain to you was a therapist-assigned painting hanging over his desk: he’d painted a murky, purple-blue, abstract sort of thing, and you were strangely touched when he’d explained it was Kurogiri (and now that you were looking, among his bulletin board of Eraserhead, a few drawings of Loud Cloud were mixed in).

There’s a lot of people in Tenko’s life who care about him now, and you’re happy to be one of them. Setting your book aside, you got up to sit next to him on the couch.

He paused when you sank into the cushion next to—well, no, you were basically sharing the same cushion, especially since he unfolded his legs from underneath him so that you could get closer. You scooted over so that your shoulders touched (scandalous) and looked over his drawings.

He’s drawing your DND characters. While his sketches aren’t exactly good, you can clearly tell who’s supposed to be whom, and they’re fun to look at, so that’s all that matters. At the centre is your character, Ginseng—you named it after your Cipherstone account because why not—in the process of spell-charging. Your character relies on the traditional ritual of tea ceremonies, from the growing of the tealeaves to serving it, summoning whatever tools you needed, like the table and dishware, and if an enemy got caught by the conventions of politeness of the tea ceremony, they were trapped in it until they’d drunk their teacup dry. Tenko had drawn her early in the spell-charging process, with branches of tealeaves sprouting from underneath her skin, with her harvesting them from her forearm. It’s rather flattering, the way her determined expression lit up her face.

Next to Ginseng was Tenko’s character, Peito, also lifted from his Cipherstone character. He was sitting on the same log as Ginseng in the middle of camp, backs touching while he cut feathers as the first step in the fletching process. His carved-willow quiver leant against his knee-high boot, red even in a fictional universe. Peito’s hands were bare, five fingers pressed against his knife and arrows.

Further back in the camp (really just towards the top of the paper, since Tenko wasn’t good at foreshortening yet), Midoriya’s character, Jackrabbit, was holding up two hangers, one with his steel and the other with sleek, black leather armour. A nice touch, really, since Midoriya had swopped Jackrabbit’s primary armour to the more lightweight leather since the shattered grove incident, and wow, you could even tell it was leather based on the pencil strokes.

Seated nearby, Touya’s character, Granddaddy Slapkins, roared with laughter at him. His shoes lay next to him, his hooves out. For some reason, he’s not holding his pet duck; he’s instead cradling what looks like your character’s wild shape, a cat with the same chocolate-point markings as your real cat (your character’s shapeshifted form was just Dango, but Tenko didn’t know that. He still didn’t know Dango existed, because cats were still illegal in the dorms, and Tenko, that little brown-nosing shit, would probably tell Aizawa about her. Cute how he’s only a suck-up to Aizawa, though).

Your favourite detail, though, was how his character was smiling. Unabashedly. As if it were a no-brainer, as if doing anything else made no sense at all.

With a stab of affection, you nuzzled into Tenko’s shoulder, resting your chin there while he sketched loops of chainmail onto Granddaddy Slapkins’s shirt, and a shiver racked through him.

“Oh, are you cold?” you asked, sitting back up and heading over towards the bed, “Let me get your blanket.”

“Wha—no, I—sure,” said Tenko, setting his pencil on his sketchbook and the whole thing on the arm of the couch, eyes half-lidded as you returned with his throw blanket.

And without thinking, you moved on impulse, as if all higher orders of cognition had checked out for the night, because you behaved like you did in your head whenever you thought about Tenko: casually, intimately, and domestically. You wrapped the blanket around yourself and knelt on the sofa before swinging a knee over his lap, and you snuggled into his chest, clutching his shirt and nosing at his neck.

Your eyes snapped open.

(What the fuck?

If this had been a planned attack, then it would’ve been a thing of brilliance: casual, seeming to meet a physical need [heating a chill] in the name of physical closeness. But you fucked it. This wasn’t planned, and thus you don’t have a way out of it without otherwise betraying your romantically-motivated interior.

Thank fuck he’s frozen up, too. But how do you get out of this? God, you really shouldn’t be teaching him how to navigate interpersonal relationships when you get yourself into shit like this.)

You swallowed thickly, pulse pounding in your ears.

“I need your advice.” Tenko’s chest barely rose when he took his first breath since you climbed onto his lap. “What would be the socially expected response to this?”

“Uh. That depends on if you’re into it or not,” you said, forcing yourself to sit back in his lap to give him some space, “If you dislike it, then it’s to get me to get off of you, and if you welcome it, then, uh. Anything else.”

Tenko unclenched his fists at his sides and—a pause, shifting his jaw—he let his hands rest at a barely-there touch on your hips, dragging them upwards to your waist, applying enough pressure there for you to feel all ten fingertips through your shirt. “Is this,” he said, wetting his lower lip, and he couldn’t continue, instead swallowing saliva.

Gathering your nerve, you wove your hand through his hair to scratch at his scalp in the way he’d liked when you’d played with his hair, and at the familiarity, Tenko huffed, shutting his eyes tightly and pressing his forehead to yours in a rush, almost knocking them together. He took another breath, heat washing over your face, and you slid your other up hand to cup his cheek.

Tenko shivered again, and he clamped his hand over yours to keep it there. “Are you sure this is what you mean to do?”

He seemed receptive enough to it, but you couldn’t be certain. “Yeah,” you said, “If I’m reading it right.”

“But it makes no sense. I’ve got to be reading it wrong,” Tenko was saying, frowning, “No one would willingly like me—”

“For fuck’s sake, Tenko—”

Practically slapping your other hand to his cheek, you kissed him, pulling him closer, one of his hands still over yours with the other now gripping your waist as if he’d never let you go. Tenko grunted into it, surging forward to keep his rough lips (sticky from his freshly applied pineapple-beeswax chapstick) seared to yours. You felt, more than heard, his miniscule whimper at the back of his throat when he opened his mouth, sliding his tongue into yours, and you could hardly keep kissing him for smiling. But he needed a breath before you did, so you broke it, sensing he wouldn’t do it out of wanting to keep you nearby.

Panting, Tenko tried and failed to push your hair behind your ear in an attempt to be suave. “Now, I perceived that as romantic.”

“It was romantic, you muppet,” you said, thumping his chest with the back of your hand.

“Good.” He cleared this throat. “Cool. Excellent,” he said, shifting underneath you (with difficulty, under the constricting denim of his Moulded to Your Ass jeans), “I want it to be, when it comes to you.”

“Thank God, I really want that, too,” you said, sighing, “but, like, I really don’t know if it’s ethical to pursue a romance this early into your recovery—”

“The fuck is wrong with you? I want it. I want you.” Frustrated, Tenko grabbed your hips in an iron grip and ground up into you, slowly, and that tight-ass denim let you feel precisely where in the drag of his hips his cock touched you, letting you feel the shift in pressure at his tip, down his shaft, to the first curve of his balls. “I thought I was alone. I thought no one else would ever be able to understand me, having fallen from what I was raised to be. Fallen,” he said, spitting, “Such a nasty word for what we’re actually doing: we’ve been reborn together. We get to build our lives back up together. We get another chance at it. I wanna spend mine with you.”

He strained his neck upwards to kiss you again, insistent, moving with confidence when he took your lower lip into his mouth but only nibbling on it once, despite being posed to bite down with vigour.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about what anyone else thinks of you and what anyone else thinks of me. I—”

“That’s not true,” you said, your turn to catch your breath, “You care so much about what Aizawa-sensei—”

“You know what I mean,” he said, shaking his head, hair falling out of his loose ponytail, “You think of me as me, and that’s all that matters. If you’re really that fucking worried about me getting into a relationship too early, go talk to my therapist. She says you’re good for me. A good influence, anyway.”

“Holy shit,” you said, mostly in reaction to how Tenko started trailing frantic, dry kisses down your neck, and, realising you should probably be doing something back, you rolled your hips, feeling awfully warm under the blanket.

He bucked back up into you, more out of desperation to keep you close over a need for friction but still giving you a taste of what it would be like to have him thrusting into you. “Fuck,” he said, almost grumbling, “I’d say fuck being ethical about it, because I’ve wanted you for a long time. I got hard when you shook me by the shoulders outside of that ice cream shop; I thought my soul was gonna leave my body when you adjusted my scarf. Hell, I—” He cut himself off, grinning in a way that, back before you knew him, you might have described as maniacal. “I wanted you back during the war. I saw you fucking elbow Touya during that battle, and the way you made him crumple to the ground was so fucking sexy. And you recovered from when he swiped at you so easily; you slipped around his attacks like it was fucking second nature. I thought it’d be cool to have you by my side, having you—” He realised what he was saying, and he relaxed, smile fading into a curious, pensive sort of look while he brought his thumb to your kiss-swollen lips. “And now I get to.”

You kissed the pad of his thumb, blinking slowly.

“So. Yeah,” he said, dropping his hand to your shoulder as he broke eye contact, a little red, “I think it’d be cool to be with you, even if we have to be careful.”

“That’s the thing, Tenko,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek as you gathered your thoughts, “I’m scared, because while I know that we should, because that’d be safe, I don’t want to be careful. Since I’ve quit being a hero, every single thing about how I’ve been living has left me feeling empty and alone, because it’s like I’m wandering through limbo. Everything screams that whatever I’m doing now is temporary, that it’ll pass, that I don’t truly belong in this situation, because I’ll find what I’m supposed to be doing later and my real home is somewhere down the line, but—fuck.” You rubbed your eye with your fist. “You, Tenko. You don’t feel temporary. You feel forever.”

Underneath you, Tenko stretched to pop a crick in his back, and he tilted his head to lie on the back of the couch. His ponytail had come loose, and his hair splayed against the fabric as he stared at you, one hand idly rubbing at your waist.

“Well. You’ve got to belong somewhere,” he said eventually, and he tapped all five fingers onto your thigh. “It could be with me.”

***

Dango was missing.

Incredible how the best evening of your life preceded the worst day you’ve had in years. You called out of work and spent hours scouring the dorm and then campus. A gruelling, miserable sort of day, anyway, grey and rainy and cold, and the campus was swarmed with people setting up for the scavenger hunt event later this month, populating the area with non-U.A. personnel and construction. Your cat was out in that mess, and you didn’t even know where to search first. It’s loud, scary, and wet, so Dango would most likely be hiding and not come when she’s called.

Had Dango escaped your flat? Had your stalker stolen her? Had she been confiscated by U.A.?

You couldn’t call any faculty for help; they’d get onto you for having an illegal cat on campus—and Hound Dog, the one who’d be the most help, might just scare her to death. Too early in the morning to call any of your friends, and you doubted they’d alter their busy schedules to help you out of a situation you should be able to fix yourself. But damn it, how come your own tracking skills only worked on people?

You shook yourself, coming out of your spiral the best you could, and you were close to hyperventilating. You sat down on a curb.

You found yourself calling Tenko, despite it being too early in the day for him to be out of training, filling with dread about never seeing your cat again and having to clear out her stuff from your room. Pulling your soaked jacket closer, you wiped at your nose and waited at the dial tone.

“Hey, I thought you couldn’t call during work. Miss me that much?”

The second you heard his strangely chipper voice, you started crying into the speaker.

He inhaled sharply, tone shifting. “Tell me who the fuck I’m stomping to death with my hooves.”

Ducking your head, you managed a smile but continued to fucking sob. “You don’t—don’t have to kill anyone, Ten—Tenko. I’ve f—fucked up.”

“What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m on cam—campus,” you said, unable to speak for a full sentence without having to cut yourself off to keep bawling, ugly and loud and getting snottier by the minute, “It’s my fucking fault that I haven’t been ta—taking my stupid sta—stalker seriously, and I should’ve reported it, but—but I—goddammit!” The rain picked up again, coming down in rapid, fat drops, and, shielding your eyes, you rubbed your phone screen on your sleeve, not that it did much. “Sor—sorry. Rain got heavier.”

“Where on campus?”

“No, Te—Tenko, I’ll get up. I’m coming to you,” you said, sniffling and pushing on your knees to stand, wet and hungry and ready to crawl into your sock drawer to sleep for days. “I—I’m just so fucking pissed at myself, because my cat is fucking lost, and I could’ve sto—stopped it if I hadn’t been so secreti—tive.” Hands shaking, you yanked your soaked hood over your head and trudged towards your dormitory, and you kicked gravel, rocks scattering over the path, before losing your footing on it and nearly falling. Fuck this.

“You have a cat,” said Tenko, losing his fervent. “What’s it look like?”

“Beautiful.”

“I need more than that.”

“She fucking—I based Ginseng’s cat form on her, okay? She’s this enormously fluffy thing, mostly whitish with a brown face and legs, and it makes her look like she’s wearing a mask and thigh-high socks like God’s sluttiest little jester,” you said, knocking on your dorm’s mailboxes for luck out of habit as you passed them, “And you can’t tell Aizawa-sensei about her, because if she’s taken away the moment I find her, then I—”

“I have her,” said Tenko, “She’s in my dorm with me.”

You ran the rest of the way to his room, panting and absolutely disgusting by the time you got there, and when Tenko opened his door, there was Dango, loafing on the back of the couch and watching raindrops race down the window.

“What the fuck,” you said, dropping your wet coat and toeing off your shoes, “How the hell did she get in here?”

Tenko shrugged and hung your coat next to his hoodie. “Can she open locked doors?”

“I hope to fuck she can’t,” you said, and you rounded the couch to wrap your arms around that dear little loaf, and Dango jumped off the couch to crawl underneath it before you could fully hug her. “Oh, good. She’s fine. Acting like normal.” You sat on the couch’s arm, adrenaline evaporating to render you boneless.

“She was in my room when I came back from training. We ended early today, since Aizawa-sensei has something.” Tenko stooped to yank two bottles of gatorade from their plastic rings and headed towards the sofa to offer one to you. “She didn’t seem upset or hurt. She’s been sitting there, napping on and off.”

You accepted it and twisted off the cap. “So, who put my cat in your room?”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“I don’t know,” you said, taking a shallow sip, careful not to overwhelm your agitated stomach, “They’d have to know about Dango in the first place, and I suppose my stalker would, since they’ve theoretically been breaking into my room.”

Tenko paused mid-sip, and he hastened to swallow. “Someone’s been breaking into your room?”

“Yeah,” you said, easing down the arm of the couch and onto its cushions, “I think. There’s no physical sign of entry, but my shit keeps going missing, and stuff that’s not mine keeps showing up. Let me tell you, I need some of that shit they’ve stolen; it’s hard to replace—”

Tenko touched your lips with three of his fingertips to quiet you, and he gestured for you to stay put while he scrambled over to his closet, where he stood on his toes to retrieve a wicker basket from the top shelf. He dropped the thing into your lap. “Are any of these yours?”

All of it was, missing things you blamed on everything from Dango to your stalker to your own forgetfulness: your favourite sweater, your trolley pass, lip balm, your shitty earbuds, your good pantyhose, your planner, your d10, and, among many smaller things, even that bright blue thong you’d lost in the wash (Well. It’s better to find your thong with your new boyfriend over finding them returned to your dorm coated in your stalker’s cum, you supposed).

“I was losing my goddamn mind,” Tenko was saying, “Stuff kept showing up. I thought it was a test at first—”

“I don’t have a stalker,” you said, absentmindedly rubbing the fabric of your thong between your fingers, “Your shit has been—you read that GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK shit? Tenko.”

“Oh, you have that?” Tenko scratched the back of his neck, but not in his self-harm way; it reminded you of Shinsou’s nervous habit more than anything. “Haven’t you read it? Isn’t that what you were naming your characters after?”

“Ah, ha, ha. Moving on. What is important, though, is why and how this is happening to us.”

“Yeah, I don’t…”

The two of you spitballed for a while, long enough for the both of you to finish your bottles of gatorade and for Tenko to start another, and neither of you came up with anything substantial.

“Hell with it,” said Tenko, standing to stretch, his movement disturbing Dango from her nap in his basket of clean laundry, “Let’s go ask Aizawa-sensei.”

Aizawa was not pleased when he discovered the both of you waiting in his kitchen, but he listened to the story, and when you were done, he stepped out of the room to make a phone call. When he came back, he looked even more exhausted than when he’d first come in.

“I’ve just gotten off the phone with Sakura Grove,” said Aizawa, wincing when his bones creaked as he sat in his chair, “Tenko, do you remember villain in-fighting within the PLF? In particular, I’m asking if you remember breathing in a pink dust cloud. It would’ve been in Deika City, in the month between your fight with Re-Destro and your body modification surgery. If our sources are accurate, you would’ve been with Touya.”

Tenko scrunched up his face. “Why would I have been—hm.” Frowning, he reached into the bag of popcorn you’d commandeered from Aizawa’s cupboards. “I know what you’re talking about. They were only letting me eat healthy stuff in the week before I went under. Touya was taking me to scrounge for something salty and shitty for me, because I couldn’t take it anymore. He started hitting on someone he thought was a waitress, and she—this is why I remember it—she compared the width of her hand to his thigh and said no thanks.”

“That’s Ito,” said Aizawa, sighing and crossing his arms, settling his chin into his capture weapon, “When did she use her quirk?”

“She shoved her hand on Touya’s face when he opened his stupid mouth again, and he passed out with swarming, pink particles floating around his head. She turned to me—and she must not have recognised Touya, but she knew me, because her face lit the fuck up. She never touched me, but I remember having to sneeze.”

“She never told you what her quirk did?”

“I woke back up in the PLF headquarters. I assumed whoever picked me up had killed her and that her death negated any effects.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why? What does it do?”

Aizawa let out a soft laugh, muffled through his capture weapon, and he jerked his head in your direction. “You tell him,” he said, snatching the bag of popcorn and heading towards his bedroom.

***

He’d been nervous about wearing a suit. They reminded him of AFO.

But you’d strayed away from dark colours and too much structure, so his light greyish-blue suit jacket stayed unbuttoned even as you leant across to the passenger seat to adjust his All Might tie for him (a Put Your Hands Up Radio tie had been offered, but Tenko had already closed his fist around the striped tie Midoriya would loan him). Part of his bangs had been pinned back to show off his annoyingly handsome face, especially in how his sharp, red eyes observed caught every movement of your terrible attempt to tie the tie based on the pictures Aizawa had sent you.

“We’re not gonna be late, are we?” Tenko drawled out, the corner of his mouth quirking upward, hand resting on the car ceiling as he angled his chest towards you.

“Shush; we are in the parking lot,” you said, looping the larger end. Or were you supposed to be looping the smaller one? “Besides, the world won’t end if we’re a few minutes late to my class’s annual reunion.”

A flimsy excuse for a party, one made because hero agencies needed some sort of named event as an excuse to dismiss your friends en masse. But it was spring again, and they were coming out of the winter blues, and they wanted to see you again, so, hey, why don’t we work something in around your schedule? If you can’t come to this date, then we’ll reschedule it until you can.

And, like. They knew. They knew Tenko was your soulmate. You suspected they all wanted to see what he was like now, too, because no one but Shinsou, Midoriya, and, apparently, Bakugou had known.

You undid the loose knot and tried again. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” he said, scrutinising the tacky balloons and streamers swaying in the night breeze outside of the otherwise intimidatingly elegant venue, “but those kids might be.”

“Those kids happen to be friends my age,” you said, “and I’m barely younger than you are. They know you’re coming. You’re fine.”

Tenko sucked in through his teeth, tapping the roof of the car one finger at a time. “The last time they saw me was as a thing. An object of destruction.”

“Well, they’ll definitely see you as a human person when I spill how you designed a unicorn DND character for Eri.” You pulled the fabric taut but kept it from lying closely to his neck (a boy didn’t like feeling constrained). “You know what? This tie is as good as it’s gonna get.”

He ducked his chin to examine its knot. “It’s shit.”

“It adds to your devil-may-care, reformed-bad-boy sort of charm,” you said, giving the tie a final smooth-down and poorly suppressing your smile when you felt his muscles through his shirt. “Mathematically, there are only 85 ways to tie a standard tie knot. I don’t believe we’ve reached any of them.”

“How do you know these things? You’re unbeliev—” Tenko jerked his face out of view of the window as Aoyama and Kouda, gesturing wildly, strode past the car and into the venue. “Listen,” he said, clearing his throat, “I know I don’t care and that you don’t care, but other people will. Your reputation is gonna plummet right into its grave if we’re out in the open together.”

You shook your head, letting your smile show. “So, I fucked part of a rescue job almost a year ago. So what. So I’m dating my soulmate. Am I supposed to do otherwise? Honestly, Tenko,” you said, curling loose strands of hair behind his ear, letting your fingers linger around his cheek and neck (he leant into the touch), “I don’t care. I would’ve chosen you even without the soulmate bond. You’re too endearing to pass by. You’re too…babygirl.”

Tenko had been guiding your hand to his mouth, and he snorted before it got there, warm air scattering in a short burst. “Don’t call me that,” he said, pressing his lips to the centre of your palm and waiting until you met his gaze to retract them.

A different warmth shot to your lower stomach, but you had to keep pressing, for the sake of the bit. “Oh, then what should I—darling? Honey? Pookie bear?”

He scoffed and nipped at your pinkie. “None of those are good.”

“Tenko.”

He breathed in, shoulders rising, eyes fluttering shut. Taking a moment to kiss the tiny bite mark on your finger. “Yeah,” he said, opening his eyes in a slow blink, catlike, “Feels good. Feels—like coming home.”

Beaming, you reached down to lace his fingers through yours. All five of them squeezed back. “Then let’s go.”

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair, @tiredkittykat, @cheshireshiya, @90s-belladonna, @infjsnightmare

[cutecatlov3r]

my character ai bots:

bnha-

dabi: toxic bf , mafia au

denki kaminari: your a milf

eijiro kirishima: dying his hair

hanta sero: shotgunning w him

katsuki bakugou: he smells good , mean ass soulmate , ghostface katsuki , rivals to lovers , he’s bad w feelings , your pro hero fiancé , if you die so do i , girl dad

izuku midoriya: corrupting the religious boy

jjk-

gojo satoru: can’t get enough of him , vampire au , wardrobe malfunction , your affair , he’s annoying , his eyes r funny looking

geto suguru: dad’s best friend

nanami kento: healing your daddy issues

yu haibara: he’s gone , he’s sick , he admires his upperclassmen

yuji itadori: your parents hate him , best boyfriend , dorky best friend , he’s delulu , captain of the football team , gossiping w him , older brother’s best friend , you have a bf already but he loves you , your his mentor , shibuya arc

megumi fushiguro: step brother

yuta okkotsu: your a fan , welcoming the new boy , he likes when you pull his hair , he chose geto’s side that day , your best friend

haikyuu-

atsumu miya: your annoying neighbor , he’s drunk

iwaizumi hajime: scolding you after your ex did you dirty

kei tsukishima: he hates you(?)

kotaro bokuto: he’s spiderman , your his fan , emo mode

kenma kozume: streaming wars , cat hybrid , he hates you , he hates brats

hinata shoyo: healing your issues , he got sick , u get ur head hit w a ball

tetsuro kuroo: studying w him

koshi sugawara: he’s your son’s teacher , your coworker , he’s jealous

keiji akaashi: he loves feeding you , the pretty setter

yuu nishinoya: he’s drunk

demon slayer-

sanemi shinazugawa: training w him , your roommate

aot-

eren jeager: smoking weed w him

blue lock-

nagi seishiro: coke head

bachira meguru: you’re his therapist , pervert bachira

death note-

touta matsuda: he has a little crush , admiring his boss

csm-

denji: blood lust , walking home w him , mommy issues

sk8-

reki kyan: he’s a zombie

fairytail:

natsu dragneel: mating season

nanatsu no taizai [seven deadly sins]:

arthur pendragon: your his servant , you saved him , he saved you , your his holy knight

hxh:

kurapika kurta: your loyal to him , it’s only you and him

killua zoldyck: he’s your little brother

the disastrous life of saiki k:

kusuo saiki: he’s self aware , your ordinary

if you have any recommendations on more bots I can do lmk ! i’ll be adding a bunch more :x

[mtchee]

Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold - [Tenya Iida] SOULMATE SERIES | GN

blurb:

Your spitfire attitude is a stark contrast to your sister Ochaco, but that doesn't stop you two from having each other's backs. Through your gruff exterior, Ochaco knows you're well meaning and understanding--even when you tend to snap back. That's why it baffles her when you become dead silent after you're scolded by class 1A's class president, Iida, for an outburst in class. When usually you'd scoff at him, you'd reeled back and sat in your seat. But now... you won't talk at all.

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, Ochaco is your twin, fighter not a lover to lover AND a fighter, i love writing character/reader siblings its so fun, [name] is actually rather anxious, tsundere but not the annoying kind, Iida is an understanding sweetheart, protective Ochaco!, onesided (but not really) admiration

| masterlist | boku no hero academia collection |

[2.8k]

Ochaco was worried about you.

Between the two of you, you've always been more of the fighter. Her sweet nature contrasts starkly to your own spitfire attitude. Although you were rough, you always took care of her, and in turn, she's always had your back.

Through thick and thin since your very birth, you stuck to each other like glue. Eventually, her more outgoing nature prompted you to give her a nudge, to let her bloom on her own.

While she nervously went out of her way to chat with a few others on your first day at U.A, you stuck to the back and kept quiet.

You made quick friends with Kirishima and Jirou, sometimes rough housing with the former and taking the time to chill with the latter. You never went out of your way to really talk to anyone else, though you had decent enough manners to reply if someone did want to talk.

You weren't a jerk without reason.

You didn't really talk to Ochaco's friend group, but you would nod a curt greeting to them in passing.

The class learnt you were a bit snappy, though not quite to Bakugo's extent. Ochaco sweatdropped when you first got into a verbal battle with him, and it just went on and on and on...

Aizawa had to separate you in the end.

Lately though, you've been more quiet.

Scarily so.

Sure, she knew you weren't the talkative type, but you were never one to hold your tongue either. So when Bakugo barked at you one day during training and you shrugged him off, she panicked.

Then you guys moved into the dorms, and the only time she seemed to hear you speak was when you two were alone.

The last time she witnessed your fire was three weeks ago, when Bakugo had provoked in the middle of Japanese Literature, where you'd unintentionally interrupted the class to bite back at him before Iida scolded you in front of everyone.

Ochaco doesn't really remember what he said, but Iida had never been the harsh type. Stern, yes, but never mean. And you weren't someone who would take it to heart anyway, usually dismissing anyone who'd tell you off.

But, maybe he did strike a nerve...?

"Move it, hardass," Bakugo shoulders past you purposefully, throwing you a challenging sneer meant to rile you up. He narrows his eyes and huffs boredly when you only scoff and glare at him in return.

Ochaco shares a worried look with Kirishima at your lack of reaction and, unbeknownst to you, even the agressor himself glances back wearily at your odd demeanour.

While you take your usual lunch seat next to Jirou, your sister also decides to sit with you this time. While Bakugo and Sero where still filling out their trays, Kirishima and Denki sat across from you.

They seemed nervous while you poked at your food.

You deadpan at them, "What?"

"N-Nothing!" Denki gives you a not at all convincing smile, immediately stuffing his face with his pork tonkatsu.

"Mm, well... It's just," Jirou sweatdrops, "you've been kinda quiet lately."

"Yeah," Kiri gives you a reassuring smile, "we were just wondering if everything's okay!"

You look at your sister who shrugs sheepishly, and you roll your eyes.

"Yeah, 'm fine."

"I mean, you say that but..." You spy Bakugo growling at a panicked Sero for his meal choice while Ochaco thinks about how to continue, "how do I say this... you're not, uh, you're not as fiery anymore."

Jirou nods along.

"Yeah, I never hear you talk in class anymore."

"And you've like, stopped fighting with Bakugo," Denki looks at you worriedly, "and you always fight with Bakugo!"

"Oh."

Ochaco furrows her brows at that, you seem oddly taken aback.

"You noticed?" You don't give them a chance to respond, continuing while scratching the back of your neck laxly, "'m kinda stressed, I guess."

"Why? Exams aren't for ages." Denki shoves a bunch of noodles in his mouth.

Jirou squints at him, "Exams are in two weeks."

"See? Aaaages!"

"Stressed?" Kirishima tilts his head, and you glance off at another table to the side.

"I met my soulmate."

"YOU WHAT!?"

You scowl and slam your fist down on your tray to at their obnoxious chorus.

"KEEP IT DOWN," You close your eyes with a sharp intake of air, counting slowly before releasing your breath, "... you're too noisy."

"Are you kidding!?" Denki ignores you completely, leering over the table at you excitedly, "Mx. Stronghold over here found their soulmate! That's amazing!"

He laughs giddily.

"Dude, for real?" Kirishima beams, "that's totally awesome! Where'd you meet?"

"Yeah, and you're only telling us this now?" Jirou nudges you good naturedly.

"S..Soulmate?" Ochaco echoes, eyes wide, "So, you're soul words--"

"He doesn't know it's me."

A cold silence instantly sets them all on edge, you're admittance piercing them in their chests.

Denki blinks, "W-What?"

A silver lunch tray slams onto the table between you and your sister, and she shrieks, flinching away from the harsh impact as Bakugo scowls at her.

"Beat it, floaty. Go back to your own table."

"Oi," Your warning tone makes him huff, and he taps his foot impatiently, waiting for her to move.

"A-Ah.. it's okay, [name]," Ochaco smiles nervously, quickly picking back up her own tray and waving to the others, "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"'Kay." You wave her bye, and Sero takes a seat beside Kiri.

Elbow boy quirks up a brow at the stiffness of the others.

"So... what was that about?"

"Nothin'," You shrug, getting back to your meal.

"Like hell it was." Bakugo narrows his eyes, but ultimately decides he doesn't care enough to push for more and starts shoveling in his rice and curry.

You glare at the others threateningly, and the dutifully keep their mouths shut and eat, though the tension from your prior topic lingers.

As Ochaco makes her way back to her normal table, she can't help but dwell on your words.

She thinks back on your unusual change in behaviour, where now you sit still in class as though trying to slink by unnoticed, when before your presence was proud and fiery.

Very rarely are you two apart for long, so everyone you've met, she's met. She ponders on all your interactions in the last three weeks. She doesn't remember you outwardly reacting to anyone strangely.

You'd gossiped about soulmates before, and how you'd probably feel once you meet them. She's known how nervous yet excited you've been--to meet someone that the universe deems to be your other half. To have someone meant for you.

But, you didn't seem all that happy.

Actually, now that she thinks about it, you looked rather... sad. Not disappointed, but more so disheartened.

And you haven't really had any outbursts since--

As she sets her tray down beside Tsu, she gasps when looking at Iida, a lightbulb going off in her head.

"It's you!"

Iida responds with a polite hum, and Shouto blinks with Midoriya and Tsu looking back at her in confusion.

"So, you know how you and Bakugo got into a bit of a spit a couple weeks ago?"

You growl irratedly, failing to throw your nosy sister off your trail on the way back to the dormitory.

"And how Iida kinda stood in to settle you down?" She keeps going, ignorant of your flaring temper, "well, I know you've been kinda quiet since then which I thought was really odd. To be honest, I started to miss how snippy you get--"

"Ochaco, drop it." You huff.

"--but I thought, 'there's no way that actually upset you,' so I started thinking some more; and then you told us about your soulmate! Well, not really, but you said that you met your soulmate, and you know, you've never really talked to Iida before without me or Deku or someone there, so you never needed to anyway--"

"Ochaco."

"--and I remember! You didn't snap back at him!"

Your shoulders tense and your stomach churns uncomfortably.

She's getting way too close.

"And ever since then you've been so silent! We never hear you talk in class anymore, and you haven't been bothered to sit with us for lunch. So that's when it all clicked!"

She turns to you with a beaming smile, bouncing in front of you with her arms held out wide.

"Iida is your soulmate!"

"I said drop it." Your gaze is sharp and defensive, tone gruff and dripping with danger.

Ochaco falters, "But... [name], isn't that great?"

You scoff, "Yeah, whatever."

"Hey..." She frowns when you shove past her, "why're you... [name], you've been so excited to find your soulmate. And you're not too shy to talk to him. What's the problem?"

She has to double her steps to keep up with your hurried pace.

She winces, "Do... you not like Iida?"

"Ochaco.."

Her heart tugs at the exhaustion in your voice. You stop in your wake, features carefully slated except for the singular shine of hurt in your eyes. You don't look her way.

"Just drop it."

"[name]," Ochaco plants herself in front of you sternly, "you can't be like this. It's hurting you, and it's not fair on your soulmate. Iida is my friend! He's a great guy, and our class president! Trust me, you've got nothing to worry--"

"Damnit, I know!" You hiss as her probing reignites the spark of your temper.

"I know, Ochaco! It's why I can't let him know I'm his soulmate!"

Your words stunt her, and she reels back.

Her frustrated frown creases into one of worry, puppy eyes glistening as she stares at you in disbelief.

"...What..?"

"I-I can't--" You scunch your nose, closing your eyes and breathing in sharply, "--Ochaco, you know why. It's obvious."

Your shoulders sag from their defensive position and you roll you head to ease the stress caused crook in your neck.

Of course it's obvious. He's nice Iida. Handsome Iida. Intelligent Iida. Way out of your league Iida, who wouldn't spare a rascal like you a single look because all you do is spit fire and scowl.

"We're not a good match, sis. He... He wouldn't want me. It's obvious from my soul words."

You tentively inch up the blazer sleeve on your right arm, small golden words inked neatly onto the skin of your outer forearm: 'Cease this behaviour! You are much too astute to be acting in such an irresponsible and disruptive manner!'

"Oh, [name]..." Ochaco's eyes flutter, and when she looks back up at you, her heart breaks at the sight of your ever so subtly trembling lips and glossy eyes.

You crunch your nose at her distastefully when she coos at your reluctant sniffle.

"Hmph," You glare at the ground to keep your fruitless tears at bay, "we're just too different. S-So he won't know that it's me, and he'll find someone better."

She frowns at that, "You can't decide that."

"Well, I did."

You frown daringly right back at her.

But your sister's always had your back, for better and for worse. Even when you don't want her to.

Especially when you don't want her to.

You growl angrily at the incessant knocking on your door.

For the past two weeks since you stupidly confided in your sister she's been hounding you about your soulmate business. Your soulmate business.

Meaning, not her business.

So each morning you'd avoid her and every afternoon, if you didn't plan on training, you'd lock yourself in your dorm where she's been following to bug you.

Sometimes you'd throw yourself into your homework and studies and blast music obnoxiously to drown her out, but the sound of her knocking is just so annoying.

"Goddamnit," You've just about had enough of her, eyes ablaze, you almost snap your pen and ruin your paper.

"For the last damn time, Ochac-- oh, shit." After violently flinging your door open, you pale at the sight of not your sister.

Iida, from where he stands in your doorway, looks about just as shocked as you--though not with the same horrored expression that you harbour.

With a quiet gasp, the spectacle eyed male feels the skin on his chest tingle pleasantly, and you spy a subtle golden glow through the material of his blue collared cotton shirt.

Oh, shit.

Although your features are hardened, you swallow anxiously as you await his further reaction.

Iida's eyes daren't stray from your form, lips parted ever so slightly in shock from the truth of Ochaco's earlier information. He lets out a controlled, gentle breath.

"It is you."

You step back abrasively when his face brightens with an awed smile and a light pink blush across his cheeks.

All in a sudden moment you feel giddy and flushed and nervous before you quickly crush that hope with skeptical eyes and a defensive stance. Your heart thrums in your chest, and you can't help but berate yourself for the mere notion of him getting you afluster.

"Oh my," Iida sounds breathless and dazed, and his glimmering eyes have you frozen in place as he steps toward you, "you are my soulmate, indeed."

"Ochaco told you," You're quick to deduce, and you notice him swallow thickly at your evident displeasure.

His focus narrows in on your body language: how you shuffle back ever so slightly, chest stuttering with each deep breath, your thumb pressing into your closed knuckles by your side--you're on the defense.

"...You're not happy?"

"I'm not hopeful."

Your dismissing muttering peaks his interest, and he raises a pointy brow.

"Pardon?" He decides to keep pushing when you avert your gaze to the side, "what do you mean by that, exactly?"

"I'm-- we're not.." A flash of insecurity passes your features, but he's quick to catch it, "--this just isn't a good... match."

Something in his gaze hardens, and his chest expands with a sharp intake of air before he speaks, "I beg to differ."

When you glance up, you see a red blush tinting his ears and underlining where his glasses sit.

"I'd be quite dismayed if my soulmate were someone other than you."

"Eh?" Comes your eloquent response. You deadpan with disbelief.

"Ochaco put you up to this," You growl at him threateningly, "I don't need your pity!"

"I bare no form of pity," He frowns, "I'm telling the truth."

At his insistence you huff, crossing your arms over your chest with a 'whatever'.

"Shove off, I'm too irresponsible and brash for you."

He looks taken aback (and almost hurt) before his frustration becomes palpable, and he steps past the threshold of your doorway after a moment of hesitance.

"Pardon the intrusion; but that is utter nonsense and what I'm saying is true," He speaks with a firmness that demands your attention, and you send him a disgruntled look which he ignores, "from what I recall, while my words may have first been, unpleasant, by no means does that dictate how I perceive you."

"Oh yeah?"

He feels the urge to reprimand you at your challenging sneer. You grin victoriously when you pick up on his irritance with your behaviour, as though proving your point.

Instead though, he rolls back his broad shoulders with a quiet sigh.

"While occasionally explosive, and impossibly headstrong--you have a good heart."

"Hell are you on about?" He hushes you quickly, as one would a noisy child, and you frown.

"Let me finish. I mean it, [name]. I know how you are, we've consistently been around each other. I've seen how you treat Uraraka, how you look out for her while letting her pull her own weight. I've watched you converse with Kirishima and Jirou, and pull Bakugo down a few pegs."

You bite back a smug smile when he puffs out a bemused chuckle at that.

"We may not have spoken directly until as of recent, but even though, we already know one another very well," He clears his throat gently and holds out a hand, "now, it's just a matter of knowing each other on a deeper level. I-If you accept, that is.."

You scoff at his stumble, after having the gall to shush you and barge in like that. Still, you eye his hand--his implicit invitation--temptingly. You've always adored the prospect of soulmates, and it seems that despite your aggresive reservations, yours is more than accepting of you as you are.

Looking him up and down, you snort quietly at his obvious nerves. Iida's posture is staight, wide shoulders held high and stiff with one hand outstretched robotically while the other sweats, tucked behind his back.

Your eyes soften, and you plaster on a downturned smile.

You clap his tense hand with your own, only able to look at him briefly before sickeningly sweet fluttering in your chest becomes way too apparent.

"Sure. Yeah, soulmates or whatever," You bite the inside of your cheek as you turn your back to him, feeling a humiliating heat crawl up your cheeks, "just so you know, you're stuck with me now. No take backs--and you can't regret it!"

Unbeknownst to you, a wide smile crosses Iida's squared features, and he heaves out a massive sigh of relief. He positively beams while gazing at your turned back, chuckling softly with a sheepish blush as he observes your stewing bashfulness.

"Believe me, I would never."