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[allmightyneed]

Villain! All Might (Smite)x reader. part 5/20

Link to part 1. Link to part 2. Link to part 3. Link to part 4.

I’m honestly curious if anyone is still reading this or enjoying it at all?? is this not a very interactive fandom?

A few weeks pass in a blur of work, meetings, dinners and drinks with Kiko and whoever else she ropes into the after work functions. As a foreigner, you simply try to keep up socially. Despite buying yourself a cute planner emblazoned with the optimistic slogan ‘Let’s Hopefully future!’ you fail to keep track of things on your own. Without Kiko organizing everything, you doubt you could have maintained such a schedule yourself, but she seems to thrive on it, which makes you appreciate her friendship all the more. Some nights you just wanted to go back to your apartment, shut yourself in, and watch a movie quietly in the dark. (You had painstakingly repaired the hinges of the door All Might had kicked in by yourself, thanks to YouTube tutorials and a nearby mom-and-pop hardware store. You had also considered texting All Might an invoice for the costs but had chickened out. His sense of humor is hard to gauge.)

The Licensing Bureau has not yet returned judgment on Kiko’s application. This is a major point of contention, and the two of you visit each other’s desks multiple times a day to speculate as to why, though this time usually turns to chat about other things. 

Spilling the secret about All Might hardly crosses your mind. It’s still hard hiding it from Kiko, but in your opinion the bigger deal is that All Might is a secret perv. He spanked you and you liked it. Recollection of that morning invariably brings a blush to your cheeks and makes you squirm and press your thighs together. That’s what you really want to tell her about. The fact that his quirk doesn’t make him invincible is secondary to the fact that you hooked up with him and plan to continue to do so. You even pencil that in to your new planner, amusing yourself by drawing a cartoon butt next to All Might in cursive English. 

Ever-perceptive, Kiko has taken notice that something has changed in your mood, cannily pinpointing the time of that change to the morning you had ducked out and missed chorei. 

“I covered for you,” she reassures you when you realize belatedly that Mr. Shimada hadn’t said anything about your absence. “Are you sure everything is okay? Did you run into that creep at the supermarket again?”

“No,” you say. “I’m fine, really. And I think he got arrested. I haven’t seen him for like three months.”

She shrugs. “Okay… by the way, Mr. Kawada told Mr. Shimada about that spreadsheet you were putting together on All Might and now he wants you to turn it into a full product.”

“What? How does everyone know about it? It’s just something I was working on on the side.”

“Well your initiative really impressed them. Some of the analysts up on 18 working Major Villains hadn’t made the connections that you had. They said that everything you’ve done so far will be a great resource.”

Ugh… You restrain yourself from groaning aloud. Silly you, creating more work for yourself when already you regularly couldn’t get out of the office before 1900. “It’s, uh, nice to be recognized. Wanna get lunch? My treat.” You stand, locking your computer and grabbing your purse before she accepts. You already know she will.

“You do owe me.”

“Of course. Anywhere you want. Thank you, by the way—“ you lower your voice as a coworker walks by “— it hadn’t even crossed my mind that anyone would notice.”

Kiko gives you a weird look, as if she wants to ask you again where exactly you had gone, then shakes her head.

“I have to be back by one,” you say. “Got that meeting for the new account.”

“Oooh!” Her mood changes quickly. Solid information about the new clients and the nature of the work has been sparse; every little detail gets chewed up and spit out in the office rumor mill, only for something new to contradict it the next day. “Have they told you anything about who the client is?” 

“Nope. I tried asking, so I could be better prepared and Mr. Kawada said I should just be thankful I’m being given this opportunity.”

“Ugh, of course he did! He’s such a jerk!”

“I caught him staring at the new girl’s ass yesterday.”

Kiko sighs. “I’m not surprised— oooh, hot pot! Do you want hot pot?”

“Up to you. I just can’t take too long because of the meeting.”

“I know, I know.” 

Hot pot it is. 

“I bet that new client is some ultra rich guy,” she says as the two of you walk back after the meal. “Oh, promise you’ll tell me. I mean, I know you can’t tell me, but, you know. Paint a picture.”

People seem to be demanding promises from you left and right these days. “Of course. It’ll probably be boring anyway.” 

When you get back to the office, you retrieve a notebook and a pen from your desk, then go to the conference room early. As the youngest member of this smaller account-specific team, you feel it’s your duty to arrive a little earlier than everyone else, in order to tidy the space, brew fresh coffee, and generally make sure everything is in order. It’s not very engaging, and naturally your thoughts turn once more to All Might. Is it too soon to text him? Or have you already waited too long? What do you even say? Hi, remember me? That girl you spanked and fingered? Sorry for getting pussy juice on your ugly pants. Let’s hang out! :)

Maybe you will send something like that, one day, if you know him for long enough. For now, you type out ‘I want it again’, then backspace all of it because that sounds so desperate, and settle on ‘are you free tonight?’ And send it before you get cold feet. You look down at your outfit. You’d dressed nicer than normal, in a black sheath dress, red-soled black pumps, and black backseam pantyhose. You can take those off in the bathroom if he replies—

Your phone tings. It’s him. Kanazawa Tower, 4:30pm. Frontdoorcode 4321, code elevator 1006 forp entHouse.

All those typos again. Definitely him. His fingers must be too big for the screen. Four thirty is so early, though. Only a few hours from now. If you want to get there on time you’ll have to take two trains and skip out of work. The decision isn’t that hard.

Okay, see you then. 

You stuff your phone back in your purse just in time for the other members of the team to start arriving for the meeting. Four people, none of whom you recognize, except for Ms. Uemura, the Group Director— your boss’s boss’s boss. You stand up when you see her come in, and hurry over to offer her coffee. She waves you off, “that’s alright, thank you— good work on the All Might product, by the way. It’s been an asset to the company.”

You force a smile. “Thank you, ma’am.” Fuck, has everyone in the building heard about it? 

At that moment, the conference room door is thrown open, and a secretary announces, “Mr. Aizawa Shouta and his associate Mr. Yagi Toshinori.” 

Along with the team, you stand and bow for the two men who enter the room, peeking up under your eyelashes.

A glimpse of blond, the angular face.

Your pulse thuds in your ears. 

It’s him. 

You straighten up from the bow a second later than your colleagues. All Might is standing there at the front of the room, not ten feet from you, in a black suit, scowling and hunched over like he’d rather be anywhere else. The suit doesn’t fit much better than the ugly yellow one, but the yellow one had been bursting at the seams stretched over his muscles, and this one drapes over his bony frame like a toga. If you didn’t know better you’d think he’s making a fashion statement. 

His glaring eyes find yours in an instant, you didn’t think you could stay any stiller than you already were, but you freeze in place, mouth dry. He grimaces, thin lips baring his teeth, until he starts coughing up blood. His dark-haired colleague Aizawa hands him a handkerchief. You should leave. You should excuse yourself from the meeting, and then the building, and never come back here again. Oh, god, what the hell were you thinking? Consorting with All Might and keeping his confidence when your loyalty should be to the company and the good of society in general. 

“I’m Aizawa,” the dark haired one drawls. He formally exchanges business cards with Ms. Uemura, and All Might— no, Yagi Toshinori— follow suit. 

Aizawa has a pleasant voice but a dry manner of speaking; you zone out and it’s impossible to concentrate anyway, with Yagi sitting at the table two seats away from you. 

Thank god you aren’t presenting anything. After the introductions of the important people, the rest of the team goes around the table and stands up to present themselves. When it’s your turn, Yagi leans over to whisper something to Aizawa, and your voice cracks saying your own name. Whatever Yagi said to him, it makes Aizawa narrow his eyes and smirk at you. You feel a blush rise in your cheeks, and you lower your eyes to stare at a spot on the polished wooden conference table while answering his questions about your background and work history. Most of the information you share is stuff you hadn’t told All Might, not that he’d asked. 

“Impressive,” Aizawa says at last, giving you leave to sit down. “We look forward to working with you.” 

The introductions continue, into the explanation of the work they’re contracting from the company, and you don’t listen to any of it. Instead, you studiously avoid catching All Might’s eye. This Aizawa fellow is an interesting one. Does he know Yagi Toshinori’s alternate identity? If Yagi Toshinori is even a real name. You’re being a bit paranoid, but hey— your job is to evaluate information with a critical eye. You’ve already been sitting on the biggest quirk intelligence breakthrough of the past two decades, and now you have even more to add. An alias and an associate. All Might is supposed to work alone, and here he shows up incognito with some guy… some guy no one in the room recognizes. Not quite as solitary as you thought. 

You watch Aizawa closely. Neither the face or the name are familiar, nor are any details from his brief introduction. If he’s a villain, he’s way underground, or just too good to have been flagged. Compared to him, Yagi seems easygoing and relaxed. Aizawa is wan and monochromatic, everything in his appearance being a bit unkempt, from his five o’clock stubble to his rumpled suit. His black hair is long, lank and disheveled, falling in his eyes— eyes which are hooded and tired-looking, but dangerously perceptive. At one point, as you scrawl a note on your pad, something unrelated to the current conversation, you glance up to see him watching you as you write.

“What about strategic-class heroes?” He asks you pointedly.

You give a start. Strategic-class heroes, That’s what you had just written, he couldn’t possibly… “uh…”

“You’re the youngest person here,” he says flatly. “They must have chosen you for a reason. Tell us your thoughts.”

You blink, sit up a bit straighter and square your shoulders. All Might is watching. You have his attention, and Mr. Aizawa’s. 

Someone coughs. You stare at the one phrase you had scrawled down, which had made sense a second ago. Your mind races, and you feel your face heating up, and of course the awareness of how red you must be doesn’t help. Say something, damnit. Anything. “Well, strategic-class heroes are rare. Or rather, strategic-class quirks. Quirks are independent of heroes and villains, of course— they’re inherent abilities, not good or evil. But the standard is to define quirks with a range of 50 kilometers or more as strategic, whether offensive, defensive, support, or some combination of any of those capabilities.”

All Might snorts. “Young lady, you sound like a textbook.” 

“Not everyone completes the assigned reading,” you say. Shit. Too familiar by far. Both him and Aizawa look at you with ‘did you really just speak to us that way’ expressions, so you continue quickly, “the reason I bring up strategic-class is because your original request doesn’t call for any analysis on that account, but you’d be remiss not to.”

“Really?” Aizawa asks. 

“Y-yes, sir. You’ve specified that you want broad, comprehensive analysis of Endeavor and those in his employ, so you need to consider everyone. I’m sure you know that an agency like his acquires new talent almost daily, and they’re smart enough to diversify. Strategic-class is the next benchmark, the next standard by which developed countries will measure their quirk power. It should be a focus of our research efforts here.”

Aizawa gives you another piercing look, strongly reminding you of your previous encounters with All Might. Not that they’re much the same, in fact, they seem like opposites, except in one bizarre way, and that is the perfected expression of one in charge, one who knows he is dominant in your mind because he is already a constant presence there.

Not that Aizawa is… you’ve just met him… but he could be. He and All Might both. “Very good,” he commends you, his voice low. You cross and re-cross your legs, seeking friction. No action goes unseen. For a moment suspended in time, they watch you squirm, you imagine, them and no one else in the room. Fuck, what is wrong with you? Submitting to a tawdry encounter with All Might is one thing, but fantasizing about him and some stranger, in a business meeting, no less… you need to get a grip. 

That acknowledgment is the last either of them grant you for the rest of the meeting, though you sit forward attentively anytime either of them speak, especially Mr. Yagi. Maybe he’s mad. Maybe he feels betrayed to find out you’re working here, but how could you have known that he would be a client of Masuda & Matsuo? Or that by chance you’d be placed on the team supporting his account? It’s no one’s fault, and you’re anxious to explain it to him one-on-one. In a way, it’s a good thing you happened to text him when you did. Otherwise it would have looked so much worse. It hurts, though, that he ignores you so easily and so completely for the rest of the meeting. This dress looks amazing on you, and the shoes really class it up even more. Hell, you’d worn it in anticipation of the meeting— for him, technically, even if you hadn’t known that until he walked in. 

At the end, when they stand up to leave, you look to All Might hopefully. He doesn’t acknowledge you. The way his gaze slips over you, as if you’re part of the background, is crushing. 

 The remainder of the day goes agonizingly slowly, almost as torturous as the second half of the meeting while he ignored you. Some of the time, at least, you fill talking to Kiko, telling her as much as you can about the meeting, the account, and the new clients. 

She had been lurking outside the conference room, and had ambushed you after watching Aizawa and Yagi leave. “Two of them?” She swoops in to perch on the edge of your desk. “Are they rich? They both look weird.”

“Yeah, they came in by private helicopter, landed on the roof.”

Kiko does not tolerate bs. “So they flew in and they’re walking out? Come on.”

“Okay, fine! You know there wasn’t a helicopter. I really don’t know if they’re rich. I mean, they smell nice…” All Might does, at least. His scent had lingered on your clothes, a crisp fragrance of cloves, pine, wool sweaters, and a bit of that sterile soap they use in hospitals. You’ve been trying to place it for a week, but still can’t say quite what it reminds you of. Someplace faraway and yet familiar to you. 

“Anyone can smell nice.” She narrows her eyes. “How did you get close enough to smell them?”

“I was just in the same room! It’s not like I was getting up close and sniffing them... what time is it?”

“Almost four fifteen. Why?”

“Shit. I gotta go.”

“What, really?” Kiko sounds a little exasperated. 

You rush out, apologizing, but without much of an explanation. “It’s for the account. Client meeting.” Technically true. You have a feeling All Might would not approve of such a twist on the truth though. 

Kiko grumbles that you literally just had a meeting, but wishes you well anyway. You suppose she’s more disappointed that you’re ditching her because she wants to hang out after work. Concealing the real reason from her gives you pause. It doesn’t feel good, but you don’t see another way. You have no real choice here. You sigh. You’ll buy her lunch more often to make up for it. That’s the best you can do for now. You have a train to catch.

[allmightyneed]

Villain!All Might (Smite)x reader. part 4/20

Link to part 1. Link to part 2. Link to part 3.

The luxury high rise apartment he takes you to is spectacular, but the manner in which he takes you is even more so. 

From the fourth storey landing of your building, he launches into the sky, having slung you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, turning a deaf ear to your protests. How undignified. At least he had propped your broken door back in place. You live in a safe enough area; hopefully nothing gets stolen. 

All of your worries and protests are swept away as you are subjected, in that awkward position, to an inhuman burst of speed. The G-force of it is completely unexpected. You’ve watched news reel of him leaping around like this and he never betrays if it affects him. 

You squeeze your eyes shut against the wind and the stomach-turning height. Just as vertigo threatens to overwhelm you, you feel a gentle yet solid thump. He’s landed and lets you down, setting you on your feet. He holds you by your shoulders a moment, making sure you won’t stumble. When he lets go of you, you pull your cardigan tighter and cross your arms. This balcony is very nicely furnished, and large— there’s a pool up here, and a fire pit— but it’s also cold being so high up. 

It’s slightly off putting to find out that he doesn’t reside in a dingy abandoned warehouse full of rats and contraband and fellow criminals. Good looking, powerful, wealthy— what possible reason could a person like that have to be the number one villain? To devote himself and his talents to sowing chaos? You regard him with renewed suspicion, which is at odds with the slow, steady trickle of desire he had tapped when he had coaxed the truth out of you earlier. But, no. The desire had come before that, even. You can pinpoint it to a month and a half ago in that alley, where he had turned into another person before your eyes.  

“Just to be clear, girl— you’ve come here willingly. You can leave now if you want. I won’t stop you or come looking for you again.”

He has become strangely impassive, so that you cannot really guess at what he wants. There is no emotion to read in his face; instead you must do as he tells you. Your imagination goes into overdrive; maybe he’ll bend you over any one of these fine pieces of furniture, kick your legs apart and slowly but forcefully penetrate you. You watch, dry-mouthed, as he shrugs out of his suit jacket and strides past you inside.  

You follow, hovering at the threshold.

“When you enter this apartment, you will not speak unless spoken to.” He tosses the jacket carelessly over the back of a chair and begins unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up. Absurdly, your pulse quickens at bearing witness to this simple action. All Might in a state of undress, and what your prurient mind chooses to notice is that his forearms are so thick. “You will obey every order promptly and without question. That’s all you need to know for now. Do you consent to these terms?”

“Yes,” you say.

“Then come in.” He beckons you, having taken a seat on one of the elegant leather couches. You step through the door and slide it closed behind you. 

The apartment is richly furnished in a modern western style, all black and cream and wood. The floors are polished stone— granite or marble, you’d guess— and the corners of every rug and chair and table come to right angles. This is much too refined and tasteful for All Might, or so one would think. Can this place really be his? 

As you drop your purse, step out of your heels and pad across the floor in your stockings, a photograph on a table catches your eye. Smiling out of the frame are an elderly couple who look like they’re dressed for the opera.

You almost ask All Might if they’re his parents, but stop yourself just in time. It wouldn’t do to break one of the rules so quickly.

You come to stand in front of him, again pulling your cardigan closer and crossing your arms. Your heart beats wildly in your chest; you search his face for some indication of his intentions, or any emotion at all, but he is inscrutable. His control is absolute. 

“Come here.” He pats his thigh. “I’m going to spank you.”

“What?” It’s such a ridiculous notion you almost laugh in his face. 

His eyes flash at your flagrant disobedience. “You’re new to this, I grant you that, so you get one pass. That was it.”

You drop your head. “Sorry.” But he’s All Might— the symbol of discord. Why is he concerned with discipline?

“Empty apologies will not lessen the severity of the punishment. Place yourself across my knee, facedown. Do it quickly, girl.”

You hesitate a moment too long, so he does it for you, scooping you with one arm into his lap and pinning you there. You yelp in surprise. That arm is like a steel beam at the small of your back. With dispassionate efficiency, he hikes your wool skirt up over your hips, the material bunching at your waist. Your pantyhose underneath do little to alleviate the indignity of the situation, but it’s something. His hand caresses your bottom, large enough to hold you almost entirely; he chuckles and remarks that he likes that even his hand can’t manage that. [All Might likes a fat ass ok?] You squirm at the touch, uncertain as to whether you like this or not— or rather, whether you should like it. There is no ignoring the arousal pooling in your core, a direct result of his touches.

“This is in the way,” he says. Your pantyhose. He grips the thin material, getting purchase on it at your cleft-- “no, please--!” you cry-- and rends it.

You struggle against him to no avail so he brings one hand down upon your now-bare flesh, making you cry out. Unmoved by your pleas, he widens the tear. “Your constant arguing is becoming tedious.” He smacks your ass again, harder, right at the widest part. It hurts this time, really hurts. The stinging pain shoots straight to your aching core, and you gasp, squeezing your thighs together. 

“Th-that was too hard!”

He responds with another open-handed hit on the other cheek. “Slow to learn. I can work with that.”

“I… I thought…” 

He laughs darkly. “You thought I was going to fuck you, huh?” Yes. Please, yes. “No… I don't think you could handle it. I’m too big for you, little one.” If you didn’t know better by now, you’d mistake his jovial nature for leniency. He’s anything but. He is sharp and commanding and uncompromising.

He rains blows down upon your exposed bottom, alternating sides. He takes care not to hit the same spot twice in a row, and soon your backside burns, the nerves too sensitive but All Might does not relent, even though you are sobbing. Exactly why, you couldn’t say. From the pain, or the humiliation… or the shameful feelings he’s aroused in you. Your fear does not disarm him; from his lack of reaction, it seems your fragility does not particularly endear you to him. He merely expects submission as a matter of course. 

Except… you hear his slightly labored breathing and, when he shifts, you feel the unmistakable jut of his erection against your hip. He desires you. Still, in your desperate, selfish state, you barely register any need besides your own. You clutch your hands in fists, tears falling freely. The sense of time slips away, and you can only await the blows, and then you lose track of even that, existing only as a duality, between sensation and anticipation, and pain and pleasure. 

At last, the punishment ends. His hand comes to rest on your ass, stroking the inflamed skin as gently as a lover would. He nudges your thighs apart, deliberately avoiding the center you want so desperately for him to touch. 

“You’re wet, girl,” he remarks in that deep voice you know from TV. Such a familiar, menacing voice, though you had never imagined it saying the things he’s saying to you now. “I can smell you.”

You bury your face in your arms, suppressing the embarrassing sound that escapes your mouth. His fingers dance between your thighs, surprisingly nimble for being so large. Without thinking, you raise your hips to his touch. Fuck, why not? He can see you and smell you, he has access to every part of you, what could you possibly hold back? You’re splayed across All Might’s lap, raw and wet and needy from him spanking you and you want more. 

He dips down in between your legs, teasing the slickness between your labia. You whimper, only for him to withdraw, and trace the curve from your lower thigh, up your ass, down your back. The abused skin is overly sensitive; you can only imagine how red it must be. 

“Maybe I won’t let you come,” he says, his thick fingers finding and plucking at the nub of your clitoris and then deserting you. “I can smell your arousal. I can see it. Your cunt is soaked. It’s all over your thighs. Maybe I’ll send you home like this. Or— it’s the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

You barely manage a moan— please, please. He slaps your inner thigh. “I asked you a question.”

“Y-yes! I left early when I found your phone number. I missed chorei.”

“How unprofessional.” He makes a tsk. “What would your coworkers think if they saw you right now? What would they think if they saw you getting spanked? They’d see that you liked it, hmm?”

You choke out a defeated sound. 

“Tell me,” he says. “What would they say if they saw you, what would they call a girl who’s begging All Might to finger fuck her?”

The thought is mortifying. Your life would be over. You’d probably have to leave the country.

“I know what I’d call you.” His tone turns rather playful. “I’d call you a slut.” 

You want to deny it, but your body betrays you.

“Say it.” he presses, his fingers skillfully coaxing you to relinquish any remaining dignity. “You know what you are, girl. Say it.”

“A slut!” You wail, writhing to seek his touch. “I’m a slut!”

He rewards you with his thumb in your cunt and the heel of his palm against your clit; you rock against him wantonly. At last, at last… you hear the rumble of his voice, faintly, outside your cries. He purrs your name as you orgasm on his hand, pleasure and relief flooding you, drowning everything else. 

After a time he rights you, cradling you on his lap. You enjoy leaning against his chest, hardly daring to move for fear that you might end this bliss too soon, even though you still feel the hardness of his arousal against your ass, and it’s as big and intriguing as the rest of him. You find rest in his embrace, in the even rise and fall of his breathing. It puts you at ease a little too much, because the photo of the elderly couple catches your eye again and you ask about it.

“This isn’t really your apartment, is it?”

“...No.” 

“Who are they?”

He huffs angrily, like a bull. “Have you ever heard of the hero Beacon?”

As a matter of fact, you have. You remember most heroes and villains based on their dossier stats, which you repeat aloud. He’s a small-time up and coming hero, with a solid C-rank quirk called Shine, he’s had some success despite not really standing out in any one area—

“I killed him,” All Might interrupts you.

You draw back to look him in the face. He isn’t lying. You just want to see what someone looks like when admitting to murder. 

“They were his parents.”

“Were?”

“They financed every step of his career,” he snorts, twisting the word sarcastically. “Paid his way into U.A., paid for a prestigious internship spot, paid so he passed his licensing exam, paid to get him a work-study, paid for his placement at a top agency. The kid had no business being a hero.”

“The Aoyama attack,” you say quietly, suddenly remembering. “But— there was only one fatality. What about his parents?”

If All Might has a curious reaction to your good memory, he doesn’t show it. “They came after me. They found me.” He doesn’t have to say any more. 

You lay your head against his shoulder, feeling strangely little guilt about enjoying the opulent surroundings, and even less about snuggling All Might. He’s… well… practical. Refreshing. And his hard cock is still trapped against your bottom. You wiggle a little bit, prompting him to grunt. “Enough of that.”

You throw your arms around his neck—“don’t you want...?”— and he pries you off just as quickly, standing and dumping you off his lap.

“No. Don’t mistake this for anything more than the discipline you needed.” 

You give a pointed glance down at his crotch, where his obvious desire bulges in his trousers, and then you notice the wet spot you’d left. 

He notices too, but doesn’t comment on it. “Make yourself decent. I’ll call you a car.”

The dismissal stings. More than that, it’s a feeling you can’t quite describe. That night in the alley when he had accidentally shown you his true form, and then deserted you. It feels the same as that night. Bitter and grasping. It is worse to be sent away than paid the compliment of his attentions. 

You smooth your skirt down over your ruined pantyhose. Those are a lost cause. You’ll have to go back home again, and by the time you get there half the day will have gone by. Might as well not go back to work. Not like you’d be able to concentrate, anyway. Is this going to be the end of it? Will you ever get to see him again? You sneak a glance up at All Might; he catches you looking. 

“What?” He snaps. 

He certainly has a way of reducing you to a blushing, stuttering teenager. “Is this— uh, am I allowed to… can I call you?”

He laughs in your face, with little mirth. “No more lies, girl. If you want this again, send a damn text message and fucking admit it. And don’t wear panties. Next time you enter my presence, raise your skirt and show me your bare cunt so I know why you’ve come. Now go. Old man Arai is downstairs, he’ll drive you wherever you want.”

With great reluctance, you collect your purse and leave, riding the elevator down from the penthouse to the first floor. Mr. Arai is there in a black town car. Both here, and when he drops you off at your apartment building, he gets out and shuffles around to open the door for you and you accept gratefully. It’s only 11:30, you realize.

“Could you wait for five minutes?” You ask him. “Could you drive me back downtown?”

You are loathe to go back to work, especially with your thighs sticky, your backside burning, and your core pulsing, but if you confine yourself to your apartment for the rest of the day you’ll go crazy thinking about All Might. It had been a little less than three hours with him. Three hours and he had reduced you to a quivering mess. You freshen up as best you can, pitching your ruined pantyhose in the trash and wiping the smudged makeup off your face. By the time Mr. Arai delivers you at your office building, you’re already scheming about how soon would be too soon for that text. And you resolve to put Mr. Arai on your Christmas card list, if you ever get to see him again.

***

Link to part 5.

Tags:

@smokindoinksinthejungle @may-machin @brolyfangurl-istandwithvic @world-dominating-kitty

[allmightyneed]

Villain!All Might (Smite)x reader. part 3/20

Link to part 1. Link to part 2.

Either you take too long to answer, or whoever is here to see you is impatient. Probably the second one. You have a pretty good idea who it might be. With a blast of air, the door is kicked in, ripping it off the hinges. You shriek. It narrowly misses hitting you. What the fuck?!

You wind up to yell at him but when you actually see him all the fight goes out of you. All Might fills the empty space in the frame, his brawny chest and shoulders blocking most of the daylight.

Well, this is what you wanted.

He’s wearing a striped two piece mustard-yellow suit which clashes with his hair, and a blue tie. No mask, no harness or pauldrons.

He’s grinning, but he doesn’t seem happy.

“You made a promise.”

You nod, heart in your throat. He’s going to kill you. He’s going to pick you up by the neck and smash you against a wall. Or maybe just punch a hole through your chest. He holds out an enormous hand, making you shrink back, and his smile widens. “Have you broken your promise? Or was that just a threat?”

“N-nothing,” you stammer. “It was nothing, I wasn’t thinking.”

He makes a low ‘hmm’. “You’re not going to tell anyone?”

You shake your head fearfully.

“So you lied.” His prominent blond eyebrows form an even deeper V.

“... yes.” You admit, your voice small.

“That,” he breathes, “was incredibly stupid.”

“I’m not! And that’s not fair. You made me promise, you forced me!”

“Bullshit,” he scowls. “There’s always a choice. Did I make you lie?”

“No,” you pout.

He takes his first step into your apartment, getting into your personal space. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Oh? So who did?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look at me, girl.”

Tears of frustration prick your eyes, you feel your face flaming under his intense scrutiny.

“Look at me,” he commands impatiently, before roughly taking your chin in his hand and lifting your face. You don’t try to wrench away from his touch. “Why did you lie to me?”

“I don’t know!” You insist, frantically searching for some answer that might appease him, but you really don’t know.

“You do,” he presses, his voice pitched even lower. “Tell me the truth now.”

“I… I lied so you would come find me.”

“Why?”

“I wanted you to pay attention to me!” These words burst out, a revelation even to yourself, and you exhale in defeat. It sounds so idiotic and self-centered and childish.

“Well,” he says silkily after a moment. “I’m not usually inclined to give liars the privilege of my time.” He lets go of you, and it’s the third time you’ve seen him turn away to leave. For some reason you can’t bear for him to do it again.

“I lied about not having a quirk!” You blurt out. That gets a reaction, so you go on quickly out of desperation. “It’s called Exponent. When I touch someone, it doubles their power.”

He pauses, looking at you in profile over his shoulder. “And? Booster does that and has rockets in his feet.”

That is an awesome quirk. You should know, you’ve analyzed it. Booster is a major threat villain with essentially the same stats as a mid-range ballistic missile. But you don’t tell All Might that.

“I can touch the same person again and double what’s already doubled.”

The one blue eye that you can see gleams. “How many times?”

You consider lying again— All Might doesn’t need any more of an advantage— but you can’t withhold the truth from him, not with what’s at stake now. “My record is seven.”

“Show me.”

“I—“ bizarrely, the threat of him leaving supersedes what you should really be worried about. “Give me your hand, please. It works best on bare skin.”

He turns back to face you fully, offering you his palm. You place just your fingertips lightly on his, marveling at the difference in size between the two of you. It takes very little to activate your quirk. A minimal amount of concentration on your part, willing your body to do something very simple: give up a little bit of your energy for someone else’s benefit. The way it works has been explained to you before, by researchers, quirk medicine specialists, but you’ve never really understood well enough to be able to remember.

A little tingle passes from you to All Might. When you feel a little more tired than you did a moment ago, you know it worked. The air around him now ripples and shimmers, like it’s coming off of pavement on a scorching hot day. However powerful he was before… you’ve now doubled it. You look up at his face with a mix of awe and dread. “I’ve never used it on someone like you before. Do you feel different?”

“Do it once more.”

You do, and another fraction of your energy slips away. Certainly not enough to exhaust you, but enough that you’re aware of it. A cup of coffee would be nice.

All Might’s very presence now sets you on edge, a current of power. He could take out half of Musutafu like this, if he were so inclined. He looks curious, though. Intrigued and thoughtful, his gaze altogether too perceptive. You avert your eyes, blushing, but he won’t abide that, it seems. He lifts your chin again, searching. “Exponent takes something out of you, doesn’t it?”

“A little. Hardly anything. It gives you much more than it costs me.”

He lets you go, and you drop your head, blushing even harder. His complete focus on you is electrifying, and though you find yourself squirming under it, you don’t want him to ignore you. You want more.

“It’s a very interesting quirk,” he pronounces, musing, before switching topics. He hasn’t forgotten your malfeasance. “How do you think I should reward honesty and punish dishonesty?”

“I-I don’t know.” Was that rhetorical? He sounded like he was talking more to himself than to you, considering what to do with a misbehaving pupil; your mind spins off to an indecent place before you can rein it in.

He smiles at you like he knows what you’re thinking. Oh dear. “Will you come with me?”

For better or for worse, you agree.

***

Link to part 4.

Tags:

@smokindoinksinthejungle

[allmightyneed]

Villain!All Might (Smite)x reader. part 2/20

link to part 1  

You pass weeks in a distracted, miserable state. Two, three, a month. Longer. At first, you chalk it up to the huge secret you now have to keep. A secret that feels as big as All Might himself. By a complete accident of time and place, you’ve come into possession of valuable intel on the most wanted criminal in Japan, possibly the world. Every day, you consider spilling the details to your best friend, who you also happen to work with. But how would you possibly bring it up?

“Oh, hey Kiko, guess what, I met a guy! Yeah… he’s super hot, tall, bit of a dark side. His name? I’m not sure, but professionally he goes by All Might.”

You can only imagine the confusion and disgust that would elicit. Even from Kiko, who usually tries to support your decisions, no matter how bad. The knowledge itself needles at you too, day after day. This information about his quirk could be the key to capturing him or bringing him down— forget using it to advance your own career. You could go to the police with this, you could go to Endeavor’s hero agency. You could change things. You could save lives. To your shame, that guilt isn’t strong enough to betray All Might’s confidence. He had trusted you. The number one villain trusted you with his secret identity, and apparently still does, because he hasn’t hunted you down and executed you. (Yet.)

Maybe he can’t. Your analytical mind spins theories in the absence of more definitive information. Maybe that muscle form takes a lot out of him, energy-wise. Maybe it’s too hard to maintain for long, and that’s why he sometimes disappears for days and weeks on end. And what about that whole coughing up blood thing?

By the third week, you’re using what little spare time you can find at work cobbling together a timeline of every documented All Might incident, closing in on a thousand entries in a hidden spreadsheet on your computer, and you’re only up to what most subject matter experts would consider the midway point of his active period. You haven’t found any patterns yet, nothing definitive, though as a foreigner yourself, his mysterious stint in America raises so many questions. 

“Hey!” A chipper voice and a knock-knock on your cubicle divider make you close the spreadsheet. You turn and see Kiko there, smiling and curious. 

“Hey!” 

“Whatcha working on?” 

“Oh, you know.” You wave your hand airily. “Nothing, really, just some busywork for Mr. Shimada.”

“Well, come on! It’s team lunch today.”

“Aw, really?”

“Yes. And you can’t skip. You’re looking too skinny.” That couldn’t be true, but the accusation reminds you of All Might, how he looked like he never got enough to eat. At least, one version of him. Kiko is sweet to be worried about you. She’s always so kind and considerate, always making sure you don’t bury yourself in your work, inviting you to lunch and for midday walks to get some sunlight. 

“Okay, okay. I’m not trying to get out of it.” You lock your computer screen and collect your jacket from the back of your chair. It will be nice to get a break outside of the office for sure. Given the sensitive nature of your work, your building is a secure one, with no windows and checkpoints to get in and out. Other than a few cultural holdouts, the workplace bears little resemblance to a traditional Japanese office, having adopted some more western practices, like cubicles and excessive use of PowerPoint. “Have you heard back from the Licensing Bureau?”

Kiko heaves a big sigh, which tells you that she hasn’t. “I thought I would last week at the latest, but nothing.”

You follow her into the elevator. “That’s weird. Don’t they usually send confirmation or denial pretty promptly?”

“Most petitioners receive the news right after their test.” She shrugs, throwing you a little smile as she precedes you into the lobby. “Guess I’m special.”

“Of course you are,” you laugh, rolling your eyes a little, but you mean it. She has pure hearted intentions about becoming a part-time volunteer hero. Discussion about the intricacies of Licensing Bureau policies and mailing schedules continues all the way to the barbecue restaurant where together you conclude, that her unusual quirk must be holding up their decision. It makes sense. Reanimation, her ability to create a zombie from a dead body, is dangerous and powerful, and is rightfully quite closely controlled. It’s also very much at odds with her sunny, happy personality. She rarely brings it up, but you know she regrets not having a more standard type of quirk. She’s also one of the few people who know about your quirk and has been a steadfast guardian of the secret.

Nothing much happens at the team lunch. Office gossip, rehashing the latest news, etc. Though, you do find out from Mr. Kawada, your supervisor, that you are one of two analysts who have been selected to support and consult on a new account the firm is taking on. So exclusive that you aren’t even allowed to know who the client is yet. You act grateful, mustering as much enthusiasm as you can— it’s a great opportunity— but inwardly, you’re daydreaming about All Might. That’s been happening more and more. 

When you get back to the office after lunch, you’re roped into a meeting with Mr. Kawada, and Mr. Shimada and the rest of the team leads. You know you should be paying attention but you zone out through most of it, replaying that fateful night in your head. 

A couple days later, the obsession reaches a critical level. You have to find him. Not as an analyst, not to bring him to justice. You just have to see him, and you don’t quite understand why, but it’s a need, a hunger that grows sharper and more potent each day. 

Riding the train to work, you start searching in your web browser. ‘All Might’. Too much noise. News articles from twenty different sources all about the same recent attacks clog the entire first page of results. When you get into the office, you go through the motions, sitting down at your workstation, logging in, all on autopilot. 

The only thing you can think about is All Might. As time has passed, you try harder and harder to keep fresh that image in your mind of how he looked in his other form. The skinny one, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. He hadn’t been any less intense like that. 

You refine your searches, hitting wall after wall of no results or way too many. A passing coworker’s idol-themed lanyard catches your eye; you finally hit on an idea: ‘All Might fan club’. That gets you something. You navigate to the first result, an outdated page with a garish background and little animated pixel version of All Might in the corner of the screen. Dancing. you have to admit it’s kind of cute. Suddenly, loud sound plays through your computer’s speakers. 

“I am on a website! I am on a website!” It’s All Might’s voice— his villain voice, which has people in other cubicles peeking over the dividers at you to find the source of the noise. Panicking, you close the tab. Then, after making sure your computer’s volume is muted, you find your way back to that same page. Sure enough, there’s a link at the top titled I LOVE TO MEET MY FANS. Following it brings you to a listing of a mailing address and… yes. A phone number. 

Heart racing, you copy it down on a sticky note, tuck it in your purse and, before it can register in your mind as a bad idea, slip out of the office. 

The train back to your home stop is nearly empty in the middle of the day. A few tourists, old people, some kids playing hooky. 

You turn your phone over and over. It said he loves to meet his fans… what fans? Doesn’t everyone hate him? Maybe that’s how you should open the conversation. Hey Mr. All Might, I know you’re universally reviled but I thought I’d hit you up anyway. The idea makes you snort-laugh. No. Just keep it simple.

You: hi.

A few seconds later, during which you stare at your phone, the three ‘typing’ dots appear. Then go away, with no message coming through. Could this really be him? Or is it just some weirdo’s phone number? Some otaku impersonating All Might on the internet. Not like you are in any position to be accusing someone of obsession.

You: this is the girl you met in the alley. You pause for a second, thinking of how you could signal to him who you are. He might meet a lot of girls in alleys. 

You: I saw you shrink.

A moment later, he replies with your name. Shock hits you; you click the screen off, black then click it on again. Your name is still there.

Him: I tHOUT I told =you to standstill and bee silent. 

It’s him. With lots of typos, but it’s him.

Oh, god. What are you doing? 

You don’t reply again until you get inside your apartment. Standing just inside the front door, with your shoes still on, you write out three versions of a witty retort, and erase each one. Stupid. What are you even trying to get out of this? 

You: I think people deserve to know who you really are. 

Nothing. Nothing for an unbearable minute that feels like another week gone by.

You: I’m going to the media. 

You’re not. You don’t know why you just told him that.

The three dots appear and disappear, again, with no new text. You watch the screen for what seems like an eternity, still standing in your entryway with your purse on your shoulder. 

And then there’s a thundering knock on the door.

Link to part 3

[allmightyneed]

Villain!All Might (Smite)x reader. part 1/20

I wanted villain Might as a Dominant so I wrote it. More to follow

“It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living god.”

This night is a fateful one. Not that you knew it yet. It’s the same as any other: routine. The edges of your life are narrow and sharp and easy to find. You do everything the same, day after day. Take the same steps down the same streets at the same time. All so familiar you could do it in the dark, feeling it out by touch.

Street lamps flicker overhead, the yellow light they give off too dim and unreliable to be much help. The asphalt is wet from recent rain. Mist hangs in the air, dampening the normal sounds of city life. All in all, it’s not the most comforting area.

You square your shoulders as you round the corner and head down an alley. 

Straighten out that backbone. Nothing to fear. Easy day. 

Inane mantras play on a loop in your head. You don’t know why this alley still weirds you out. You’ve taken this shortcut countless times before to be able to get to the metro quick enough to catch a train a couple minutes earlier. Hardly saves any time, but in your mind it makes a difference. 

Work today had been… fine. It always was. Reasonably engaging, not too exciting. Being an employee at a quirk analysis firm usually garners questions about what such a job is like, but you find them hard to answer. It can be difficult to characterize. Plus, being a foreigner in Japan, you’re always careful not to say anything that might be taken as an offense to the culture. No matter how long you live here, no matter how comfortable you feel, you are a guest.

Your eyes adjust to the darkness and you shove your hands in your pockets after hitching your purse strap higher on your shoulder. Dinner tonight would be… hmm. You don’t know. You’d bought makings for a salad a few days ago, in a fit of healthy optimism, but that didn’t sound as appealing as a bowl of ramen from the little shop in the bottom floor of your apartment building. It’s cold enough to convince yourself that heavy comfort food is justified, but no… you’ve spent enough eating out this month already, between office lunches and Kiko dragging you to every restaurant grand opening in Musutafu-- 

A booming laugh interrupts your thoughts. The shock of it nearly makes your heart stop. You whirl around, looking for the source, but you already know who it is. Anyone would recognize that laugh. You turn and behold a towering monolith of a figure, not twenty feet away, hands on his hips, stance wide. Even silhouetted dramatically in shadow, you can tell. 

All Might. 

The number one villain.

You freeze. Maybe he hasn’t noticed you yet?

“You there! Girl!” 

Crap. 

He takes a step forward and you struggle to steel your nerve. It’s public knowledge, essentially, what he can do. Not what his Quirk is, but his basic abilities. He’ll be fast if he wants to be. Inhumanly strong. Ruthless.

He laughs again, sinister and mirthless, sending a shiver of revulsion through you. You remember what he did to that tour group at Mt. Fuji. And there had been that attack on Best Jeanist’s satellite office. Over five hundred casualties. He’d leveled the building, for god’s sake, and then shouted at the late arriving news crews that they were all lucky he was holding back. 

Yes, you remembered that day all too well, having watched the coverage live on TV from your own office, only a few miles away.

What could he do if he didn’t restraint himself? A whole block? A neighborhood? You had looked away from the TV when the building came down, too horrified to watch the spectacle, only to realize that the previously clear sky had glutted with rain clouds. The scale of his power had made your heart drop on that day. Sure, it had been the most exciting thing to happen to you, and a great story. But it was still terrifying.

And now here he is, standing in front of you. This is just your unlucky day. Is it bad that you’re a little disappointed not to hear his infamous catchphrase?

I am here. Such a bold threat. 

It’s times like this you wish you had a better quirk. Granted, you’re very rarely in mortal danger; there really aren’t very many times like this. Strike that-- there are never times like this, not in the cautious, unadventurous existence you’ve curated for yourself. There is nothing in your experience that has prepared you for this. 

You gawp at the spectacle that is him. He’d made a scene once again on the news today, tearing through a rival quirk analysis firm’s downtown complex until the number one hero Endeavor had shown up to stop him. As imposing as All Might looks on TV, it hadn’t prepared you for what he’s like in person. 

Seven feet tall and change, muscled like a beast, blond hair swept back down his neck save for two unruly tufts that stuck up like rabbit ears. Nothing about him is timid, though. Utter confidence in his own power radiates off of him. 

“Yes, you!” He strolls towards you. His voice is muffled, metallic sounding underneath his iconic metal gas mask. Light glints off of the two orange glass pieces covering his eyes as he passes out of a shadow. No one has ever seen his face before, as far as you know. He’s never shown it in public, and who the hell knows who he associates with in his personal life. All Might having a personal life. What a bizarre concept. 

“Wh-what do you want?” You lift your chin, trying to sound defiant even though your voice betrays you. In a lull between the waves of fear, you realize you’re staring at his chest, his stomach, his legs. It’s a physique worth staring at. 

He shrugs, a strange gesture with his massive shoulders, then lifts a hand to his face, working at the fastenings of his mask. “I get asked that a lot.” He lowers the mask, lets it drop clattering to the ground, and you can’t believe what you’re seeing: All Might, face uncovered, and oh no he’s good looking. How is it fair that he’s attractive? Everyone speculated that he work the mask to hide a bad injury, or just because he’s ugly, but no. His features are handsome, symmetrical like a sculpture, with gleaming blue eyes and a wide, menacing smile that twists your fear into some other emotion you don’t quite recognize. “Entertainment, I guess.” 

Your pulse thuds in your ears. He couldn’t mean-- 

He reads your confusion. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” he sneers dismissively. “You think I have to resort to forcing myself on women? I have--” he gives you a pointed look up and down “--standards.”

That stings. “I’m not your entertainment!” You burst out, indignant. “And I would never do… that with- with someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” He prompts, all joviality gone. He’s still smiling, but it seems dangerous now. 

“A villain,” you spit. It’s hard to stop yourself from shaking. “You’re-- you’re evil and cruel and careless and--” you cut yourself short, realizing how foolish you’re being. 

He tilts his head, clearly amused by your attempt at bravery. “Let’s try again. Who are you? Tell me your quirk.” Without his mask, his voice is deep and enticing. Almost reassuring. He can sound normal when he wants, not like the cheesy, bombastic public persona. You have no idea what to make of him. Should you be running away? Or should you acknowledge the part of yourself that is inexplicably intrigued?

His unwavering attention on you is an unexpectedly heady feeling. Not that you aren’t scared-- you are-- but some strange part of you thrills at being the very center of his focus. His eyes do not leave you, even as you glance away, flustered and nervous.

He snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Are you dumb, girl?” He winces suddenly, breaking off to clutch a huge hand to his left side, though he quickly covers it.  “What’s your quirk?”

“W-why?” Prying about quirks is rude, but All Might does what he wants and fuck everyone else.

“Most people want to see if they can get in a hit or two on me. I figure I’d head off the time wasting and tell you if your quirk has any chance.”

Your quirk. You can’t tell him. You absolutely can’t tell him. If he knew… “I’m quirkless.” Your tongue feels thick on the lie, your voice raspy.  

“Pathetic,” he chuckles, breaking into a cough. “You’re one of those. Useless.” 

“I’m not useless!” You insist hotly. You don’t want him to look away and dismiss you. He was right, though, it kind of was, but making value statements about others’ quirks or lack thereof is just as rude as prying. 

“Then again,” he muses, as if you hadn’t spoken, “your quirk isn’t you… and you are not your quirk. Maybe you have some worth after all.” 

Frustratingly, your heart lifts at the slightest hint of his approval. How ridiculous. He’s nothing to you. And yet… you’d been talking to him, and he talked back. There had been more than the persona. You let the silence sit, and it’s enough space to realize that you’re rather star struck. Figures. The first big time supe you meet is the number one villain, and he’s both better and worse than you expected. Meaning— he didn’t murder you on the spot, but he’s a total dick. 

“So, quirkless girl. Got a name?”

It feels like a bad bet telling him, but you do anyway and he repeats it before asking you slyly, “what about a hero name?”

Clever. He’s much smarter than the media gives him credit for. You almost replied with the name of your quirk, but manage to sound embarrassed about not having one: “please don’t rub it in.” 

He rolls his eyes and sighs in annoyance. There comes more wet coughing, and he pulls at his side again, the same spot. Mentioning it seems both stupid and futile. You still have no idea why he’s actually here, other than coincidence, and what he wants with you. You’re happy being nobody special and yet, the imperious way he’s looked at you in these brief few minutes— or has it been longer? Shorter? For some reason you don’t want him to stop paying attention to you. 

Then, to your utter shock, he starts coughing up blood. He puts his fist to his mouth and it comes away smeared red.

“Are you okay?” The question is a reflex. He ignores it. 

Tendrils of steam rise from him, like he’s a kettle at the boil. Before your eyes, All Might is replaced by someone else. It’s a bit much to comprehend, but your logical mind makes the connection quickly. Blood at the mouth, blond hair, and of course they’re wearing the same clothes. Though, the drab olive green pants, navy shirt, harness and spiked pauldrons hang off of his body like they would off of clothes hangers. Your analyst’s sense spins into overdrive. So many questions answered. If you brought proof of this back to work you’d get put in charge of the division. Hell, you could quit Masuda & Matsuo and start your own company with this information. And yet you can’t help but ask, and really mean it this time—

“Are you okay?” 

The gaunt man glares at you. “Fuck off.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“You’re irritating me.” His tone is pure acid. And still, you feel slightly bad for him. He wants none of your soft hearted platitudes. He coughs more, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

You dig in your purse for a packet of tissues, and hold it out to him when you find it. “Here.”

His expression is all that’s needed for you to retract the offered tissues. You stay perfectly still watching him. He’s maybe half a foot shorter, and has terrible hunched posture, but it’s the same person, you’re sure. Which is the real All Might? Is there a real All Might? The number one villain’s identity, background, and quirk are the biggest unanswered questions of the past two decades. No one could say who he really was, or even if he looked like that all the time. 

Evidently not...

“... is it a transformation quirk?” You ask, willing your voice to be low and even, talking like you would to a scared, wounded animal.

Predictably, he lashes out, though you can’t help flinching. “You will not tell anyone about this. No one.” His eyes are unnaturally blue, almost glowing from deep set sockets. “Not your coworkers, not your friends when you go out drinking, not your fling, not your great aunt on her deathbed. No one.”

You find yourself agreeing. “No one. I promise. No one. But is it—“

“Be silent!” He snarls, getting right in your face before his tone takes on a silken quality. “Pathetic thing. You want to prove your worth, be silent. Stand where you are and do not speak.” He wipes blood away from his mouth with the back of his hand, letting his eyes drop, taking in your figure. He smirks. “Who knows. Maybe you’ll impress me. If I see any hint of this in the news, or online, I’ll know who to hunt down.” He repeats your name venomously. 

He turns and walks away. You do nothing. Say nothing. Don’t even twitch your fingers. 

That was All Might. The shock of the entire exchange floats and gradually settles, like silt in water. You don’t move, not even a step; your breath and heartbeat become calm once more. He had ordered you, after all, and he had, inexplicably, trusted you with a monumental secret. 

Had it really been him? Would the real All Might have done such a thing? You turn the thought over in your mind, fiddling with each piece of what you know. He’d certainly had the presence of villain. Deranged and volatile... and all too intriguing. His eyes are so blue.

You mentally scold yourself. Focus. Focus on what you actually know. You’d seen All Might on TV earlier in the day, trading blows with the flame hero Endeavor. What exactly had happened? All Might had been the aggressor, attacking Bando-Arata-Horikawa— your firm’s direct competition. You know people who work there, decent, average people. There hadn’t been any news about casualties, thank god. Endeavor had appeared shortly after the initial assault, slamming into All Might with a huge burst of power. The cameras on scene had caught it all, tracking the spectacle in real time, though it had been hard to follow. All Might was particularly enraged, turning his fury on Endeavor, and withstanding the huge gouts of flame like they were nothing more than a light breeze. 

Had he been breathing heavily then? Coughing blood? He hides injuries too well. The tussle with Endeavor earlier is hardly the first time All Might has taken some heavy punches. 

Shit, it’s cold out here. How long will you be standing here? All night? Your rational self asks the right questions. You should leave. Why the hell are you obeying him anyway? Likely he limped off, he won’t chase you. That was the real deal, you realize. Somewhere in the space of… how long?... you’d decided. He is. 

The uncomfortable press against your bladder grows heavier, even as you slip into an uneasy sleep where you stand, swaying slightly. That had been All Might, and you had not wanted him to send you away or discard you so thoughtlessly. 

Why hadn’t he touched you? This is a man who takes whatever he wants, does whatever he wants. He could have defiled you, or snapped your neck but he didn’t. The logical conclusion being that he doesn’t want you. You have nothing he wants. Why hadn’t he touched you? It’s an embarrassing sort of neediness that worms its way into your head as you’re standing there in the cold. Not good enough.  He really was right to call you pathetic. 

Stand where you are, do not speak. You yearn to prove him wrong. 

Hours later, he returns for the mask he’d left. His sudden arrival jolts you awake and still, you do not move. Only raise your nodding head, eyes bleary. He’s in the muscle form again.

“Still here?” He stops short when he notices you, a little incredulous. 

In a daze you regard him. 

“Tch. Run along home, little girl. The streets aren’t safe at night.” Do not color outside the lines. Remember, the edges are sharp. Too close and you’ll drop off. For the second time that night he turns away from you and you want to plead to him, to the number one villain, not to go.

link to part 2