kisimet

[kisimet]

ashamed yto say i teared up

I noticed with Aizawa, when he stops looking so tired and aloof, and when his face shows nothing but pure fear, is when he ends up looking closer to his teenage self

He's scared and you realize how young he actually is sometimes, especially when he had to put his hair up for the news that one time? Because while I know his rugged appearance makes him look a ton older, 30-31 is still very young! He was 29 when the series first started with Deku in middle school!

You can really tell his age in these panels (that the anime didn't really seem to capture):

[kisimet]

your take on moth tomura maybe 🥺

"What's that under the streetlight?"

This one was honestly a toughie- I was really trying to give him those fluffy lighter eyelashes, but alas, my artistic skills aren't quite there just yet! Still hope you like how it turned out, Anon!

This is actually my 11th request! These are free, but if you’d like to support me, here’s my Kofi 💖

[kisimet]

The Black Sun Swallows Whole

shigaraki x reader

warnings: none

wc: 5.6k

a/n: it'll get worse before it gets better.

thank you again to @scary-grace for the beta read!! i owe you my life

Start | Previous | Chapter 3

Your hands clenched at your sides as you took off, leaving the alley and Shigaraki behind. It wasn't until you were halfway back to where you left Midoriya and Aizawa, when you realized you still didn't have the one thing you went searching for in the first place: your fucking blaster.

It still didn't feel safe for you to stop, lest you be dragged into another alley, so you kept walking forward. Your stomach felt like it was tied in knots. If anyone noticed your blaster was missing, you'd have a lot of explaining to do. And as you got closer and closer to where you left your companions, you were running out of time to think of a good excuse.

You felt backed into a corner. You didn't want to rely on anyone else to solve your mistakes. You couldn't rely on anyone else, less they think of you as a burden.

Quickly, you wrapped your jacket around your waist, exposing your arms to the warm air. Mentally, you grappled with the fact that the bruises Shigaraki, yellowed and faded, left were now visible. You could only imagine the comments Yamada would make if he saw them. Luckily, he wasn't here. Dickhead.

You kept walking until you spotted Midoriya's bright head of hair first, sat at a small, plastic table across from Aizawa.

"Found you! Sorry about that, thought I saw something," you laughed, internally cringing. You spent so much time worrying about your empty holster, you didn't have time to come up with a good excuse. You definitely fixated on the wrong thing, and now Aizawa was going to figure you out. Shit. You shifted from side to side. "You both ready to go? I'll pull up the document on the way back to the ship."

Aizawa narrowed his eyes at you, looking you up and down, before returning to his food—a flattened, pan-fried bun full of meat. "I want some fresh air. Let's just sit out here for a bit. You can do it while eating."

You frowned, thinking of who was here. Shigaraki was still pissed at you, and he had several friends here as well. Nothing good could come from staying on the planet.

"Are you sure you don't want to get back to UA—"

Aizawa interrupted, sounding annoyed. "Sit."

Quietly, you sat on the low, plastic stool in between Midoriya and Aizawa.

"Here," Midoriya took out another bun from the takeout container, passing it to you with an awkward smile. "They're good! Kinda sweet and spicy at the same time."

You muttered out a thank you, taking a small bite as you pulled out your commlink. A minute later, you scrolled through the document outlining all commercially purchased planets. Narrowing the list down to planets purchased within the last three months, your list became much smaller.

For as much adrenaline and fear was coursing through your body, you couldn't help but feel a bit giddy as you saw one of the names. Bingo. "Detnerat bought some planet in the Aptare system, wherever that is. Some small solar system, I think."

"Detnerat, huh? I didn't know they were into ship manufacturing."

You looked up from your commlink, your knee bouncing under the table. "Yeah, it's a new thing for them. They've always made adaptive items for different species, but they recently started making some for starships too. I guess they needed more space."

Aizawa made a noise of acknowledgement, before ignoring you in favor of his meal.

Taking another bite of your own food, you couldn't even take note of the taste or any of the textures on your tongue. It all blended into one—masked by your anxiety. You wanted to get off this damn planet.

"Those bruises new?" Aizawa's question snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Oh. No, they're from the Hassaikai mission last week, when Shigaraki strangled me," you frowned. Why was he bringing them up now?

"You've been making an effort to hide them all week. Why the sudden change?"

You frowned as you stared at him, a strange glint in his own eyes—the same look Yamada got when he was messing with you. You felt... embarrassed. Midoriya wouldn't even look at you, his head low as he stared holes into the table. He clearly wanted to be anywhere else. "I uh," you coughed. "I thought they faded enough. And it's hot out here."

"What happened when you ran off? Something happen? And quit with the lies. I work with teenagers," he stopped to give a pointed look at Midoriya, "I know when I'm being lied to. If you lie again, I won't hesitate to leave you here."

Slowly, you put your food back in the takeout container, fidgeting with your hands. You felt like a kid again—twelve standard years old and in trouble. Your life after moving in with your aunt was rough.

There were days when you felt like a shell of a person. Slept until your head ached so much, you could only blearily stare at your darkened ceiling. Ignored your stomach until hunger sent bile up your throat.

It was hard to do much of anything, when your chest felt this cavernous and raw. Like no amount of matter— no sunlight, no laughter, no pain or joy or anything—could ever fill the black void in your chest.

When you were taught about black holes in your online classes, you imaged something colder. Sterile. Something so far out into outer space, you'd never have to deal with it. To your childish, ignorant mind, there was no point in studying something so far away. There wasn't even one in your galaxy. But there was a black hole in your universe. And it felt gaping. Raw. Disgusting. Like a parasite that crawled under your skin, slithering its way into your skull and deep into the soft tissue of your brain. Sometimes you felt like this parasite fucked up the parts of your brain meant to feel emotions—did an irreversible amount of damage as it crawled around before nestling itself in you permanently.

As an adult, you can say that your aunt at least saw your pain. But seeing it and knowing what to do with it are two different things. Your grief seemed to frustrate her more than anything. She didn't know what to do with you—it's not like she could give you what you had lost.

She wanted you to move on—you didn't. You found yourself clinging to the memories of your parents like a lifeline. Your memories of Vita. Home. You used to fight with her about it. There were so many days that ended in screaming, crying, yelling. At some point, though, you learned it was easier to be quiet about your grief. To smile, and act like you moved on, while secretly spending all your spare hours researching All For One. If you were quiet about it, she wouldn't fight with you. Wouldn't tell you to move on.

Sitting here, across from Aizawa, you felt the same anxiety and shame you felt when you sat her down to explain that you hadn't moved on. You were dropping out of university, and finally taking a stand against The Abyssal Factory.

Tears wet your waterline. Your face felt warm. You swallowed. "Some guy, one of Shigaraki's employees, I think, bumped into me and stole my blaster. Then, when I chased after him, Shigaraki showed up in an alley and threatened me into giving more information on all the planet draining they were doing, which was really weird, because how do you not know what your own company is doing, and—" you cut yourself off with a sniff and a deep breath, sure you were rambling and weren't making sense.

Aizawa sighed. The lines around his one, visible eye looked deeper. "Next time, ask us to help you. We're supposed to be a team." His sounded angry to you, despite the message behind his words. "Now c’mon, if Shigaraki is here, we need to get off this damn planet."

As you all quickly boxed up your food and took off towards the ship, a small sense of relief washed over you. For once, you felt like part of a whole.

After a brief stop at UA to rest, you loaded back up into Aizawa's ship, navigation set to Detnerat's new planet, something they were apparently calling Detnerat Light, to go with their new marketing program, Detnerat Light: Traveling at Light Speed. You thought the name was stupid, but whatever. You were no marketing expert.

As Aizawa broke into the planet's atmosphere, the starship's scanners activated, allowing you to get a clear view of the construction taking place. Considering how long it took building permits to be approved by the Federation, you were surprised at how far into construction they were. Most of the groundwork had been completed, the shells of buildings beginning to be erected.

Looking around, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary that'd you'd find at a regular construction site. While there were several workers present, none of them looked close to All Might.

You frowned, recalling the blurry images of All Might you had seen online. Lithe build, blonde hair, black sclera, bright blue irises. For a second, you wondered who exactly was putting them online? Getting captured in video footage was one thing—cameras were everywhere. The footage getting uploaded was another. Dismissing the thought, you returned to scanning the crowd.

After about thirty standard minutes of searching, your heart lurched as the scanning system dinged—a visual match had been found.

Dressed in the same neon vest as the other workers, All Might himself sat on a hill looming above the rest of the construction, typing a message into his commlink.

As Aizawa landed the ship, you grabbed the storage bag Power Loader made to carry the device you found on the Hassaikai mission.

Before you could step out, though, Midoriya turned to you, a sparkle in his eye. As much as you wanted to get your information from All Might and get out, Midoriya's excitement was almost infectious.

"Do you think it'd be okay if I asked All Might to sign my notebook? Just at the end, after he tells us what those devices are." He whispered to you, before you stepped out of Aizawa's ship.

You glanced around quickly, making sure the older teacher wasn't in earshot. He had already lectured Midoriya twice about staying on task, threatening to remove him from the mission if he had to lecture him a third time. Not seeing him, you leaned in to whisper back. "I think it'd be okay, just do it fast."

Smiling at the way he beamed at you, the two of you exited the ship, walking up the hill to where All Might was sitting.

Evidently, though, he had seen you approach, standing up as you approached. He stared at the three of you warily, a hallowed recess under his eyes and cheekbones. He didn't look like the All Might you'd seen in old articles and photos—This was the shell of All Might. The man behind the All Might persona; Toshinori Yagi. He looked exhausted, his hand resting over his own blaster warily.

"Can I help you all with anything?"

"We're not here to hurt you," Aizawa explained, holding his hands up, exposing his palms. "See? We just have a few questions, and we think you're the only person who can answer them."

All Might's hands remained in place, still other than the wind in his hair. He narrowed his eyes at you, specifically the large bag in your hand. "Questions about what, specifically?"

Unzipping the case, you pulled out the device. "Do you know what these are?"

The strange humming and pulsating light reflected the disbelief and anguish in All Might's blue eyes. "Who are you, and where did you get that?"

All Might was solemn as the three of you explained everything to him—UA, the Shie Hassaikai weapons raid, his logo on the side of the device that lead you to him. The minute following your explanation felt tense, like a rubber band waiting to snap.

The silence was broken by a sigh, deep and rattling from All Might's chest. "The blueprints to create those should've been burnt twenty years ago. I'm surprised they survived, but knowing All For One, there's no way he would've left such a terrible power go." He turned to you with a grave stare. "If I were you, I'd fly those out to a planet so close to the edge of the galaxy, you'd run out of fuel before you got there. That's a bomb—powerful enough to decimate whole planets—and I'm ashamed to say I ever created it."

The device—the bomb in your hand, felt heavy under the weight of its potential destruction. What was All For One planning with these? Were they a bargaining chip? He wasn't planning on bombing the planets that didn't let him take from them, was he? How many times could it have gone off in the days it's been in UA's possession? Did anyone know you had it? Was there a remote detonator? If anyone were to accidentally drop it, would it explode? How many people would it have killed in its wake? Your thoughts flew by, like stars outside a starship's window at warp speed, making you motion sick.

"Don't worry, It won't detonate that easily, unless they edited my design a lot." He reassured you, sensing your anxieties.

"How did-Why did you make a bomb, All Might?" Midoriya asked, his tone confused and sad enough that it made you want to reach out and put your hand on his shoulder. Too bad your hands were currently occupied by a literal bomb.

"It wasn't intended to be a bomb. We were testing out a new type of engine—one that would run off of less water than ever before. In development, though, we realized how the engine, with only a few minor changes, could be used to create something so destructive it could level a solar system in an instant."

Your blood ran cold as he continued. "At the time, we didn't truly grasp how evil All For One was. He was rude, power hungry, sure, but we chalked that up to his relentless attitude towards business. And then he got greedy—saw the potential in the engine, and was willing to do anything to secure it."

You nodded along, "Is that what happened to Nana Shimura?"

"Yes. We tried to set the lab on fire to destroy our research. All For One got there before everything could burn, though, and was angry enough to try to kill us. It was easier if we were out of the picture. I barely escaped—Shimura wasn't so lucky. All I have to show for it is this." you stifled a gasp as he lifted his shirt, exposing the huge, painful-looking scar that webbed across the entire length of his chest and abdomen.

"I thought," he paused, letting his shirt fall back down. "I thought, all this time, that as long as the research was destroyed, Nana Shimura didn't die in vain. But after learning this," he sighed, "I can no longer do anything but blame myself."

There was a moment of contemplative silence, nothing but the sound of the wind blowing in your ears. It felt like the weight of the world sat on all of your shoulders, more than before. Killing All For One wasn't vital just for saving those already under his thumb, but for the safety of the entire universe.

"Whatever he's planning, we're going to stop it." Aizawa broke the silence. "If you feel this strongly, you should help us. You know him better than any of us do. You're our best shot at killing him, once and for all."

All Might frowned, hand on his chin as he paused to think. "How do you even plan on stopping him? By using the same weapons he uses?"

"The goal is to corner and isolate him from any of his closest allies, then kill him. While we don't know a ton about his allies, we know that he has several helping him carry out his plans. If we have to kill them too in order to stop this cycle of violence and destruction, we'll do just that."

"This plan sounds dangerous, and frankly, quite violent," All Might murmured after a moment of contemplation. "I'm sorry." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't think I can support this."

Your heart dropped. "But sometimes violence is a necessary step in fighting back against corruption."

All Might shook his head. "Look, I simply can't agree with your methods. There are more peaceful approaches to change, like taking political action."

You scoffed. Out of all people, you thought he'd understand. He saw All For One up close—How did he not get it? "Like what? Do you know how many people are dying? Are being taken advantage of? I watched my parents get murdered in cold blood by All For One's henchmen when I was only a kid, my life and the lives of countless others have been completely altered," the words flowed out of your mouth before your brain could catch up and stop yourself, anger broiling in your chest. You shut your mouth with a huff, your fingers clenching around the bomb you were still holding.

"Sorry," you muttered, even though you didn't mean it. You weren't sorry at all. He was a coward. You just didn't want your outburst to be the same thing that made him not want to join UA, no matter how much respect you just lost for him.

"It's alright, I understand," he smiled at you, sympathetically. Still, you were angry. You didn't want his fucking sympathy, you wanted him to take action.

Midoriya's eyes flittered between you and All Might, judging the lingering tension between the two of you when he spoke.

"All Might," there was an edge of anxiety to his mostly serious tone, "I'm Midoriya Izuku, and I've been a fan of you and your work for years," he held his notebook close to his chest. "I've always admired not just your engineering, but what you stood for! By joining us, you can continue your legacy by fighting for what's right!"

All Might seemed to perk up at Midoriya's words, a trace of the smile he was known for on his face, before he deflated just as quickly. "I'm sorry, my boy, but I just don't think it's the right way. I think we should be taking action, but this is just too violent and risky." He sighed. "Look, I've actually been in contact with members of the Commission."

You definitely recognized that name. While it was impossible to keep up with the scope of every subfaction within the Federation due to its size, the Commission was a big enough player for you to have heard of them. "They're the ones who want to preserve the state of the universe, right? Or that's their motto, at least?" You asked. While you liked their mission, you knew better to be trusting of anyone in the Federation. You didn't exactly trust politicians.

"Why, yes," All Might nodded, pulling out his commlink. "There's a political fundraiser in about a month on Loquere CXII—it's a small, mostly uninhabited planet in the Silva spiral. Several members of the commission will be in attendance. It'll be a good opportunity for you to discuss what you found, err, stole, from the Haissaikai. I'll send you the details," All Might's logo appeared on your commlink's screen. "Tell them I sent you. It's still not safe for me to leave this planet."

Before you could tell him where he could shove his commlink, you remembered Aizawa's words. You were a team now.

Shoving your anger down, you glanced between your allies. Aizawa grunted. "Could be useful."

However, Midoriya held his notebook down at his side, his mouth twisted in a frown.

"One second," you said to All Might, before putting your hand on Midoriya's shoulder, leading him out of earshot of the others.

"What's wrong, Midoriya?"

The boy shrugged. "I guess I just thought this would go differently—that he'd join us, I mean. He was so passionate in his old interviews, I don't understand what changed."

You sighed, trying to think of an answer for his sake. You used to spend a lot of time thinking about this. When so many people were affected by All For One, what caused people to bury their heads in the sand? Why was your aunt so insistent you move on? "I don't really know. Violence is scary for some people, especially to those who have already seen a lot of it. His mentor died, just like my parents. He's probably just scared."

Saying this out loud, you felt a little sympathetic towards All Might. Setting aside your personal grudge against him, you mentally listed the pros and cons to attending this. While they might not agree with your methods, coming into contact with potential allies would be beneficial for the cause. Any legislation to slow All For One's operations would still work in your favor, even if it didn't stop him outright. On the other hand, you didn't exactly trust politicians. If you did this, you'd have to play your cards right.

You pat Midoriya on his shoulder in a weak attempt to comfort him. "Maybe if we continue to work with him, we can try to convince him."

"You're right." While he didn't look completely convinced, he did seem reassured by your words. "We'll just have to show him more of what's happening, like what you show in class!"

You laughed, turning to walk back to the others. "I guess I can fill him in on some of the things that happened after he left, but I'm not sure what else I can offer him."

Midoriya sheepishly scratched the back of his head as the two of you walked back. "That's true."

Once you approached All Might, he turned to you, waiting for you to state UA's decision. "We'll do it."

All Might raised his thumb and gave the grin you had seen so many times before in photo ops. For the first time since you met him, he looked like the man you were familiar with. "Excellent!"

The standard month leading up to the event passed by in a blur. UA's voluntary signup system for missions allowed you to sign up for as many missions as you wanted to, so you went on practically every mission you could in between teaching, training, and researching for future missions.

Every mission left you with a growing feeling of disappointment, though. After each flight back to UA, you often felt an itch in the back of your brain, screaming that you had forgotten something—that something was left behind. It wasn't until you were with Yamada, on a weapons raid targeting one of All For One's allies, that you were able to figure it out.

You crept down the hall and the cargo room of the facility, Yamada next to you as you scoped the area.

"Clear."

Yamada scanned the other half of the cargo bay. "Clear."

Your shoulders loosened as you relaxed, lowering your blaster as you glanced around to take in the details of the room. It was quite boring, in a way. Nothing but the expected weapons. You frowned despite your relief.

"Looking for something? Or someone?"

You whipped around to Yamada, who was grinning at you with a strange look in his eye.

You'd gotten pretty good at ignoring Yamada's taunts, but this one confused you enough to be worthy a response. "What are you talking about?" You asked as you glanced over the labels on the crates.

"You know, Shigaraki. The guy you've secretly met twice with when no one else around, and now you're looking for."

Did he think you meant to run into him twice? Taking a breath, you steeled yourself. You got this. Stay rational. "It wasn't a secret, he lead me to him the second time. And I don't really want to see the guy who nearly killed me twice and stole my blaster." You looked back up at Yamada as he stared at you, unwavering. "And even if I did, it'd be to get my blaster back and shoot him with it."

A tense moment passed, before Yamada burst out laughing, "You're so fun to mess with," he wiped a tear from his eye while waving you away. You stared at him for a moment longer. As much as he'd like you to believe he was, you had a feeling he wasn't just messing with you.

Your eyes drifted back to the label on the front of the crate, trying to read it over to see what was inside. However, your racing thoughts made it hard to focus. Did you really want to kill Shigaraki? If he didn't know what The Abyssal Factory was doing, was he deserving of punishment by death? And if he didn't know, was he excused from all the harm he's committed? Was anyone who was forced to commit crimes because of The Abyssal Factory worthy of punishment? And if he showed remorse and tried to change… You shoved the thoughts aside as you opened the top of the crate instead, bypassing the label. Rows of blaster cartridges, meant to power a starship's blasters, shined under the fluorescent light. Bingo.

Out of everyone going to Loquere CXII, you were definitely the most ill-equipped to be there. Nemuri and Yamada volunteered to go along with you, mostly to execute the actual legwork of actually talking to people about All Might's stolen bomb tech. You were really grateful for their presence. Having small, intimate conversations was one thing—a room full of politicians was another.

You stayed mostly silent on the flight over, Nemuri and Yamada lost in their own animated conversation on the possible ways Nemuri could use her ability to excrete a sleep pheromone, courtesy of her mixed-species heritage.

Flying by the building the event was to take place in, you held your breath. It was one of the most beautiful pieces of architecture you'd ever seen. Nestled deep into the forest of trees in shades of spotted pinks and purples, it stood distinguished, sloping walls painted a rich shade of blue that seemed almost iridescent in the light of the closest star.

After parking your starship nearby, the three of you were checked in at the door using All Might's invite, facing a surprising lack of resistance. Some part of you was waiting to be arrested, or have your presence and ties to All Might questioned.

However, the doorman didn't bat an eye, and after passing through security and a metal detector, you were led down a long, ornate hallway to a set of open double doors. The ballroom inside was grand. Opulent. What captured your eyes the most was the huge chandelier hanging in the center of the room. It was the most expensive-looking item you'd ever seen in your life—cascading layers of colored gemstones hung around an intricate, swirling glass structure. The colorful rays of light bespectacled the room in shades of the rainbow, giving it an almost underwater, dream-like feeling.

This same light reflected off the pearlescent tiled flooring. The gentle flowing lines of the tile stretched cross the floor, giving the appearance of a slow-moving river. You quickly glanced up—if you stared at it too long, it stirred a queasy feeling in your stomach.

Tucking yourself along the edge of the room next to one of the meticulously carved pillars, you took a breath, pretending to straighten the fabric of your much-too fancy outfit. Your goal for the night was to listen into conversations as they occurred—not to necessarily take part in them. The main players were Nemuri and Yamada, who excelled at conversing with strangers in a way you couldn't. Both were charismatic and enthralling, able to entertain a room full of even the stuffiest of people.

Part of you wished you were better at this for the sake of the mission. But a small part of you, the part that didn't want to be here, was fine with your role. Information gathering was easy online, it couldn't be too different in person, right?

Apparently, you were wrong. Most conversations that you were able to overhear were not about politics, or upcoming legislation at all. What you could hear bored you. Discussions of someone's new, "exotic" pet. A third vacation home in the far reaches of the galaxy, on a planet where everything is cheap. The only mention of The Abyssal Factory came in the form of investments, which seemed counterintuitive to you. The commission was for the preservation of the universe, and All For One was participating in its destruction. Why would anyone from the commission have investments in them?

Finding yourself unable to gather anything more useful, you took a pit stop at the table of food laid out near one of the walls. You looked at the options laid out on the table. An array of colorful finger foods, carefully designed and executed, sat prim and proper on the white linen. Just like the decor, it was fancier than anything you had ever seen before.

"Not a fan of Silvan seafood, huh?"

You turned to the source of the voice, surprised anyone was talking to you. A man, dressed in a fine, tailored suit, grinned. His red wings stretched out behind his back, the feathers shining under the cool-toned lighting.

Shit. You had to think of something to say. "I've never had it before, it's kind of overwhelming. I don't know where to start. Is it good?"

"It's not really my thing at all," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "The hosts are from a planet way out that's mostly ocean, so they like to bring bits of home over here. If you ask me, the process of flying it out here makes it gross. It gets too old."

"Ah," you nodded, not really knowing what to say. For once, you wished Yamada was here. He'd have known what to do. "What kind of food do you prefer?" Good enough. Yamada would be impressed.

"I really like the small birds from my planet. They're the best when they're grilled. I'm Keigo Takami, by the way." He outstretched a gloved hand. "Representative from Volatus. You can call me Hawks."

Shaking his hand, you mirrored his introduction with one of your own, not missing the way his darkly lined eyes narrowed an almost miniscule amount when you mentioned your last name and Vita.

He cocked his head, boyishly. "Your last name, it sounds familiar."

"My parents were diplomats, I wanted to follow in their footsteps." You forced a smile. In order to protect yourselves at this event, you all had agreed to make no mention of the school or any plans to kill All For One. You would keep it strictly about the bombs and The Abyssal Factory itself.

"And you're from Vita, you said? Isn't it dry now?"

Before you could respond, you blanched as you saw a man glowering at the two of you behind Hawks. Even beneath the fabric of his high collar, it was impossible to miss those burn scars. What the fuck was Dabi doing here? And if he was here, was Shigaraki too?

You mentally steeled yourself as he approached you and Hawks. You were surprised when he only addressed Hawks, not even glancing at you. "You wanna get out've here? I'm bored as hell."

Hawks furrowed his brows. "I'm busy now, can you not do this while I'm in the middle of talking to someone?"

Dabi lazily glanced at you, his eyes widening in realization. "You're the one the boss has been crashing out about." He smirked.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to regulate your quickly beating heart. "Is he here now?"

"Why, do you want to see him? 'Cause he's been dying to see you."

You blinked once. Twice. "What?" You thought you'd be the last person he'd want to see, considering you shattered his worldview and everything.

Dabi looked pleased, like a cat that had caught a bird. "Yeah, he's brooding in one of the other rooms. C'mere," he stalked away, not even turning back to see if you were following him.

"Sorry, nice meeting you," you managed to choke out to Hawks before scurrying after Dabi.

Stopping at a set of doors, Dabi glanced at you. "Here we are. Go in."

Rolling your eyes, you opened the carved, wooden door. There were a few other people lazing about in the room, but your eyes immediately zone in on one person in particular. Shigaraki sat spread out on the couch, his feet resting on the low table in front of it.

The thought invaded your mind before you could stop it. He looked good like this. His black tie hung loose around his white collared shirt, his mid-length blue hair tumbling over his shoulders in soft waves. A smaller version of the ballroom's chandelier cast the same, dream-like light over the soft planes of his face. He was actually kind of… attractive.

As he heard the door shut behind you, he glanced up from his commlink. He looked you up in down, his gaze searing on your skin from under his lashes—like when the rays of the stars warmed your skin down to your flesh, leaving you flush as your blood rushed to the surface of your face. You were blushing. Why were you blushing?

Your throat felt dry as he smirked, his smile tugging on the scar on his lip. "You look nice."

taglist: @zephlovesspacestuf, @booksooks, @tomurafrlover23, @juni0njup1terr, @deadhands69, @mastercheetos, @kittyhyuka, @blizzardprincess, @moonstonejpg, @lysaisland, @tapiocakisses, @dance-with-me-in-hell

[kisimet]

@scary-grace opposite’s attract and enough to go by are actually ROTTING my brain😓😓 more text inspired things about those two main fics. Reread etgb like four times pls someone take it away from me💔

Opposite’s Attract

Enough To Go By

[kisimet]

the one (part ii) - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

You made a deal with Fate to grant Shigaraki Tomura a long and happy life, but that came at a cost - in the world your wish created, the two of you never met. But his life isn't the only one your wish changed, and as you struggle to carry the burden of a past that exists only in your memory, you find your path crossing with old friends and former enemies in a way you never expected. Can you build a life worth living in the aftermath of everything you've seen and done? Can you do it without the person you changed everything for? Or will you and Tomura, against all odds, find your way back to each other one more time?

For Challenge Friday @pixelcafe-network! Fixit-ish, angst, tw for drug use/addiction, recovery. 21k in part 1. Dividers by @cafekitsune.

part i

ii. could everything be different

You thought your memories of the world-that-was would fade as you spent more time in the world of your wish. Hoped for it, maybe. Hoped that it might get easier, and in daylight, it does. In daylight, you can see everything you’ve fought for here, see a life that matters. In daylight you’re with the people who’ve become your friends, the ones you think you might be able to call your family. At night, alone, it’s different.

Maybe that’s why you always take the night shift. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the hero who likes the night shift, too.

You’re not sure why Endgame likes the night shift, given that he’s got a wife to go home to, but at least one or two nights a week, he’s out there with you, trying to solve problems without immediately resorting to violence. You knew he had this in him, this ability to see without judging, this desire to help and not hurt, but watching it in action night after night is something else. If you’d needed any reminder at all of why you love him, this would work, and spending so much time with him is all kinds of bad for your mental health. Almost enough to make you wish for a hit of neuroin to take the edge off.

“Why not switch to the day shift?” Midoriya asks when you own up to it. “If being around him this much is endangering your recovery, it’s not a good idea.”

“I can’t just hide from anything that endangers my recovery. Some of it, I have to suck it up and cope with,” you say. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hiding is one thing. Avoiding something that reliably triggers you is something else,” Midoriya says. He’s right, but it’s annoying you. You roll your eyes. “Let’s play the tape to the end. The fact that he’s married to someone else is difficult for you. What if he told you he was going to be a father?”

“Like – kids?” You lock your facial expression down tight. “Not my business.”

“No, but you look like you’re going to throw up.”

“Neuroin’s not going to fix that,” you point out. “It doesn’t help with nausea.”

“The nausea will fade, but the thoughts and feelings that triggered it won’t disappear as quickly,” Midoriya says. “And for five years, your response to painful thoughts and feelings was to get high.”

“If I did that, I’d lose everything.” You know that deep in your bones. “My friends. My job. My future. All of that matters more to me than neuroin.”

“It’s not the neuroin that matters to you,” Midoriya says. These days, he won’t let you get away with shit, which is reassuring – and annoying. “What do you think about when you’re spending time with him? Don’t just say work.”

You were going to just say work. “I’m not thinking about trying to win him back or something stupid like that. I know the deal I made. I know he’s gone. I just –” You’re hoping Midoriya will interrupt you, but he just looks at you expectantly. “I think about all the things I loved about him before. How I can see so much more of them now that he’s happy. I love him so much. And he’s happy without me. So watching him be happy should be enough.”

“But it isn’t,” Midoriya says, almost gently. Your eyes burn. “If I can use a personal example, the expectation for General Studies students at UA is that they go into hero-adjacent fields as adults. I didn’t. It was too hard for me to be that close to something I couldn’t have.”

“You don’t get to use yourself as an example of dreams not coming true anymore,” you say. “How’s One For All treating you?”

Midoriya looks embarrassed. “It’s fine.”

It was sort of a foregone conclusion that Midoriya would accept One For All and become All Might’s successor, but he’s going about it in a weird way. He works out a lot, and you found out that he does martial arts on the side, but he’s not making any effort to train as a hero or pass the licensing exam. As far as you can tell, his hero activities have mainly consisted of going out at night, rescuing people from themselves, and doing it all in disguise. Every so often, the vigilante people call Savior makes the news. The news seems more confused about him than anything else.

You’re pleased with the outcome. It’s better than All Might giving his quirk to some asshole who just wants to punch people. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to let Midoriya get away with pretending you and he are still the same. “Your dream came true. Mine won’t. And I accepted that a while ago. Now I have other stuff that makes my life worth living. If he was still the only thing that mattered to me, I’d be worried like you, but he isn’t. Okay?”

“We’re going to keep checking in about this,” Midoriya warns. Whatever. Your answer won’t change. “Let’s get back to the old history. I think we left off at –”

“The Meta Liberation Army,” you say, and Midoriya’s face darkens. “What?”

“I read Destro’s book.” Midoriya taps the cover of a copy sitting on his desk. “And with All Might’s and Sir Nighteye’s help, I’ve been looking through every official record we have. There’s no record of the Meta Liberation Army. Anywhere. Are you sure –”

“Yeah, I’m sure they exist. They tried to kill me,” you say. “Hard to forget that.”

“In the old history, they acted almost fifteen years ago,” Midoriya says. “Why would they stay quiet this long?”

You don’t know why rich quirk supremacists do anything. Liberation ideology only made sense to you on the surface. It fell apart if you breathed on it wrong, and you used to irritate the MLA lieutenants by asking them really pointed questions and watching them try with all their might not to blow up at you. “Can I borrow that book? Maybe it’ll help.”

“Sure. I highlighted some stuff,” Midoriya says. He slides it over, and you set it aside to read if things get slow tonight. “What else was happening in the old history around the same time as you and the others were facing the Meta Liberation Army?”

Your memory of that isn’t as good. You were too focused on Tomura’s recovery from his injuries, and after that, too focused on the handful of weeks you spent with both of you healthy and safe before he left to claim the power Dr. Ujiko offered him. It occurs to you suddenly that those were the last weeks you spent with Tomura just as himself, that when you saw him again, it was barely him – shreds of him, everything else swallowed up by All For One. When was the last time you talked to him? The last time you kissed him? You realize all at once that you can’t remember.

“Okay. It looks like thinking about that brings up some stuff for you,” Midoriya says, and you focus with an effort. “Tell me about it.”

“The guy who makes the Nomus,” you mumble. “Did I tell you about him?”

“Not yet,” Midoriya says. “Who was he?”

“We called him Dr. Ujiko. But that wasn’t his real name. He was –” Your stomach drops so fast that it makes you dizzy when you realize you don’t remember. “Do you think he’s still alive? If he’s still alive –”

“Let’s hit pause on this,” Midoriya says. “If the doctor was involved with All For One in your history, then All Might should be here when we talk about him.”

“Can it wait?” You don’t think so. “You don’t know what I know about him. The things he did – to Tomura –”

You break off, struggling to find the words. Your pulse is beating loudly in your ears, so loud that you have to read Midoriya’s lips as he tells you to breathe, to count out your inhales and exhales to force your nervous system to regulate. As soon as you have your breathing under control, you explain yourself. “He took people’s bodies and quirks and turned them into monsters. He did the same thing to Tomura so All For One could possess his body. What if he still has it? All For One’s quirk?”

“We’ll talk with All Might,” Midoriya says again. “First thing tomorrow morning. But you’re working tonight, aren’t you? Do you know who you’re with?”

“I never know until I get there,” you say, which is true. True, but not honest. “There’s a good chance it’s him.”

Midoriya nods. “If you get triggered out there, if you feel out of control at all, call here,” he says. “Whoever’s on the night shift – I think it’s Arai tonight – call and they’ll talk you through it. This job is important to you, but it’s not worth your recovery.”

“I know,” you say, and you stand up. “Good luck out there tonight. If you’re going out there.”

Midoriya glances guiltily away, which means yes. “Good luck to you, too.”

You’re slow to leave, mainly because you’re trying to figure out how to store your borrowed copy of Destro’s book inside your coat, and you have to jog to make your usual train, then to make it to the street corner on time. You know you’re on time, but the hero you’re working with tonight is already there, leaning against a streetlight with his arms crossed and a grin on his face. “You’re late.”

“No, I’m not.” You pull your phone out of the pocket to show Endgame the time. “I just wasn’t early.”

“Yeah. I beat you here,” Endgame says, his smile going lopsided. “Finally.”

You and Endgame work together often enough to have a running joke, something along the lines of you being so early to everything that you make him look late, which you counter by pointing out that he’s usually late by five minutes or so anyway. You’re not willing to cede ground just yet. “How long have you been here?”

Endgame’s satisfied smirk slips a little bit. “Longer than you.”

“If your heart rate’s below one-fifteen right now, I’ll climb the tree the next time we have to rescue someone’s cat.” The thought occurs to you to reach out and check for yourself, but it’s easy to suppress. After so much time spent with him, it’s more natural to hold yourself back than it is to act on your old impulses. “Did we get any instructions for tonight, or is it just a standard patrol?”

“Standard to start with.” Endgame rolls his shoulders, then sets off, leaving you to follow him. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s breathing a little harder than normal.

No night on the job is exactly the same, always a mix of brief moments of excitement and long moments of boredom. The nights that start off the quietest can go wild in a heartbeat, and even nights where you can feel tension simmering in every interaction can go from dusk until dawn without breaking. Depending on the hero you’re working with, you wind up in different parts of town, but Endgame almost always defaults to the rougher districts. You’ve never asked him why.

You want to, but you’re not sure you want to hear the answer. This is already enough of a balancing act for you. You don’t need to make it harder.

On balance, you prefer the busy nights when you’re working with Endgame, but tonight isn’t one of them. The two of you end up wandering, not quite aimlessly, keeping to the streets where trouble’s most likely to start. “It’s not usually this quiet,” Endgame remarks. “Think it’s working?”

“The de-escalation thing?” You want to say yes, but it’s just one quiet night. “I think it’s just the rain keeping everyone inside. If you’re already on the street, there’s no point in being cold and wet at the same time.”

“We should go inside, then,” Endgame says. “If that’s where the people who need help are.”

“Isn’t that against protocol?” You remember something from training about not going into unsecured areas, staying mainly out in the open where you can see what’s going on and escape through multiple routes. “I’m up for it if you are, but I’m not going to be much use to you if there’s trouble.”

“If there’s trouble, we’ll get out of there,” Endgame says. He scratches lightly at the side of his neck, and you avert your eyes. “Are you up for it? I can’t do it without you.”

Now you’re rolling your eyes. “Yes you can.”

“No way. You’re the one who knows where to look.”

You do. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you come out here, night after night, knowing you might see Tomura and spend hour after hour looking at what you lost. There are things you’ve found here, too. And every night you’re out here is a chance to find some more. “All right,” you say after a moment, and the way Endgame smiles at you almost breaks your heart. “Follow me.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Eri asks you as the two of you wait in line for the doors of the bookstore to open. “Honey said I shouldn’t ask you, since you worked last night. But nobody else can leave without permission and they said I can’t go alone.”

If you were in Eri’s spot, you’d be losing patience with the rule about not being allowed to go out in public alone, but Eri seems okay with it. She only gets frustrated when it gets in the way of her doing something that any other nineteen-year-old would be allowed to do without question, which is why you’re here, even though you were on patrol with Eraserhead last night and he ran you ragged. “It’s no problem. Tonight’s my night off anyway, so I’ll get lots of sleep. There was no way I’d let you miss something this cool.”

“I promised Skeeter I’d get a copy signed for her, too. And Honey.” Eri is bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, more excited than you’ve seen her get about anything in a while. “Do you think we’ll get to talk to him at all?”

“Spinner? I bet,” you say. You might be dead on your feet tired, but the tension in your shoulders at the thought of seeing another member of the League is more than enough to keep you awake. “He seems like a nice guy. Even if he writes the scariest books anybody’s ever read.”

The book of Spinner’s you read a while back was one of his earliest ones, but since then, he’s evolved into writing horror. Eri likes horror novels as much as she likes horror movies, and she talked you, Himiko, Honey, and Birdie into reading one of them along with her. The other three liked it. You were weirded out, and you’re still weirded out. Something about the way Spinner writes, something about the scary stories he chooses to tell, feels a little too familiar for comfort.

You didn’t run it by Midoriya before deciding to come to the book signing, but in your opinion, it’s nowhere near as high-risk as going on patrol with Endgame every so often. You’re just going to see Spinner. Just going to see how he’s doing. Given that he’s free instead of being locked up in Tartarus for life, you think he’s probably doing okay.

“Do you think his new book will be scary, too?” Eri leans against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. She’s been experimenting, fashion-wise – right now she’s in black and red, with ripped jeans even in the cold and black eyeliner even heavier than Honey’s trademark dark circles. “He said he was inspired by recent events. What’s even been going on?”

There’s only one thing you can think of that would catch Spinner’s attention. “The Hero Killer got captured. Maybe it’s that.”

Eri’s nose wrinkles. “How is he inspiring? He was just as stupid as – as Overhaul.”

She’s been away from him for more than a year, but you know she’s still scared of him. Her voice always catches like that when she says his name. You and the others have been trying to help, with varying degrees of success, and there’s only one strategy you’ve found that works. “You mean, loser Overhaul who’s going to be in prison for the rest of his life? Jackass Overhaul who cried like a baby when the judge read the verdict? That Overhaul?”

“Fuckass loser crybaby Overhaul,” Eri says, with feeling, and you nod in agreement. The two of you are getting some weird looks from the people behind you in line, but you ignore them. “He’s scared of people touching him. I bet his prison jumpsuit gives him hives.”

“I bet you’re right. I swear they use itching powder as detergent in there.”

Eri gives you a curious look. “How do you know?”

“I’ve just heard things,” you say. You’re not supposed to know what Tartarus is like. “If Spinner’s new book is about anybody, it’s definitely the Hero Killer. Overhaul’s way too lame.”

“I bet Spinner’s writing about something cool,” Eri says. “Overhaul’s lame as fuck.”

Her voice isn’t shaking any longer. “Damn right.”

Spinner’s new book isn’t about Overhaul. You and Eri collect two copies each once you get inside the bookstore, and while you’re waiting for Spinner’s talk to start, you scan the summary on the back. You guessed right about the Hero Killer, but there’s a twist you didn’t expect – time travel. The main character’s been transported into the body of his own past self, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a chain of events that starts with the Hero Killer and ends in the destruction of the entire world. All he has are memories of the way it all unfolded the first time around.

Spinner’s last book was a little too close to comfort. This one feels like a direct hit, even though the main character’s a man, even though the entire world didn’t end the first time around – just your part of it. By the time Spinner’s talk starts, you’re a nervous wreck.

Spinner looks good. Happier than you ever saw him before, and you wonder if he wouldn’t have been all right in the world-that-was if he’d never gotten mixed up with the League of Villains. Would things have gotten easier for him at some point? Would he have found other people who understood him, who cared about what he cared about? Seeing him this way makes you think the answer’s yes. Out of everyone in the League, Spinner would have been the easiest to save, and the heroes didn’t care.

People care now – some people, at least. Spinner’s okay now. The only person who knows it used to be different is you. That’s your burden, you remind yourself, as the echo of your old anger rocks through you. If carrying it is the price for everything that changed for the better, it’s a price you’re willing to pay.

Spinner’s talk is about horror as a genre, and why he’s branched into it from fantasy. The excerpt he reads from his book sounds pretty good – the kind of thing you’d be interested in, if it wasn’t familiar enough to send shooting pains of anxiety through your fingers. Eri is practically vibrating as the two of you wait in line to have your books signed. “He’s so cool,” she says, and you nod. “I can’t wait to tell Endgame.”

“Huh?”

“He likes Spinner’s books, too. You’d know if you ever came to hang out with us.” Eri gives you a reproachful look. “I told him about this thing and he said it sounded awesome, but he couldn’t go.”

“He probably had work,” you say, feeling like you dodged a bullet. “He keeps busy.”

“Not work. It’s his anniversary. With his wife.” Eri rolls her eyes. “She sucks.”

You mark today’s date in your head as a day where you shouldn’t go anywhere or do anything unsupervised in the future. It’s a good thing you’re with Eri. “Why do you think she sucks?”

“Skeeter told me. When I came to visit, she came too, and she was a bitch to you.”

You’re praying that’s all Himiko said. You swore her to secrecy about your feelings for Tomura, and Eri would be the worst possible person for her to spill the beans to. Even if she didn’t, you’re now in the position of having to defend Tomura’s wife to Eri. “She wasn’t a bitch to me. She didn’t know I was there.”

“So?” Eri gives you a weird look. “She didn’t know you were there, so she said how she really felt, and how she really feels makes her a bitch. I don’t know why he even married her.”

You didn’t expect Eri to have this level of feelings about Tomura’s marriage, and a thought crosses your mind. It’s not a thought you like. “Eri, do you – like him or something?”

“Ew. No. He’s old,” Eri says, and you almost laugh. “You’re all old. I don’t have to have a crush on Endgame to think he should marry somebody who makes him happy.”

Your head is spinning a little bit. A timer goes off on your phone, reminding you that you’re due for another dose of suboxone, and you focus on taking it out of your bag, prying open the bottle, sliding a dose under your tongue. “Skeeter can smell when people are in love,” Eri continues. “She says he doesn’t love her as much as he did before.”

Himiko didn’t tell you that. Would you have wanted to hear? Probably not. “I don’t think you all should be gossiping about him like that. It’s not nice.”

“I don’t care about nice,” Eri says. She scowls. “Endgame would have had more fun coming to meet Spinner with us than hanging out with her.”

“Maybe we can do something nice for him anyway,” you say, and she looks at you. “We’ve got four books here. That’s one for you and Honey and Himiko – and I’ll ask Spinner to sign the fourth one for Endgame.”

“But then you won’t get one.”

“That’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure you want to read this book, anyway. “It’s not the same as coming to the reading and meeting him, but it’s better than nothing, right?”

“Tell Spinner to sign it to Endgame,” Eri says, and you nod. “I bet he’ll like it.”

She seems like she feels a little better, which is good. Her moods are intense, and sometimes, all it takes is one bad thing to ruin what’s otherwise a good day. You can relate to that. All it takes is one reminder of everything you gave up to get your wish for you to find yourself wishing you could neuroin it away.

Wishing for neuroin isn’t the same thing as craving it, or needing it the way you used to. It’s almost wistful, almost nostalgic, to remember the days when just this one thing was a little easier, even if everything else was worse. That’s probably something you should process with Midoriya, the next time the two of you hit a dead end trying to figure out what to do with your memories. You’ve been dragging your feet lately. You’re getting to the parts of the story you don’t want to tell.

One of those parts is what happened to everyone who survived – all three of you, you and Compress and Spinner. Eri reaches Spinner’s table first and he greets her, smiling. “Thanks for coming,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Eri. I love your books,” Eri says. She’s making some pretty intense eye contact. You don’t believe in telling people to smile when they don’t feel like it, but she looks like she’s trying to stare a hole in Spinner’s head. “My friends do, too. They couldn’t come because they’re not allowed to leave.”

“Oh,” Spinner says. He blinks. “Uh – what are their names?”

You realize all at once that Eri doesn’t know them. People go by their treatment nicknames so consistently that she might not even know yours. She glances at you for help. “Honey’s real name is Manami,” you say. “I’ll take care of the other two.”

Eri chats with Spinner while he signs her book and Manami’s, talking his ear off about all her favorite parts from the last book he published, and they’re still talking when you set your two books down on the table. “I’m glad you said that. My editor wanted me to cut that part,” he’s saying to Eri. “She thought there were already enough twists and I didn’t need –”

He glances up at you, double-takes, and startles so badly that he knocks his water bottle off the table. One of the bookstore employees races to retrieve it, and Eri asks if he’s all right, and all the while, Spinner stares. “You, uh – you’re with Eri?”

You nod. Spinner looks good, looks peaceful, looks happy – or he did until a few seconds ago, when he saw you. “And the books,” he says – stammers, almost. “One’s for you, and one’s for –”

“Neither for me. There’s a two-book limit, and I have some friends,” you say. You set the books down and Spinner picks them up with shaky hands. “I can give you their names, if you want?”

Spinner nods. You start with Himiko, using her surname in addition to her given name to see if any flash of recognition crosses Spinner’s face. If there is, he’s hiding it well. “What about the second one?” he asks, and you open your mouth, only for him to answer first. “Endgame, right? Shi – Shimura Tenko.”

“That’s him,” you say. Somehow you aren’t surprised. “You know him?”

“I’m a big fan of his work. Especially that de-escalation stuff he’s started doing,” Spinner says. “Nice to see somebody looking out for the rest of us.”

“She helps with that!” Eri breaks in. You cringe. “Seeker goes out on patrol with Endgame all the time –”

Spinner double-takes again. “You’re a hero?”

“No,” you say. “That’s just my nickname. From treatment.”

“What kind of treatment?”

You want to answer, but one of the assistants taps Spinner’s shoulder, reminds him that there’s a giant line behind you and Eri. Spinner nods. He signs Himiko’s book, then Endgame’s, then picks up a piece of paper off the table and adds something extra to it. He gives you a meaningful look as he tucks it into Endgame’s book and hands it back to you. Something for you. When you open the book to check, well clear of the line and with Eri peering over your shoulder, you find that Spinner’s written his phone number, along with a message underneath: Call me tonight.

“He likes you!” Eri hugs you from one side, which you let her do to prove you trust her ability to handle her quirk. “Are you going to call him? You should. If you date him, he’ll come by the treatment center to pick you up and I can ask him more about the books.”

“I don’t think he wants to date me,” you say. You think Spinner wants to talk. About what? “I’ll call him, though. Just for you.”

Eri elbows you, just like Himiko always does. “That’s not a growth mindset. Why wouldn’t he want to date you?”

Because that’s not who the two of you are to each other. You and Spinner were friends, allies in trying to protect Tomura and make his dreams a reality. Both of you failed, and both of you survived to see the nightmare that a world without Tomura became. Spinner lived, just like you did. If Spinner had been released from Tartarus alongside you, he’d probably have gone with you on your quest to change history and give Tomura the life he should have had all along. If anyone in the new history is likely to know something changed, it’s Spinner. And that means the two of you need to talk. Whether it’s a good idea or not.

Eri keeps needling you about it as you make your way out of the bookstore and into the autumn cold, until you distract her by suggesting the two of you grab dinner out – and dessert. You know the subject will come up later, probably in front of Himiko and Honey and Birdie, but you’re grateful for the temporary reprieve. The need for neuroin, for a quick fix to all of this, is a low hum in the back of your mind, but you’re able to stifle it. Or so you think. As you and Eri are crossing the street, headed for the nearest izakaya, you feel the faintest brush of something warm across your cheek.

It’s your quirk, letting you know that something you’re looking for is – not close, exactly, but that you’re looking in the right direction, and you come to a stop in the middle of the crosswalk, looking towards it. Neuroin, probably. It’s the first time your quirk’s activated like that in a while. Something else to talk to Midoriya about at your next appointment. Sometimes it feels like you’re going to be in therapy for the rest of your life.

“Come on,” Eri says, and you snap out of it. A car honks at the two of you and Eri, who’s picked up some bad habits from Birdie, gives it the finger. You catch her free hand and tug her the rest of the way across. The warmth of your quirk fades quickly. By the time you’ve stepped into the izakaya, you barely remember it was there at all.

“Have you given it to him yet?” Spinner asks, and you look up from where you’ve been studying a watermark on the table. “Endgame. The book.”

“Not yet,” you say. “I only see him on patrol, and I haven’t been on shift with him in a while.”

You’ve been trying not to think about that, about how long it’s been since you saw him. Spinner’s features, wary and guarded since you walked into the café, settle into a frown. “I thought you saw each other more than that.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Spinner says. He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how I guessed it was Endgame you wanted the book for. And I don’t know why seeing you back there felt like dodging a bullet.”

“Ouch.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Spinner says. “You know that feeling when something bad almost happens? Like when you step out into the road too early, and somebody pulls you back before you can get hit?”

You nod. “It’s like that,” Spinner says. “A near miss. That’s how it felt to see you.”

“Like I did something bad to you?”

“No,” Spinner says. “Like you reminded me of something that happened. I just couldn’t remember what.”

He gives you an awkward, curious look. “Is that what it was like to see me?”

“Sort of,” you say. “Has that ever happened to you before?”

“Sort of. One time. I needed to talk to a magician for one of my books, and I felt like I knew him even though we’d never met.”

Compress. It must have been. “Did he feel the same way?”

“I didn’t ask,” Spinner says. “It would have been weird. It was weird with you.”

“Yeah,” you agree. You lift your coffee cup off the table and take a sip, remembering all at once why stimulants were never your thing. “Is that why you wanted to meet up?”

Spinner nods, and takes a sip of his own coffee. You came to the café late, close to closing time, but there are still people here, and one of them not-so-subtly snaps a photo of you and Spinner together. You wonder what they’re planning to do with it. Spinner’s famous. You’re nobody. Maybe they think you two are here on a date.

That’s what Eri, Honey, and Birdie all thought, when they found out you were going to meet Spinner before your shift tonight. Himiko was the only one who didn’t get in on it, the only one who didn’t pester you about what you were wearing or why you don’t own any makeup at all. She stuck close, though, and while the others were distracted, she leaned in closer. “It’s not a date. Why are you going?”

“He wants to talk about something,” you said. “It’s not going to hurt anything to go.”

So far it hasn’t, at least – and you’ve learned something. Himiko doesn’t remember anything, Twice didn’t remember anything in the brief moments you saw him, Endgame’s déjà vu when he looks at you is a product of your imagination more than anything else. But Spinner knew something was up when he saw you, and he knew something was up when he saw Compress, too. And the three of you have something in common: You’re the only ones who survived the war.

All three of you lived in the world-that-was until your wish erased it from history, and when you and Spinner look at each other, it’s not hard to imagine that he can see an afterimage of the way things used to be. After his trial, you never saw him again. In Tartarus, you were kept in separate cells, locked down twenty-four hours a day in spite of the fact that neither of you were truly dangerous. It didn’t matter. Spinner was the only one who understood how you felt about losing Tomura. He was Tomura’s best friend, and you were the love of Tomura’s all-too-short life, and even though it never happened here, part of it still remains.

Midoriya has a word for the times when something from your memories happens here, at a different time or in a different way. He calls it harmonization – different arrangements of notes, but still in the same key. It makes as much sense to you as anything else, and you feel it again here with Spinner, just like you did with Himiko, just like you do with Tomura. The only difference is that Spinner feels something, too.

“To be honest,” Spinner says, and you force yourself to focus, “I don’t get along with many people. Not that I start fights or anything – I just can’t connect. It’s like we’re traveling on parallel lines. They might be close, but they’ll never cross.”

Spinner’s got a way with words. You wish he’d found his voice sooner in the world-that-was. “That sounds pretty lonely.”

“Yeah,” Spinner agrees. “Do you ever feel like that?”

“I used to,” you say. More coffee. You’re going to be buzzed for your entire shift tonight, and you’ll still have a hard time sleeping when you get home. “I’m a neuroin addict. I’ve been sober for two years and counting, but some part of me is always going to think that using’s an option, even if the rest of me knows better. I used because I was in pain, and because I was alone. When I got to treatment, I met people who understood. And I’m not as lonely as I was before.”

“I’ve never met a neuroin addict,” Spinner says, and you laugh. “Sorry. I just thought – since you called yourself that –”

“It’s okay,” you say. You don’t mind Spinner using those words. Not the way you’d mind it from a random civilian, or a hero, or Endgame’s wife. “I think you probably haven’t. A while back there was someone tainting the supply, and it killed a lot of people who used. Neuroin’s hard to bounce back from, and a lot of people who used it and didn’t die are in prison right now.”

“Really?” Spinner’s nose wrinkles. “Do people on neuroin get violent?”

“No,” you say. “I spent more time zoning out than anything else. But possession of neuroin’s illegal, so if you’re caught with it, you pick up charges. That doesn’t happen to people whose opioid of choice is a prescription drug.”

“That sounds like bullshit,” Spinner says frankly. You nod. “Hey, um – maybe not tonight, but do you think you’d mind if I –”

“What?”

“Interview you about this stuff,” Spinner says. You don’t know what you were expecting him to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “In case I want to write about it in the future. I don’t want to get things wrong.”

“Sure,” you say, “but you shouldn’t interview just me. You should talk to a lot of people. There’s more than one story, and if you’re going to tell it, you should tell it right.”

“Yeah.” Spinner smiles halfway. “I like doing research almost as much as I like writing. When I’m asking questions, people talk to me.”

Which is sort of what happened just now. You feel a stab of guilt and a pang of sympathy, all at once. “If you want to hang out sometime, I’d like that. I’m busy a lot, with work and – um, other work – but I think we might get along.”

“Don’t say that because you feel sorry for me.” Spinner says. “I know you feel sorry for me. I can tell.”

You can always tell, too. “Maybe,” you admit, “but that’s not why I said it. Like you said, it feels kind of like we know each other already. So I’d like to catch up.”

“Me, too,” Spinner says. His smile is tentative, and you match it with one of your own. Sometimes it still feels strange to smile. “Can I ask something dumb?”

“Go for it.”

“Did your friends like the new book?”

“They really liked it,” you say. “You should swing by the treatment center sometime. They’d go crazy over you.”

You’re thinking of Honey in particular, but you know Himiko and Birdie would want to meet him, too. Spinner actually blushes. “What about your daughter?” he asks, and you almost choke on your last sip of coffee. “Eri. What did she think?”

You’re too busy coughing to answer, and Spinner watches you with increasing concern. “Are you okay?”

“She’s not my daughter,” you manage, your eyes streaming. “I love her – a lot – but we don’t look anything alike. Do we?”

“No,” Spinner admits. “I don’t know. I just thought – you guys seemed really close. And I figured she probably took after her dad.”

It occurs to you all at once whose features she matches, and you can’t decide whether to take your next suboxone dose early or just throw up. “Sorry,” Spinner says. “That was a weird thing to say. This is why nobody talks to me.”

“It’s fine,” you say. You clear your throat, force down the nausea, and tell yourself you can wait on the suboxone. “She really liked your book. She’s been telling everybody how good it is. If you do come by the treatment center, she’ll talk your ear off.”

You remember something else Eri said, something she’s been saying. “She’s been talking about being a writer,” you say, and Spinner’s eyes light up. “I don’t think she knows where to start.”

“Maybe I could do a workshop or something,” Spinner says. “I do those sometimes – for orphanages or alternative high schools. I don’t know how much pull you have over there, but –”

“Not a lot, but I know the counselors would be really into it,” you say. The idea of bringing Spinner and Himiko back together, of spending time with both of them for the first time in fourteen years, fills your chest with warmth even as it goes tight with sadness. “I’ll talk to them about it. You’ll probably hear about it tomorrow or something.”

“That would be nice,” Spinner admits. Your phone timer goes off, letting you know that you do in fact need more suboxone – and that it’s time to leave for your shift. “Do you have to head out?”

“I’ve got work tonight. And I’ve got the book with me, in case I see Endgame.”

Spinner nods, but his brow is furrowing, and you don’t want to think about why. You drain your coffee, resigning yourself to a full night of your bones rattling in your skin, and get to your feet. “It was nice to see you. Let’s do this again. Soon.”

“I’d like that,” Spinner agrees. He gets to his feet, too. “Do we, like – shake hands or something?”

“Let’s hug,” you say instead, and you do, ignoring the picture that’s snapped in the background, ignoring the fact that you’ll be crying the instant you hit the street. This is a good thing. “Missed you.”

“Yeah,” Spinner says. His shoulders relax slightly, and you hang on for another second before letting go. You and Spinner used to punch each other a lot, for reasons that were beyond either of you when Dabi asked what the hell you were doing. This is nicer. “Missed you too.”

You take out your phone and study it, wondering if it’s time to call dispatch. You got to the meeting spot half an hour ago, and whichever hero you’re working with tonight still isn’t here. Are you supposed to run things alone tonight? They’d have told you, wouldn’t they? None of the heroes you work with are great at showing up on time, and some of them are worse than others, but half an hour is a new record. And it’s a problem. When it comes to crisis situations, things can go off the rails in a split second, and while you can’t be everywhere at once, you’d like to be somewhere at least.

Maybe you were paired up with Eraserhead for tonight, and he got hurt or something. He gets banged up a lot, more so than the other heroes. Or maybe you were with Lemillion, who only wants to save some people and tends to look for excuses to get out of his shifts. You don’t know why he’s even here, really. This program is supposed to be voluntary, for people who believe in its mission, and Lemillion likes punching people way too much for that to be the case.

Whoever they are, they’re past late and approaching really late, and you’re starting to get annoyed. You’re an addict and a criminal. You’re supposed to be the unreliable one, and if even you can manage to show up on time, why can’t –

“Hey.” The voice is quiet, out of breath, and it still sends a jolt down your spine. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”

You turn to face Endgame, and almost instantly you can tell there’s something wrong. Tomura always wore his emotions on his sleeve, showed them on his face, and even though Endgame is older with a hell of a lot more self-control, you can still see it in his eyes, in the downturned corners of his mouth. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good. Give me a second.” Endgame’s breathing is slow to even out. Did he run here? Why would he run if he was already half an hour late? “I’m good. Let’s go. You can pick the route.”

That’s not supposed to be how it works – the hero’s in charge, and always picks the route – but you decide not to argue about it. You start walking, the opposite direction from where you and Endgame usually go, and he follows you, still putting on his cape. And his gloves. He’s never this late, and never this off-balance, and after a couple blocks, you can’t help asking again. “Are you okay? It seems like something happened.”

Endgame glances at you, then looks away in a hurry. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He’s acting weird. You haven’t been on-shift with him in two months, and he’s acting really weird. Now that you think about it, he hasn’t come around the treatment center much, either. Eri’s been wondering where he is. So has Himiko. Seeing him now, seeing that something’s wrong, worries you more than a little, and as the two of you start your shift in earnest, you try to talk yourself down. Endgame is your coworker. It’s normal to worry a little bit about your coworker when they’re so obviously out of sorts. It’s not normal to focus on it, to keep asking, to buckle under the overwhelming need to find out so you can fix it. Worrying is fine. As long as you keep it in perspective.

A busy shift would help with that, but tonight is painfully slow. The two of you walk in silence, where you would have talked before, and with every step, the tension between you builds. You stopped looking at him a while ago, but you can feel him looking at you, and two hours into your shift, he finally speaks up. “Sorry I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says. “I started picking up the day shift instead.”

“Oh,” you say. “How do you like it?”

“It blows,” Endgame says. “The cops are a lot more active during the day, and they keep interfering when I’m trying to de-escalate. Some heroes are good at dealing with them, but I’m – not. Apparently I have a problem with authority.”

“Sometimes the authorities are wrong about things,” you say. “And the people they’re after need someone like you to stand up for them.”

It’s quiet for a second, just enough time for you to wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing. You try to watch what you say about Endgame, but sometimes you forget. “That means a lot,” he says finally. “People keep saying that I’m making trouble over nothing.”

“You aren’t,” you say firmly. You wonder who’s saying that, and how they’d feel about a private conversation with a former drug addict, criminal, and Tartarus inmate who’s also one of the founding members of the League of Villains. Hero or cop, you’re not scared of anybody. “Maybe the day shift isn’t your thing. There’s nothing wrong with that. And there’s nothing wrong with you for not agreeing what the best way to help somebody is. The whole reason this program exists is because the cops’ way doesn’t work.”

You risk a glance at Endgame, trying to see if you’re getting through to him. It’s hard to say. You could always read Tomura like a book, but Endgame is more difficult. He’s not the same person you fell in love with. You need to remember that before you start thinking you can make him feel better. “I don’t mean to overstep.”

“You aren’t,” Endgame says at once. “I like the night shift. I didn’t want to switch.”

“Why did you?”

“My wife asked,” Endgame says. Your stomach lurches. “She said it was a distraction from what I should be doing.”

You made a policy with yourself not to comment on Endgame’s wife, regardless of who brings her up or when, but this time, the question slips out before you can stop yourself. “What does she think you should be doing?”

“Actual heroics,” Endgame says. You hear the faintest echo of Tomura’s frustration, Tomura’s fury, for the first time since you found him in this world. “Fighting villains. Going on missions where I fight villains and get good press for doing it. Saving people who want to be saved – no, she said –”

“Deserve to be saved,” you say. Endgame nods. His jaw is clenched. “That’s how most people think. It’s not that out of line.”

“Have some self-respect,” Endgame snaps, and you flinch. “You’re not stupid. You know what it means. You’re saying that most people believe I should have let you die. That I shouldn’t have even tried, because you didn’t deserve to be saved. How can you be okay with that?”

You’re not okay with it. You don’t know what to say in the face of Endgame’s anger. Even though you’re not its true target, it still stings. “Kao said it,” Endgame says. His fury’s cut with confusion now. With hurt. “Yesterday. So I’m back on the night shift. For good this time. And I feel better doing this. More like –”

He trails off, and before you can think better of it, you fill in. “More like yourself.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “You always know how to say it,” Endgame says. “I missed that.”

You knew this conversation was a mistake. You should never have said a word when he brought up Bubble Girl – and you’re an idiot, so you keep talking. “You still haven’t cut your hair.”

“I’m not going to,” Endgame says. “Like you said. I feel better that way, too.”

Another silence falls. “What do you think of it?”

“Your hair?” You’re going to tell Midoriya about this conversation tomorrow, and Midoriya’s going to read you the riot act, and you’re going to feel like a moron until the next time you see Endgame and stick your foot in your mouth. “What matters is how you feel about it. It’s your hair.”

“Right,” Endgame says, and for a second you think you’re off the hook. “Do you like it?”

Maybe you should switch to the day shift. Or walk into traffic. You have to say something now, and the longer you wait, the worse it’ll look. If you were normal, if you weren’t in love with him, what would you say? “I think it suits you.”

“Yeah?” Endgame is looking at you. You nod. “Thanks.”

You walk in silence again until your timer goes off, reminding you to take your suboxone and stop acting like a lunatic. You need the reminder if you’re going to get through the rest of this shift, and as awful as it is, you find yourself praying for things to pick up just a little bit. You need things to stop being weird, right now, and the fastest way to get there is for you and Endgame to find something to do.

Tonight’s route takes you through downtown, which can be kind of dead late at night, unless there’s something going on to lure everybody out. There’s some kind of street fair, something you’ve seen posters for around town, and events like that tend to draw everybody, civilians and criminals alike. Endgame hesitates at the edge of the crowd, glances your way. “What do you think?”

“I’d have been all over something like this,” you say. “Pockets to pick. Food to steal. Lots of ways to get in trouble.”

“All right. Let’s do it.”

The street fair is busy. Endgame glances around, confirms there’s no hero onsite, and reports to dispatch that he’s got the event supervised. Then the two of you walk, slowed by the crowd, at risk of getting separated by a single wrong step. Endgame catches your arm before you can protest, draws you in closer. “We need a vantage point,” he says in your ear. Maybe you’re in hell. “How do you feel about heights?”

The two of you end up crouched on a balcony, not particularly high but high enough to get a good view of the fair, and low enough that you can probably jump down without breaking something. You study the crowd, looking for anyone moving strangely, anybody walking against the current, anybody trying to move fast in a street that’s slow. Back in the day, you’d have been erratic at a place like this, trying to decide where to act and when and what you were even going to do. You got pretty good at pickpocketing out of necessity. Somewhere like this, you’d never get caught.

But not everybody has your experience. You spot something out of the corner of your eye and focus in, nudging Endgame to get his attention, too. The would-be pickpocket doesn’t look any older than sixteen, and while he’s picked a good target, he’s not going about it with any confidence. He keeps coming in close, then hesitating, retreating, coming in close again. When he steps off to a safe distance, you wonder if he’s changed his mind – only to see his arm extending through the crowd as he activates his quirk and scoops the wallet out of his mark’s back pocket.

He’s committed a crime, and he’s used his quirk to do it. In the eyes of the law, that makes him a villain, and you decide all at once that you won’t let that happen. You hop down from the balcony, rolling your ankle – of course – and weave through the crowd, catching up to the kid without him ever knowing you’re there. It’s easy to lift the wallet out of his back pocket, and once you’ve got it, you tap his shoulder with your free hand. “Missing something?”

He checks his back pocket first, then whips around, his eyes narrowing, his jaw clenching. “That’s mine.”

“It’s mine, the same way it was yours. Because I took it,” you say. The kid’s arm shoots out, but you switch the wallet to your other hand. “Want to tell me what you need it for?”

“Money. Are you stupid or something?”

“What do you need the money for?” you ask. The kid blinks. “Maybe I can help.”

“Sure you can,” the kid scoffs. “Unless you can find me a place to stay –”

“How old are you?” You can think of a few things off the top of your head, especially if he’s underage. The kid tells you he’s fourteen, which is younger than you thought, and by the time you’ve gotten his first name out of him, Endgame’s caught up with you. The kid takes one look at him and tries to bolt, but you reach out and stop him. “Yuichiro, hang on a second. He’s not here to arrest you.”

“Yeah. This is her show,” Endgame says, nodding to you. “I’m just her backup. She’s going to call some people and see about getting you what you need, and in the meantime, you’re gonna hang out with me. Are you hungry?”

Yuichiro’s expression goes guarded in a way that makes you nervous. “What do I have to give you?”

“Nothing,” Endgame says, puzzled. “I’m hungry, and I’d look like an asshole if I got something for me and not for you.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“No,” Endgame says. He’s starting to catch on, and he glances at you, eyes narrowing. You shake your head: Not now. “Just tell me what you want to get.”

You watch Endgame and Yuichiro out of the corner of your eye as they head for the nearest vendor, and as you select the first number on your resource list and place a call. If the first shelter doesn’t have room, you’ll call the next one. And the one after that. You don’t know where this kid’s been staying, but there’s no way you’re letting him go back there. If you can get him into a shelter, he’ll have a caseworker, someone to look out for him. And maybe there’s a chance he won’t wind up back on the street.

By the time Endgame and Yuichiro come back, Endgame holding what looks like a pastry box and Yuichiro tearing into an order of takoyaki, you’ve got good news. “Okay. There’s a shelter here that only takes teenagers, and they’ve got an open bed. There’s a car coming to pick you up.”

“Are they going to call my parents?”

“No,” you say. “Not unless you want them to. They won’t kick you out, either. As long as you’re engaging in at least one of their programs – they have a lot of them – you can stay as long as you need.”

Yuichiro looks wary. “You’re thinking it sounds too good to be true, right?” Endgame says, and Yuichiro startles. “Like there’s a catch somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Yuichiro says. “There’s always a catch.”

“Not this time,” you say. “Everybody there wants to help you. If you want help.”

The car pulls up – always the same car, always the same driver. Yuichiro hesitates again, then glances up at Endgame. “Can you come too?”

“Sure,” Endgame says easily. “Let’s go.”

You watch the two of them walk to the car, Endgame getting in first to prove it’s safe and Yuichiro following him. This is the first time Endgame’s agreed to go along with someone to the shelter, but Yuichiro’s the youngest kid you’ve run into out here, and something awful is going on around him. Maybe Endgame can get it out of him. He wasn’t going to tell you. You’re a lot better with adults than with kids.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, with a number you aren’t familiar with, and you open the text. sorry I bailed

Endgame. It was the right call. How is he?

something’s really off with him. he doesn’t want to talk about it at all. Endgame’s typing bubble doesn’t vanish for more than a split second before he’s off again. want to come meet me at the shelter? we can pick up patrol from there.

You glance around at the street fair. It’s still busy, but some of the vendors are starting to close up shop. This is winding down. I’ll head your way after.

Somehow it’s only four hours into your shift. It feels like time’s picked up, speeding faster to push you away from those awkward moments with Endgame early on. You still can’t figure out how things sideways. He was upset. What were you supposed to do, just leave it alone? Asking was the right thing to do, the thing you would have done for anyone you were about to spend eight hours with. And then he opened up, and you asked the logical follow-up question, and somehow it all ended up with you telling him that you like his hair. This is a disaster.

But he and Bubble Girl are fighting. You shouldn’t care about that at all, but you do – and they’re not just having a little spat. The disagreement Endgame told you about is ideological, intractable. Either a person believes that everyone’s worthy of being saved if they want to be, or they think that some people deserve to suffer no matter how badly they want help. You’re not surprised Tomura has a problem with it. You’re not surprised to hear confusion and hurt in his voice at the realization that someone he loves would have written him off at five years old.

You understand, because you love him. You remember Himiko’s note from the day Eri came to tour the treatment center – She doesn’t love him as much as you do – and for the first time, it strikes you as something other than an inviolable law of the universe that the two of them are together. Bubble Girl doesn’t love Endgame as much as you do. Endgame deserves better.

That’s a thought you shouldn’t have. You add it to the list of mistakes you need to talk to Midoriya about and keep scanning the street fair for other people Tomura’s wife thinks deserve to die.

The street fair winds down without any further incident, other than you returning the stolen wallet and pretending you found it on the ground, and you set off in the direction of the shelter, walking at a more leisurely pace than usual. You know the shelter’s intake process takes a little while, and you need time to clear your head – which you don’t get, because Endgame calls you before you’ve gone more than a couple blocks. “Send me your location. I can meet you halfway.”

“Sure.” You hang up and share it, only for him to call back immediately. “What?”

Endgame doesn’t answer your question. Of course. “I did some damage control for you with Yuichiro,” he says. “He’s a little intimidated.”

“By me?” That might be the weirdest thing anyone’s ever said to you. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I think that move where you pickpocketed him and then solved all his problems might have done it.” There’s a hint of laughter in Endgame’s voice. Is he making fun of you? “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Pickpocket people? I couldn’t get a job, and I had to get money somewhere.” You used to use your quirk to guide you to the people who had the largest amount of cash on hand, and you’d ditch their empty wallets afterwards. “Did you get anything out of him about what happened?”

“Little bit. He’s been on the street for two months, and he ran across somebody who offered him a place to stay at night, in exchange for his body. Whatever that means. He didn’t exactly elaborate.”

Your skin crawls. “Sounds like human trafficking to me. Did he say anything else about who it was – or where he was supposed to go –”

“He said they move around. Somewhere different every night,” Endgame says. “Whoever this is, they’re way ahead of us. This city’s not even on the record as a human trafficking hub.”

Was human trafficking something people cared about in the world-that-was? It should have been, but you don’t remember hearing about it, probably because most of the people getting trafficked were undocumented foreigners who came to Japan looking for work and criminals like you. It’s a different story when kids are involved. “Did he say if there were other kids with him? Or – fuck!”

The right side of your face erupts in what feels like a sheet of flames. You drop your phone, then double over, hand pressed against it. It doesn’t help. The burning actually seems to get worse, and the only thing that cuts through the searing heat is the sound of Endgame’s voice. You don’t have him on speaker, but you can hear him shouting through the phone. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

You reach for the phone with your left hand. You need your right, or your face might actually light on fire. “I’m –” Not fine. Absolutely not fine. “I don’t know –”

“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.” Endgame hangs up the phone, and you sink slowly to your knees. The burning doesn’t fade when you look straight ahead. When you turn your head to the right, it gets worse. When you look left, it lessens ever so slightly. You look left, then right, a few more times, trying to confirm it. Left is better. It’s hot, then cold, then –

Hot. Cold. By the time Endgame catches up to you, you’ve figured it out, and you’re already getting to your feet. “My quirk,” you say, as he’s opening his mouth to ask the question. “There’s something I’m looking for. It’s close.”

“Where is it?” Endgame asks. His hands brush against your elbows, reaching out to steady you even though you don’t need it. You nod to the left. “What is it?”

“I don’t –” Yes, you do. “I went to the missing persons database. I memorized some of the profiles.”

“Were any of them kids?” Endgame doesn’t wait for your answer. “If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you. Just tell me where to go.”

“I can walk,” you say. “But we should run.”

By the time your quirk leads you and Endgame to a nondescript office building, closed for the night, the burning of your quirk’s spread through your entire body. Your vision is blurry, and it’ll keep getting worse, right up until you’re face to face with the person you’re looking for. Endgame catches your arm and pulls you off to one side, out of sight. “How many people you’re looking for are in there?”

Maybe that’s why your quirk is activating so strongly. “At least one. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Endgame says. “We’re going in.”

For a moment, you’re thrown back to the world-that-was, to every time Tomura said something insane and looked at you to follow along. “We don’t have any idea who else is in there. Shouldn’t you call for backup or something?”

“If it’s the same people who had Yuichiro, they’ll be gone by morning,” Endgame says. “I won’t let that happen. Come with me. Tell me where to find them.”

This is a bad idea, but you know instinctively that Endgame won’t back off. And if he’s going in there, the fastest way to get him in and out is to find the people you’re looking for – which is also going to be the fastest way to turn your quirk off. “Fine.”

You don’t spend a lot of time breaking into buildings on hero business, and apparently there’s a procedure – ditch all unnecessary gear, make sure Endgame’s location is visible on the Hero Network, set a fifteen-minute time delay that will send up a red alert if it’s not turned off by hand. While Endgame takes care of that, you store your belongings out of sight, then send a message of your own. Endgame doesn’t want to wait for formal backup, and you understand. But you know there’s somebody else out here tonight, someone who cares more about saving people than fighting villains. You send your location and tuck your phone away.

“Ready?” Endgame asks, and you nod. You must have some kind of look on your face about it, because he takes a few steps closer to you. “Hey. Nothing bad’s going to happen to you in there. I won’t let it.”

It’s not you you’re worried about. You don’t know what it is. You nod again, and when Endgame heads for the building, you follow him without looking back.

Endgame runs his fingers along the wall, like he’s searching for something. The two of you should be searching for an entry point. Your struggle to focus your eyes as Endgame sets his hands flat against the wall – and before his touch a piece of the wall crumbles away, leaving a hole big enough to walk through without ducking your head. “What?” Endgame asks, when he catches you staring. “It’s faster this way. And I’ve never seen this way set off any alarms.”

It’s not that. For a moment, you thought you’d seen a ghost. You step through the makeshift entryway without waiting for Endgame’s permission. Your quirk led you here. You need to lead the way, and your quirk leads you up the stairs. Six flights of them, to a door that’s locked – and barricaded, based on the fact that it doesn’t give even slightly when you shove it. Endgame reaches past you without a word and Decays a path through. The burning of your quirk intensifies further. The person, or people, you’re looking for are here.

Here looks like a doctor’s office, suspiciously well-lit for the fact that it’s past midnight. Some of the rooms are flagged as being in use, while others are vacant, doors hanging open. “Are you sure they’re here?” Endgame asks in your ear, and you give a thumbs-up. “Okay. Be careful.”

You try to step lightly as you pass the closed doors, as you peer into the open ones. One look into an open one tells you exactly what kind of place this is, tells you that your guess of human trafficking was accurate. The victim who must have been in here is gone. But there’s evidence all over the place of what happened to them, and bile wells up in the back of your throat. It’s horrible enough if it was an adult. If it was a kid –

“Fucking hell.” Endgame is peering over your shoulder, his hair brushing against your cheek. “Was the person you’re looking for in here? Can you tell?”

“I can’t track people. My quirk just tells me where they are now.” You look away from the empty room with an effort. Your face is still burning, almost unbearably hot. “This way. I think we’re close.”

You pass open rooms – so many open rooms – and when you reach a closed door, your quirk lights you up with a sheet of agony. All you can do is indicate the door. Endgame tries the doorknob, finds it locked, and Decays the entire thing. You stumble forward, reaching inside for the light switch. It takes you a moment to find it, but once you do, you see who your quirk’s been leading you to. The heat drains out of you, so fast and sudden that it makes you shiver. Just like the five kids in this room are shivering, curled up in a corner of the room, watching you with frightened eyes.

Endgame sucks in a breath at the sight, and you see his hands curl into fists at his sides, only to relax just as quickly. He makes his way through the room in quick, sure steps, crouching down just out of reach from the kids. “Hi. My name’s Endgame. I’m here to help. What are your names?”

Two of the kids won’t talk, or maybe they’re mute. One of them was in the files you memorized – disappeared four years ago, at three years old, never to be seen until now. There’s a second kid from your files, but this one’s older, and she’s able to talk, able to introduce the others. “Okay,” Endgame says. You can’t see his face, but you picture him smiling, putting on a brave face. “You don’t have to tell us what happened here, but it’s not going to happen anymore. You’re safe. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“We are,” you echo. You should have memorized more missing-person profiles. Your quirk should have alerted you to all these kids, not just two of them. “Is there anyone else here? Is it just the five of you?”

The older girl, the one you were looking for, shakes her head. She starts helping the others to their feet, and Endgame does the same. One of them, the youngest one, can’t keep their feet under them, and Endgame picks them up. The sight of him carrying a kid, the kid’s head resting on his shoulder, does all kinds of damage to you. You avert your eyes and usher the kids out into the hall, one at a time.

The older girl, Kitano Arisa, comes out last, after Endgame and the youngest kid. She seizes your arm in one shaking hand and pulls until you lean down. “There are more,” she whispers. “In the lab.”

Your heart sinks, in the same moment as you realize why she didn’t tell you. She wants Endgame to focus on getting her and the others out, not get distracted by trying to rescue others. “You did the right thing,” you tell her, and her expression crumples. “Follow Endgame. I’ll go.”

You don’t check in with Endgame first. You don’t need to. You did your job getting him here, finding the kids you were looking for, and now it’s your turn to find the one you didn’t know about. You make your way down the hall as quietly as possible, picking every lock on every closed door you find. You aren’t as fast as Endgame’s Decay, but you still get the doors open. There’s no one inside except one, a kid who’s been bound and gagged. You untie him, peel the gag off, and tell him where to run.

Finding this place was hard, but you’re aware that the rest of it is too easy. There were multiple prisoners here, and when it comes to human trafficking, people are profit. There’s no way whoever runs this place has left so many people unguarded. Unless it’s not human trafficking. Unless whoever brought these people here has something else in mind. Like what?

The lab is well-lit, glass-windowed, easy to peer into. The only door you can see has a keypad, a fingerprint scanner, and a card-reader, so there’s no way you’re getting in. You peer in through the window, trying to stay out of sight. If whoever’s in here sees you, you’re in big trouble. You activate your quirk, seeking the fastest escape route if you’re spotted. Then, as the warmth of your quirk is just beginning to curl around your cheek, you see something that wipes every thought of escaping right out of your mind.

It’s the equipment. You’ve seen this equipment before, some of it – but unlike what you saw in the doctor’s workshop underneath a hospital in another life, this is downsized. Portable. Easy to move somewhere overnight, with the right combination of quirks involved. Someone is bustling around in the lab. They’re too tall to be Dr. Ujiko, and they’ve still got a face, which means they aren’t All For One. And All For One really must be dead. Otherwise this equipment wouldn’t be needed to implant quirks.

That is what’s happening. The person strapped down to a lab workstation is bound and gagged, and the glass between you and them must be soundproofed in addition. You know from watching even a piece of what the doctor did to Tomura that gags are useless against the kind of screams a person who’s being tortured lets out. For a moment, all you can remember is the horrible morguelike smell beneath the hospital, the doctor’s croaking laughter, Tomura’s convulsions on the operating table as he fought desperately to escape. How helpless you felt. How certain you were that there was nothing you could do.

Fuck that. There’s always something you can do. You turn without thinking about it, break the glass over the fire extinguisher case on the wall, and yank it out. Part of you wants to stop, to look for an ax or something better, but you can’t fathom waiting, just like you can’t fathom waiting for help to arrive. You’re expecting it to take multiple swings for the soundproof glass to shatter. You break it in one.

The torturer looks up, shocked, and you have time to register that it’s not someone you recognize before you leap up and through the broken window. Whoever it is, he’s a second too slow in responding, and before he can grab for a weapon or activate their quirk, you clock him in the gut with the fire extinguisher. You shove him to one side as he doubles over, then race for the workstation and the victim.

You don’t get far. The torturer grabs your ankle and yanks you off your feet, only to catch your boot to his face when you kick back. You actually hear his nose crunch, and blood gushes down his face in a steaming flood. “Who the fuck are you? How did you get in here?”

You’re not going to dignify that with a response. You kick him again, hard enough to shatter his glasses, then scramble up, finally reaching the workstation. The person there is still thrashing in agony, and worse, they’ve still got machines connected to them, plugged into a hole in their stomach. You can’t just pull them out of here. They could die. Like Tomura would have, if you’d tried to free him from the doctor in the middle of a procedure.

The memory washes over you, strong enough to make you wish for neuroin, but it’s not like before. There’s something you can do. “It’s going to be okay,” you promise the victim, and you unhook the gag and lift it out of their mouth. “More help’s coming. I promise I won’t leave until –”

“Behind you!” The victim’s voice cracks with terror, and you turn just in time to see the scalpel being driven down towards your back.

You throw yourself to one side, but not quite fast enough – the blade sinks into your upper arm and drags down, opening a bloody gash that you can’t think about right now. He’s still coming after you, and you can’t leave the victim unattended. Toga taught you how to handle yourself against a knife. Do you remember? You remember enough, maybe. But your arm’s a mess, and you’re hemmed in by the workstation. You manage to turn to face your attacker, to seize his wrist with both hands as he brings the knife down on you a second time.

You aren’t weak. You can hold him back. But he’s got leverage and a free hand, one that he drives into your side hard enough to make your ribs creak. You’re conscious of the victim on the table, how you promised they’d be okay, how you swore more help is coming. You can’t make them watch you die. No one’s here yet. You promised –

Ropes of black and green energy wrap around the torturer, and in the space of a split second, he’s yanked back away from you. You slump back against the workstation, clamping one hand down over your bleeding arm, as Midoriya drags the man back through the broken window. You’ve never seen him in his hero outfit before. It looks homemade, and it looks like someone took an All Might onesie and dyed it green. “You made it.”

“Yeah. Sorry it took me a second.” Midoriya surveys the scene, all the while keeping the torturer restrained. “EMS is on their way up. I’m going to lower this guy down to the police. Is there anybody else here?”

“I don’t know. They only told me about the one here.”

“I’ll search,” Midoriya decides. He glances back at you, his concern evident through the mask. “I’m sorry. If I got here faster, maybe you wouldn’t have –”

“Get that guy out of here, search, and go,” you say. “Don’t get caught.”

You know you’ll be hearing about this tomorrow morning in therapy, but right now, you and Midoriya both have jobs to do. He vanishes back through the window, pulling the torturer with him, and you lever yourself upright with an effort, turning your attention to the victim. You hear footsteps on the stairs and repeat yourself. “See? I told you. Help is on the way. Everything’s going to be fine.”

EMS gets there first. You stammer out an explanation for some of the machines, praying they won’t ask you how you know, then allow yourself to be shuffled back away from the workstation. You’re nowhere near as bad off as the victim – any of the victims – but you’re not in good shape, either. It’s been a while since you got in a brawl like this. The last time was in another life.

You knew Tomura was dead. You didn’t know about Dabi yet, or Toga, but Tomura was dead, and that was enough. You didn’t want to be taken alive, either, so you fought hard against the heroes who tried to apprehend you, and you did enough damage to add two extra years to your sentence in Tartarus. You hurt people. Maimed them on purpose. You got beat half to hell in the process, but you were dangerous, and you weren’t going down easily. You couldn’t figure it out. Why they wouldn’t kill you. Why they’d murder Tomura and make you live.

Your head is spinning, or maybe you’re just getting lightheaded. You turn around unsteadily, looking for something to lean on, only to find yourself face-to-face with Endgame. He’s not out of breath, in spite of sprinting up so many flights of stairs, and he looks furious. “That was stupid,” he spits at you. “Why did you do that?”

“The kids,” you mumble. “I didn’t want them to wait.”

“So I should have gone, and you should have gotten them out!” Endgame snaps. “Are you out of your mind? You aren’t a hero. Why did you –”

The world tilted a few seconds back, and you’re struggling to stay on your feet. Endgame steps forward without hesitating, and for the first time since he helped you sit up after the overdose, you find yourself in his arms. You try to get your feet back under you, and take a shot at answering his question at the same time. “I’m not a hero. You don’t have to be a hero to save someone. All it takes is – is one –”

Nausea swims up and over your head, and the world blurs into grey, then black. Not for long, though. When your awareness comes back, you’re still inside the building, being carried down the stairs in Endgame’s arms, your head tilted against his shoulder, your forehead pressed to the side of his neck. When you take a shallow breath in, all you can smell is sweat and the familiar scent of his skin. You shouldn’t be here. “I can walk.”

“No problem. I’ll let you walk and you can wipe out down the stairs.” Endgame’s voice is oddly tense. Maybe you’re heavy. “Just hold still.”

You’ll never get this again. Maybe you should just enjoy it. Not pretend he wants to carry you, or that the way he’s holding you is different from the way you’ve seen him support other victims. Not to imagine that there’s something special about you. You’ll cry about this later, wish for neuroin to take the edge off the pain, but for now, you lean into Endgame and breathe deep. His hair brushes against your cheek as he walks. That’s familiar, too.

All the emergency personnel outside the building are occupied with the kids, like they should be, so Endgame kidnaps a first-aid kit and treats you himself. You feel like that’s a bad idea, too, but you can tell Endgame’s losing patience, so you don’t push the point. It’s – nice, anyway. Different. This is something you never got in the world-that-was, because Tomura was always injured worse than you are, and you didn’t hold it against him. You knew how things were. He didn’t need to patch up your scrapes and bruises to show you that he loved you.

Endgame doesn’t love you. He’ll never love you. But you find yourself fixated on his gentle touch as he tells you to lie back, props your legs up, slides a makeshift pillow beneath your head, cuts open your sleeve to clean the cut on your arm. You wonder what it would have been like to have this before. To know that Tomura could take care of you, and to be sure that he would.

“What happened up there?” Endgame asks as he applies steri-strips, piecing the wound back together. You’re averting your eyes, not because you have a problem with blood but because it’ll be hard enough to bounce back from this already. “I didn’t hear much except from Savior when he dropped the mad scientist off.”

The mad scientist. That’s a good word to describe him. “He was working on someone. Torturing them. I couldn’t just watch.”

“What did you do instead?”

“Swung a fire extinguisher through the observation window,” you say, and Endgame snorts. “And then I picked a fight.”

“And lost.”

“I lived, so I won,” you protest. “But I could have won the other way. I kept getting distracted. Because of –”

“The victim,” Endgame says. “That’s the hardest part for me, too.”

You look at him then. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to look away, and you find his gaze distant, even as one hand cradles your elbow, as the other smooths a steri-strip down. “I didn’t get into this job because I like fighting or something. I like helping people. I’m not good at focusing on fighting if I know someone’s being hurt, even if I have to fight to make it stop. So I get it.”

His eyes refocus, settling on yours. “I’m not letting you off the hook, though. Starting that fight was a stupid idea.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” It’s harder than it should be to hold his gaze, and with the effort that takes, there’s nothing left to stop what you say next. “I saw something like that before, and I didn’t stop it then. I had to stop it now.”

You wonder if you’re imagining the wariness in Endgame’s gaze. “Do what you have to, but wait for me next time,” he says. And then: “You’re supposed to make it out. None of it matters if you don’t.”

A bolt of lightning tears down your spine, and for a moment, you hear the ghost of Tomura’s voice in Endgame’s, younger and angrier but still carrying that same tense undertone. You’ve heard him say that before. In another life, in the middle of a battle where he was still fighting for more than just himself. Were you ever fighting for more than yourself? Maybe. You’d like to think so. You fought for the League, for your friends. But you would have fought through anything to be at Tomura’s side.

And tonight you were. You wrench your gaze away from his face. “Don’t say stuff like that. I’m your coworker, not some civilian.”

“Just your coworker. Not your friend?”

You can’t read his tone of voice, and you don’t know what to say to him. You don’t know how to tell him it’s a bad idea to be friends, that it might work for him but your heart probably won’t be able to take it – and at the same time, you can’t imagine telling him no. Not when he’s telling you he cares about you as more than just a coworker, more than just a civilian. “We’re friends,” you say, and you glance his way just long enough to see him smile.

An EMT comes by to check Endgame’s work, and confirms that you should be allowed to go home as long as you drink and eat something something first. You’ve got snacks in your backpack, which Endgame gets up to retrieve – but before you can unzip it, he holds up the box of pastries he bought instead. It feels like the two of you were at the street fair a lifetime ago. “I got these,” he says. “So we could share.”

You get your face under control with an effort, but all your efforts go out the window when you open the box. You make yourself a promise never to ask how he knew – what your favorite pastry is, which flavors you like, two of each so you can both try them all. It’s the last detail that makes your head spin. Whenever it was your job to find food for the two of you, you always made sure to get two of everything. Tomura never knew what he liked. You wanted to help him find it.

You can’t do this. “I’m not hungry,” you say. You get up, nudge past him, and start walking home.

You don’t make it far. You get dizzy, and worse, the tears kick up, and even worse than all of that, Endgame follows you. But you’re still a criminal at heart, and you know how to avoid being found when you don’t want to be. You find a place to rest, sit down with your head between your knees, tuck a suboxone film under your tongue, and cry until your head hurts.

The longer you think about it, the worse it gets. You’ve embarrassed yourself. How are you supposed to look Endgame in the eye after that? How are you going to explain why you got up and ran away when he offered you food? Even worse than that, you got a taste of it again – the way it felt to be with him, to be in on the joke, to be on his team and fighting at his side – and a single taste was enough to bring it all roaring back. You’ll love Tomura for the rest of your life, and your ability to pretend there’s a difference between him and Endgame is at an end. You can’t keep working with him. You have to quit your job.

Do you even have a job anymore? You just walked off it, and in the process of finding the missing kids, you used your quirk without a license to do so. They could prosecute you. You could lose everything. Maybe you already have. You definitely have – that’s the way your luck goes, the way it’s always gone. What are you supposed to do now?

Neuroin, your brain suggests, and in spite of the suboxone and your two years of sobriety and all the coping skills you’ve picked up, you’re struck by the need for a hit. And why shouldn’t you take one? Everything’s ruined, again, and this time, it’s all your fault. Why can’t you forget, at least for a little while? Enough neuroin and these past few years will feel like a dream, pretty but distant, something that was never true. You’re useless. Worthless. All you know how to do is –

Somewhere within you, something kicks back. Everything’s ruined – according to who? Your brain might be insisting, might be screaming for relief, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. You force yourself to take a deep breath, then another. The situation with Endgame is awful. There’s nothing you can do about that right now. But your job, and your quirk, and your criminal record. Where’s the proof that you’re going to lose your job? You were basically at the end of your shift anyway, and people are allowed to go home early after hard nights. Your quirk? You didn’t use it to hurt anyone. You used it to do something good, something nobody else could have done. Who’s going to prosecute you for that?

You can think of prosecutors who would, but it’ll be a tough fight, and you know people who will have your back. And there’s something it reminds you of, something you can’t look at too closely right now. You can deal with it later. Right now you have to get on top of the impulse to use, something that’s all but immune to rationality and reason. You can hold it off, sure. Not for long. And not alone.

When you take out your phone, there are messages from Endgame. You can’t deal with those right now, either. Instead you scroll downwards to the treatment center’s overnight line, wiping at your eyes as the phone rings twice. It’s Nakayama who picks up, and you start talking before she can prompt you. “I’m out on patrol. Something happened and I got triggered. Can I stay on the phone with you while I try to get home?”

“Of course.” Nakayama’s voice is soft, calm. You know that voice. You can hear yourself using it, sometimes, when you’re out on patrol trying to talk someone down. “Where are you right now?”

You give her your approximate location, then ask her not to share it. “I can get back on my own. I just need some company.”

“I hear you. Let’s figure out the best way to get you home before you start walking. Where’s the nearest train station?”

“It’s too late for trains.”

“It’s morning,” Nakayama tells you. “If you get to your nearest station, you won’t have to wait too long. Do you feel like you can make it there?”

You wipe your eyes one last time, get to your knees, then your feet. “Yeah. I can get there.”

The walk home isn’t quite a blur. For some part of you, it’s like you never left the world-that-was, never left the streets. It’s late and you’re tired and you’re hurt and all you want is to not feel for a little while. But it’s different now. You know it’s different, and in case you needed proof, a crisis response team on the daylight shift actually stops you. This time it’s Uraraka Ochako, with a de-escalation specialist you haven’t met before, both of them staring at you with concern. “It looks like you’re having a rough night,” the specialist says carefully. “Can we do anything to help?”

You shake your head. “I’m okay. I’m on the phone with someone who said they’d keep me company for the walk, and I’m not far from home. I can get there in one piece.”

They don’t look like they believe you. You probably wouldn’t believe you – your sleeve is bloody, and you look like you’ve been bawling your eyes out. When you fish your badge out of your pocket, their expressions clear in a hurry. “You were with Endgame at the rescue tonight,” Uraraka says, and your stomach lurches. “I’m going to let him know we found you. He’s really worried.”

Your need for a hit roars back, then doubles. All you’ve done tonight is fuck up. He shouldn’t be worrying about you. The fact that he’s worried about you means you’ve crossed way too many lines with him, like an idiot, and you’ve ruined everything, again – “Deep breaths,” Nakayama says softly in your ear, and you force yourself to count them out. “You’re almost home. Answer them and they’ll let you go.”

Right. If you want to get out of here before you have a public breakdown, you need to answer them. “Thanks,” you say to Uraraka. “Everything’s fine.”

She buys it. The de-escalation specialist doesn’t, but keeps his mouth shut. “Nice work on the rescue tonight,” he says instead. “Everybody’s talking about it.”

Probably because Endgame’s been worrying about you on the team channel. Because you acted like a lunatic and made him worry about you, which you did because you suck. You count out your breaths again before you try to speak. “Thanks. Good luck out there.”

You ask Nakayama to talk to you the rest of the way back to the treatment center, and she does, telling you about what happened in tonight’s art group and how Honey finally finished the voodoo doll she’s been making of Gentle Criminal – and how Himiko handed her a knife she definitely wasn’t supposed to have so she could stab it. She describes how hard Eri laughed, how she decided she wants to make a voodoo doll, too. You won’t be much help with that. You don’t even know how to sew. And if you were going to make one, who would it even be of? Deku? All Might? All For One? Who do you blame for everything that’s gone wrong?

You. What’s happened is your fault. And you’ve spent enough time stabbing yourself with needles full of poison for a lifetime.

When you finally make it to the treatment center, Nakayama comes out to the employee entrance to greet you. “I let the detox side of things know you’ll need the day off,” she says. You’re too drained to argue. “It might be a good idea to eat and get some rest.”

You think so. You shower in the staff bathrooms instead of the patient ones, eat in the staff breakroom rather than the communal dining room, and sneak back into your shared room only once you’re sure Himiko’s left for breakfast. With some food in your stomach and all your crying done in the shower, you’re almost too tired to set an alarm so you’ll wake up in time for treatment in the afternoon. And once you’ve set it, you find yourself fumbling over to your messages, to see what Endgame’s been sending you.

Endgame: what just happened

Endgame: where did you go?

Endgame: don’t do this tonight

Endgame: is it because I said we’re friends?

Maybe you shouldn’t be reading these. They’re making you want to smother yourself. After that, there’s a missed call or two. He called you twice in a row, without leaving messages, and you try to picture his expression as you let them both go to voicemail. Was he angry with you? Probably. You never went dark on Tomura, but if you did and everything turned out to be fine, he’d have been pissed. He’s probably really pissed at you, and maybe that’s a good thing. You keep scrolling.

Endgame: you don’t have to talk to me or anybody. please just let me know you’re okay.

Right – he knows all about your backstory, so he’s probably worried you ran off to get high. Which you would have, if your coping skills hadn’t kicked in at the last second. You text him back, knowing it’s a stupid idea. Still sober.

not what I asked. are you okay?

You weren’t expecting him to text back this fast. Or to still be awake. Maybe he’s been doing press or something – or the end-of-shift documentation, which must be hell after a shift like that. I ran into another team on my way home. They said they’d tell you.

They did. I wanted to hear from you. Endgame’s typing icon hovers for a long time. what happened?

The stress must have gotten to me. I’m just going to sleep it off. You need to get out of this conversation, just like you’ve needed to get out of your feelings all night. You should rest, too.

Yeah. I’ve got one more thing to do first. Endgame’s next text comes in a few seconds later. sleep well.

You mean to say the same thing to him. It would be rude not to. But your mind feels so foggy and exhausted that you can’t figure out how to say it in a way that won’t come across as too familiar, as too obvious, as too big of a hint that you feel more for him than you should. Finally you set your phone aside and fall asleep.

When you wake up, it’s to chaos – Himiko’s in your room, which is also her room, but so is Eri, and when you peer around them, you see the tops of Honey’s ponytails bobbing in the doorway. “Look at this,” Eri says, pushing her phone at you. “You’re on the news.”

“Everybody’s talking about it,” Honey adds. “You have to tell us what happened.”

“It’s in the paper, too,” Birdie announces, shouldering past Honey. “Here, sign this. Since you’re famous now, I might be able to hawk it.”

“There’s a special report on in ten minutes. Sugimura said we can all watch,” Eri says. She pats your shoulder – not your injured one. You’ve been sleeping on that one for hours, and it hurts like hell. “Wake up and come with us.”

You mumble assent, and Himiko shoos the other three out, promising them that she’ll get you there on time. Once they’re gone, she sits down at the edge of the bed. “Somebody stopped by and left something for you,” she says, and she lifts a familiar box into your field of vision. “Do you know who?”

You don’t want to think about it – Endgame, at the end of a long shift, heading home to a wife who’s pissed that he’s back to working nights. Endgame, who’s got every reason to go straight home. Endgame, who stopped by the treatment center instead, to drop off the box of pastries for you. You shake your head in answer to Himiko’s question, and although you’re sure she knows you’re lying, for once she lets it go.

“Okay,” Midoriya says. He looks at you across the table, and you look blankly back. “We’ve got some stuff to go through today.”

“Yeah.” You still feel hollow, in spite of the fact that you ate two of the pastries Endgame left for you. The ones the two of you were supposed to share. “Where do you want to start?”

“First, I wanted to tell you I’m proud of you,” Midoriya says, and you look up, startled. “Not for your work last night. I mean, I’m proud of that, too. But I’m really proud of the part where you asked for help when you felt like you couldn’t cope alone. That’s a lot harder to do than most people understand. It really shows how much you’ve grown from when I first met you.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was thinking about before.”

“Did you use?” Midoriya doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’m proud of you. You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

You’re too tired to argue, and there’s something you’ve been thinking of, something you’ve been turning over in your head as you stumbled through this afternoon’s group treatment sessions. “I think I figured it out,” you say, and Midoriya raises his eyebrows. “What the doctor and the Meta Liberation Army are doing.”

Midoriya nods eagerly. He pulls out his notebook, and you struggle to lay out your thought process. It felt clear to you earlier, and it’s hard to say now. “I recognized the equipment they were using on that kid. It’s the same kind the doctor used on Tomura, to give him the extra quirks. And on the news I heard a Detnerat spokesperson apologizing that someone had stolen their tech and used it like this. Except – the equipment didn’t look pieced together. It looked like it was made that way.”

Midoriya is nodding. “And the Meta Liberation Army – they’d want to be able to give people quirks, wouldn’t they? That way they don’t have to deal with quirkless people. They can take the weak and make them strong.”

“I think so,” you say. “For Detnerat to build that equipment, they’d have to be in contact with the doctor. And with All For One dead, the doctor would have needed a patron who could fund his research off the books. I think they might be working together.”

“I think you might be right,” Midoriya says. “And I think I know how to make them show themselves.”

“Really?”

Midoriya nods. He flips a few pages back in his notebook, scans it, and then looks up at you. “In your history, you said that the Meta Liberation Army provoked the League of Villains on purpose. They wanted to destroy them, so that they could be the ones to lead the revolution against hero society. Is that right?”

You nod. “Since they haven’t done anything in this timeline, I think the only way they’ll come out into the open is if they think they’re losing their chance,” Midoriya says. “Obviously, we can’t just make up a rival group of villains, so our best shot is to do it legally.”

Legal stuff isn’t exactly your specialty. “How?”

“By passing legislation to legalize quirk usage for everyone, not just heroes,” Midoriya says. He flips back to the front of his notebook and starts writing, although you can’t imagine he’s writing fast enough to keep up with the words flying out of his mouth. “The legislation’s been on the back burner for years. Every so often somebody floats the idea, and as soon as it picks up any traction, the HPSC crushes it. Their contention is that ordinary people using their quirks is dangerous and irresponsible, and makes things worse rather than better. But after yesterday –”

He fumbles on his desk, then holds up a newspaper copy, the same one that Birdie joked about wanting you to sign earlier today. “We’ve got proof that they’re wrong.”

You didn’t really look at the headline before. You wanted to go back to sleep. But you take a closer look and see that the cover photo is actually two photos. On one side is Midoriya, lowering the mad scientist safely down to the police. On the other side is Endgame, carrying one of the kids and leading the others out to safety.

That’s the picture that captivates you, but you know that’s not what Midoriya wants you to look at. “Your press clippings look good. That’s a lot nicer than they usually are to vigilantes.”

“I thought they were going to put up a Wanted poster,” Midoriya admits, and you snort. The idea of Midoriya’s bright-eyed, way-too-earnest expression in his tie-dyed All Might onesie on a Wanted poster is absurd. “But it’s not the photos I want you to look at. Check out the headline.”

You read it in silence at first. Then you read it aloud. “Civilians’ quirks aid hero in miracle rescue.”

“Civilians,” Midoriya says, stressing the plural. “They’re talking about you, too.”

“They shouldn’t,” you say at once. “I’m not a hero.”

“That’s not what it says. It says you’re a civilian, and that’s the point,” Midoriya says, his voice pitching upwards with excitement. “Without your quirk, those kids wouldn’t have been rescued. No one would have even known they were there. And under our current laws you could be charged for using your quirk to find them.”

Your stomach drops. “Not that you’re going to be charged,” Midoriya says hastily. He shoves the paper at you again, pointing out a sentence he’s underlined. Something about the district attorney issuing a statement saying they’ve got no plans to prosecute you. “But that’s the thing. There are people all across Japan who aren’t heroes, who could do something good with their quirks. Who could make a difference. And right now there’s no room for people who can do what heroes can’t. All the law allows for is punishment.”

He sucks down a breath, then keeps going. “That’s the Meta Liberation Army’s whole point, right? Suppression of quirks is wrong. It limits people’s freedom and it prevents society from advancing. They think it’ll take a revolution to fix society, but what if it doesn’t? What if we do it on our own? Then it won’t be the HPSC who tries to stop it –”

“It’ll be them,” you say. “The only thing bigger than Re-Destro’s forehead was his ego. He thinks it’s his destiny to lead the revolution. He won’t take it well if someone else does it.”

“And if he somehow does, then we’re still fine,” Midoriya says. “If they don’t revolt, things change for the better, and nobody gets hurt.”

He looks at you, his eyes bright. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s naïve,” you say flatly. “Someone always gets hurt.”

“Maybe,” Midoriya says. “Maybe nothing can change for the better without someone, somewhere being hurt. You probably know that better than I do.”

You do. There’s no change anyone can make that will be better for everyone. There will always be someone left behind. “But think about it,” Midoriya says quietly. He leans forward, like he’s telling a secret, like whatever he’s about to say is too fragile to survive in open air. “What if it didn’t take a war to change the world?”

“There was a war,” you say. “It didn’t change anything.”

“So it’s time to try something new,” Midoriya says. “What do you think?”

You think it’s crazy. When you think about the doctor, when you think about the MLA, all you can think about is the nightmare they unleashed, a nightmare you never woke up from in the world-that-was. The Hero Killer’s fate was one thing. Overhaul’s fate was another. But this is different. This is worse. You can’t imagine a confrontation with them that ends in anything but disaster, just like it did before.

But it doesn’t have to be like it was before. Tomura won’t be facing Re-Destro and the Meta Liberation Army alone – he’ll have Midoriya on his side, and other heroes behind him, and maybe the MLA will let society change without starting a civil war. The doctor, wherever he is, can’t get to Tomura now, and All For One has been dead for twenty years or more. It can be different. You’ve lived in this world long enough to know how different it can be.

You look up at Midoriya. “The past harmonizes, right?” you say, and he nods. “Maybe it’ll go better this time. I just don’t know how we do it.”

“All Might can help with that,” Midoriya says confidently. “He’s the most respected hero in Japan. If he calls for a change in the laws, people will answer. And the government will have to answer anyway. They’re catching a lot of heat for why they weren’t using your quirk to find missing people the entire time.”

“It was Eri’s idea,” you say. “I wouldn’t have thought of it without her.”

“You should tell her,” Midoriya says, and you nod. It’s quiet for a little while after that, and Midoriya’s got the look on his face that means he’s got something to say, something he knows you probably don’t want to hear. “I wasn’t sure whether to say this, but you mentioned the past harmonizing already. I was wondering if you want to talk about this.”

You don’t need to ask him what he means. You see it when he turns the newspaper to the second page and holds it out. Most of the page is taken up by a photo spread chronicling every piece of the rescue, and your eyes are drawn immediately to a photo in the lower right corner. Endgame’s in it. So are you.

You’re sitting up, upright on the tailgate of an ambulance instead of lying across the back, and it’s clear in the photo that you aren’t steady. You must not be, or else there’d be no reason for Endgame’s hands on you, one on your shoulder and one on your hip, to keep you from falling back. You spent most of the wound-tending session trying to avoid looking at Endgame, but for this single moment, you were looking up at him, your eyes intent on his face. The camera caught you looking at him. And worse than that, it caught him looking at you.

You’ve seen that expression on his face. It’s the one he wore when he asked if you knew each other, if he’d seen you somewhere before. And the longer you look at the photo, the more you see, things you wouldn’t have noticed because you were too lost in your efforts to hide how you felt. You know how Endgame touches the people he saves – hands mostly open, always one finger lifted, even though he has control of his quirk. That’s not how he’s holding you. The hand on your waist and the one on your shoulder both have all five fingers down.

You can’t look at it. You avert your eyes and shove the paper back towards Midoriya. “What am I supposed to talk about?”

“Nakayama told me what happened last night,” Midoriya says, and you let your eyes fall shut. “It’s got something to do with whatever was happening here, right?”

“Yeah. I fucked everything up, and I called Nakayama so I wouldn’t stick a fucking needle in my arm.” The venom in your own voice, the hatred, shocks you. You didn’t think this was in you anymore. “I humiliated myself. I ran away, like some overdramatic, pathetic piece of shit, and I made him worry about me – like I was doing it for attention or something –”

“Were you?” Midoriya asks. You open your eyes to glare at him. “Seriously. If you were really doing it for attention, then we can talk about that. If you weren’t doing it for attention –”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “That’s what I thought it would look like. What people would think.”

“We’re not talking about people right now. Just you,” Midoriya says. “What made you feel like you had to leave?”

You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, even though you’re not crying, trying to force some sense back into yourself. “It felt too much. I felt too much. It felt like it did before, but it wasn’t, and I felt like if I sat there any longer, he was going to see. And he was going to ask. And I didn’t –”

You trail off.  “I snapped over a box of pastries. How stupid is that?”

“That depends. What was it about the pastries?”

“They’re my favorite kind,” you say. You can’t look at Midoriya, can’t look at the picture in the paper – can’t even shut your eyes without seeing the way Endgame looked at you. You look down at your hands in your lap instead. “I never told him that this time. I remember everything we’ve talked about – I have to be so careful, or I’ll – and I never mentioned it. And that could be a lucky guess, right? He could have picked at random and gotten it right.”

“Right,” Midoriya agrees. “It’s good to be able to generate alternate explanations. What else about the pastries?”

“He got my favorite flavors. Two of each, so we could share.” Your voice goes quiet, frail. “That’s what I used to do when I’d buy food for us. Two of each kind, so we could both try them, and he could work out what he liked.”

Midoriya’s quiet. You know you’ve gotten far enough in therapy that you can piece this together out loud, that you can articulate your thought process without his help. That doesn’t mean you like doing it. “If it had just been the right pastries, or the right flavors, I could write it off,” you say. “Even if it was the right flavors and the right pastries. But getting two of each – it felt too close to be a coincidence, even though it was. I just couldn’t take it.”

“Too close to be a coincidence,” Midoriya echoes. It’s quiet for a moment. “You know what? I don’t think it was a coincidence at all.”

Your stomach lurches. “Now who’s got the delusional architecture?”

“You were never delusional,” Midoriya says. He smiles slightly. “We talk about how the past harmonizes – your past, with our present. It happens over and over again – with Eri, with Spinner, with me. It sounds a little different, but it’s the same notes, the same people. Why couldn’t that happen with you and Endgame?”

“Because that’s not the deal I made. I gave him up,” you say. Your voice shakes, even though it shouldn’t. It’s been so many years. “I don’t get him back.”

“Have you been trying to get him back?” Midoriya asks. You shake your head. “Then –”

“They’re fighting. Him and his wife. He was upset about it tonight, and I asked if he was okay –”

“Like a friend would?” Midoriya asks. “You’ve been honest with me, and nothing you’ve told me about your interactions with Endgame have suggested that you’ve crossed lines. If you and Endgame are growing closer, it’s because being closer to you is something he wants – and you’re shaking your head. What about that do you find hard to believe?”

Everything. “I know what I gave up,” you say again. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“You know what you gave up,” Midoriya repeats, instead of backing off. You grit your teeth. “In changing history with your wish, you created a timeline where you and Tomura never met at nineteen. You didn’t meet him then. There’s nothing in the conditions of your wish that says you couldn’t meet him later on.”

“No,” you admit. “When I made the wish, the entity said that I’d live to see every result of it.”

“That’s not the same thing as saying you’d never see him again.”

No, it’s not. Every result of your wish leaves a lot of possibilities open – way more than you’d ever have guessed on that first morning, when you woke up and realized what you’d given away in exchange for Tomura’s long and happy life. You’ve found yourself in a place you could never have imagined that day, or even three years ago, and Tomura has what you wanted for him. A long and happy life. And there’s nothing in the bargain you made that said you could never be part of it.

You lower your head into your hands. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“The same thing we all do,” Midoriya says. “Keep living, and see what happens next.”

You don’t want to hope. Hoping makes you feel sick. “That blows.”

Midoriya sighs and leans back in his chair. “Tell me about it,” he says. “At least we’re not alone with it, right?”

“Yeah,” you admit. Your life, every bit of it but the last three years, scrolls through your mind – moment after moment with no one to talk to, nowhere to turn, nowhere to go but deeper into your own mind. As much as this sucks – “It’s better this way.”

<- part 1

taglist: @f3r4lfr0gg3r @evilcookie5 @lvtuss @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69 @shikiblessed @xeveryxstarfallx @babybehh @atspiss @baking-ghoul @minniessskii @dance-with-me-in-hell @boogiemansbitch @agente707 @handumb @warxhammer @issaortiz @cheeseonatower @koohiii @lacrimae-lotos @stardustdreamersisi @aslutforfictionalmen

[kisimet]

My Hero Academia: Slip-Ups

Midoriya, Bakugou, Todoroki, Hawks, Dabi, Shigaraki x reader

fluff; how they react when they accidentally call you a cute nickname

mainframe_access()

Midoriya Izuku

stops mid-sentence

immediate sputtering, trying to take it back or explain himself

panicked hand flailing, trying to hide his blush, the whole ordeal

eventually gives up and offers a mumbled apology that he didn't mean to let that slip

very nervous you think he's weird now poor baby

this incident keeps him up at night

"You okay, angel-? I-I mean! Uh! I didn't- It just slipped, I-!"

Bakugou Katsuki

immidiately stops talking

kind of glares at you like it's your fault...

politely requests you don't make a big deal of it

will get grumpy if you do

he's lowkey so embarrassed but would rather die than let you see that

thinks twice over every sentence he says to you 😭

"Shut UP. Say one more word and I'm launching you into the sun."

Todoroki Shoto

doesn't even notice it, finishes talking like nothing happened

catches on after seeing your reaction

surprised Pikachu face

blushes a tiny bit and prays you don't notice

apologizes very politely, hopes he didn't make you uncomfortable or anything

goes a bit quiet after because he's embarrassed <3

"Here, let me carry that for you, love. ...oh. Wait. Is that weird? I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't call you that..."

Takami Keigo

smoooooth about it

interrupts himself with a small "sorry" before finishing his sentence

like nothing ever happened

laughs about it afterward like this man is allergic to awkwardness

maybe even makes a joke about it

might use the nickname again just for funsies

"That just flew out, huh? Must be a habit around cute things."

Dabi

there's only the smallest hiccup in his speech that lets you know the nickname wasn't said on purpose

plays it 100% cool like he meant to say it

def somehow manages to make you shy about it

if it goes well, Dabi will implement the nickname into daily life with you

makes you wonder if the slip up was accidental at all

"You liked it, didn't you? Bet you'd lose it if I called you 'baby' next time"

Shigaraki Tomura

talks for another moment before catching up and shutting up

contemplates life

gets seriously annoyed at himself for letting it slip

hates you if you tease him about it - full-on pulling his hoodie over his head, threatening to decay something

can't stop thinking about it, especially if the nickname pulled a positive reaction from you

"What're you smiling at? You think this is funny?! Keep laughing and I'll decay your phone."

[kisimet]

THE SQUIRE — bf!tomura shigaraki

what a little freak sweetie pie he is <3 [ warning i Guess for alluded to (outright stated LOL) period sex but whatever ]

a/n : this is insane sorry i just had this interaction happen in my head and needed to see it imagined in front of me. ok Now it's bedtime

m.list !

— 2025 © pwn. all rights reserved. do not repost, narrate, or translate my works. thanku!

[kisimet]

𖦹 How Not To Flirt !

a Shigaraki textfic

Y/N L/N has never had luck with love. All her previous crushes have either rejected her or straight-up ignored her. Her love life seems like a really unfunny comedy. But things take a turn when she stumbles upon Tenko Shimura—a guy just as awkward and romantically cursed as her.

— or, two socially awkward teenagers trying to flirt with each other.

warnings: shigaraki x fem! reader, does not follow the manga, ua!lov, shigaraki is all might's nephew, no afo au, 1-a is 2-a (they're 17), himiko is in class 2-b, tenko is in 3-b and 18, reader is erasermics adopted daughter and shinsos sis but keeps her last name for reasons that make sense (idk...), no todoroki siblings drama but they do hate their dad, dabi is shigaraki's friend but older, reader doesn't get along with bakugo (i don't like him lol)

chapters:

[1] hot guy

[2] awkward meetings (☆)

[3] not like that

[4] divine intervention (☆)

[5] coincidences

[6] for a man

[7] queer = hero? (☆)

[8] get on fortnite

[...]

a/n: first fanfic oops, english isn't my first language

navigation

[kisimet]

at first, the only way you and tomura can hold hands is by linking pinkies, but even after you get him specialty gloves that keep his quirk from accidentally disintegrating you he still makes a habit of linking your pinkies together because he really likes it.

[kisimet]

shigaraki lays claim on you by scratching dandruff into your food

[kisimet]

hi kitty! first of all congrats on the followers 🎉🎉 for the event, may I get sci-fi romance + waitstaff x student to ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls that ends in a spontaneous proposal for…Tomura Shigaraki?

sorry — this one seems hard 😶

★ SPACE-AGE LOVE SONG

🎞️ STARRING: tomura shigaraki ! you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be and i don’t want to go home right now…

“come here often?”

you work at a 24hr diner near a renowned flight school that’s famous for turning out the finest pilots in your star system

you’ve been stuck getting the late shifts, and while the job is shit you’ve noticed a new regular who sits in the back and tries to sneak glances at you from behind a menu

(the menu is the part that throws you — he’s only ever ordered black coffee and maybe the occasional waffle)

you remember the first time he came in with a bunch of his friends (quite an odd group, but who are you to judge the best student pilots on your planet?) the night after a big exam

he was the only one who returned regularly 

after several weeks of placing silent orders he finally works up the nerve to talk to you 

“nice night.”

“uhh…sure? refill your coffee?”

it’s slow-going to say the least 

but shigaraki (you learn, after he tells you his name) is nothing if not consistent. he comes into the diner at absurd hours every night and has migrated from a corner booth in the back to right across from you at the counter 

this weird happenstance friendship turns to a long period of oblivious mutual pining

you with the weird pilot guy that visits you every day at the diner and happens to be very cute and incredibly interesting 

and tomura with this mysterious diner employee who likes to smile when he’s not looking and quietly laugh about the state of your galaxy outside on your breaks

there’s one night that tomura doesn’t show up to the diner, and then it turns to several nights of no-show

you’re beginning to think he’s had just about enough of you when he comes rushing into the diner one night, looking sleepless and frazzled and still with heart-eyes

“marry me.” “what?!” “marry me. we’ll get a passcard from the intergalactic association and we can finally get off this shitty planet. c’mon, i know you hate your job anyway.”

he explains that he got kicked out of flight school for his “rebellious tendencies” (which he’s not too torn up about — he never liked it much anyway)

the association permits newlyweds a passcard for authorized travel in case they want to move so this is your perfect opportunity to get away!

you tell him that he’s crazy, that this is a stupid idea…but what’s even stupider is that you kind of want to do it

“fine…but we’re not going to the courthouse dressed like this.”

“aw, why not? i like your uniform.”

© kitkat13001 ★ do not copy/translate/repost dividers; sxmmerberries — event info + masterlist

thanks for the req!! this was the perfect excuse to use this title i love that song by flock of seagulls ugh so bad!! absolutely no worries, this wasn’t hard at all!! i like getting creative with the narrative and i feel like sci-fi and tomura was such a good match, i had a great time with this!!

[kisimet]

Inspired by; love like ghosts. first ever tomura fic I read by @scary-grace

Clingy ghost tomura + in denial of their feelings user <3

[kisimet]

hmmm plf grand commander shigaraki reaction to being kissed all over his face without warning?? pretty please :<

ofc Anon sorry this took me ages mlll 😔🫶

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt half-buttoned, eyes locked on a wall like he could destroy it with his thoughts alone. Not angry- just still. Thinking as he always was these days, far quier now too, like he’d left his body hours ago and was still deciding whether or not to come back. 

And you? You kissed him as soon as you walked into the room. No warning, no dramatic setup, and certainly no ice breaker or quick conversation to ease into his little thought bubble, just a quick little peck right on the corner of his mouth because instead of easing in you were completely popping it. 

He blinked once, twice, eyes breaking away from the wall to side eye you. You kissed his jaw next. Then his cheekbone. Then the bridge of his nose, careful of the cracks in his skin, careful of everything. It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t playful. Just gentle, a little silly, a little reverent, as if you were memorizing him one kiss at a time.

“Wh- ” he started, voice gravel-rough because you know damn well he hasn't spoken to anyone or of anything at all for hours. And so you kissed his forehead before he could finish. He froze, kind of like a machine trying to process an unfamiliar command as he just blinked and stared at you some more. 

“…Are you glitching?” you teased.

“No,” he muttered, ears pink now, posture stiffer than usual. “I just… I didn’t expect that.”

You grinned. “You look like I threw a brick at you.”

“Quit makin fun of me”

You giggled.

He looked at you like he didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve this kind of softness. Like he was worried it would vanish if he blinked. But then, quietly, awkwardly, he tilted his face toward you again.

“…Missed a spot.”

You kissed the tip of his nose.

And for just a second, the weight of the future on his shoulders didn’t feel so heavy.

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦

[kisimet]

BUSINESS AS USUAL — poly!shigadabi

what it says on the tin: your business partners

a/n : i saw bkdkkrtd art that made me giggle and inspired this (specifically the business affiliate names heheheee)

m.list !

— 2025 © pwn. all rights reserved. do not repost, narrate, or translate my works. thanku!

[kisimet]

MY MAJESTIC KINGG OHHHHHHHH LAWDDDD

MHA final season teaser trailer redraw because Tomura looked so pretty!!!!

[kisimet]

PAY IT FORWARD — dad!touya todoroki

there will always be tragedy in loving someone as flammable as todoroki touya, but when the dust settles and what's set ablaze has finally burnt to nothing— you and the proof he loved someone will be there still, despite it all. despite everything.

a/n : know that writing this ruined my fucking life And that i have plans for this. pif verse write it down this is happening. also dee im SORRY and i LOVE you

m.list !

you stay in correspondence with shouto for a few weeks after he first reaches out, hearing little things about touya's recovery. about how he still hasn't woken up properly. about how his body is almost entirely burns now— sore, charred skin at least sewn and not stapled. about how he's lost his arm. how he almost entirely lost his life.

you feel like a dog, waiting at the beck and call of a seventeen year old as he updates you on touya's condition— going to sleep every night with your four year old daughter tucked under your arm on his side of the bed and feeling sick to your stomach as you clutch her close to your chest. because you know where dad is, know that he's finished work now. she doesn't, and you've told yourself you won't tell her unless you know she'll get to see him again.

but today is that day.

shouto had called late last night— not texted like he usually does— and talked you through the adrenaline rush and subsequent crash after finding out touya was alive. finding out he was awake. and that he was alone.

sayu— the girl as bright as the kanji of her namesake, the girl who has soothed more wounds than she'll ever understand�� waits for dad even still. wanders around the new apartment with you, since your old one was destroyed when gigantomachia tore through most of shizuoka prefecture, holding tight onto your pant leg as you move to start making her breakfast. always wanting to be close to you.

the real clinging had started after she saw the video feed during the attack on jaku hospital, refusing the idea of daycare, and of staying with your parents. refusing to around anybody but you.

it hurts, watching her go from brave and adventurous with every step she took to so cautious and measured in every movement. you hum as she climbs into her chair at the little table in your kitchen, and you settle in next to her as you set her breakfast down in front of her— your own coffee warming your hands as you wrap them around the mug.

"we're gonna go somewhere today, bug." you start as she goes for the blueberries in her bowl first— a small victory, she normally rejects them for being sour because touya said it one time. you take a sip of coffee, nodding as you swallow before tacking on: "after you've filled up your tummy, of course."

she cocks her head at you, white tufts of hair flopping forward into her face as she does, and you push them back fondly. (it always makes something buried down in your chest claw and howl and beg for him back).

"where?"

"central hospital, near where obaa-san lives." the little frown that forms on her lips is almost instantaneous, and you have to swallow back a laugh.

"i don't want to see 'baa-san." you reach out softly to brush a little mess off her cheek, wiping it off with your thumb as you shake your head at her.

"no, we're not seeing her baby. we're actually gonna go into the hospital and visit someone." you watch the cogs turn over in her brain before she, with a mouthful of strawberry, asks.

"who?"

"it's a surprise, babe." sayu doesn't look satisfied with that answer, but you gesture to her bowl of fruit and yoghurt with your pinky as you hold your mug. "finish your breakfast and then we'll get cleaned up."

"hospital is where sick people are. i don't wanna go there." she's staring down at her bowl as she talks, pushing things around with the spoon held tight in her hand before she looks up at you again. "who's there for us?"

"eat, bug. i promise you'll find out when we get there, okay?"

cerulean irises meet yours, big lashes that make her eyes look larger than life batting at you for a second before she nods and goes back to eating.

"okay mama. my blueberries are too sour." so close.

before leaving you'd checked with shouto more than once— maybe more than necessary— that there was zero chance of endeavour being at the hospital, because there was no way you'd ever let him near your child after what he did to his own. not after everything you've heard and seen, the brutal and tragic aftermath in the form of the man you love.

he assured you that he wouldn't be there, that no one beside him from his family would be there. you'd never anticipated ever meeting anyone in touya's family, and you appreciate it not being put on you all at once.

you still feel awkward walking through the hospital, sayu held on your hip and her head on your collar— occasional whispers and questions you answer with soft kisses and whispers of your own before reaching the front desk. the receptionist looks up at you, tired but kind, and asks what you're here for.

"hi, we're, uh- checking in? as visitors, i think."

someone behind you says your name, purposeful and weighted, and you already know it's shouto before you've even turned around. you're sure he recognised touya in sayu before even processing that it was actually you.

"shouto-kun, hi." you hum softly, letting him guide you a little bit out of the way— grateful to be away from the midst of people traffic in the most popular hospital in musutafu. you let sayu down, fine with her leaning back against your legs in front of you.

"just shouto is fine." he nods at you, then his eyes drop down to your daughter, and she offers a shy, and quiet hello. he's already bobbing down to meet her eye with a soft smile.

"hi. i'm shouto. what's your name?" she stares at him with wide eyes as she brings a hand up to her mouth, something to self-soothe in a new environment with ever-changing variables.

"you look like my dad."

"oh." he makes a small noise that sounds like something inside of him deflated. or maybe broke entirely. "well, your dad's my brother."

"oh." she nods at that, like she fully understands the gravity, before breaking out of her shell a little. "my name is sayu, but mama and dad call me bug. you're not allowed, even if you're friends with my dad." he smiles at her, and as you watch them interact you're sure he sees someone entirely different standing in front of him.

"alright, sayu-chan. it's nice to meet you."

"i like your hair, s'got white like mine!" she's pointing at him, her free hand petting her own head uncoordinatedly.

"it does, yeah." shouto nods again, brushing a hair through the white half of his hair before looking back up at you— something unspoken, like grief (grief just like yours), swimming in his eyes. "she looks just like him."

sayu doesn't give you much of a chance to say anything, your mouth barely opening to answer him before she continues to prattle on.

"my dad's busy working, do you have a job?" shouto laughs, something soft and fond as he looks at your daughter.

"uh- no, not yet. i will when i'm a little bit older."

"should get one, my dad's a superhero! that what he does for a job, s'really cool, huh?"

another sad noise claws it's way out of his throat, and he stares at you for a second before nodding at your daughter with the same kind of pretend smile you offer people who ask how you're doing. your heart aches.

he stands back up to his full height, taller than you— probably taller than touya, much to his disgust— and clears his throat before gesturing to the elevator at the end of the hall.

"uh, you two can follow me— his room's up on another floor."

"right, yeah. lead the way."

shouto guides the pair of you onto the fifth floor of the hospital and leaves you in the hall after giving you the room number— wanting to give you space, to allow another family reunion that he's not entirely apart of yet.

"we're gonna go in this room, 'kay? you know why?" she shakes her head softly, looking up at you as she clings at the fabric of your pant leg.

"no mama."

"'cause dad's in there," you watch her perk up immediately, a thousand questions ready to be spewed from her lips before you shake your head and pet her hair gently. "but we've gotta be quiet 'nd calm 'cause we're still in a hospital."

"is he hurt? or sick? s'probably 'cause he's been working too much, mama." your chest feels tight, and you nod at her words. she's always been so intuitive, so smart, and you're infinitely proud even if it hurts. "you should tell him off."

you laugh, a soft and wet sound, as you brush her hair back out of her face.

"okay bug, i'll tell him off for you." she nods, sufficed at that answer, and you brush her hair out of her face again before continuing on. "and yes, dad's hurt right now— but he'll be okay after the doctors fix him all up, okay? so we're gonna be real gentle, 'nd nice and quiet."

"okay mama."

you feel odd as you knock on the door, pushing it open at the affirmative call from inside— the voice, so familiar but hardly recognisable all the same, makes your breathing stutter— and you stop in your tracks at the sight of him. whatever you'd prepared yourself for, it wasn't this, and your stunned silence doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"wouldja look at that, s'that my girl?" his voice is different, but still his— more hoarse now, like it hurts to speak. touya looks more like himself in that hospital bed than you've ever seen him, even with one arm, with no staples holding skin together, and no more black hair— enough towels had been ruined by his attempts to keep his identity hidden from the world. he looks like new, and he looks like home.

"touya," it's all you can say, really, while you stand there as the door to his hospital room clicks shut behind you— all your brain can supply is touya. touya, touya, touya. because he's here, and he's alive, and he's in front of you again.

"where's my other girl—?"

he cocks his head a little, white tufted hair flopping over against a stiff hospital pillow as he gazes at the little girl hiding herself behind your leg— his little girl, who's hiding from him.

he smiles at her, something kind and soft— nothing that the world gets to see, that smile is reserved for his girls— before shifting his expression to an exaggerated pout.

"why're you bein' so shy, huh? s'it scary in here with all the machines?" you feel sayu's fist curl into the fabric behind your knee as she leans her cheek against your legs, staring at her dad but not making any moves just yet. your heart breaks, shatters into a thousand pieces, and you know touya's does too.

you reach back a little, offering her a wobbly smile as you push her hair out of her face and try your best to sound reassuring.

"it's okay, bug, s'just dad— even with machines 'nd bandages. still just him." she looks up at you, leaning her head into your hand for a second before reaching up to grab for it— coming around to stand next to you rather than behind you, with your hand clutched tight in both of hers.

sayu stares at him for a second, like she can't decide what to say, before settling for:

"your hair's like mine now."

touya scoffs out a laugh, a genuine one, and raises his hand to drag his fingers through the white she's talking about.

"it is, huh? maybe i wanted to match you, 'cause you're so cool." she's smiling now, cheeks growing a little rosy as she bounces just a little on the spot.

"can i sit with you?" he's already patting a spot on the bed, shifting over a little to make room.

"mhm, there's a special spot for an insect right here," you clearly don't do a good job of schooling the apprehension in your expression, because he's already waving your concern away with his hand. "s'okay, she can't do any more damage."

"that's not funny, touya." you huff at that, like a child who's stomping their foot at not getting there way, staring at him with wet eyes and a wobbly frown— letting sayu go anyway, knowing she deserves time with her dad. she's waited this long, it's not fair to hold her back from finally getting a cuddle with him.

he grins over at you, sayu already curling up in the space his forearm would've taken up if it was there.

"is a little bit. c'mere, lemme have both my girls close, yeah?"

"i don't wanna be in the way or anything."

he sighs, long and suffering but playful all the same, before waving you over with his hand. you stare at him still, like if you look away he'll disappear and leave you alone again.

"would you just get over here? 'm finally lookin' at you again, just- indulge me, please?" you laugh softly, choked up a little as you finally do give up and move over to his side— not sayu's side, that's hers— and curl into him as best as you can while half standing and half kneeling on the edge of the hospital bed.

"only because you said please." he lets out a quiet, sad laugh at that, leaning over a little to kiss your head— to kiss the crown, your forehead, to nudge your face up to meet his own and kiss you properly.

"missed you so much, y'know that? shouldn't have left you alone— damn it." he mumbles into the top of your head, the both of you now sniffly and trying to keep that dam intact and not have a full blown meltdown in front of your daughter.

"'m so glad you're okay. i was so scared, you know that? stupid man."

"i know baby, i know— never leave you again, you hear me? never." he kisses your head again, arm wrapped around you and hauling you to properly get on the hospital bed— dragging you up to lay against his chest, giving you the perfect view of your daughter like this. and she's cuddled into his side with wide eyes welled up with tears, and when she sniffles quietly touya's head is already snapping down to look at her.

"you cryin', bug?"

"sayu—"

"dad i missed you." she lets out a small sob, and it's the beginning of the end for her holding any kind of emotion back— the rest of her words a garbled mess of sniffles and tears. "can't go to work that long ever again— not even as a superhero."

"okay baby, you got it. dad's not goin' anywhere." he nudges her gently onto his lap, letting her cry it out as he presses kisses to her head and face— and when she eventually calms down enough to be coherent again, she points at his amputated limb.

"where'd your hand go?"

"ah, fell off at the elbow 'cause i didn't eat my vegetables— s'just what happens."

"FOR REAL?!"

— 2025 © pwn. all rights reserved. do not repost, narrate, or translate my works. thanku!

[kisimet]

PAY IT FORWARD — dad!touya todoroki

there will always be tragedy in loving someone as flammable as todoroki touya, but when the dust settles and what's set ablaze has finally burnt to nothing— you and the proof he loved someone will be there still, despite it all. despite everything.

a/n : know that writing this ruined my fucking life And that i have plans for this. pif verse write it down this is happening. also dee im SORRY and i LOVE you

m.list !

you stay in correspondence with shouto for a few weeks after he first reaches out, hearing little things about touya's recovery. about how he still hasn't woken up properly. about how his body is almost entirely burns now— sore, charred skin at least sewn and not stapled. about how he's lost his arm. how he almost entirely lost his life.

you feel like a dog, waiting at the beck and call of a seventeen year old as he updates you on touya's condition— going to sleep every night with your four year old daughter tucked under your arm on his side of the bed and feeling sick to your stomach as you clutch her close to your chest. because you know where dad is, know that he's finished work now. she doesn't, and you've told yourself you won't tell her unless you know she'll get to see him again.

but today is that day.

shouto had called late last night— not texted like he usually does— and talked you through the adrenaline rush and subsequent crash after finding out touya was alive. finding out he was awake. and that he was alone.

sayu— the girl as bright as the kanji of her namesake, the girl who has soothed more wounds than she'll ever understand— waits for dad even still. wanders around the new apartment with you, since your old one was destroyed when gigantomachia tore through most of shizuoka prefecture, holding tight onto your pant leg as you move to start making her breakfast. always wanting to be close to you.

the real clinging had started after she saw the video feed during the attack on jaku hospital, refusing the idea of daycare, and of staying with your parents. refusing to around anybody but you.

it hurts, watching her go from brave and adventurous with every step she took to so cautious and measured in every movement. you hum as she climbs into her chair at the little table in your kitchen, and you settle in next to her as you set her breakfast down in front of her— your own coffee warming your hands as you wrap them around the mug.

"we're gonna go somewhere today, bug." you start as she goes for the blueberries in her bowl first— a small victory, she normally rejects them for being sour because touya said it one time. you take a sip of coffee, nodding as you swallow before tacking on: "after you've filled up your tummy, of course."

she cocks her head at you, white tufts of hair flopping forward into her face as she does, and you push them back fondly. (it always makes something buried down in your chest claw and howl and beg for him back).

"where?"

"central hospital, near where obaa-san lives." the little frown that forms on her lips is almost instantaneous, and you have to swallow back a laugh.

"i don't want to see 'baa-san." you reach out softly to brush a little mess off her cheek, wiping it off with your thumb as you shake your head at her.

"no, we're not seeing her baby. we're actually gonna go into the hospital and visit someone." you watch the cogs turn over in her brain before she, with a mouthful of strawberry, asks.

"who?"

"it's a surprise, babe." sayu doesn't look satisfied with that answer, but you gesture to her bowl of fruit and yoghurt with your pinky as you hold your mug. "finish your breakfast and then we'll get cleaned up."

"hospital is where sick people are. i don't wanna go there." she's staring down at her bowl as she talks, pushing things around with the spoon held tight in her hand before she looks up at you again. "who's there for us?"

"eat, bug. i promise you'll find out when we get there, okay?"

cerulean irises meet yours, big lashes that make her eyes look larger than life batting at you for a second before she nods and goes back to eating.

"okay mama. my blueberries are too sour." so close.

before leaving you'd checked with shouto more than once— maybe more than necessary— that there was zero chance of endeavour being at the hospital, because there was no way you'd ever let him near your child after what he did to his own. not after everything you've heard and seen, the brutal and tragic aftermath in the form of the man you love.

he assured you that he wouldn't be there, that no one beside him from his family would be there. you'd never anticipated ever meeting anyone in touya's family, and you appreciate it not being put on you all at once.

you still feel awkward walking through the hospital, sayu held on your hip and her head on your collar— occasional whispers and questions you answer with soft kisses and whispers of your own before reaching the front desk. the receptionist looks up at you, tired but kind, and asks what you're here for.

"hi, we're, uh- checking in? as visitors, i think."

someone behind you says your name, purposeful and weighted, and you already know it's shouto before you've even turned around. you're sure he recognised touya in sayu before even processing that it was actually you.

"shouto-kun, hi." you hum softly, letting him guide you a little bit out of the way— grateful to be away from the midst of people traffic in the most popular hospital in musutafu. you let sayu down, fine with her leaning back against your legs in front of you.

"just shouto is fine." he nods at you, then his eyes drop down to your daughter, and she offers a shy, and quiet hello. he's already bobbing down to meet her eye with a soft smile.

"hi. i'm shouto. what's your name?" she stares at him with wide eyes as she brings a hand up to her mouth, something to self-soothe in a new environment with ever-changing variables.

"you look like my dad."

"oh." he makes a small noise that sounds like something inside of him deflated. or maybe broke entirely. "well, your dad's my brother."

"oh." she nods at that, like she fully understands the gravity, before breaking out of her shell a little. "my name is sayu, but mama and dad call me bug. you're not allowed, even if you're friends with my dad." he smiles at her, and as you watch them interact you're sure he sees someone entirely different standing in front of him.

"alright, sayu-chan. it's nice to meet you."

"i like your hair, s'got white like mine!" she's pointing at him, her free hand petting her own head uncoordinatedly.

"it does, yeah." shouto nods again, brushing a hair through the white half of his hair before looking back up at you— something unspoken, like grief (grief just like yours), swimming in his eyes. "she looks just like him."

sayu doesn't give you much of a chance to say anything, your mouth barely opening to answer him before she continues to prattle on.

"my dad's busy working, do you have a job?" shouto laughs, something soft and fond as he looks at your daughter.

"uh- no, not yet. i will when i'm a little bit older."

"should get one, my dad's a superhero! that what he does for a job, s'really cool, huh?"

another sad noise claws it's way out of his throat, and he stares at you for a second before nodding at your daughter with the same kind of pretend smile you offer people who ask how you're doing. your heart aches.

he stands back up to his full height, taller than you— probably taller than touya, much to his disgust— and clears his throat before gesturing to the elevator at the end of the hall.

"uh, you two can follow me— his room's up on another floor."

"right, yeah. lead the way."

shouto guides the pair of you onto the fifth floor of the hospital and leaves you in the hall after giving you the room number— wanting to give you space, to allow another family reunion that he's not entirely apart of yet.

"we're gonna go in this room, 'kay? you know why?" she shakes her head softly, looking up at you as she clings at the fabric of your pant leg.

"no mama."

"'cause dad's in there," you watch her perk up immediately, a thousand questions ready to be spewed from her lips before you shake your head and pet her hair gently. "but we've gotta be quiet 'nd calm 'cause we're still in a hospital."

"is he hurt? or sick? s'probably 'cause he's been working too much, mama." your chest feels tight, and you nod at her words. she's always been so intuitive, so smart, and you're infinitely proud even if it hurts. "you should tell him off."

you laugh, a soft and wet sound, as you brush her hair back out of her face.

"okay bug, i'll tell him off for you." she nods, sufficed at that answer, and you brush her hair out of her face again before continuing on. "and yes, dad's hurt right now— but he'll be okay after the doctors fix him all up, okay? so we're gonna be real gentle, 'nd nice and quiet."

"okay mama."

you feel odd as you knock on the door, pushing it open at the affirmative call from inside— the voice, so familiar but hardly recognisable all the same, makes your breathing stutter— and you stop in your tracks at the sight of him. whatever you'd prepared yourself for, it wasn't this, and your stunned silence doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"wouldja look at that, s'that my girl?" his voice is different, but still his— more hoarse now, like it hurts to speak. touya looks more like himself in that hospital bed than you've ever seen him, even with one arm, with no staples holding skin together, and no more black hair— enough towels had been ruined by his attempts to keep his identity hidden from the world. he looks like new, and he looks like home.

"touya," it's all you can say, really, while you stand there as the door to his hospital room clicks shut behind you— all your brain can supply is touya. touya, touya, touya. because he's here, and he's alive, and he's in front of you again.

"where's my other girl—?"

he cocks his head a little, white tufted hair flopping over against a stiff hospital pillow as he gazes at the little girl hiding herself behind your leg— his little girl, who's hiding from him.

he smiles at her, something kind and soft— nothing that the world gets to see, that smile is reserved for his girls— before shifting his expression to an exaggerated pout.

"why're you bein' so shy, huh? s'it scary in here with all the machines?" you feel sayu's fist curl into the fabric behind your knee as she leans her cheek against your legs, staring at her dad but not making any moves just yet. your heart breaks, shatters into a thousand pieces, and you know touya's does too.

you reach back a little, offering her a wobbly smile as you push her hair out of her face and try your best to sound reassuring.

"it's okay, bug, s'just dad— even with machines 'nd bandages. still just him." she looks up at you, leaning her head into your hand for a second before reaching up to grab for it— coming around to stand next to you rather than behind you, with your hand clutched tight in both of hers.

sayu stares at him for a second, like she can't decide what to say, before settling for:

"your hair's like mine now."

touya scoffs out a laugh, a genuine one, and raises his hand to drag his fingers through the white she's talking about.

"it is, huh? maybe i wanted to match you, 'cause you're so cool." she's smiling now, cheeks growing a little rosy as she bounces just a little on the spot.

"can i sit with you?" he's already patting a spot on the bed, shifting over a little to make room.

"mhm, there's a special spot for an insect right here," you clearly don't do a good job of schooling the apprehension in your expression, because he's already waving your concern away with his hand. "s'okay, she can't do any more damage."

"that's not funny, touya." you huff at that, like a child who's stomping their foot at not getting there way, staring at him with wet eyes and a wobbly frown— letting sayu go anyway, knowing she deserves time with her dad. she's waited this long, it's not fair to hold her back from finally getting a cuddle with him.

he grins over at you, sayu already curling up in the space his forearm would've taken up if it was there.

"is a little bit. c'mere, lemme have both my girls close, yeah?"

"i don't wanna be in the way or anything."

he sighs, long and suffering but playful all the same, before waving you over with his hand. you stare at him still, like if you look away he'll disappear and leave you alone again.

"would you just get over here? 'm finally lookin' at you again, just- indulge me, please?" you laugh softly, choked up a little as you finally do give up and move over to his side— not sayu's side, that's hers— and curl into him as best as you can while half standing and half kneeling on the edge of the hospital bed.

"only because you said please." he lets out a quiet, sad laugh at that, leaning over a little to kiss your head— to kiss the crown, your forehead, to nudge your face up to meet his own and kiss you properly.

"missed you so much, y'know that? shouldn't have left you alone— damn it." he mumbles into the top of your head, the both of you now sniffly and trying to keep that dam intact and not have a full blown meltdown in front of your daughter.

"'m so glad you're okay. i was so scared, you know that? stupid man."

"i know baby, i know— never leave you again, you hear me? never." he kisses your head again, arm wrapped around you and hauling you to properly get on the hospital bed— dragging you up to lay against his chest, giving you the perfect view of your daughter like this. and she's cuddled into his side with wide eyes welled up with tears, and when she sniffles quietly touya's head is already snapping down to look at her.

"you cryin', bug?"

"sayu—"

"dad i missed you." she lets out a small sob, and it's the beginning of the end for her holding any kind of emotion back— the rest of her words a garbled mess of sniffles and tears. "can't go to work that long ever again— not even as a superhero."

"okay baby, you got it. dad's not goin' anywhere." he nudges her gently onto his lap, letting her cry it out as he presses kisses to her head and face— and when she eventually calms down enough to be coherent again, she points at his amputated limb.

"where'd your hand go?"

"ah, fell off at the elbow 'cause i didn't eat my vegetables— s'just what happens."

"FOR REAL?!"

— 2025 © pwn. all rights reserved. do not repost, narrate, or translate my works. thanku!