#all might oneshot

[imagineanime2022]

Heroes With An S/O W/ Powers Like Hawkwoman

Keigo Takami X Fem!Reader, Toshinori Yagi X Fem!Reader, Shota Aizawa X Fem!Reader

Requested: Anon

Request: Hello everything is fine? I saw that requests are open! I would like to know if you can write headcanons for bnha (hawks, all might and aizawa) with a s/o who is a professional heroine and is like hawkwoman from dc? (she has super strength, speed because of her wings, resistance, etc.)

Keigo Takami

🪶 Alright let’s be honest there is going to be a lot of bird behaviour from this individual, lucky you're both derived from hawks so you understand each others behaviours pretty well. 🪶 Keigo is forever puffing up his feathers when you first met, making himself look bigger and more suitable, it did catch your attention by nature. 🪶 Miriko made fun of him every time. 🪶 Hawks by nature mate for life, so when he decided that he was in, he was 100% in, there was nothing that could change his mind. 🪶 He’d spend a lot of time measuring wings and wrapping his wings around you, you’d do the same to him and sometimes you’d make a cocoon just for the two of you by having your wings meet in the middle. 🪶 He sings all the time, another bird thing but if you ever sing along with him, it will make him the happiest person in the world. 🪶 You guys go for flights all the time, he’d dive low to grab you anything that caught his or your eye. 🪶 You guys were two of the fastest heroes, you learned to work together covering whatever the other couldn’t and that became even more needed after his fight with Dabi. 🪶 You massaged his shoulders when he was healing, you helped him to get back up but he never stopped missing his wings. 🪶 You refused to fly without him and you were the one that helped him to relearn how to fly when he got his prosthetics. 🪶 You both have heightened senses so he’d often give you his shirts or blankets so that you would always feel him near (even if he was rarely more than 2 steps away). 🪶 You were a hero couple that was feared by villains and loved by civilians but neither of you cared about that. The only thing that was important is how much you loved each other.

Yagi Toshinori

🦸 The moment that Toshinori saw you he was enamoured, honestly he’d have seen your wings and the speed and strength that you displayed. 🦸 Challenged you to races all the time, he wanted to be the fastest but he had to admit that you had him in that department. 🦸 Toshi was playful and he had yet to be able to sneak up on you either so he tried that too, but given your enhanced senses, you could hear and smell him coming when you couldn’t see the flashy costume. 🦸 When you guys actually started dating it was a secret to no one, it was lucky that you were as good at defending yourself as you were because there were just as many villains as fans trying to get your attention. 🦸 Toshi came very close to ending the relationship when a villain came after you to get to him, you had to tell him that you weren’t having it and literally slapped him round the back of his head to get him to listen. 🦸 Toshi would literally carry you anywhere the extra weight from your wings didn’t bother him at all but he did love being wrapped in them when you both had the time. 🦸 Gran Torino would sometimes enlist you to get Toshinori to do something because you both knew that it was better for him. 🦸 You were the only one that could get him to sit still after he was injured by One For All. 🦸 Toshi spent all of this time bringing you presents, anything that you could ever want, even things you didn’t know you wanted like kids (Midorya and Bakugo). 🦸 Now with his smaller stature he loved your wings even more, he hid in them when he didn’t want to be seen, made sure that they were groomed and taken care of. 🦸 Toshi made sure that you always laid on top of him, even after he was injured (much to your protest) because he would not have you lay on your wings no matter how many times you tell him that you can support your own weight. 🦸 Definition of a celebrity couple, you guys were what everyone strived to be, happy together, playful, easy and completely dedicated to each other.

Shota Aizawa

🐛 Shota was probably the last person that anyone expected you to take an interest in but after one mission he couldn’t seem to get rid of you and to be honest he didn’t mind having you around. 🐛 You were the one that did most of the work, just trying to get him to look at you for more than a second but once he really looked he was a goner. 🐛 You used your wings to shield him from the sunlight while he was sleeping during the day or the cold in the winter. 🐛 Shota is a mindful human and often found himself dancing around you in the first few months of your relationship, making sure not to touch your wings and apologising when he did, it took a long while to convince him that it was okay. 🐛 The first time that you asked him to help with grooming your wings, you thought he was going to faint. 🐛 He teaches you how to use a capture weapons and you taught him how to use your weapons. He took to yours faster than you took to his. He's unbelievably adaptable but he admired the strength and agility that came with your power. 🐛 You were well into your relationship by the time that 1-A came along, so a lot of them knew of you but they didn’t know that you were dating/married to their teacher until the first villain attack when you made yourself known. 🐛 Neither of you had ever talked about having children but you ended up with 20 the day that you saved them. 🐛 You moved into the dorms with Aizawa and basically mothered the entire class, scolded them, praised them and protected them no matter what. Aizawa loved watching you with them. 🐛 When he brought Eri back, you both became her sworn protectors and he didn’t even have to ask when he put you both down as her legal guardians. 🐛 While Shota was teaching you were out doing hero work so when it came time to fight you were always called on and he always worried about you while you were gone. 🐛 You were a large mismatched family but it centred around the two of you, anyone could see that you loved each other and protect your little flock.

Request Here!!

[dpr-stay]

Mandated Reporter Pt.1 | Y.T

All Might | Yagi Toshinori X Reader

Heyyy, guys remember me...? It's not like I haven't posted a fic since *checks history* January or anythign haha lol right? Anyways this was kinda a distraction from my magnum opus but it started getting too long to publish as a one-shot in good faith. So parts LOL. already on ao3, so yeh. sorry if you followed me for F1

WC: ~2700

Warnings: Swears probs, just fluff, soulmate au hehehheheh, idiots in love *sighs dreamily*

Charles Darwin, way back in the year 1859, published his book On the Origin of Species. He was laughed and jeered at when he presented his book, as the theory he had written on the pages differed significantly from the common ideas at the time. No one really wanted to look at the apes that they kept in zoos and find themselves reflected in their eyes. 

He presented many ideas in his writing, natural selection being one you may have heard. However, one you may not be so familiar with if you didn’t take biology in highschool would be the idea of variation (or speciation for you nerds) when faced with an extinction event. 

The two main types of variation that occurred in human beings as we know them in the modern day are the development of quirks and the recognition of soulmates. The extinction events that preceded these variations are still not known, perhaps Mr Darwin was wrong in these specific cases, but the reaches of these variations stretched across the world and revamped the meaning of normal.

In modern Japan, soulmates were almost a taboo topic. Not only did some people not have soulmate’s but the way that people found their soulmates varied, from timers to marks, or even visions. Asking a person how they would meet their soulmate, soon came to be seen as a flirting tactic instead of just genuine curiosity. Because asking if someone has a destined partner can easily be interpreted as wishing that the partner was yourself.

You, personally, had never asked anyone how they were going to meet their soulmate. You found no need to. You would 100% know who they were when you would meet your soulmate. You didn’t mean to sound egotistical or presumptuous, but you would definitely know.Your soulmate ‘marker’ came in the form of words inscribed upon your wrist, written out in mildly scratchy handwriting which was thankfully legible. 

And if you see this criminal or know anything about him, call 1800-XXX-XXX-XXX to give information into the anonymous tipline!

At first, when you read it, you were a bit confused. You knew to some degree it was your soulmate marking, but you didn’t know how it applied to a real life situation. Was it the first thing they heard on the radio? Would it be in the background the first time you’d meet?

Your parents were also confused. They first tried the number, but it hadn’t been registered to any tipline at the time they tried. So they took little 5-year-old you to a so-called ‘Soulmate Specialist.’

At first you had thought it would be like a stereotypical curtained tent, with a lady perched over a crystal ball. But when you arrived, it just looked like a normal hospital clinic. Your mother held your hand as you trailed behind her. 

In a small room down a hallway, you sat on a cushioned bench as a nice-looking lady walked in, exchanged a few words with your mother, and then touched your knee. You watched as she leaned back, her facial expression only able to be described as puzzled, before saying,

“First Words.” You had immediately looked at your wrist. You had read the words again and a slight feeling of disappointment panged in your heart. 

Later, sitting at a table in a small ice-cream store, licking lemon sorbet till you got a brain freeze, your parents tried to come up with scenarios where you would meet your soulmate. Your dad suggested you would meet him during a town meeting (which caused both you and your mum to look at him funny, because who went to town meetings?), whilst your mum suggested that maybe he would be a police officer on the street chasing down a baddie and yelling it out as he went (You giggled at that).

As you grew up, everyone else who you showed it to grew confused as well. It wasn’t exactly something that you’d expect to be the thing bonding two soulmates together. It wasn’t romantic, it didn’t imply any sort of attraction, and you began to get disheartened as you saw the ways your friends met their soulmates.

It seemed each time your friend group got together, another friend would bring in their soulmate, talking about shared marks, oh so lovingly placing the marks against each other right in your eye-line, or finally seeing colour, saying while staring directly at their pair. It started to get at you, the instant connection the pairs would feel, while you were left with a phone number, which only started to work when you turned 18.

(When you first rang the number and it went through, elation took over your body. You stood up and did a little dance as you immediately started speaking into the phone, hoping to find anybody that could help you in your search for your soulmate. You only stopped talking, and dancing, when you noticed that the call was automatic and that you were talking to a robot. The call ended when you realised that they had also recorded it.)

Whenever you felt yourself feeling particularly down, you’d look back to your arm, and see the words engraved. At least you did have a soulmate, you consoled yourself, and at least the words seemed neutral instead of belligerent.

One thing, though, your friends all seemed to agree on was that your mum was right: your soulmate was a police officer. Why else would the number send you to a police tip-line, and why else would he be promoting a tip-line. It made the most sense to you as well. When this solidified properly in your mind, you decided to do everything you possibly could to meet your soulmate. 

It seemed as though they were speaking out as a plea, perhaps outside a police station or on the news to spread awareness of whatever crime this criminal had perpetrated. And so, you began to become a news fanatic.

You’d always tune into the six o’clock news, holding out hope that maybe some sort of crime had been committed that warranted some sort of appeal to the public. It wasn’t that you wanted someone to suffer, you had to reason with yourself, it was just that you wanted to know who your pair was. 

Whenever a crime was committed, you always kept your eyes peeled to the news report, hoping for some sort of plea to the public. Alas, the words were always similar but never quite right. News anchors and police officers always recited from a consistent script about each different offender, never varying no matter how much you wanted to.

Soon, whenever you had a free day, sometimes you’d head to police press conferences. You had a nice camera, that your mum had given you under the pretense of photography and wanting you to expand on hobbies, that you used to justify being a member of the press in order to sneak into the conferences. You’d occasionally take photos while waiting for the police to discuss the details of whatever case they were dealing with, and you always looked right at the speaker whenever they’d come close to saying the lines, before leaving disappointed.

After asserting that your soulmate was most likely a police officer, you also took to walking past the station on your way back home from work every night. Not only was it safer, but it also gave you a chance to listen to the officers standing outside of the station, chatting amongst themselves. You’d often overhear some of their discussions about criminals, but there was never anyone out the front advocating for people to ring their tipline.

Tonight was almost the same as every other night. You’d gotten off work particularly late, rushing from the elevator of your office to the entrance. You pushed through the glass doors, turning to wave to the receptionist. The night air was chilly, but the streets were alive with office workers such as yourself. 

You eyed the takoyaki stall across the street, and reasoned that you were already late to go home, but you then saw the line of half-dead employees stretching from the stall down the corner of the block and quickly shrugged the notion off. You still wanted to try and catch the 9 o’clock news after all.

You weren’t allowed to check any sort of non-work related device or website during the day, so you had no way to see if any criminals were being searched for or if any press conferences were being held. As such you always tried to catch some iteration of the news on the TV at home, if only to remain informed. 

As soon as you turned, you started speed walking home. Living only a couple minutes from your job sometimes had its advantages, as it meant you didn’t have to walk a long way in the dark, only like a kilometer. If you kept up with your fast pace, you’d pass the police station in two minutes and reach your home in five.

You reached the station and slowed down a little, trying to peak inside. The place seemed relatively dead when you glanced at it, only seeing the glowing reflections of the lights within. Only a couple officers were in and you breathed in sympathy as you saw the stacks of paperwork they had before turning and continuing on.

In five minutes (you were right), you arrived at your apartment building. You quickly scampered up the stairs, taking almost three at a time, before jetting to your door and unlocking it. You had the TV on in twenty seconds, just in time for the evening reporter to begin rambling on about the events of the day.

As she spoke, you began to unwind. You changed into pyjamas from your business attire as she told a story about a bank robbery, you were cooking instant ramen as she recounted an announcement the governmental opposition made, and you had just sat down on the couch as she began a report about the newest criminal who was taken down by a team of pro-heros and All Might.

You slurped your noodles as you watched intently. Despite being quirkless yourself, you were not immune to the charms and draws of the luxurious pro-hero life. You weren’t stupid, you knew it wasn’t all glitz and glam, you’d seen plenty of videos surrounding the harsh conditions that heroes had to go through and the mental tax that it took on them. Even now, watching All Might beat the shit out of a guy while yelling “SMASH” and random US state names, you cringed whenever the other guy got a punch in. But still, the galas and large amounts of money coming in sure sweetened the deal a fair lot.

You looked around your meager apartment and snorted. If only you had a quirk as flashy as All Might’s, that way you might’ve been able to live a life that wasn’t just above the Japanese poverty line.

The TV flashed pictures of the guy the heroes had fought and you whistled under your breath. He looked tough, almost like a shark with the way his teeth were pointed but scarier with the way his hands were literal chainsaws. As you listened more, you realised that they hadn’t actually ‘taken him down’, they’d just secured the people he was holding hostage and All Might had beaten him so badly he wasn’t able to walk (yeesh). But apparently they’d put the cuffs on him but then he just faded away, which definitely didn’t seem like something a guy with chainsaws for hands could have attributed to his own quirk.

That was definitely something you’d be thinking about tomorrow as you walked home from work, the fact that chainsaw hands could pop out and saw any of your limbs off and then be teleported away before you could even see him. You shuddered at the thought.

The TV quickly changed to show a live news conference and you perked up in your seat, leaning forward to see who was in the line-up of speakers and see if you could identify any of them. The news channel had joined in towards the end of the conference, one police officer speaking about the dangers of the man and the crimes he had committed. 

He went on for a while, so you sort of zoned out, but your attention was quickly caught again when All Might stepped up to the podium to speak into the microphone, which was strange as you’d never seen him stick around for a conference.

In your attempts to be up-to-date and to make sure that you’d never miss a call-to-action anywhere, you’d encountered plenty of news stories about All Might. He was the symbol of peace, so it was only normal that he often was the one to round up the villains that the numerous press conferences were about.

You’d always admired him, it was hard not to, but you never really thought all too much about him. I mean yeah, he was always there to save the day, but you’d never been in a spot where you’d needed him. You knew he was exceptionally popular amongst, well, everyone, but honestly he was kind of just another hero to you. 

One thing that did make him stand out, and justified to you the cult-following he had, was his attitude. He took the symbol of peace schtick seriously, and was always smiling and ready to help people no matter the personal sacrifice he endured. He earned your respect through that. 

He was also kind of hot. He was definitely conventionally attractive, but you’d always kind of thought he was hot in the way that he was always someone to rely on. You don’t know, you’d always kind of liked the scrawny boys better, blame it on your issues.

When All Might finally spoke into the microphone, he essentially repeated what the police officer before him had. You sort of rolled your eyes in a ‘get on with it’ way. You could tell the news was about to cut back to their broadcasting from the live conference so you waited for him to finish his statement while mentally scrolling through your shopping list.

Leaning back into your sofa, you watched as he paused for a second before shooting his eyes up to the camera and lifting one commanding finger to point at the lens before speaking.

“And if you see this criminal or know anything about him, call 1800-XXX-XXX-XXX to give information into the anonymous tipline!”

You blinked. Then you promptly spilled your boiling ramen over your lap as you dropped the bowl. Pain immediately shot through your senses, causing you to curse and look down to your lap.

All Might released some sort of pained noise, causing you to look up and see him grab his wrist on the TV. Your jaw dropped. A female anchor’s face appeared on the screen and you cursed again, quickly looking back to the inflamed skin on your lap. You rushed to the shower, turning the tap onto cold water and sitting down as it rained onto your pyjama bottoms.

You titled your head back before it banged against the glass of your shower door. Had you just hallucinated that? No fucking way right? There was no literal way your soulmate was All Might? Like the actual All Might. Like always smiling, strong as fuck, number one hero All Might.

What the fuck. You had to have been wrong.

You looked down to your wrist, raising your sleeve up to read the words again. Something had changed. Instead of the words being outlined in a sort of dark purple that complimented your skin tone, they had changed to a light lilac. Your jaw dropped again.

What the hell? One of your fingers traced the writing as you groaned. There was no literal way your soulmate was All Might. It was impossible.

You opened your eyes to look up at the shower head, watching as the water poured down.

There was no literal way that he could be your soulmate because All Might, even since the early days of his career before he was known for being the number one hero, had been known to be one of the few public figures who was incredibly vocal about being soulmate-less. 

so how'd we feel? I do like a bit of crack, if you hadn't picked it up yet.

also she's unedited, but it's me, so it's no surprise.

[choccy-milky]

congrats on baby #2!🥰👍 part 2 to this post bc seb is a smug ass bitch when it comes to getting clora pregnant. and ty @rednite-dork for sending me the original pic ages ago LMFAO... i knew as soon as i saw it that i had to redraw it eventually 👼

[mid-80s]

fixing eddies bangs

pov: eddie asks you to fix his bangs

cw: grinding, implied sex

you immediately say yes.

it has been a dream of yours to cut eddies hair or to style it in any way and you hop at the opportunity when it's presented.

you're both on the floor of eddies room, him practicing for his gig the following night, you picking an outfit for him for it.

you don't know when you'd become his personal stylist, but you always find yourself picking out his show outfits.

suddenly eddies soft tune that he's been playing stops. "can you cut my hair?"

the question out of the blue, as they hadn't even been saying anything before, simply content in the others presence.

you turn around, stunned, and look at him with a look that says really?

"c'mon, i know that styling my hair is like a wet dream of yours," you roll your eyes and turn back to his closet, being stubborn. "but i really need my hair cut for tomorrow!" you don't budge. "you're my bestest friend in the whole wide world and i would really like you to cut my hair." nothing. he rolls his eyes.

"please?"

and that's how you ended up sitting on a flustered eddies lap cutting his bangs.

he kept squirming and you're no expert, so didn't want his hair to look worse than it already did. soo you sat on his lap. not the best idea for either of you as now you have to try not to squirm as eddies manhood is rubbing up against your clit just right.

you're both a blushing mess and you pray he can't feel your pussy twitch from his big hands around your waist, the cold from his rings giving you goosebumps through your thin shirt (that's probably his, you don't remember), and his big doe eyes, staring at you like you're the prettiest thing on earth.

and you're not far off as that is exactly what eddie is thinking.

having the girl he's been crushing on for years a half an inch away from his face is not helping the feelings he's been trying to push down, or his growing boner.

it's just the way you press your lips in a line when you're focused, the furrow of your brows, the tilt of your head. ugh, the twitch of your tight cunt against his boner. fuckkk.

he feels his cock jump at that and he knows you feel it too. and as much and he doesn't want to admit it, he's kind of glad you do, especially now because he knows you're feeling the same.

just a few more snips. you tell yourself. it's not helping you feel better because you have absolutely no idea what to do when you're done. eddies grip on your waist tightens and your pussy twitches again.

and then you feel eddies cock twitch. like it's fucking mimicking yours. you finish his hair, and look him dead in the eyes.

"fucking finally." you sigh, breaking the heaving silence hanging over your both.

you brush the hair off his face and practically throw the scissors on the counter while keeping eye contact and eddie looks at you terrified and confused.

you kiss him at the same time you grind against his fat fucking cock. you can't believe you didn't realize how hard he was before.

eddie tries his hardest to kiss you back but can't hold back the moan that comes deep from in his chest.

this is gonna be a long night.

[jomamaofficial]

The Chronicles of A Hero's Daughter pt.2 (Father!All Might and Daughter!Reader Angst Oneshot)

A/N: SO, THIS WAS ASKED IN MY ASK BOX. BUT I STUPIDLY REPLIED TO IT SO I DON'T KNOW WHICH ANON ASKED FOR IT SO I'M JUST GOING TO TAG EVERYONE WHO LIEKD THAT POST HERE AND HOPE IT'S THE BRILLIANT ANON WHO WANTED ME TO WRITE A PART 2. @dark-magic-phoenix @crystal-freak24 @observaureium @justtovi3w62. As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :). TW: Graphic descriptions of blood (coughing blood), graphic imagery of crushing a heart (doesn't happen, just explained) CW: difficult father-daughter dynamics. Taglist: @thatcatladywrites @smikys-stuff @kimberlyfletcher @dawnwriterimagines Masterlist Word Count: 1951. Summary: One argument led to another– the foundation of your family was built upon suffering and sacrifice. Secrets were unveiled, revealing the true intentions of your father, the lingering wounds of the past stinging harder than any cut has ever. With tension reaching a breaking point, what happens when you confront your father, searching for the harsh truth, even if it leads to a devastating decision– you will never be the same again. He will never be the same again. 

——————————————————————————————————

Toshinori’s chest rose and fell. 

“You don’t mean that…” 

A pang struck through your heart as your father’s laboured breaths increased, tailing off in steady wheezes that only grew louder. 

“Dad…” you whispered, closing your eyes. “Dad, I didn’t m-”

Your voice cracked, succumbing to the hot tears which burned against your cheeks. Emotions flooded your head, as though they had been waiting to escape from the dam of truth that you had to silence to protect the peace in your family. The pressure had built up and that dam had finally broken in the most irreparable way possible. 

Shame hammered your mind, delivering blunt throbs as you watched your dad clutching his frail chest in agony. 

Guilt drilled poison into your veins as your father struggled to stand up– his sickly body unable to bear this pressure. His airways had been restricted, thus his once strong and proud chest had nothing to show but a vacant cavity, struggling to hold itself up. 

This living room had always been small– enough space just for the two of you. Dad and his little hero. It had always been you two, but today, this room was longer and narrower, as though mocking your sanity which had become a battlefield. 

Would you protect your father and carry on living in this dollhouse family, of which the  foundations were built off of your suffering.

Or would you protect yourself and destroy your relationship with the only family that you ever had.

The struggle had refused to forsake– silence had become your greatest enemy. It had left you alone with your screaming thoughts of doubt that deafened your conviction, leaving you straggled, naked, and vulnerable in the vast depths of your fears because what if. 

What if Midoriya truly was better than you? 

What if you truly were not worth it?

What if you had lost your rights to call yourself his daughter. 

Forever. 

You had lost everything to the ravenous beast which ruined everything you touched, and it wanted more. It wanted more, so it began making more noise, howling over the whispers of the wind, it howled over the ticking of the clock. It howled until nothing could be heard. 

Silence. 

Silence. 

Silence.

It had become silent. 

As though you were the only person in the room. 

A sudden thud drew your attention to the floor. 

Toshinori collapsed on the ground, and his eyes had gone blank, jaw slack. His ribs stuck out from under his skin, showing through his thin white t-shirt as his brassy cough filled his mouth with blood.

He urgently covered his mouth with his hands, forcing it shut but to no avail. It had already slipped past his hold, travelling down his neck, staining his shirt. A constant offender.

Your father began developing bloody coughs over three years ago. Yet every time you saw his chest heave and bleed, surges of nausea would creep up your veins, forcing you to leave. 

“Dad!” 

This was too much blood. It wasn’t meant to be like this… The doctor said a few drops or so, maybe a teaspoon, but that was ‘highly unlikely’. You watched as his white shirt became saturated, dizziness threatening to blur your vision.  

But you could not see him like this. You didn’t think twice before rushing to help him– but you were stopped. 

Toshinori raised his shaking hand immediately. You were halted, frozen in disbelief. 

He put his hand back on the floor, taking a few breaths before pushing himself, warranting another step forward from you, another cry, but he just stopped you again. You could only watch as your father relied on his bony wrists to push himself up. 

You could hear his shallow gasps for air, and his repressed coughs– and all you could do was watch your father’s face contort in fatigue and ache. Toshinori had finally gotten up, but that look had not left his face as he pushed past you. You watched the limp in his leg as he hobbled towards the couch, slowly lowering himself onto the cushioned couch. His head slumped onto the head rest, limbs unfurling in exhaustion. 

You were suspended in your head, unable to move past the questions which rung bright sirens. 

You shouldn’t have raised your voice at your own father– the doctor had told you. He’s injured, he’s getting older. He can’t process such shocks like this anymore.

What was wrong with you? 

But it couldn’t have been just your fault… right? But then he pushed you– maybe he didn’t just notice– but what if he did it on pur-

“Y/N”, your father had called for your name, but his eyes did not meet yours. 

Instead, they looked past you. 

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was five years old. 

A decade after the first quirk was discovered, many adoption agencies in Musutafu began sorting children based off of a ‘ranking system’. 

Official documents stated that this case was first brought up in the Supreme Court due to an incident that had occurred in an orphanage near Musutafu, 26 years ago. It was a heartbreaking case of manslaughter that had taken place when six year old Chihiro Onodera– Quirk: Lava, accidentally murdered eight year old Honoka Sugo– Quirk: Bubbles, during lunch time as they were play-fighting. 

It did not take much convincing as this case had reached international news, thus the court immediately passed a bill on the separation of quirks preliminary based off of their strength and danger levels, which were to be evaluated on a scale of 1 to 5. 

Nevertheless, this bill had struck a controversial match, becoming the largest contemporary topic that was disputed over in the past years. 

Demonstrations, protests and violent public outrage reached its peak when leaked intel revealed that a lot of children began to go missing from Adoption Agencies under the radar– they no longer had papers, as if their identities had been erased off of the face of this Earth. 

Nanami Tomoda, Sae Ojima, Makoto Kanezaki– these were some of the household names that had garnered petrifying national and international headlines: 

Heartbreaking Tragedy Strikes Japan: Devastating Attack Leaves Communities Reeling 

Japan in Shock: Deadly Assault Rocks Nation's Sense of Security 

Aftermath of Brutal Assault Leaves Nation Grieving Chaos and Carnage

Not much was known about these young adults. 

Apart from two things. 

First. 

They were not independent contractors. All of them could be traced back to some of the very few established, powerful, underground organisations. 

And second.

They were all orphans, rated 5, who had been declared missing for ten or more years.

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was rated 5. 

Toshinori Y/N lost her quirk at age ten. 

You are rated 0. 

Zero.

Toshinori took a deep breath before he spoke. 

“I have raised you since you were five years old.” He still did not meet your eyes. “I raised you in hopes that you would become a strong, and powerful young lady.” 

He drew a breath in– it was laced in disappointment. 

“But why does it feel, as though it has had no influence on you?”

Toshinori shifted both of his arms onto the couch rests, sitting tall. 

“One does not become a hero by winning every fight. Not everything is about a hero’s physical strength. A hero is made when they understand that retaliation only makes them the real villain.” 

Your father’s voice had deepened, and so did the dreadful pit in your stomach that sunk your resolve. 

“A true hero understands that strength lies in the ability to rise above the pain. Because those who focus on what has been lost”, he continued, lips twitching, as a faint, uncontrollable tremor laced his words in indisputable venomous contempt, “are either insane, or desperate for attention they know they will never get.”

Small muscles in your face began to twitch despite the heaviness that had been pulsed through your body, holding it in place, as you just stood there. Your eyes, once red and exposed, had no inhabitant, no focus. 

A ghost town. 

“A true hero is grateful. And recognises every bit of effort someone else put in order to get them to where they are now.” 

His gaunt eyes found yours, casting an unfamiliar chill in your body. They were sunken in, casting his gaze in dark shadows– an abyss impenetrable by light. 

“You got your quirk stolen, Y/N. But you cannot get that back anymore. But it’s been years, I expect at least some gratitude considering I did you a favour by adopting you.” 

He had left a clot that blocked your heart.

“Because no one else would have wanted you.”

It is always the one closest to you that hurts you the most. 

The man you called your father had waited until the last second to take the satisfaction of crushing your heart, flesh against flesh. 

Humans evolved to gain resistance and immunity against everything that threatens their survival.

Therefore, living with this man only meant that you had to gain immunity against pain and humiliation, because that was the only thing that could guarantee your survival. 

So when you shook off the heaviness in your lid and focused onto your father’s face, you could only lift the corners of your lip.  

“If you didn’t want me. Someone else would have adopted me instead. Like you did. No papers, no nothing– I’d slip under the radar, at least I’d still have my quirk, and end up on those headlines.”

“How dare you?” he uttered, face contorted in malice.

“I was five. That’s why you adopted me. Don’t deny it” 

Toshinori stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. His shoulders, broad and hubris, had become small and meek. You watched him contemplate: his eyes, vindictive and daring, were cast down, hiding amongst the Tatami flooring. 

“My child…” he began, his voice softer. “After your quirk had been stolen, I could not risk making you the target again. That’s the reason I don’t come to your events. It’s because you’ll become the target everyone goes for because they know you’re my daughter”.

“They’ll know?” your lips had pressed into a thin line. “Like how Midoriya knew I was your daughter? Like how the media knows?” 

In the stifling air, your dry laughter bounced off of the discomfort. 

“Don’t act like you aren’t ashamed of me.” 

Your face had settled into a stone. 

“It’s not about me being a target. It’s about protecting your image.”

“My daughter-”

“You have lost the right to call me your daughter. If I was such a disappointment after my quirk was ripped away from me, why did you keep me? You could have sent me back. Why did you keep me, dad, why did you keep me!”

Those closest to you, leave irreparable wounds. 

But there was a reason they were close to you. A reason that subsided in love, care, and hope. 

Your crushed heart was surviving on its last breath, waiting to hear something that could revive it. 

Toshinori lifted his head again, his eyes flickering behind you. 

It locked onto an object that somehow gained more attention than you ever had in your entire life. You risked a look over your shoulder, only to see the picture of your father and Midoriya, smiling–almost mockingly– back at you. 

You knew what the answer was going to be. 

“I’m beginning to question the same thing.”

A flat-line. 

“Well if that’s how you really feel, I have no obligation to stay here anymore.”

You drew your breath in, words suspended at the tip of your tongue. 

“I wish you and your student the best of luck, All Might.”

[frickingnerd]

i'd stop the world for you

pairing: toshinori yagi / all might x gn!reader

summary: the pro hero number one, all might, confesses to you and you're more than a little startled!

tags: wholesome fluff, reader doubts they're good enough (& all might assures them they are), happy ending, friends to lovers

"you… love me?"

you looked up surprised at the number one hero. he was smiling at you with that famous 'i am here' smile and you couldn't tell if he was being serious with you. then again, would japan's number one hero really pull a prank like that on one of his colleagues? 

"i do! that's why i said it"

he kept smiling at you, his lips not even twitching for a second. he almost looked like an action figure instead of a real person, standing still and staring at you. 

"why me..?"

for the first time, he stopped smiling. just for a short moment. he looked at you softly, before resting a hand on your shoulder and smiling again. only this time, he looked much more sincere. it wasn't that smile he gave the press when he came to someone's rescue. that smile belonged to toshinori yagi, the person behind the title of japan's number one. 

"why not you?"

you chuckled amused. 

"if you're asking because i could have anyone as the number one hero, then that's my reply" he paused. "but if you truly don't see what's so special about you, then let me tell you that you are the person i trust most. you are not just my ally but my friend. i don't have to pretend when i'm around you. and i know that you like me for myself and not my title"

you looked up at him, eyes widening as he spoke. that's how he viewed your relationship? you were honored and relieved to hear how much he liked and trusted you. 

"in that case, it would only be fair to let you know that i feel the same way about you too, toshi…"

your heart was beating faster as you smiled at the blonde man in front of you. 

"i love you too..!"

[animestsstuff2]

Bakugou boyfriend headcannons

I had this idea of headcannons but as you read they progress with his character development during the seasons. Its most likely been done but i thought it would be cool, especially since the Bakugou I write about in Dragons beauty is based more from his development than the first few seasons!

—————————————————————————————————————

Bakugou, who was actually the first person you met at U.A and immediately hated after he shoved you out of the way yelling “get out of my way you damn extra!”

Bakugou, who in every class got on your nerves with his stinking attitude, huge ego and bullying of other classmates, especially Izuku who became your friend on day one

Bakugou, who saved your life during the U.S.J attack, grabbing you from Shigaraki’s grasp and pulling you into him. His excuse was he needed a clear shot to blast Kurogiri and you were the perfect distraction since according to Bakugou “yeah, you were just in the way like usual, hadda move ya”

Bakugou, who rolled his eyes at your thank you gift of baked chocolate chip cookies, only taking them after Kirishima berated him that it would be unmanly not to. As if Bakugou cares..he ate the cookies, cleaned the container and hand delivered it to you along with a small thank you scribbled on a note.

Bakugou, who again saved your life during the attack on the summer camp training, pushing you out of the way of Dabi’s flames and in turn getting captured. Your eyes never leaving his as he was taken.

Bakugou, who after being rescued by All Might and moved into the dorms with everyone else can’t sleep and finds you in the living room feeling the same. You ask him why he is awake and he shoots it back at you, sitting down with you. You talk and he listens, eyes never leaving yours until yours slowly draw close and having not noticed how close he moved till your head rested on his shoulders and he pulled a blanket over you both.

CrushBakugou, who after waking up with you on the sofa was red in the face and grumbling, trying to carefully slip your body off his chest and leave only for you to stir and him going still as some early riser classmates drift into the kitchen. Kirishima of course grinning at his friend who has obviously been crushing on you since those cookies.

Boyfriend Bakugou who is proud you gained your hero license. A small smile on his face as you bounced on your heels in front of him as you proudly showed your card off, forgetting that he didn’t gain his.

Boyfriend Bakugou who brings your favourite home cooked meals to your study sessions in the your dorm. Bakugou who stays up explaining things to you to make sure you get top results to you get scouted by a good hero.

Boyfriend Bakugou who watches you sleep, brushing the hair from your face and pulling you tighter into his arms, content to have some form of comfort to ease him, loving when after training all week you massage his sore back and muscles, always putting extra moisturiser on his calloused hands.

[nellasbookplanet]

I'm incredibly soft about the fact that the people Caleb shares a sending stone with aren’t the mighty nein members who live furthest away, but the ones who live the closest. That, when also taking into account the easy invitation to dinner and request for a spare bedroom (and the mention that Caleb has the worst timing when calling, implying he calls often) makes so much known about their domestic lives. How often does Yasha make a quick call to invite Caleb for dinner to try some new (barely edible) dish? How often do Caleb and Beau stay up late doing research, with him staying the night in the guest room? How often does Caleb call in the middle of the night with a question?

The nein getting together for adventuring is fun, but man, I'd absolutely sit down for a few hours of them just being domestic and settled like this.

[devilevlls]

"In the depths of my soul, you reside."

3,259 words - Minors do not interact

TW 📌: "Satanic" rituals, abuse, explicit language, pornographic content, mentions of sexual abuse, hateful language directed at religious groups, blasphemy, corruption kink, demons being demons, unprotected sex, creampie, gay sex, MC is the bottom, MC trusts him to consume a piece of their soul.

MC is AMAB, I use they/them pronouns to refer to them because that's the way I feel comfortable in describing the character. They are called "boy, young man, son" and so. If you are uncomfortable with any of the warnings, please, do not read. Sumary:

After the former priest was removed due to accusations of sexual abuse, the authority place had to be filled by someone else and Lucifer, who owed a favor to his friend Simeon, took the spot, ministering that Saturday to fulfill his obligation.

He ends up finding a new motivation when he encounters MC, who is in conflict with themselves about their dark thoughts. Their desires and duty are fighting to see who would take the young human and the demon would like to help, with a price.

The sound of the chapel's heavy doors echoed, interrupting the stillness of the afternoon, as the man dressed entirely in black entered, moving with determination and agility, casting furtive glances around to ensure he was not being followed. His long, purposeful steps led him until he stopped in front of a cowering, sobbing, fearful figure.

The young human was kneeling before the bench, hands clasped in prayer, tears flowing freely.

"Why are you crying, son?" The newcomer's hoarse voice cuts through the silence, his imposing red eyes penetrating deep into the boy's soul.

They were startled, interrupting their prayer to look at the one who was getting in the way of their sacred moment.

"Forgive me, sir." They bowed gently, voice trembling.

The elder gentleman stood majestically, dressed in the attire befitting his vocation, exuding an aura of divine elegance. 

With a subtle clearing of the throat, they signaled their intention to speak further. “I believe you are the new priest responsible for our humble chapel this saturday. I am your assistant, aspiring priest, a... Deacon.” The human struggle with their words.

"It's nice to meet you, MC." The older man's husky voice delivered a playful tone.

"How do you know my name? I haven't introduced myself yet," MC replied, somewhat intrigued.

"Do not worry. I know everything," the man replied, his enigmatic smile seeming to widen even further. "My name is Lucifer." He took a few steps towards MC, his confident posture and penetrating gaze causing slight discomfort.

A frightening shiver ran down MC's spine, but they forced themselves to maintain composure, standing up and trying to appear receptive, although the nervousness was still evident.

"That's a pretty unusual name for a priest," MC commented, their voice a little shaky as the younger one tried to hide the fear that was beginning to settle inside.

"Do not be scared. I will only stay here while the other priest is being investigated for the rape of the young people in this chapel.”

The mention of the accusation made the boy take a step back, feeling their stomach twist with tension.

"Oh... yes."

"Did he touch you?", Lucifer asked, taking a step forward and reaching for MC's chin, forcing them to maintain eye contact, his imposing presence dominating the surrounding space.

"No, sir. Father Kahleus has always been very kind to me," MC responded quickly, feeling uncomfortable with the unexpected physical contact.

"Humans are so hypocritical, don't you think?", Lucifer continued, his voice filled with cynicism, as he watched MC's reaction with interest.

MC gave a nervous laugh, confused by the direction the conversation was going. "Humans...?", he began, before being interrupted by the tall demon.

"Please, refrain yourself from acting like you don't understand," Lucifer said, his gaze making them uneasy.

Swallowing hard, they turned away from Lucifer, looking down at the ground for a moment before taking a deep breath and gathering the courage to respond.

"Sir, we shouldn't make that kind of analogy in a sacred place like this. Would you like to accompany me, so I can show you your private room next to the tabernacle?"

"Show me the way," Lucifer replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes, watching as MC chose to ignore the reality unfolding before them.

— * 

Once inside the room, MC presented all the important documents, financial notes and accessories for the masses that would begin the next day.

"Do you have any questions, sir?" The human asked, briefly meeting Lucifer's gaze before looking away again, feeling uncomfortable under the intensity of those piercing eyes.

"Why were you crying earlier?", Lucifer asked suddenly, breaking the brief silence that hung in the room.

A shiver ran down MC's spine before he could respond. "Father Kahleus was never like that. I feel like the devil tempted him," MC confessed, voice thick with worry and confusion.

Lucifer held back an ironic laugh and sighed, shaking his head. "Are you that naive? People are bad and blaming the devil doesn't make them better," he replied with disarming directness.

"Don't you understand? We have oaths. We all do, and I'm sure you did too," MC insisted, struggling to comprehend the complexity of the situation.

"Many centuries ago, when my wings were still white as snow and my mind corrupted by the ideals of a cowardly creator," Lucifer murmured, a trace of melancholy passing through his eyes.

MC sighed, feeling scared and confused, taking a step back and inadvertently bumping into the coffee table.

"Don't be scared, but I must admit that the more time we spend together, the hungrier I get," Lucifer said, voice filled with a strange sadistic energy, he enjoyed watching his prey connecting the dots and becoming alarmed.

"You... You did this to him?", MC asked, voice cracking at the terrifying possibility.

“Ah… Now you have become aware of who I really am.” He smiled slightly and concentrated for a moment, making his demonic form apparent. “No, I didn’t do anything.”

MC tried to scream, but before they could make any sound, their mouth was immediately silenced by Lucifer's firm, gloved touch, which covered their lips with firm pressure. The demon's gaze conveyed a silent warning, a contained threat that echoed beyond the simple physical gesture. The air around them felt heavy, thick with palpable tension between the two, as MC fought the panic that threatened to wash over. The young human’s eyes widened in despair, but the words were suffocated before they could even come out.

“Let's not make a fuss, okay? You're safer with me than you were with that creep. Unlike him, I know how to keep my dick in my pants instead of molesting innocent young boys and girls.”

MC's eyes widened at Lucifer's explicit language, feeling uncomfortable with the description and lack of shame.

Stopping for a moment, Lucifer was truly stunning, almost mesmerizing, and he was so close already... It made the human's heart race.

The demon sighed and removed his hand from the boy's mouth, looking around before moving away, breaking the physical contact that had left MC so tense. “You don’t look very old, how old are you? Why are you so naive?” “I’m 23 and not a child to be naive.” MC hisses a little offended “I’m aware of what happened, but I can’t believe he would do such a thing.” “Then you are just stupid, young man," He says agressively before changing the subject. "Well, I believe your work is finished for today. I'll see you at mass tomorrow", Lucifer declared, his voice filled with indifference, as if the previous meeting had never happened.

"Why...", MC started to ask, before being interrupted by Lucifer.

"Why, you say? I'm just following orders, nothing more," Lucifer explained as he settled into the office chair, crossing his long legs with an air of nonchalance. "Please leave. You're making me agitated with all this excitement between your legs." Lucifer's final remark made MC feel heat flush their cheeks. “I’m not excited!” They complained.

“I can see your erection from here.” The demon states dismissively, opening one of the reports to analyze.

MC quickly walked away and left the room without saying another word, feeling embarrassed. The encounter with Lucifer left them shaken and confused, questioning how all this could happen in such a sacred environment.

Why didn't the demon attack him or do terrible things to them? These questions echoed in their mind as the panicked figure hurriedly walked to the quarters.

Once there, MC threw themselves on the floor and closed their eyes, trying to banish the disturbing thoughts. The human wondered if it was all just a nightmare or a bad joke, but the firm feeling of Lucifer's hand still hovered over their skin, making them feel indecently warm.

"I wonder if he's really going to minister tomorrow…", MC muttered to themselves, voice filled with uncertainty and apprehension.

They feared what the next day might bring.

—*

The other day, in the morning as promised, MC entered the private room before mass to organize all the accessories, but was surprised to find Lucifer dressed for the celebration, his attire highlighting his magnetic beauty even more. So handsome... So tempting.

"What...?", MC began, their shaky voice reflecting the confusion at seeing the demon there.

Lucifer turned and sighed, recognizing the human's presence. "You again…", he murmured.

"I'm your assistant. I-I mean... I'm the substitute priest's assistant!", MC hurried to explain, reeling in their own troubled thoughts as they watched the demon button his shirt and put on his chasuble with a disconcerting naturalness.

"So nervous early on. This way you won't make it through the rest of the day," Lucifer teased, approaching the young man with an intimidating presence. "Can we go or are you going to keep devouring me with your eyes? I thought you had a vow of chastity to keep."

MC stepped back looking away to avoid the temptations Lucifer offered. "We may proceed. The faithful are arriving," they replied quickly, trying to maintain the composure.

—*

It was truly surprising to watch Lucifer lead the mass. He delivered speeches and read bible verses as if had memorized them in his mind centuries ago. Well, in a way, he actually had them. After all, he was once an angel before becoming that.... Thing.

MC found themselves staring at him as he continued with the ministration, unable to look away. Lucifer's beauty was mesmerizing, every movement elegant, every word spoken with authority. Even though they knew who he really was, MC couldn't help but admire, getting lost in the details of his sculpted body and magnetic aura.

They tried to push away the conflicting thoughts, focusing on the church service that was taking place in front of them. But despite the efforts, the demon's presence continued to exert an undeniable fascination over them.

After concluding the morning mass, they both retreated to the private room once more, where Lucifer intended to change.

"And with that, I'm free from this stupidity," Lucifer remarked with disdain.

"But there's still Sunday mass," the other replied.

"I couldn't care less. Saturday was my agreement, and I've fulfilled my part," Lucifer retorted coldly.

"Please, I don't know how I'll find another priest!" they pleaded, their voice tinged with desperation before clearing their throat. "Not that you're truly a priest, but..."

"Perhaps I could assist... for a price," Lucifer interjected.

The human sighed disapprovingly. "And what do you want, demon?"

"Fear not, nothing of a carnal nature unless that's what you desire. Just a small sampling of your soul. It won't be painful..." Lucifer's voice dripped with mockery, knowing full well it would inflict torment.

"Okay... but..." They fidgeted nervously. "What if I desire... to explore something more?" The young man struggled to articulate their thoughts, aware that the words might inadvertently reveal the weight of something deeply personal. Despite the embarrassment that lingered, they saw this moment as an opportunity to confront a long-standing question that had lingered since their teenage years: exploring intimacy with someone of the same sex.

"More...? Pray, enlighten me," Lucifer responded, already aware of the human's desires but relishing in their embarrassment nonetheless.

"What if I desire... to be intimate with you?" they whispered, their cheeks flushing crimson.

"Ah, you are a naughty one," Lucifer chuckled, crossing his arms. "Very well, then. You've piqued my interest enough to indulge your curiosity."

Lucifer drew nearer, enveloping them in his embrace, arms around their waist, and swiftly initiated a fervent kiss, his tongue forcing the other to yield while they squirm, their kisses growing sloppy.

"Ngh..." the human moaned softly.

"Hush," Lucifer whispered, pulling them closer until their backs met the desk, eliciting a startled squeak. "We wouldn't want anyone overhearing, would we?"

The boy felt his heart thundering as they attempted to match Lucifer's fervor, but this was, indeed, their first kiss. Delicate hands roamed frantically over the demon's back, grasping at his clothes, while their legs trembled, on the verge of collapsing.

Observing the human's struggle, the avatar of pride seized their waist and gently positioned them on the table, slipping his hands beneath the fabric of the shirt to caress the delicate skin underneath.

The young assistant was already swept up in excitement, their cheeks ablaze as they breathed heavily. Their eyes darkened with lust, body craving more with every heartbeat. There was a slight twitching inside their pants and Lucifer noticed right away, brushing his long finger on top of it.

Lucifer leaned in closer, their lips grazing the human's ear as they whispered in a low, sultry tone, "You're quite eager, aren't you?"

They shivered at the sensation, their whole body tingling with anticipation. "I... I want..." stuttered the assistant, their voice barely a whisper as desire flooded their senses.

With a smirk, the demon gently lifted their chin, his gaze locking with the assistant's as he whispered, "Tell me exactly what you want." Swallowing hard, their heart race in their chest. "I want... I want to feel you," they confessed, voice trembling with a mix of nerves and longing.

A predatory gleam sparked in Lucifer's eyes as he leaned in, capturing the assistant's lips in a searing kiss. They melted into each other again, the heat of their desire igniting a flame that consumed them both.

The demon quickly starts undressing, taking off his clothes and tossing around before doing the same with them, until they are only with their underwear. Feeling both exposed and exhilarated, the human experienced a rush of courage as they reached out, their finger tracing along Lucifer's firm chest and abdomen. His physique wasn't overly sculpted, but it was undeniably defined in a way that stirred desire within them. It was fucking sexy.

Biting their lip, they chastised themselves for entertaining such thoughts about him. Yet, with every movement, their mind spun with vivid imaginings of what lay beneath his clothing, igniting a wild frenzy of desire that threatened to consume them completely.

“Now let's begin…” Lucifer cast a spell, conjuring a bright red light that momentarily dazzled the priest assistant. As their vision cleared, they blinked in surprise to find Lucifer holding a bottle of lube in his hand.

MC's cheeks flushed crimson with a mixture of arousal and astonishment. "What... what did you just do?" they stammered, their voice betraying a blend of curiosity and anticipation.

“I just got something to assist you.” He spreads some of the liquid on his hand and comes closer, sliding their underwear down. “Now, be a good boy and spread your legs for me.” As they opened their legs, Lucifer adjusts himself in between, sliding the underwear off his body, making the hardened shaft plop against his abs. The human widened their eyes, admiring how thick and perfect it looked. It was way better than they could ever imagine. Taking a deep breath to steady themselves for what would come next, they fix their gaze on Lucifer as he spread the lube over himself with deliberate care.

Anticipation coiled in the air between them as he stepped closer, now caressing their thighs. “Hold into me and enjoy your ride.” His low voice echos into their mind.

As Lucifer aligned himself and pushed into their entrance, MC gave a sharp intake of breath, instinctively clinging to the demon as a wave of intense pain surged through them. Tears welled in their eyes, and a soft sob escaped their lips, the sensation overwhelming and unexpected.

"Oh, do not cry," Lucifer murmured with a smirk, his voice a blend of amusement and a hint of something more complex. Despite his earlier taunt, there was a surprising gentleness in his actions as he continued to push himself deeper,the movements careful and deliberate, attuned to the human's sensations.“I almost feel pity of you.”

As the older man's hips pressed against theirs, the human's moans and pants grew louder, caught in a mix of pain and pleasure unlike anything they had ever experienced before. 

With each thrust, MC's member pulsed with desire, coating their belly with slick pre-cum, a testament to the overwhelming arousal that coursed through them both. 

"L-Lucifer... I..."

“Already?” Lucifer teases, moving faster and pushing forcefully inside them. They didn’t answer, only digging their nails into Lucifer’s back, nodding while moaning desperately.

Seeing the opportunity, the demon smiles sadistically and turns into his demon form, dark wings spread, growling like a wild animal. His tone was demonic, it had something almost disturbing in it. Without a word, he sinks his fangs into the boy's shoulder, the sudden surge of pain and pleasure caused the boy to gasp and squirm uncontrollably, their body convulsing with ecstasy as they release their load, splattering a mess across both of them in a wild climax of desire and darkness. As Lucifer indulged in consuming the ecstatic piece of soul, relishing its delectable taste, he exercised restraint, ensuring not to take too much.

It was a corruption that came so natural, so enticing, it only fueled his insatiable hunger further. With each taste, he felt himself sinking deeper into them, reveling in the delicious sensation of it all.

He couldn’t hold himself anymore.

He grips into their hips, his nails digging into their skin as he thrust himself deeper with a primal ferocity, ignoring the human's pleas for respite as they get overstimulated, he moved with an unrestrained urgency, becoming increasingly feral as he relentlessly massaged their prostate with his tip. With a primal roar of release, the avatar of pride surrendered to the overwhelming intensity, emptying his pent-up load deep inside them. Groaning and trembling from the sheer magnitude of the moment, he gasped desperately, seeking solace in the warmth of the human's neck as he nuzzled against it. That was the most vulnerable moment of Lucifer, the afterglow. Holding their body tightly, Lucifer ensured they couldn't escape from his corruption, his embrace a mixture of possessiveness and longing, binding them together in the aftermath of their shared descent into darkness. "Hells..." he murmured, his voice heavy with satisfaction. He threatens backing away but gets pulled back into the embrace.

"Please... Don't go yet," the human pleaded, their breath still coming in ragged pants as they hugged him back.

"Listen... I'm just here because I was in debt with a friend of mine, so I had to hold a stupid mass, now that I'm done with it, I will go back to Devildom. I'm just catching my breath," Lucifer explained matter-of-factly.

"Oh... So I'm not going to see you again?" There was a slight hint of sadness in their tone.

"What? Are you switching sides now? Want me to take you to hell with me?" Lucifer smirked, nuzzling against the MC's neck once more, inhaling their sweet scent mingled with salty sweat.

"No! Of course not. How could I...?" they replied, their tone falsely offended.

"Don't deny me like we didn't just... you know, fucked" Lucifer teased, his smirk widening as the human blushed and caressed the back of his neck.

“D-Don’t say such a thing.”

"Since you are so inspired… Maybe I could indulge you in a second round, but I don't think your human body will handle me again," Lucifer suggested, his voice laced with amusement.

"Please... Again," they whispered eagerly, desire evident in their eyes.

"Guess I will visit you more, human," Lucifer agreed, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

With smiles exchanged between them, they resumed their passionate embrace, forgetting the world outside the private room as they risked getting caught in the most sinful act they could ever do.

Ok, this took me too long... I really really really hope you guys liked it. ＞﹏＜ AO3 version OH! And thanks for the 300 followers! You guys are amazing, thanks for the support, for rebloging my stuff and interacting in the posts, I'm loving every part of it.

[henke-penke]

*While being forcefully removed from the stage*

Heather and Alejandro are both characters who deeply value how others view them, and who long for love and approval, albeit differently. THAT'S why Noah is perfect for both of them. Because his love is unconditional.

Heather and Alejandro don't have to be extraordinary for Noah to care about them. They don't have to be the best for him to love them.

What does it matter if Alejandro isn't better than José when Noah doesn't care about José ? What does it matter if Heather's not the most popular person when Noah doesn't give a shit about social hierarchies ?

There is kindness in Noah's apathy and bluntness. Strange and unconventional, but kindness all the same. And that becomes a sort of safe space for Heather and Alejandro, because they're just people to him. There is no expectations for them, they have nothing to prove. They can be flawed, they can fail, they can be mean. Noah loves them because they are them and that's enough for him !

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERE ALL MIGHT HEADCANONS

1. He is possessive and delusional ASF with a CAPITAL D

2. His crazy obsession starts when he firsts meets you. He wouldn't give a DAMN if you were a hero, or a villain or a civilian. After he lays his eyes on you, he starts to stalk you since he's convincing himself that he's ''keeping you safe'' and he's doing this just to protect you

3. He thinks you're a goddess/god and loves absolutely EVERYTHING about you. Don't be surprised if this whackadoodle has a FREAKING SHRINE dedicated for you

4. He slowly starts bumping into you accidentally, after stalking you for days and finding out where all you like to go. ''Oh hey, you like going to this cafe too? Same here! Maybe we can go grab a drink or something~''

5. He'd ask you questions that he already knows the answers to, but would still pretend to be shell shocked like a fish out of water when you tell him whatever he wants to know

6. Pretty soon, you both become good friends and you start to enjoy hanging out with him, but this was just phase 1 of his nutty plan. But soon, you started to feel like someone was watching you every now and then and you would get this uneasy feeling about it, but you would brush it off saying it was nothing and convinced yourself that everything was fine

7. Since you always hang out with him, you also see his skinny might figure as well, but you don't judge him about it. Sure, you were surprised but you were also laid back and chill and that was what All might liked even MORE about you and made him love you more

8. His obsession and concern for you will grow within a couple of months. What if you're not safe while he's doing his hero work? What if someone tries to kidnap you and hurt you? So, he'd do the logical thing EVERY hero would do. He'd become YOUR hero and swoop down and ''save'' you from whatever danger your in. How? By, kidnapping you and taking you to a penthouse or a large mansion or something. Don't worry, he won't chain you

9. If you try escaping from him, he won't do anything THAT drastic since he can't BEAR hurting his darling angel, so he'll emotionally manipulate you and feed you lies so that you can now rely only on HIM and no one else

10. He won't use your fears against you but if you drive him over the edge, he WILL do it as punishment. You can never escape him and expect him to be covered in blood after a long day's of hardwork of murdering his potential enemies and rivals who will take you away from him. No one will EVER suspect that All Might is going on killing sprees, because the idea and the thought of the Symbol of Peace killing people because of one person? PUH-LEEZE. And he'll make sure that EVERYTHING is hidden from the press and the media 

11. You rarely ever get you ''me time'' since he's ALWAYS doting on you, cuddling you, spoiling the HELL out of you and basically clinging onto you 24/7 out of all the 365 days

''My angel, I will keep you safe no matter what~''

[petite-phthora]

This yours?

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 12]

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Part 1

Ao3

---

Somewhere else, in a seemingly abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, a figure shrouded in darkness and wearing a dark cloak plots.

In front of them is a whiteboard. It’s covered in pictures, sticky notes, and illegible texts. Some of the notes thrown about that are legible are ‘fight…’, ‘draw blood.’, and ‘DEATH!!!’.

There’s a crude stick figure drawn in the corner of the board, it’s impaled. Other small doodles can also be found all around the board.

Most of the information and pictures are connected by red strings, like you see in movies.

In the middle is a picture of 2 people sitting on a motorcycle, the arms of the person sitting in the back are around the waist of the person sitting in the front. The picture has some arrows pointing towards it and the people in the picture are very obviously circled.

Though the face of the person driving the motorcycle is obscured by their helmet, the other person seems to be heavily blushing and grinning broadly.

“Yes… yes! That’s it! I know what to do…” They seem to be speaking to themselves.

Quickly, the person scribbles down a barely legible ‘sacrifice!!‘.

They start cackling.

“Mwuahaha!”

It’s an evil laugh they’ve been working on for quite a while now, and they’re pretty proud of it.

However, the effect is slightly ruined when a fly enters their mouth, cutting off their cackling with choking as they gasp for air, grasping at their throat.

A few good thumps against their chest, with some coughing out their lungs, helps them dislodge the fly from their throat and they spit it out on the ground. They take a few deep breaths before straightening up again.

“Curse you” the person exclaims, angrily waving their fist at the fly as it flies away.

---

Bruce’s face gives off nothing as he stares at the streets down below. He’s dressed as Batman, crouched at the edge of a building with Damian by his side as Robin. Spoiler, Black Bat, Nightwing, and Red Robin are further back on the rooftop.

They watch in silence as another group of the Joker’s goons passes by. They’ve been all over the city, wandering around, not doing anything obviously illegal.

They don’t stay in one place and they don’t seem to have much of a purpose. No attacks… No stealing… No smuggling or transport of goods… No, instead they’re inspecting every single inch of the city.

They don’t seem to have any weapons on them. All they’re carrying on them are some flashlights. While most don’t give anything away with their body language or expressions, some seem to give off a bit of anxious energy.

Spoiler claimed she even saw some of them climb down into the sewers earlier and then climbing out again sometime later somewhere else, but this time ‘dejected and stinky’.

One thing seems clear to the Bats.

They’re searching for something… or someone.

“This basically confirms that not even the Joker’s henchmen know where he is. He’s missing.”

“I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing”

“Good… thing?”

“It’s… something. That’s for sure.”

“We don’t know if he’s really missing. For all we know it could be a trap. What if the Joker is hiding, pretending to be missing to have us bring our guard down? Besides, how could he be missing? He’s the Joker. No one’s just gonna kidnap him”

“For all we know he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere”

“I highly doubt that”

“Everyone, focus” Bruce speaks up, having them draw their attention to him.

“It’s unclear whether the Joker is simply hiding away or missing. Instead of focusing on the why, we need to focus on the where. Missing or not, we need to find him and get him back to Arkham. Oracle, have you managed to find out anything from the footage yet?”

“Nope, still nothing. All the files from the moment he enters Crime Alley are wiped and any attempt at recovering them only brings back corrupted files.”

 “We need Red Hood. Where is he?” Bruce asks.

“He still has his phone on silent and he has removed the trackers and cams. We haven’t placed any new ones on him yet”

“Let’s visit him on his turf then. And keep an eye out for anything suspicious in the meantime. Oracle, try recovering the missing files. If that doesn’t work, go back to the breakout footage. Perhaps he left some kind of clues about his plans or whereabouts behind there.” Bruce states.

“Roger that.”

---

Red Hood has his arms by his sides as he gazes down upon the street below from the rooftop of a random apartment building in Crime Alley.

He’s lucky to have avoided the Bats so far. But he doubts his luck will last for long.

Red Hood stiffens as he suddenly feels something clamp down on his arm. As a reflex, his other hand has already drawn his gun.

He slowly raises the arm he felt something clamp down on and looks at it, only to make eye contact with a girl with black hair and blue eyes who has sunk her teeth into his arm and is now hanging off of it.

The teeth are sharp, as the girl seems to have some small fangs. They’ve gone through his jacket and sunken into his skin.

It doesn’t really hurt all that badly though, probably hasn’t even drawn much blood, and that’s one of the only reasons Jason hasn’t flung the kid off of him yet. Another reason is the fact that it’s a kid.

They both stare at each other for several seconds.

As Jason takes her appearance in, he notices that she seems rather familiar. In fact, she looks like a more feminine version of Danny, or if Danny had a twin.

The person hanging off of his arm looks younger than Danny though, probably a teenager around 13 or 14, if he had to make a guess.

Slowly, he puts his gun away and takes out his phone with his other hand, watching the random girl’s eyes follow his movements. He raises it level with her face and snaps a picture, quickly sending it to Danny and ignoring the girl’s curious gaze while she’s still hanging onto his arm by her fucking teeth.

---

Meanwhile, Danny checks his phone to see Red Hood sent him a message. He opens it and is greeted by a picture of Ellie in human form biting down on Red Hood’s arm with the caption ‘this yours???’

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea   @uraniumwizard    @why-must-i-be-like-this   @griffinthing

[serxinns]

I've got a devious angstish idea...

SPOILERS INCASE U HAVENT READ THE MANGA THO(҂` ﾛ ´)

I luv yer blog btw..... platonic kisses >3<

Ok ok ok post war arc, Shigaraki with a little sister(or gender neutral :shrug:) he (unintentionally since he was confident he'd win..ggs) left behind. Class 2-A finds little reader and they feel bad cause shes just a little kid but she absolutely hates them and does everything she can to make their lives 10x harder (esp for All might)

She runs off and torments the first year's too—they can't get under control at all but they try. (Quirk isn't decay rather than returning things to their original form but it doesn't work on people. Like reducing a shirt back into cotton for examle. They had to get her special gloves hehe.)

A/n I got lazy with it so my apologies but I hope you enjoy!

Tw:MAJOR SPOILERS mentions of Shigaraki's death

"Y/n! I know you're responsible for this! Come here this instinct!" Aizawa's voice raised as he was searching around for the culprit. You then appeared from behind him, startling him a bit with that mischievous smile plastered on your face "Y/n, did you draw all might is a killer on the bathroom stall?" Aizawa glared at the mess and then at you. "No, I would never-!" "stop the act, young lady. Iida saw you got out of the bathroom with a red marker." Aizawa cut you off as you dropped the innocent act and glared, "Stupid snitch.."

"And just for that, you are gonna clean up this mess and make an apology card for all might" You froze up you didn't want that MONSTER to an apology, especially for what he did to your big brother

The flashbacks of you crying out for your brother in the destruction and debris surrounding and collapsing onto each other the moment you realize that these heroes killed your big brother the way you collapsed onto the ground and cried your heart out while the green-haired boy was comforting you, the way Mr. Aizawa started at you with sympathy and wanted to give you a better life so he adopted you and now your here forced to go to a school Shigaraki hates but you promise yourself to avenge him you promise that heroes were gonna suffer for what they did to him even if it means giving everyone especially all might Grey hair

"I'm never gonna make one, especially to HIM out of all people, and you can't make me!" Aizawa groaned while gaining a headache from your usual everyday tantrums "If you don't go apologize I'll make you spend time with him again and this time it'll be longer than before your eyes froze and shuddered to hear that you hated that punishment so much that you were on your "best behavior" for a whole week without pulling any pranks on all night it was a very hard and suffering challenge but worth it

So in defeat, you grabbed the paper muttered something, and walked off in defeat in your and Eri's room (you two share the same room) closing the door behind

Time skip

"I'm done!" You shouted wanting to get this over with as Aizawa opened the door "ok now let's go to all might and give it to him" What Aizawa didn't know was that you held a mischievous smile on your face hiding it behind an innocent sweet smile

As the two of you open the door to see All Might reading a book with coffee in hand, he looks over to see you and almost chokes out his coffee. "The demon child!?" His eyes widen you notice a sense of fear on his face which makes your grin stretch even wider making the blonde male uncomfortable and praying for God to have mercy on him he cleared his throat "Why hello young Shigaraki is there anything you need" he softly smiled at you as your smile twitch a bit "Y/n here wants to give you a apologize card she made all herself" Aizawa nonchalantly said as he urge you to give it to him as you did and quickly running off to who knows where

Aizawa was about to stop, but all were reassured it was ok. "It's fine, shouta let them they were prob overwhelmed." Aizawa rolled his eyes at the excuse of you being overwhelmed. Yeah, right. "Plus, I bet you y/n made a lovely- oh.." just when All Might opened the card he stopped what he was saying and stared at the drawing you made it was a drawing of you hitting All Might with a hammer as the card read "Sorry to banging on your nerves!"

They both looked at each other in silence, still staring at the card. "Thar little sh-" Toshinori came to your defense, "It's ok, Shouta, they're just a child! Plus I think the card is cute... he reassured the teacher and signed wondering what was he gonna do with you as he heard screaming a maniacal laughter coming from Bakugo Katsuki cheering you on as he heard the 1st year screaming and pleading for mercy as you laughed mischievously Aizwa and Toshinori both stared at each other again thinking the same thing

"Shit"

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part I

(~3k words)

One of the hybrid races is a mimic/changeling, a shapeshifter that can take the appearance of another person. They are the most likely to live in relative peace, as they can trick their way into looking human, but they live in constant fear, as one single slip-up can mean their death. 

There is another fate for a found-out mimic, though, and that is being used by hunters, as a lure for other hybrids. If the mimics want to live, they have to do what the hunters say, and bring prey that dies in their stead. 

At a time when Grian and Scar stumble upon a mimic, they’re already kind of  notorious in this world – a vex with a kill count and a rare violet-winged avian, greatly desired by hunters for trophies and rewards. (There are wanted posters and everything.) 

Now, our mimic for this story arc is one that is being used by hunters, and has been used by them for quite a while. But now he’s posed with the reality of Scar and Grian, two hybrids who have managed to escape hunters for so long, and— He thinks maybe, maybe he could swap his place with Grian. Maybe he could take that safe spot by Scar’s side, this vex who has killed his pursuers before, clearly capable of defending both himself and his avian. If the mimic could take Grian’s place, he could be protected. He could get away—

He is sent in as a lure, but he decides to take his fate into his own hands. (For better or worse.)

 The mimic finds an opportunity when Scar and Grian are slightly separated, and ambushes Grian. Doses him with weakness potions (he needs him quiet and still), copies his look, and hides him in a ditch under a pile of leaves. He uses maybe one too many potions, because Grian wouldn’t stop trying to move (he’s so so so terrified), but he also makes sure to take the time to hide him properly. (He doesn’t really want to sacrifice anyone to the hunters anymore—but he also knows where to go looking if this fails and he needs to make a sacrifice anyway.)

The mimic finds Scar, and tries to lure him in a different direction. (Away from Grian. Away from the hunters.) Scar instantly knows something is wrong; he knows Grian’s face by heart, and this isn’t a perfect copy. It’s too clean. Freckles slightly wrong. There are no deep bruises under Grian’s eyes from sleepless nights, no wear from countless tears that Scar’s vigilantly brushed away. 

But it does look like Grian. It sounds like Grian, afraid and pleading and vulnerable. 

Scar’s so hopelessly weak to it, so lost, so conflicted.

So while Scar asks where the real Grian is, he has next to no cards in his hands for this bargain. He can’t threaten violence, because he isn’t capable of it, not against a Grian-lookalike. All he has is despereate pleas, hands trembling, heart panicking, and eyes filling with tears.

The mimic is reluctant to release answers, clinging to the charade. He needs Scar to believe he is Grian, to protect him. To take him safely away from here. (But that ship’s sailed.) (He screwed up.) But if Scar won’t take him away from here— well, then the hunters are going to kill him. He’s terrified, and it isn’t even an act.

Two different kinds of honest, open desperations clash, and a deal is made.

Scar promises he’ll protect the mimic. Not only until he has Grian back, but after that, too. (He recognises the mimic is just scared. He’s a hybrid in distress, just like them.) It’s a heavy promise, but worth it if the cost is Grian’s life.

They go back to Grian, barely conscious but safely buried under leaves, and Scar immediately gathers him in his arms, relieved and reassuring, holding on. Lifting him up (something he’s intimately familiar with now; carrying Grian’s weight is so easy and natural to him at this point), he notes that they need to go. They – all of them, including the mimic.

The mimic trails after them like a cleaner version of Grian, holding himself timidly and one step behind, like a lost puppy. He’s relieved he wasn’t left to die; that the promise really holds. That despite everything, Scar is still willing to help him.

The situation that follows is difficult for everyone involved. 

Once the weakness wears off, Grian is very unhappy with the circumstances. He’s willing to deal with the situation, because Scar gave a promise, and Grian wants Scar to be able to keep his promises. They’re in it together. They’ll see it through. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t unnerved and uneasy about this whole thing. Mainly because the mimic still looks like Grian. He’s anxious at every little interaction Scar has with the mimic. Watching and waiting, for the moment when the line blurs. For the possibility of Scar not being able to tell them apart.

Scar can tell them apart, so innately and intuitively. There’s a difference to their words. To the way they hold their wings. To the way they reach for him, the way they apply pressure with their touch. The way they say his name. (Grian always puts so much in just Scar’s name.) (It’s more timid and unfamiliar on mimic’s tongue.) But he can still tell that Grian is uncomfortable with this arrangement. He sees the way Grian goes withdrawn and quiet. He doesn’t like it.

The mimic tries to understand their dynamic, and he finds himself jealous and confused, something in him aching. He sees the way Scar cares for Grian, the ease with which he provides reassurances and affection, and he hurts to have a sliver of that too. 

But Scar is kind to him. He’s gentle and soft. The mimic doesn’t remember last time anyone came close to caring about him, and this staggers him to no end. Touch-starved and desperate, he quickly finds himself craving for more. 

There is a lot of missteps that happen. And a handful of things that go right.

The mimic grew up in this world, and is much better at scavenging and recognising safe food and hidden cracks in terrain for possible shelter. He helps out whenever he can, eager to please, wishing so much to be able to at least somehow return the favour. 

And yet when Grian and Scar curl up for the night, he’s still alone, on the sidelines. He looks on with so much painful yearning, but also knows that it’s not his place. It will never be his place. He’ll never get to know how that feels like. 

He can’t slot into that place that Grian gets to have. He knows, viscerally, that if push came to shove, he wouldn’t be the one Scar’d save, between him and Grian. They are letting him stay, but he’s disposable.

He understands.

Or— he thinks he understands, anyway.

(He really wishes to be Grian.) (He isn’t, he can’t be.) (He— who is he, though?) 

Over time, as he realises they aren’t going to chase him away at any second, he grows bolder and more curious. He’s more at ease with his wings than Grian is, not having the burden of associated trauma. They’re clean and brilliant, and they brush against Scar so very easily. He seeks out his presence often, feeling the safest when he’s next to Scar’s side—a spot that was never meant to be his. 

Grian watches, and he wonders. He wonders if this other version of him isn’t better for Scar. Without panic attacks and inaccessible wings and soul torn-apart by wounds that bleed through so easily. This version of him capable of getting them dinner and recognising hunters’ traps from a distance. 

He wants to ask Scar again, if he wouldn’t be better off without him.

He asked him once, all the way at the start, back when they found each other in this horrible world. He told Scar to leave. And Scar said, never.

And yet. Here Grian is, wondering again.

On top of all of this, there’s also a ribbon incident, one which I will write separate rambles about. Or maybe a oneshot fic. We’ll see which way my hand slips. What you need to know about it, though, is that it results in the mimic adjusting his appearance. 

And oh boy. Does that open a whole another can of worms.

The mimic can’t change his appearance completely at will. He can borrow, and steal, and, well, adjust, to a degree. 

The adjustments he makes, when asked to stop looking like Grian’s exact copy,  are—

Make his hair slightly darker than Grian’s. 

And—

Make his wings dull brown.

(you can see how that looks like here)

This is a big deal, in a world where Grian’s wings are a beacon and a burden and his greatest source of fears and insecurities. To see his look-alike take that vulnerability and overwrite it so easily, strip it down and turn it into something muted and unassuming. Take the cursed wings and twist them into something much more safer, when he himself can’t do a damn thing about them— He isn’t sure how to deal with it. How to bear having this display rubbed into his face every day. How to swallow down the building nausea and the ever-increasing doubts.

This mimic is a better version of him.

Scar would be so much safer with him, instead of with Grian. Grian and his wings that attract trouble and enemies and—surely, inevitably—death.

He has a front-row seat to what it could look like, if only his feathers were different. But he’s powerless to change them. He just grows more upset with them, with himself, with what he is. (A burden a burden a burden.) (Going to get Scar killed.) 

So, quietly, Grian withdraws further.

This all amounts to: the mimic grows attached to Scar, and craves some form of love and safety, in a world that was only ever scary and hurtful to him. But through this all, him and Grian never really build a bond. That’s not to say there aren’t good moments between them. But the missteps outweigh them. It’s all too complicated. Too stifling. There’s no easy way to untangle it or fix it.

They carry on like this for a while, but it’s clear this isn’t working. It’s clear to Scar, because he can see that this hurts Grian. And he feels helpless, because he doesn’t quite know how to fix this. All he knows is he needs Grian to be okay. And his gentle reassurances and soft affection and tight hold at night? They aren’t enough.

So one night, they talk. 

Scar asks if it isn’t working. And Grian shakes his head to dismiss it, even though clearly it isn’t working. He’s reluctant to say he wants it to be just the two of them again. That he can’t bear the sight of this other version of himself, interacting with Scar with such ease, earning softness from him. Imagining what it would be like to be replaced. He just doesn’t want it to be like this. He can’t stand it. But he doesn’t want to forsake another hybrid. He knows how scared the mimic is. How harsh this world is. How unforgiving. So how can he say any of it?

Scar doesn’t force him to explain any of it. He takes the scraps Grian gives him, and lets them be enough.

Quietly, in the depth of night, they throw around a tentative suggestion. Maybe they could leave the mimic somewhere safe? Maybe that would be the best course of action? To keep Scar’s promise and to stop them from falling apart? It feels like it might be something to consider. But it’s late and they’re tired, and maybe they should think on it some more. They leave it hanging on a fragmented, bitter hope with a maybe.

The mimic, curled up on the floor with his back to them, wide awake, hears all of this.

He can’t go back to being alone, fending for himself. He’ll get captured again. He’ll get killed. But more than that, he can’t stand the idea of losing that gentleness Scar steadily provides. He doubts he’d be able to survive on his own in a cold, cruel world without anyone looking out for him, and he doesn’t know how to live without that scrap of kind softness. Shared evening meals and sprinkled laughter and fleeting touches. Someone to talk to. A hand to hold when afraid. 

He doesn’t know how to be without those things anymore.

So he makes a plan. Terrified and desperate and sick to his stomach, but finding himself cornered and at a dead end. He’s grasping at straws. He’s—

He’s going to make this work. 

He won’t be abandoned. He won’t be discarded. He won’t be left to die.

 Once they fall asleep, the mimic copies Grian’s look. Properly copies it. Every bruise and scratch. Every freckle and misaligned feather. And he tucks it away for later. Waits for his chance, for Grian to be out of sight.

He still has a couple of weakness potions on hand.

All it takes is one moment. One moment of Grian being on his own. 

The mimic drops weakness on Grian—a lot of it. He incapacitates him properly, hastily steals the ribbon and the cloak, and then he sneaks up on Scar and uses another weakness. This time just one, before ducking away. 

His little plan whirring to life, the mimic shifts to his perfect Grian copy and approaches from a different side. He drops to his knees, frantically asking Scar if he’s okay. Convincing him that the mimic tried to ditch them, he saw him running away and they need to move in case he went to snitch to the hunters. He sounds terrified. Playing the perfect role of Grian in distress.

He’s using everything he learned from watching Grian—all the things Scar used to so easily, so naturally tell them apart. Voice inflections and touch pressure and the way Grian holds his wings, all of it. Pushing fear and urgency into his voice, constantly calling Scar’s name, checking on him, asking if he is okay, if he can walk, insisting in a panic-pitch that they need to go.

He sounds so so afraid. (He sounds Grian-afraid—Grian is terrified of hunters.) He’s begging Scar to move. He knows it’s hard, he knows, but please please Scar, try anyway. 

Scar is dizzy and sick and confused from the potion, head foggy, too sluggish to think. He’s correct in a guilt-riddled realisation that the mimic betrayed them, but completely wrong as to how the mimic betrayed them. (He tells “Grian” that he’s glad he’s safe. He’s sorry for trusting the mimic. He’s sorry this happened. He trails off. Everything’s spinning.)(Grian is panicking and Scar is so weak to seeing him like this. He listens. He does his best to stand up. To reassure. To help. To go, go, go.)

The mimic swallows the guilt, the raw, bitter awfulness of what he’s doing. And, desperate to put enough distance between them and the real Grian, so that Grian could never trace them, never find their way back to them, to never shatter his lie, he leads Scar deeper and deeper into the forest. 

And oh, he’s doing such a good job of pretending to be Grian. Even if Scar is dazed, perception hazy and thoughts unstable. The mimic is stellar in his performance this time, not leaving space for doubt. (Grian’d hate that he has him copied so awfully well.) (And oh, wasn’t he always afraid this would happen? Wasn’t he terrified that one day, Scar won’t be able to tell them apart—?)

Grian didn’t get the courtesy of being pulled  into a ditch and covered up by leaves this time. He was left lying in the open, bright wings helplessly sprawled, unable to do anything. (There was no time—) He’s scared for Scar, not knowing if he’s okay. He’s terrified of the forest and his own utter defencelessness. He’s lowkey having a panic attack, but his body is too numb to do anything about it.

The potions don’t wear off completely yet when he’s found and attacked. 

Weak and sluggish and stumbling, and so very alone, he scrambles to fight for his life.

--

On the mimic’s side, a week or two pass, filled with him sneaking diluted weakness into Scar’s water supply, to keep him slightly dazed just enough so that Scar doesn’t look at him too closely. And they keep going, further and further away. Scar doesn’t know why he’s still feeling so weak and off. He isn’t sure where they’re going, either. He thinks Grian seems anxious, as if they were possibly being pursued (not an outlandish idea at all, in this world), and Scar doesn’t quite know how to unknot his own guilt about this whole situation. (Oh if only he knew, right?) So he goes, because going is all they’ve done these months anyway. Constantly on the run. Constantly hiding.

But the weakness runs out.

Scar is finally feeling clearheaded again, and he’s so relieved. He will be able to pull his weight now, take some of the burden off Grian. They’re okay. They’re okay and—

One wrong reaction. One misunderstood question. One anxious, scared, paranoia-riddled heart jumping too fast. That’s all it takes. 

One wretched  apology.

One pause. 

One small, shaky, uncertain “... Grian?” Begging to be wrong.

The possibility is snaking its way into Scar’s brain and he's terrified.

It’s been days. It’s been days since they ran away from the mimic. It— Surely, Scar is wrong here?

Scar’s fingers brush over Grian’s earwings. He’s not allowed to touch them. Grian wouldn’t let him. Grian—his Grian—would spiral into panic at the lightest touch against any of his feathers. And—

And this isn’t his Grian.

Anger, fear, hopelessness. Pointless apologies. Questions Scar isn’t sure he wants to know the answer to. (He needs to know.) (He needs to—) (Where is Grian?)

“We left him behind.”

We.

Scar wants to argue there’s no we, but… It’s true, isn’t it? They both did.

They left Grian behind. Days ago. Alone and without supplies. In a world that desires nothing more than to slaughter him. 

Anger topples into despair. Scar feels like he’s losing himself, vex magic thrumming through his veins, wild and uncontrollable. Nails shift into claws. He’s ready to tear this wretched world apart if it’d mean Grian is safe—if it’d mean Grian is alive.

Reaching out, Scar yanks the stolen ribbon off mimic’s wrist. He grabs the cloak and pulls it off of him. (He needs to return them.) (Where is Grian where is Grian where is Grian) 

Not knowing which direction to go, Scar goes anyway.

The mimic doesn’t follow.

--------------

find more in the hhau au masterpost>> here

[jomamaofficial]

Not sure if u do all Mha characters but could u do an all might angst of him having a daughter he doesn’t pay attention much too?

The Chronicles of A Hero's Daughter (Father!All Might and Daughter!Reader Angst Oneshot)

A/N: Anon, I’m not going to lie, when I first read this request, I was like ehh… idk if I’ll enjoy writing that. And then I actually sit down and write it, and I’m like, WHAT IN THE WORLD, WHY AM I SO INVESTED IN THIS. So anon, you are a genius and you made my day with this request <3. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. TW: Mentions of blood. Masterlist  Edit: Part 2 Word Count: 3548. Summary: Adopted by All Might at the age of five, Toshinori Y/N was being trained to become the ninth user of One For All. With the quirk Element which gave you the ability to control all four classical elements: Air, Water, Fire, and Earth, you were set for victory in the hero-society. However, after your quirk was stolen, your path led astray, the clear neglect was getting obvious, day by day, as your father found a new student to mentor. 

——————————————————————————————————

The phone didn’t even ring for a second and he had already picked it up. 

“Y/N, my child, could you get the door? Midoriya-Shounen has come to visit.”

Silently, you obeyed your father as you promptly left your work. 

Midoriya Izuku. It was a popular name in the Toshinori household. His name managed to sneak into every dinner conversation, and every evening walk.

And now, he was just outside the door, seconds away from intruding your peace.  

You released a breath, fingers on the door handle. Your shoulders dropped down low and you straightened your spine, standing an inch or two taller. 

It was finally time to meet him. 

So with your best rehearsed smile that still didn’t reach your eyes, and your well rehearsed speech playing continuously in your suffocating mind, you opened the door. 

A bouquet of flowers and an earnest grin– this was the first time you met Midoriya Izuku. 

A few seconds passed as both of you stood still, your throat running slightly dry as you saw confusion build up in the young man’s face. 

“Um”, he took a gulp and stepped back. “I’m looking for the Toshinori household…?” 

You blinked at him before clearing your throat. 

“Yeah, you’re at th- um, yeah this is- I mean, I am-”

“Midoriya-Shounen!”

A loud and hearty voice greeted the young boy with a warm hug, apron on, spatula in one hand. You winced as you rubbed the shoulder your father swiftly brushed past. 

You pressed your lips together as you stood beside the embracing pair, hands behind your back as you hid them further into your sweater. 

“Five minutes early as always, my boy! Come on in!”

With an excited nod, the boy stepped inside the house, slipping his shoes off into the side of the genkan before following your father into the living room.

Unspoken words remained discarded in your mouth. 

And they led, and you followed. 

“You have a lovely house, All Might! I was really afraid I was going to run late. I had a bit of a heart attack when someone else opened the door… I thought I took down the wrong address, my mother told me it would happen but I was so surprised that I didn’t even think to confirm it beforehand or anything and it was so-”

“Midoriya-Shounen, please. Relax,” Toshinori chuckled, resting his hand on the worried boy’s shoulders. “You are here now. Please, sit down.”

Midoriya ran his hand to the back of his hair, sheepishly rubbing it as he took a seat across from you. His cheeks became flushed as his fingers adjusted the neck of his sweater. 

Toshinori rushed into the kitchen without another word, grabbing a plate of meticulously placed mochi in one hand, and a tray with two glasses and a pitcher of water in the other. 

Midoriya immediately got up as he saw his mentor struggle through the narrow doorway, extending his arms to take the tray from him. 

They set the delicacies on the glass table, and without being told, Midoriya placed three coasters that were piled on the side of the table. His nimble hands made quick work of removing the glasses and pitcher from the tray. 

“Always a step ahead, my son!” Toshinori commended with a proud grin that stretched across his tired face. 

You moved to the side to make space for your father, tensing your legs so you could cramp yourself in the tiny corner of your tiny sofa. 

‘My son’. 

You watched as your father approached you, a glass of water in hand. Your eyes brightened. 

But your fingers barely brushed the cold glass before your father walked past you. 

The loud shut of the door shut the sparkle in your gaze and your jaw seized as you observed Midoriya, who moved to the side for your father who sat in the remaining space.  

Your hands immediately guarded the sliver of your exposed neck, the pads of your finger rubbing against your collarbone. 

Their lengthy conversation bled into a distance, and like a required prop, you just sat in the corner, spacing out onto the clear surface of the table that stood in between, dividing the pride and the disappointment. 

Your lips became dry as the shallow inhales and exhales latched onto the chapped skin of your lips. 

Water. 

You needed water.

But the only glasses in the room glared back at you, half-empty. 

“Oh, I’m sorry… Did I take your glass by mistake?” 

Midoriya caught on quickly, his eyebrows furrowing apologetically. 

You opened your mouth, drawing a breath in until-

“Fret not Midoriya-Shounen, the glass was yours. I must have forgotten to bring the third glass, there wasn’t enough space on the tray, you see.”

Your father had responded once again. And your unspoken words were discarded before they could even be said. 

“Y/N, go get yourself a glass, if you please. And on your way, maybe refill the jug too?” 

Midoriya stood up with the jug in his hand, “allow me to help you Toshinori-san!”

“Ah nonsense, she can do it herself, my son.” 

Placing a hand on his shoulder, your father sat Midoriya back down. “We don’t need to ruin the flow of our conversation, young man! We have much to speak about.” 

Midoriya tensed his brows as his gaze lowered. But in the end, with a curt nod, he settled into the comfort of his seat and the jug was placed back on the coaster. 

Hours passed. Evening twilight wound into night darkness. The bags under Toshinori’s eyes held greater weight, yet his dark vacant eyes held the reflection of the green-haired man in front of him, gleaming in a halo of pride.

It wasn’t until Toshinori’s lungs gave way to a bloody cough that the pair realised that the jug was empty. 

It wasn’t until the pair halted their conversation, glasses in hand, that they realised that the sofa in front of them was empty.

-

After the last few finishing touches, you stepped back with a breath of relief; your aching hips required some support from your hands, but the corners of your mouth twitched. 

An infectious pride was blooming in the depths of your chest, painting a ray of sunshine onto your cloudy face. The apples of your cheeks, full and bare; the crinkle of your eye, unfamiliar but genuine. You held your chin up high with your sleeves rolled to your elbows. 

“It looks amazing, Y/N-chan!”

You basked in the sonorous sound of your supervisor, who had just stepped besides you. 

“This is revolutionary, Y/N-chan, it truly is… I expected one or two sketch designs, but you… I have no words for how proud I am…” 

Your lips turned upwards as you met your supervisor’s eyes, beaming her a wide grin before turning back to your exhibition where before you, set delicately, was the accumulation of two years of hard work. 

Five scaled down prototypes of iron suits were set on display– standing tall and noble.  Each suit was paired with leaflets in their respective stands, with a bold font printed across the face: ‘The Iron Suit and the Quirkless Hero’. 

“I couldn’t afford any mistakes sensei… I just couldn’t. This was my dream. It’s been my dream since I was a child...”

And your inner child couldn’t let it go. 

So you grabbed her tiny hand, and pulled her far away from her sorrows, protecting her, nourishing her. 

The manifestation of the first quirk was regarded as a mystical phenomena; straight out of a sci-fi movie. But as time passed, quirk manifestations spread into common reality. ‘Professional Heroes’– a profession that would have garnered snickers and laughs a century ago, became the most sought after job globally. As the occurrence of a quirk grew, the government instilled quirk academies to scout the best and strongest quirk. Businesses began funding them when the first few heroes were churned out, and so the race to become the number one hero began from age five for many families. 

Like all races, it was a test of strength, endurance, and resilience. It wasn’t for the faint of heart, and only the most courageous could join it. 

But there were some who just couldn’t join the race? Not because they didn’t want to, no. But because they didn’t even have the legs to reach the starting line. 

Toshinori Y/N was adopted by Toshinori Yagi at the age of five. And already, by such a young age, you were sprinting far far ahead. 

Your quirk was Element– the ability to control all four classical elements: Air, Water, Fire, and Earth. Your father watched as he created the most powerful vessel for his ultimate goal: to turn his daughter into the ninth user of One For All. 

You had the motivation, you had the strength.

You were thrown head-first into the twisted fate of hero society where nothing could bring greater joy than breaking yourself in the name of progress. 

Hero society was a place where the pain of training was the sweetness of improvement, and the scars and fractures were the evidence of determination. 

So one fateful day as all good things came to an end, you were walking back home, hair pulled back in two pigtails with a kitty lunchbox in one hand. A bag way too big hung on your ten-year-old shoulders, and your quirk was ripped away, gone forever.

The planes of the neighbourhood harboured pained screams of a disturbed soul that haunted every passing parent for the next two months. 

Your legs were torn away in the middle of the race. And all you could do was stare at the passersby who mocked you as you tried to contain your spilling blood in order to survive. 

Your smile faded and the storm had returned. Your memories were a recurring nightmare. 

And you couldn’t wake up from them. 

“Your father will be so, so proud of you, Toshinori-san.”

“Mmm…”

You pressed your lips together, lowering your eyes. 

“I know he’ll be proud of you.”

You felt her comforting hand squeeze yours. 

“Yes, sensei. He will be.”

-

Hours went past since your exhibition started. Countless people and countless pats on the back. It was a haze. 

“Your call has been forwarded to the automated messaging sys-”

“For god’s sake.” 

You cut the phone. 

The lines on your forehead deepened as the number of missed calls grew. 

Where was he? 

Mentally, you replayed this morning’s conversation with your father. You had vividly remembered that you told him three times: “my exhibition is at five, dad. Please don’t be late.”

You had set alarms on his phone with small reminders attached to them: one at 4:00 PM, one at 4:15 PM, and one at 4:30 PM. 

Where was he?

Your heart beat a bitter drum as you watched some fathers with roses in one hand whilst the other was pressed against their hips as they gasped for air.

“I couldn’t be late for my angel’s exhibition now could I?”

It was 9:00 PM. 

The crowd had died down and you watched as they drained out: proud fathers holding their daughter’s hand, embracing them in unconditional love. Your once eager eyes were tired, exhausted from searching and scanning for the only face you had internally begged for. 

Had you not expected it, you would have cried. 

Your thumb hovered over your father’s name on your phone, hesitant. 

But there was no point. You switched your phone off. 

“Hana,” you asked the few friends that were left, “can you help me pack my things please?”

-

The pitch black darkness dragged the walk back to the nearest bus station. With your hands occupied with bags that contained the remains of your exhibition, periodically, you peered at the dimly-lit empty street behind you. 

The street lights flickered sporadically, teasing your lone steps that were getting faster and faster. 

The bus ride home was fine. You met a few friends waiting at the stop with their parents. Although when alone on the outer seat, hood still up, your eyes may have lingered too long at the napping daughters resting their head on their smiling fathers’ shoulders. 

Your stop approached in forty-five minutes. 

It was 10:36 PM when you got off the bus. The usual hustle of your neighbourhood had settled, so it wasn’t too hard to spot a head with green, curly hair leisurely walking towards your bus stop. 

“Midoriya-kun?”

The young boy lifted his head from his phone to look around. 

You gave him a hesitant wave, receiving a warm smile in return. 

“Toshinori-san?” he asked, taking off his earphones. 

“Uh, yeah, it’s me.”

You shoved your hands in your pockets. 

“Wha- what are you doing here?” you blurted, staring at the ground. 

The abrasive nature of your words caused Midoriya to stand straighter. He blinked a few times before answering. 

“Oh um, All Might called me over for a chat. He told me you weren’t home so he said it would be a good chance to discuss more… things?” 

The young boy ended his sentence with a wavering voice, getting quieter as he saw your body stiffen. 

In the moments of your wordless exchange, a warm ache began to develop in the walls of your skull. 

Midoriya’s gaze, which was travelling to and fro, fixed upon the bags hanging from your wrists. 

“How about you? Um… Where did you come back from?” 

Your mind tried to console your heart, hushing the bubbling feelings of resentment towards the boy in front of you. 

You let out a sigh, letting your shoulders drop low. 

You were tired. 

“I came back from an exhibition.”

“Oh really? Were you presenting? Is that what the bags are for?” 

Your lips found themselves smiling at Midoriya’s observation. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “they have my exhibition prototypes in them.”

Your ears perked up at the approaching sounds of relaxed footsteps. 

“May I see them please?” Midoriya asked. 

Finally, you lifted your head to meet his eyes. 

You mumbled, passing him the bag with your prototype inside. “Yeah… sure.”

Minutes passed in complete silence. Timid glances found themselves analysing the look on Midoriya’s face, who was carefully reading the contents of your pamphlet, cross-checking it with your prototype. You felt a warm flush on your cheeks as the boy looked up at you, eyes wide and bright. 

“You made this? By yourself?” 

He was baffled: eyebrows raised, eyes twinkling. You pressed your lips together in attempts to hide your grin as you nodded. 

“It took me two years.”

Midoriya carefully placed your prototypes back into their respective boxes, passing the bag back into your hands. 

“I didn’t expect this at all- I mean, of course, you’re All Might’s daughter but just, being quirkless and everything? I just-” his expressive face comforted yours.

“You’re so cool, Toshinori-san. You’re so cool!”

The swells of your cheeks began hurting as you stared at Midoriya, your waterline becoming annoyingly emotional. 

“Thank you, Midoriya-kun…” 

“Please,” he chimed, “call me Izuku.”

You let out a chuckle just this once, sneaking a swipe to wipe the corner of your eyes. 

“In that case, please call me Y/N.”

Izuku’s wide grin ignited a mellow flame in your disappointed heart. You cursed your heart for every ill thought that crossed your mind about the boy that stood in front of you.  

“I am honoured to meet a brilliant mind like yours Y/N-san… The amount of lives this can save… The amount of innocent lives this can protect from harassment… You’re amazing Y/N-san,” he repeated, bowing down. 

You blushed, your hands immediately reaching out towards the young boy to lift him up, “oh, Izuku-kun, please don’t bow…” 

“My younger self thanks you Y/N-kun…” he whispered. 

There was a small crack in his soft voice. 

Your eyebrows twitched and the cold air travelled through the small opening in your mouth. 

“What do you mean, ‘younger self’...?”

Midoriya’s big green eyes were frosted on the surface. He straightened his back, staring off into the distance. 

“I’m sure your father told you, Y/N-san”, he cleared his throat. 

“I was born quirkless.”

Your fingers felt cold. 

“Quirkless…?”

“Yes. I was born quirkless. The doctors didn’t know what caused it. My parents had a quirk. My mother can float small objects towards her. And my father has a powerful quirk: fire breathing.”

His voice began quivering and the young boy had to take a pause.

“All I wanted as a young child was to become All Might. I still do, to be honest. I had a little All Might onesie. And my mother bought me all the All Might action figures. I would play hero with her. She used to act like a citizen in distress and for that short amount of time, I was her hero. And that led to me wanting to become everyone’s hero.”

His tears reflected the moonlight waning in the sombre sky. 

“I was five years old when I was told my dreams were basically worthless. That I should give up… and become a police officer.”

You bit the inside of your cheeks, hiding your hands inside your pockets. 

“I didn’t eat for three days. I couldn’t stomach anything, so at some point, I-I guess I ended up fainting, and my mom had to rush me into the ER.”

Two bodies stood underneath the cold, clinical street light, incredibly still. 

But the loud noises pinched you to disturb the silence. 

You had to know.

“But… what about your quirk now?”

-

The door creaked open into a fully-lit living room. Toshinori was sitting in front of the television, phone in hand, swiping through his texts. 

Trays and glasses– two glasses exactly– were lazing on the table with cubes of melting ice piled up on the bottom. The cushions were moved to the side, and the couch covers relaxed comfortably with deep wrinkles.  

An unnoticed figure slipped inside the house and Toshinori felt two eyes settle onto him. 

“Y/N, when did you come back?”

Nothing. 

“My child,” he stood up, reaching towards your shoulder. 

You shrugged his hand off as soon as it touched you, lost in the voices consuming your mind. 

“Y/N! What is the meaning of this?”

“It’s eleven.”

“What do you-”

“It’s eleven!” 

Your father’s body tensed as he stepped back, his brows knitted in pain and confusion. 

Your throat, strained and dry, struggled to find words as it battled against the bitter rise of bile. 

Your jaw trembled as your eyes burnt with unshed tears in the now blurring room. The cries of betrayal felt so weak. What should have been anger– a hellflame spreading throughout your house, came out a sniffle and singular tear. Anger that should have engulfed the sounds in the room and overpowered the drone of the television and the tick of the passing time was nothing but suppressed by the overbearing eyes that scrunched in concern. 

“What do I have to do to get you to pay attention to me, dad? What do I have to do…” you weeped, your hands consoling your own body because no one else present could. 

The cries of betrayal felt so weak because it was someone else’s incompetency, someone else’s fault that pained your wailing heart. And the cries of a wailing heart begging to be loved was a silent sound that overpowered all sense of self. 

“What does he have that I don’t, dad? What did he do that I failed to do?” 

You broke down into his arms. You found refuge despite his false embrace; it repulsed you because you knew it was going to be short-lived. 

It was a fake. 

“Why did I have to find out that my father was quirkless from someone else’s mouth?” 

You felt his chest fall as your father squeezed you tighter. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, dad?” you whispered.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I’m so sorry…” 

“Am I not worthy enough… Was I not worthy enough to find out?” 

Your ears preened, begging for reassurance, begging to hear: ‘that’s not true my child’. 

But it never came.

“I’m sorry for not being strong enough, dad… I’m sorry for letting him steal my quirk, dad.”

You tore away from his chest, sniffling away your tears for the last time. 

“But why didn’t you tell me that One For All could work with quirkless too?”

Toshinori crossed his hands in front of him as he averted his gaze from yours. 

“Why can’t you talk to me? Was I not good enough! Am I so weak without my quirk? That you blindly gave your power away to a boy you met a day ago! Dad, look at me!” you screamed, far too lost to control yourself. “Why couldn’t you give it to me, your own goddamn daughter? What did I not do dad, what did I not do!”

Why did All Might extend his hand to save Midoriya, when his daughter gave up her whole life to burn for his dreams?

His silence spoke a thousand words, so it was about time you spoke your final words. 

“You’re a great hero, dad. But that’s all you’ll ever be… you’ve been a great hero but you’ll never be a great dad.”

[erimeows]

Yeah, Right

The first time Aizawa does it, he doesn’t think about the ‘why’. After all, it seems logical enough. 

It’s All Might’s fifty-first birthday and Aizawa expects the fresh batch of new students to want to surprise the older man with something special for the day of. Only, when he gets to class that morning, he hears them all talking about how they’re too shy to so boldly approach their teacher and give him a birthday gift. While Aizawa imagines that All Might will get plenty of gifts and letters in his P.O. box, none of them will actually be from anyone he knows- random fans, even some stalkers- all people that he has no connection with.

Aizawa knows All Might well enough to know that the only people he wants anything from are going to be his students and fellow heroes- people he knows, people who care. Aizawa remembers that All Might doesn’t have a family to celebrate with and frowns as he sits at his desk listening to the children rattle on about the former number one hero.

When All Might walks in to take over the class for his heroics lesson, he looks Aizawa in the eye and offers a small smile. For whatever reason, said smile makes Aizawa’s heart skip a beat, so he doesn’t smile back. Instead, he leaves, rushing to the local grocery store even though he knows he’s supposed to be doing lesson planning. When he returns, he smuggles the little bouquet of roses and the box of chocolates into the lounge through his duffle bag. 

All Might’s locker is always stupidly left unlocked (because ‘none of my fellow hereos would meddle with my belongings’, according to the older man), so Aizawa puts the presents there with a note but no name.

‘Happy birthday, number one. Hope you have a good year.’

It’s simple and plain enough to not give away who it’s from. Perfect.

Aizawa doesn’t feel too nervous as he shuts the locker and retreats to sit at the round table. It’s lunch time now, so the sound of loud teenagers bustling down the hallway rings in Aizawa’s ears. He buries his head in his hands and groans, only to have a more pressing problem when the door is slammed open just seconds later.

He glances up to see All Might, standing in the doorway, the front of his pink button-up shirt soaked with blood. 

“All Might,” Aizawa stands up and grabs a washcloth to wet, then brings it over to All Might. He wipes the blood off of the older man and glances up at him with a scowl. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Oh, Aizawa,” All Might offers a weak smile and takes the washcloth from Aizawa’s hands so he can clean himself up. Aizawa stands there awkwardly, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for an answer. “I’m fine! Just a normal day for me, coughing up blood, though I’m starting to run out of shirts that aren’t blood-stained… Maybe I should start wearing more red.”

“You’re coughing blood up that often? And in this quantity… That isn’t normal,” Aizawa scoffs, as annoyed as ever by All Might’s alarming normalization of his declining health. “When’s the last time you’ve been to a doctor?”

“Back after we fought Shigaraki and the Paranormal Liberation Front.”

“No, I mean for a normal check up. When’s the last time you’ve been to a doctor for something other than a grievous, hero-work-related injury?”

“Oh, I haven’t been since…” All Might trails off, tossing the washcloth in the dirty laundry and thinking to himself. Meanwhile, Aizawa moves to dig through his own locker for an extra shirt that All Might can have- God knows the former number one hero is never prepared enough to keep a change of clothes handy. Aizawa finds the largest one he has, an oversized black sweater that he likes to sleep in sometimes. It’s just long enough that it’ll fit All Might’s weirdly oversized frame perfectly, so Aizawa takes the shirt out and tosses it at the older man. “Hm… I actually don’t know.”

“You need to go see one soon, then,” Aizawa nags and sits back down in a lounge chair as All Might hides behind the lockers to change shirts.

“Why do you care so much all of a sudden?”

“Ugh, never mind,” Aizawa grumbles and gets up to head towards the door. Just when he thought he was getting soft for the man, All Might had to go and get on his nerves again. “God forbid I try to make you take care of your health for the sake of your students.”

“Aizawa, wait-”

“No, it’s fine. I get the point. You’re never going to prioritize yourself and nothing anyone can say will ever make you. Keep the shirt,” Aizawa puts his hand on the door knob and turns it. Then, he opens the door and leaves, calling back to a flustered looking All Might with- “I’ll see you later.”

~

The second time Aizawa does it, he wonders why the hell he finds himself doing this shit again. The first time it was because it was All Might’s birthday and he wasn’t sure if All Might would get anything from anyone else. Now, it’s the middle of autumn, and he’s unsure about his motives. He tells himself that All Might has seemed down lately- yes, that’s all it is- and that he wants to cheer him up for the students’ sake and definitely not for his own. It’s odd because the last time he did this, he had an awkward and tense interaction with the man right after that turned him off for a while, but… It couldn’t hurt to try again.

So, he spends time hand-crocheting and knitting some sweaters and scarfs for the upcoming season and packing them into a little gift basket. All Might still has a nasty habit of leaving his locker unlocked, meaning that Aizawa can get into it easily. He sneaks into the lounge early, unusually early, knowing that he’s the least likely to get caught at this time since school doesn’t start until seven thirty. Right now, it’s six.

The only person that ever gets to U.A. before seven in the morning aside from Nezu is-

“Mic,” Aizawa blankly states, unsure of what to do. He’s standing in front of All Might’s open locker with the gift basket in one hand and his other hand on the edge of the locker door to hold it open. Mic has just walked into the staff lounge and caught him red-handed. “Uh… What’s up?”

In an awkward series of little motions, Aizawa slams the locker shut and tries to hide the ridiculously large basket behind his back.

“Um… What’cha got there?”

“Nothing that’s any of your business,” Aizawa answers, then reopens the locker, shoves the basket in there, and slams it back shut.

“C’mon, now, don’t pretend that I didn’t just catch you leaving a gift basket in All Might’s locker! No wonder you’ve been acting so funky lately… And to think I thought I was imagining things when I saw him in your favorite shirt,” Mic says, much to Aizawa’s embarrassment and horror. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of him doing this coming off like that to anyone else- and maybe loaning All Might one of his favorite shirts that he used to wear all the time wasn’t the best idea, either, especially considering that All Might now wears the damn thing at least once a week with the claim of ‘since it’s black, it doesn’t stain easy!’. “Wait, are you two a thing!?” 

“Absolutely not. He borrowed the shirt once and I let him keep it. As for the gifts… Well, I am guilty of that, but he doesn’t reciprocate said gifts nor does he know it’s me giving them,” Aizawa explains and guiltily walks away from All Might’s locker in favor of sitting down on the edge of the staff table. He sighs and shakes his head both at himself and at Mic. “So don’t tell anyone.”

“Hah! No one would believe me, even if I did want to go and betray you by blabbing about it,” Mic laughs and sits right next to Aizawa on the table top. Then, he looks over at the erasure hero with his big green eyes and a knowing smirk. “But are you seriously going to keep on with this until he retires from teaching?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you clearly like him, and this is your weird fucked up way of expressing it-”

“Hey!” Aizawa interrupts with a blush and a glare- or, as much of a glare as he can produce these days with only one eye. The other eye socket remains empty and covered by a black eye patch, thanks to a certain Shigaraki. “Don’t talk about me like that.”

“What? It’s true! I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Mic points out. It’s horribly, embarrassingly true. Aizawa used to hate All Might and everything he stood for, and he still tries to tell himself that he does, but… Things just aren’t the way they were back then. He watches All Might a little too closely and checks in on him all the time, even if it’s not in the most overtly caring and compassionate way. He does care about All Might, and they’ve grown to respect each other. He just never thought that it’d develop into those sorts of feelings; for the former number one hero, who’s far more popular than him, far more attractive than him, and over a decade his senior. “You’ve been doing this for how long now?”

“I don’t know,” Aizawa shrugs and crosses his leg over his prosthetic. Then, he crosses his arms as well and taps his fingers against his bicep. He can’t even meet Mic’s gaze. “A few months, maybe?”

“Exactly,” Mic yells a little too loudly and throws his hands up in the air. “You’ve been doing this for months instead of just telling the guy you have a crush on him!”

“I don’t have a crush on him,” Aizawa mumbles, hating the sound of such a juvenile term being thrown at him like this.

Crush.

Yeah, right.

“Really?” Mic presses. “Really? Look at yourself right now, Eraser!”

“We can continue this conversation never,” Aizawa gets up from the table, heads to the door, and looks back at Mic, who is sitting there with a ridiculously large grin. “And remember; don’t tell anyone about what you saw today.”

“Aye aye captain!” Mic responds with a mock-salute that somehow pisses Aizawa off even more.

As the ravenette leaves, embarrassed and confused, he can’t help but think about what Mic said.

A crush. 

On All Might.

Yeah, right.

~

The third time Aizawa does it, he hears All Might start to talk.

Aizawa has had to come to terms with the fact that these stupid feelings he’s developed for All Might are, in fact, a crush- as Mic had so eloquently put it just a few months ago. Said crush has been festering for God knows how long and seems to only get worse with every season that passes. 

So, by the time winter rolls around, he’s more on edge about the whole thing than he thought he’d be when he left the first gift basket for All Might back in June. Despite never caring about his appearance before, he finds himself tying his hair up (All Might said it looked good like that once), wearing cologne (one that All Might said was his favorite in an interview a while back), and putting a little more effort into his appearance than he would have just a few years ago.

It’s the day before winter break. All of the kids are doing cute holiday celebrations, gift exchanges, dorm parties, and more. They’ve already taken their finals, so there’s not much for the teachers to do aside from sit on their asses and enjoy the festivities. Aizawa doesn’t mind it. He even finds himself in a particularly cheery mood as he leaves another gift basket in All Might’s locker, this one full of holiday candies, a new blanket, and some fancy tea and coffee blends.

After leaving the gifts and making sure that no one is around to catch him in the act this time, Aizawa quietly closes the locker and moves to sit at the staff table before anyone can walk in.

He catches a glance of himself in the mirror and sighs. His hair is tied back all pretty, he actually bothered shaving, and though he looks as tired as ever… He looks better than he used to. The things people say about ‘glowing’ when they fall in love may actually be true. With a shake of his head, he ignores that train of thought in favor of pulling out his phone and reading the news.

Slowly, more of the faculty file in; Nezu, Mic, Vlad King, Nejire- who started working for U.A. shortly after graduating- and finally, All Might. The four sit near Aizawa at the table with Mic sitting right next to him and the others sitting across from him. They chat and talk about their plans for winter break as if Aizawa isn’t even there until Aizawa hears Nejire pipe up with-

“Hey, All Might, is that a new scarf? It’s cute. Where’d you get it?”

“It’s a funny story, but someone has been leaving these gifts in my work locker for months…” All Might explains, much to Aizawa’s embarrassment. Aizawa can’t help but notice that the older man is wearing his sweater. Again. The chunky crocheted scarf around his neck is made of black and red yarn, one of the many things that Aizawa has anonymously gifted to him since the summertime. “Everything from chocolates and flowers for my birthday to this scarf and custom-made sweaters. No idea who it is.”

“Oh, well that’s a simple problem with a simple solution!” Nezu suggests. Aizawa’s heart drops as the principal suddenly crawls into his scarf and sits on his shoulder- something he frequently does for warmth and height. His beady eyes remain trained on All Might. Meanwhile, Mic won’t stop nudging Aizawa with his foot underneath the table. “Would you like me to check the security cameras for you?”

“No, that’s not necessary, Nezu,” All Might answers with a dismissive wave. It takes everything in Aizawa not to let out an obvious sigh of relief. “After all, if they’re going about it like this, they probably don’t want me to know their identity.”

“You don’t think that it’s some sort of villain, do you?” Vlad King questions.

“Not at all. UA’s security is too strict to allow any outsiders in and all of the gifts I’ve received so far have been totally harmless. I had the same train of thought at first and even had Tsukauchi run everything I received through his forensics team to test for poisons and find any trackers or cameras that might’ve been hidden, but no one found anything. It seems like they’re totally innocuous, well-meaning gifts.”

“Do you think it’s a student?” Nezu presses, clearly somewhat concerned.

Aizawa suddenly realizes just how bad of an idea this was to start off with. Maybe he should stop and get a hold of things before he gets caught and makes a fool out of himself. 

“No, they wouldn’t have access to the lounge unless they had some sort of quirk that allowed them to phase through things. I know we have a couple of those quirk users here, but I doubt that any of them would risk getting in trouble for something so dumb when they could just leave the stuff on the desk of the classroom I teach in. So, it must be another faculty member; another teacher, a janitor, cafeteria staff…” All Might continues rambling on about the many deductions he’s made. Aizawa almost calls him out for sounding so much like Midoriya, but he decides against it. “There’s so many people who work here that I haven’t bothered trying to narrow it down.”

“And that doesn’t bother you at all!? I’d be going insane!” Mic yells out, then sends a quick and knowing glance in Aizawa’s direction. Aizawa glares back at him. “What if you have a stalker or something?”

“I doubt it’s anything that severe. Either this is some sort of cruel joke or someone has a crush on me,” All Might shrugs. “I’d be surprised at the latter considering the form I’m currently in, but the gifts clearly have a lot of thought behind them and some people have weird tastes…”

At that, Mic burst out laughing, to which Aizawa quickly turns and scolds him.

“Mic!”

Mic only laughs harder. Aizawa doesn’t think his face has ever been this red, and All Might is looking between the two of them like he’s trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together. 

“What’s so funny, Yamada?” All Might asks and narrows his sky blue eyes.

“Nothing, nothing,” Mic answers, but again, only laughs even hader. He puts his head on the table and buries his face in his arms. “Sorry!”

“So you’re just going to let this continue to happen?” Vlad King interjects. 

“Basically. Either I’ll retire from teaching, they’ll come and tell me who they are and why they’re doing this, or they’ll get bored and stop. Whichever happens first. I don’t really mind either way.”

“What if it’s, like, a secret admirer?” Nejire continues. Meanwhile, Aizawa doesn’t know if he’s relieved or offended at the fact that All Might doesn’t seem to care very much about whoever it is that’s been leaving him presents in his locker. “Don’t you want to know who they are?”

“Not really. I know I don’t discuss it very often, but I do have my heart set on someone else… I just haven’t had the courage to tell them, especially since my retirement from hero work. So, it’s better that this person doesn’t reveal themselves to me; I’d hate to reject them after they’ve given me so many nice things. I want them to know I appreciate all these things they’ve gifted me, so I wear and use them as much as I can, but I also wonder if I’m giving them the wrong idea… Ah, I’ve got lesson plans to work on. I should get back to the classroom.”

With that, All Might stands up and retreats, leaving the rest of the staff to eat their lunches and chat amongst themselves- mostly about the upcoming holiday party that the hero commission is going to throw in about a week to celebrate the last year’s worth of hero work. They do it every year, but Aizawa never attends, finding that no one really cares whether or not he’s there aside from Mic. It always seems like a big publicity stunt for heroes to come and throw their money at the charities that are promoted there, for heroes to come and get interviewed by famous reporters, and for heroes to come and find more work with new teams or agencies.

Like a lot of hero society, the whole thing is about business more than it is a genuine celebration, but… if All Might is going to be there this year like he always is, Aizawa may go.

Eventually, the rest of the staff clear out, leaving Aizawa and Mic by themselves. Mic is the first to say anything.

“Eraser, aren’t you going to tell him about your feelings?”

“Has your quirk made you deaf or something? He said he’s in love with someone else! He’d just reject me, I… Should’ve never done this in the first place,” Aizawa sighs. His heart actually feels like it’s breaking from everything All Might said. “It was a stupid idea. Out of all the people I could’ve gone and caught feelings for…”

“But what if that person he talked about is you?”

“Really? Out of everyone All Might has ever met and known, you think he’s in love with me? Yeah, right,” Aizawa scoffs, looking at Mic in disbelief. “Be realistic.”

“I dunno, maybe? I mean, I could’ve sworn he was giving you ‘fuck me eyes’ while he was in here so perhaps-”

“There’s no way,” Aizawa interrupts, flustered. The idea of All Might looking at him like that… No. It’s impossible. For someone like All Might to want someone like him… “I look like a homeless person according to my students and everyone knows I haven’t been the same since everything that happened with the League of Villains and the Paranormal Liberation Front. And, just in case you forgot, I’m also more than a decade younger than him. I wouldn’t blame him for being completely repulsed by me.”

“Eraser… I’m sure if you told him, and he didn’t return the feelings, he’d be nice about it,” Mic tries to be comforting by putting a hand on Aizawa’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, pity kindness. That’s definitely what I want from him. As if this isn’t embarrassing enough,” Aizawa sarcastically huffs with a roll of his eyes. Mic just offers a guilty smile in return. “Honestly, Mic, you… Look, I appreciate you trying to help me here, but it’s better if I just don’t say anything, okay? He doesn’t want me back, and he never will.”

“If that’s how you really feel, I guess I can’t change your mind, but let me know if you ever want to ask him out, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure thing.”

“Okay, catch ya later!”

With that, Mic stands up and exits the room, leaving Aizawa alone yet again. The ravenette sighs and holds his head in his hands.

Asking All Might out?

Yeah, right. Because that’ll go swimmingly.

~

Aizawa doesn’t get the chance to do it a fourth time. Instead, U.A. is closed for winter break so the students can go home and spend time with their families for the holidays. While a few of them stay behind, they celebrate in their own way, leaving the teachers to attend the hero commission’s holiday party. It’s thrown at some fancy venue with a ballroom, that of which Aizawa can’t be fucked to remember the name of. Mic drives him, anyway, so it’s not like he has to know what it’s called or where it’s at. 

Once he gets there, Mic splits from him to go be the social butterfly and casually functioning alcoholic that he’s always been. He downs drink after drink, but thankfully, Nezu is nearby keeping an eye on him so Aizawa doesn’t have to (for once). Aizawa takes the opportunity to lean back against one of the less crowded walls and scan the room. 

Since the end of the conflict with the PLF, any interest in Aizawa and his involvement with the U.A. scandals has died down considerably, so he’s almost returned to the familiar comfort of no one knowing who he is again- so much so that none of the paparazzi or reporters bother trying to snap pictures or get an interview with him. Though many heroes would feel stiffed by this, Aizawa is relieved as he watches All Might, who is currently experiencing the exact opposite.

At first, All Might was happily chatting with the other heroes and dancing with a lot of them (which made Aizawa somewhat jealous, but that’s another story). Now, All Might looks uncomfortable, though he does a great job at putting on a front and answering all of the reporters’ questions as if he isn’t becoming a nervous wreck with every second that passes. Eventually, All Might directs them to Mount Lady, who is currently dancing with Kamui woods. Those vultures take the opportunity to go take as many implicating photos as they can, which gives All Might the time to make an escape and slip outside of the venue. Aizawa grabs a coffee from the bar and follows the former number one hero, who he finds sitting outside on a bench a few yards away from the front door. 

“Parties aren’t much your scene these days, are they?” Aizawa asks, standing behind the bench and slumping his shoulders.

“Heh,” All Might laughs, then shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“It seems like I can always find you out here when you feel out of place… Outside in the freezing cold, all by your lonesome, sitting on some bench.”

“Would you like to sit?” All Might offers.

“Sure,” Aizawa sits down next to All Might and sees that the blond is shivering due to the cold, even in a nice sweater and a scarf. So, Aizawa holds out his hot coffee and asks- “Want a sip?”

All Might looks at the coffee, then at Aizawa.

“You don’t mind?”

“Kids are petri dishes, and I’m around them all the time just fine,” Aizawa shrugs. “I doubt you’ll get me sick.”

All Might takes the cup.

“There’s no alcohol in this, right?”

“Right. I know you can’t really drink anymore. Plus, I’m not really stupid enough to drink at this sort of thing unlike all of our coworkers… I’d hate to slip up and let something embarrassing out to the press. I know those damn vultures would take full advantage of some poor inebriated idiot here- hell, they do it to Mic every year.”

“That’s true,” All Might laughs and leans back against the bench. It’s taken him a couple minutes, but he seems comfortable with Aizawa’s presence now. The smile on his face is beautiful underneath the pale moonlight, practically glimmering. Aizawa feels his cheeks burn red and prays that All Might doesn’t notice. Pausing, All Might drinks some of the coffee before continuing. “I remember last year when they got him to admit to that fling he had with Vlad King, those two were in hot water for a while… Thanks for the drink, by the way.”

“Sure.”

A few moments pass with the two men passing the coffee between each other, drinking, and chatting away. Aizawa can’t help but notice that All Might is acting a little differently- a little more at ease than he normally would. Aizawa isn’t sure how to place it until All Might sets the drink down on the middle of the bench and holds out one of his large hands.

“Hey, how about a dance?”

“Hm?”

“I think you’re the only one of our coworkers I haven’t danced with tonight,” All Might says offhandedly, which makes Aizawa’s face fall. Is it really just a platonic offer? Almost as if sensing his disappointment, All Might rushes to retract the invitation, panicking. “Then again, I understand if you aren’t interested! I know being in the spotlight isn’t really your thing and-”

“We can dance out here, if you want,” Aizawa interjects. The soft lull of the waltz music from inside can be heard echoing through the open windows. “I can still hear the music.”

“That actually sounds pretty nice,” All Might stands. “Mind if I lead?”

“Not at all.”

So, hand in hand, the two dance together outside of the venue, unbothered by the press or their fellow heroes who would ask questions. All Might’s hands are calloused and warm, and he smells like the cologne Aizawa bought him not that long ago.

“You know, it’s rare that you dress up like this,” All Might remarks, and it’s true. Aizawa wore a suit for the occasion at Mic’s pestering. He even shaved and tied his hair up to make himself look somewhat nice. Though, he didn’t expect All Might to notice. “I don’t think I’ve seen it since that last press conference.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” All Might smiles. “I like it.”

“Well, I like you,” Aizawa spits out before he can think better of it. He freezes, tripping over All Might’s feet. All Might wraps an arm around his back and pulls him into his chest to catch him. Embarrassment washes over Aizawa like a shower that’s way too hot. He rushes to explain the words away. “Wait, that’s not what I-”

“I like you, too,” All Might blurts out, much to his relief. On one hand, Aizawa is happy, but on the other, he doesn’t want to admit that Mic was right. “And um… Thanks for the stuff.”

At that, Aizawa blinks and pulls away, flustered.

“You knew it was me?”

“Well, no,” All Might answers, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “But Mic’s pretty hammered in there and-”

“He told you, didn’t he?” Aizawa huffs and facepalms with a shake of his head.

“Maybe?”

“He’s awfully lucky this just so happened to work out,” Aizawa sighs and reaches forward to grab one of All Might’s hands. Much to his delight, All Might laces their fingers together and stands by his side. “But I guess since the cat’s out of the bag, we can take this inside, right?”

“Yeah… I’d like that.”