#astersatdawnfics

[astersatdawn]

Brimstone and Emerald Dreams

Relationship: Midoriya Izuku & Sensei | All for One

Rating: T

Sensei | All for One is Midoriya Hisashi, Bad ending, Possessive Sensei | All for One, Izuku in Tartarus

Oneshot | 1.6k words

But he did make it to his destination, eventually, and with the right combination of Quirks the locks on the door broke away and let him pass through.

And there he was.

If All for One had been anyone else, he might have paused to check if he was really asleep. On his cot, Izuku sat, chained from head to toe, slumped over, his back to the wall. Search told him he was asleep, and even without the Quirk, All for One would know. All for One had seen Izuku fall asleep sitting before.

-

[Or, with his victory assured, All for One traveled to Tartarus to collect his prize.]

ao3 link: here

This was written for the bad ending event hosted by @mamashenanigans and @possiblycringe

Tonight, Tartarus was quiet. 

It was not unusual for Tartarus, be it the old or new building, to be silent. The prison was rigid in how both its guards and prisoners were meant to act, each step and breath to match another tick of a clock on a never changing schedule. Sound inevitably became a forgotten thing when it fell into the background, not even worth acknowledging. 

What made this silence different, however, was how it felt more like All for One was walking into a freshly abandoned ruin than a high security prison. It was only obvious to someone like him who was coming from the outside in, for it let him see the pitiful attempt to mask the silence. Janitors dressed as guards wandered the halls, but cowered at any shadow that crossed their path; blinking cameras moved at regular intervals, recording every act like a reprimand was imminent, even though it no longer was. 

All for One knew that, for the first few hours, this illusion of that well maintained routine would hold out. All who dared hope for goodness and justice could pretend to breathe easy, that Tartarus would stay in its timeless bubble, ignorant to the reality just a few miles away, where all members of law enforcement were drafted into the climax of the war, to deal with the unquenchable chaos that had been plaguing the streets for hours now, and still had no end in sight. 

Truly, all this was for a futile yet desperate effort to keep the worst of the villains they’ve managed to catch out of the field for as long as possible. The destruction All for One and his minions had brought to Japan alone already sent the country to its knees, begging for reprieve, and once the prisoners here began their unnecessary riot and realized they could make another escape, Japan would truly know no salvation. 

Not that they stood a chance before that fatal moment, but dreams were always best crushed slowly yet thoroughly.

That is all to say, this was the bare minimum, and if the old Tartarus was not enough to keep him in, it was no wonder this one fell to his whims so easily, now that the world was setting itself firmly in his grasp. 

How far hell had fallen, but even hell must bow before its king.

Even the halls attempted to delude his path, a futile resistance to the last, all long and winding, containing hundreds of matching doors unable to act as a guide to his destination. Not like All for One needed one, not with Search. He knew exactly where to go, could see the bright glow a few levels down even with his eyes closed. 

He could travel down there faster if he really wanted to. Taking his time through the hallways left him impatient, but the child he wished to visit was asleep, just as All for One hoped he would be. An explosive entrance would put the boy on guard, and that would make the night far more difficult than it needed to be.  

But he did make it to his destination, eventually, and with the right combination of Quirks the locks on the door broke away and let him pass through. 

And there he was.

If All for One had been anyone else, he might have paused to check if he was really asleep. On his cot, Izuku sat, chained from head to toe, slumped over, his back to the wall. Search told him he was asleep, and even without the Quirk, All for One would know. All for One had seen Izuku fall asleep sitting before. 

Most often, it would have been at the boy’s desk, drool spilling out from his lips and falling onto his sleeves, barely missing the analysis journal he’d likely have beneath his pillowed arms. He could tell at a glance the boy's dreams were more pleasant than his school days, dreaming up Quirks and heroes. Sometimes, when Inko had been there to catch the end of Izuku’s late night research sessions, she’d quietly fret about, worried about waking him up, but also wanting to make sure he slept comfortably in his bed. As the ever reliable Hisashi, he would offer her reassurance, slip next to Izuku, and a hand on his shoulder was all that was needed to make sure Izuku stayed asleep as he pulled him into his arms and tucked him into bed. 

Many times, All for One had considered keeping Izuku asleep for eternity. As a boy, he’d always found more peace in dreams and delusion. Being trapped in his dreams meant his son couldn’t pursue a reckless dream and die a martyr like his brother had done. But keeping his son asleep meant Izuku’s happiness would not be dependent on All for One, but instead on whatever paradise he found in unconsciousness. He would never see his son’s smile, or hear his voice or his laugh—dreams would reduce them all to useless mush. The boy would not be his if dreams kept him away.

In hindsight, maybe letting him sleep for a few years would’ve been the better alternative, if it meant the boy would not obtain One for All. That Quirk made those childhood dreams obtainable, or it had, until the moment they had been snatched away and brought him to this defenseless place. The almost achievement meant that one false step and the boy would’ve been lost again, and just like his brother, it would be to somewhere he could not yet reach him. The only worth in his son obtaining that Quirk was letting his son learn his lessons the hard way.

Tonight, the boy’s dreams were quiet, but not pleasant. Nightmares likely caused by those very delusions he’d long since harbored, All for One’s certain, with the way his brow scrunched and sweat slowly built on his forehead, likely only moments before the nightmare’s climax. In the past, All for One would have waited it out to see if the boy would run into his arms and cling to his father, afraid that if he let go the nightmares would drag him back.  

This time, however, like he had done on those nights he slept away from his bed, he reached out and cast Izuku into a deeper slumber. Dreamless or not, it didn’t matter, if it meant the two of them could have a moment of peace. The only sign there had been a change at all was the way the boy’s shoulders relaxed.

He did not pull away his hand. Instead, he ran his fingers through Izuku’s hair, longer and more tangled than it had been when All for One last saw him. He would have to change that later. In the meantime, All for One sat next to the boy and gently brought the boy’s head down onto his lap.

“Now isn’t this familiar?” All for One mused, no longer concerned he’d accidentally wake the child. Inko hadn’t realized it when he was around, but Izuku was a lighter sleeper than she gave him credit for. It’d been convenient to figure that out when the boy was five rather than fifteen. The boy’s breath evened out. “Did you truly think you’d ever know peace without me?” 

As if in response, his facial muscles scrunched, then relaxed. 

“Your father’s back to chase all the nightmares away.” Another stroke through his curls, a tangle caught and smoothed away. “No thanks to that man you call a mentor, we’ve been kept apart for far too long. But that changes tonight. I believe you and I will both agree that’s for the best. I know you’ve hated your time here. It’s a shame I couldn’t come sooner, but I had something to finish first. You understand, don’t you, Izuku?” 

The boy’s nose wrinkled. 

Truly, All for One would not mind staying here a while. Even though his memories of this place were not fond, there was a charm in the creation of such a warm memory in a place that had tormented both him and his son. An irony in how these walls were meant to bind and separate them, but instead brought them together again. If society had not betrayed his son as it had he didn’t think such a task would have been as easy. Izuku was far too much like his brother, always willing to fight for others, even those who hurt him. Had that society not clipped the boy’s wings, even with the ongoing chaos, taking his son back would have taken more effort, nor would it have been a guarantee.  

Yet here, the boy slept on, oblivious to the distant smell of smoke and iron. Sleep would keep him away, and when All for One let him wake, he would make sure the boy only found the ashes. Maneuvering those who had no hope had always been easier. He’s certain his son would be the same. 

All for One did not entirely care how much time had passed, content with the sight of his son in his arms after years of distance. Yet, when he heard something rattle in discontent with his enhanced hearing, the earliest sign of the inevitable riot, All for One knew it had been long enough.

“It’s time to go home, Izuku.” He lifted Izuku up, arm under knees and Izuku’s head fell against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead. “We’ve kept your mother waiting long enough.” 

And as he came, so too, did All for One leave unimpeded, but with the very prize he came to collect. 

Outside, the world burned as its king ordained, and in the king’s arms, his child slept on in peace.     

#mha #bnha #AFO bad ending event #dad for one #fic #my fic #i never write proper bad endings this seemed like a fun chance to try it #hope i did this right xD #astersatdawnfics #can't believe i'm posting 3 fics this week tho lol #the timing just worked out this way #i'd say watch as i don't post for a year now #but i am actually planning to semi-regularly update my long fic #aka it's getting an update next week so #i guess the weird reality is i'm posting 4 times in one month? lol #dreams that are(n't) mine au

[astersatdawn]

Burning (Rising) Piece by Piece

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Sensei | All for One, Midoriya Izuku & Shigaraki Tomura

Rating: T

Tags: Sensei | All for One is Midoriya Hisashi, Villain Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One for All Quirk, Suicidal Midoriya Izuku, Suicidal Ideation, (it's not the focus but it's there), Reunions, Midoriya Izuku Finds Out He Has a Quirk, Midoriya Izuku Has All for One Quirk

Oneshot | 4.2k words

“Why would he be nervous?”

“Dumb reasons.” Shigaraki’s thumb mashes one of the buttons. “Thinks you’d hate him or something.”

It takes a moment for Izuku to think of a response. Izuku would not be here if he didn’t care at all, and wouldn't have stayed if he found a reason to hate his father. Maybe his father being a villain was a surprise, and he knows it would’ve hurt more to find out as a child, but the idea of hating his father entirely… 

He cannot imagine a world where that is the truth. 

-

[Or, Izuku, tired of waiting for answers about his father's whereabouts, comes to a conclusion, and asks about it, only to be proven wrong.]

Ao3 Link: Here

“How did my father die?”

It comes off more meek than Izuku intended, quiet and half-buried in the buzzing ventilation, the static of the perpetually on-off tv, and switch-controller button presses as Shigaraki maneuvers his way through his game with matching chimes. 

The question doesn’t even have Shigaraki looking up from the screen, though Izuku knows Shigaraki heard him. He still continues to play his game, eyes focused on the room’s brightest screen as he presses the joystick forward. 

“What makes you think he’s dead?” Shigaraki murmurs in lieu of an answer. 

Izuku frowns, but answers anyway. “He disappeared for over half a decade, has ties to a criminal organization, and no one’s given any further hints of his presence despite the fact that his son signed onto the same organization he’s supposed to be a part of. It isn’t enough to conclude he is dead, but it just seems more likely… and I figured it’s best I prepare for the worst outcome anyway.” 

“Well he’s not.” Shigaraki shifts his legs and plops them down on Izuku’s lap. He doesn’t complain, just presses his lips together as he waits for whatever Shigaraki has to say next—he’s not usually this physical, and if he’s trapping Izuku, he’s expecting a conversation that might send Izuku running. Could it be he was lied to? “He’s busy.”

“Busy,” Izuku echoes, half disbelievingly. 

If it was as simple as he was busy, Izuku doesn’t think he would have been so desperate to chase after one tiny thread of him, even into the dark. The belief that his father still cared for him, in some way, regardless of any physical or metaphysical distance, is one of the only reasons Izuku stuck around for as long as he has (and they both Izuku and Shigaraki know Izuku doesn’t mean the League; there’s nowhere else on this earth for Izuku to belong, not anymore. This is his last bastion, even if they both pretend it’s not). 

“Or that’s what he told us to tell you.”

“...but that’s not what you want to tell me.”

Shigaraki digs his toes into Izuku’s ribs, and Izuku flicks his ankle. Shigaraki tsks, and remains silent for a moment, concentrating on whatever is creating the beeping noise coming from the console. 

“I think he’s being stupid. He’s nervous.” 

That’s an image Izuku can’t imagine. His father had always been the picture of confidence with his wrinkle-free suits and perpetual smiles; no matter how difficult the day had been, Izuku never saw the man wear the weight of stress on his broad shoulders, or seen him walk without his unwavering conviction. Even his father’s every word rolled from his lips, a smooth confidence Izuku has never found in anyone else—not even Kacchan, who wears ego like a second-skin—each syllable accompanied by a smokey trail, as if another guide for Izuku to follow as he was carefully drawn into his father’s logically lain pathway. (It was the only source of smoke that Izuku knew to be a soft, but sometimes stern, beacon; any other and Izuku would simply remember the smell of burning flesh and flee from its signal, only to be reminded that was futile for smoke was steered by the wind, and its sting would always blow in Izuku’s face).

“Why would he be nervous?”

“Dumb reasons.” Shigaraki’s thumb mashes one of the buttons. “Thinks you’d hate him or something.”

It takes a moment for Izuku to think of a response. Izuku would not be here if he didn’t care at all, and wouldn't have stayed if he found a reason to hate his father. Maybe his father being a villain was a surprise, and he knows it would’ve hurt more to find out as a child, but the idea of hating his father entirely… 

He cannot imagine a world where that is the truth. 

“Why would I?”

Shigaraki shrugs. “Dunno. He’s surprised you're here, I guess. I think it was always part of the script—those stupid heroes don’t realize they gave me player two. But he doesn’t think that.”

Izuku glances away from Shigaraki, staring at floorboards as he leans forward, rests bony elbow on Shigaraki’s bony ankle. There’s an answer, buried within him, that Izuku’s aware of. Something once true that no longer is.  

“It might not have been—inevitable, that I’d join.” Izuku’s hands drop, awkwardly draped over Shigaraki’s legs, to pull at the hem of his shorts. “If I didn’t give up, I would’ve tried to be a hero. And if not that…”

Izuku doesn’t need to explain that. He hears the menu open, but no flickering through options. 

“If I… if I hadn’t become disillusioned with all that, I might not have, and him being a villain… it would’ve hurt before… really hurt. The idea of remembering him back then and knowing he’s a villain… but now—” a deep gulp of air, “—now I just want to see my dad again. It—that—doesn’t matter anymore. I—I miss him, and I need to see him again.” Izuku feels tears welling in his eyes. “I never would’ve—I can’t hate him. Before you, he was—he was—”

Izuku hiccups. Rubs at tears with his wrist. 

“The only person to believe in you, right?” Shigaraki mumbles, like a reflection, more than a question. Izuku nods. Louder, Shigaraki says: “Sensei.”

The sudden call for Sensei has Izuku drying his eyes faster—has he been listening? Oh he really shouldn’t let Sensei see him like this—

“Sensei, you hear that? You’re being stupid.” 

Izuku freezes mid-motion, breath, limbs and all. 

Did Shigaraki just call Sensei stupid? That couldn’t have been what Shigaraki just said; if he did, then Izuku finally overdosed and landed in hell with something resembling his only friend. 

Even if this is really happening, why would Shigaraki say that? They’d been talking about Izuku’s father. Was Sensei the one putting doubts in his dad’s mind? Was Sensei making it harder for Izuku to see his dad? 

What would Sensei want for him to agree to letting Izuku see his dad? 

At this point, Izuku knew the answer readily: anything.

“Tomura.” 

“Yeah, yeah, lecture me later,” Shigaraki grumbles, pointedly looking at where the camera is. “Something’s more important, or are you still gonna continue being dumb?”

There is a long moment of silence.

Did Shigaraki mess up? What is going on? 

“Kurogiri. Open a portal.”

A quick affirmation and purple mist sprouts up on the floor space right in front of Izuku. Shigaraki’s legs lift off of Izuku’s lap only to cram themselves between Izuku’s back and the couch. 

Izuku stares at the portal. Then back at Shigaraki. His foot nudges Izuku’s back, though it doesn’t send him barreling forward. “Get going, dumbass.”

Oh. 

His eyes widen. Is it really that simple? 

Maybe it isn’t, but truthfully, Izuku can’t bring himself to care. Before he even considers giving it another thought, Izuku is hurrying on through the portal which whooshes shut once he’s through. 

Izuku has been carefully placed onto an open gap of the floor space, amid wires of varying thickness, all of which crowd around Sensei’s chair. He can hear the beeping of the life support machines, see the flickering status lights among dimly lit monitors. 

He has been here only once before, as part of his official introduction to the League. The meeting hadn’t lasted long, but the impression Izuku got of Sensei was one he would never forget. A deep tone, words spoken with an almost playful lilt, an ancient confidence expressed in every gesture, and a smile befitting a demon rather than a saint—ironic, for as unholy as they were, for someone like Izuku, Shigaraki and Sensei may as well have been. There was no denying the man’s intelligence, or how even without eyes the man had monitored Izuku’s every move like a hawk, hyperfocused on Izuku’s every breath, assessing him. 

Izuku knew, within the first minute of that meeting, that if this man saw it fit for Izuku to die, he would be dead by morning.

It should have been frightening. A year ago Izuku would have thought of every possible escape and died trying, terror pounding in his chest through his final hours. But the Izuku who stood before Sensei that day was not the same as the idealistic Izuku from a year ago. Izuku was already used to being hunted by bullies; an ancient out to kill him wasn’t as frightening as the shadows of childhood creeping under his bed—a man like this would hunt Izuku out of practical disinterest, not for sport—and it mattered even less when some mornings death felt more welcome than not. 

But today, with an opportunity for answers so close Izuku can taste it, Izuku cannot risk that dance with death. He has to hope he was here for the very reason Shigaraki had sent him, and not as some indirect punishment for Shigaraki’s impudence. 

His hands wring together, unsure if he should speak first, or wait to be spoken to. It’s impossible to not grow more anxious, the longer Sensei’s scarred face stares in Izuku’s direction. 

What is Sensei able to make out of him? Can his Quirks grant him some sort of sight even without eyes? Can he make out shapes and shadows through layers of flesh? Or could he have thermal-based vision—how detailed could the rippling warmth that radiates within his chest be? Maybe he accesses him through the faintest of vibrations—could he feel the minute twitch of his fingers, or the slightest shifts of weight with loose subconscious starts and stiff conscious ends? Looking at him like this, can Sensei sense the quivering nerves or the boiling want?

“Come closer,” Sensei says, breaking the silence that shrouded the room.

Izuku doesn’t hesitate. He steps over a few wires, approaching, and keeps getting closer when Sensei gestures him closer. It’s only when Izuku is standing just before Sensei, well within arms reach, that he stops.  

He’s not expecting it when Sensei reaches out and takes Izuku’s face in his hands. Izuku stills—not out of fear, but simple surprise. It’s a gentle touch, and the thing that surprises Izuku more than the act itself is the feeling that stirs in his chest: something like nostalgia, remembering how his mother would dry his tears with her thumbs, or how his father would cradle his face as he looked him over for bruises and scrapes. 

“I’m sorry, Izuku.” Familiar, again, somehow; deep voice rumbling low and soft with the exact same intonation his father had said his name, before—it’s a thought that stirs some dormant revelation inside his chest. “I wanted to be able to properly look at you when we reunited, but it seems I was being too cruel to the both of us.”

His heart stutters. That awakening revelation thrums through him to the beat of a lightning strike, and with a clarity only found in the eye of a storm, he looks at this man once more. There is no photograph to reference, but Izuku lets his memories carry him, overlaying past and present, and lets himself finally notice every little detail he had been missing because of the unfamiliarity of Izuku’s new situation and Sensei’s damaged appearance. 

“Dad…?” His voice cracks.

“I’m here, Izuku.”

Everything Izuku had been holding in comes out: he throws himself forward, wrapping his arms around his father’s body, careful to not nudge the life support equipment out of place—he can’t lose his dad again, he can’t be why he loses his dad again—and his father’s arms wrap around him, so tight, and he holds his head close as Izuku sobs his heart out. Years and years of grief unraveling with every wail, every missing moment reclaimed as his fingers dig into the fabric of his father’s once tidy suit.  

“Dad,” he chokes out. Again, and again, and his father hums something soft every time, with every word, fingers running through his hair in a way Izuku had missed from his long-gone youth.

Izuku does not think of questions, though he knows he will have many. He thinks about how he’s finally found his father, after being alone, after being found by someone Izuku thinks he wouldn’t have wanted to be found by, once. In him now, there is only grief, and mending, the deep wounds branded into Izuku’s flesh finally beginning to stitch just a little shut after years and years of being torn wider with every breath. 

He has no clue how long he spends sobbing, clinging, doesn’t know when he crawled to rest more comfortably on his father’s lap like a toddler rather than a teenager—it feels silly, but, even as Izuku’s sobs begin to turn into sniffles, he knows he doesn’t want to let go, and judging by the tight grip that hasn’t relented, his father doesn’t want to let go either. 

“I missed you,” is the first thing he whispers that isn’t an echo. It’s obvious, but Izuku needs to say the words. For all the feelings he’s unleashed, the words are what grounds him into the reality that he is really here. 

“I know. I missed you, too. I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you sooner than this.”

“Shigaraki’s right. You were being stupid,” Izuku mumbles into his father’s shoulder, something between a laugh and revitalized sob dripping out of his throat. To think Shigaraki hadn’t been calling out Sensei as his Sensei, but as Izuku’s missing father. As much as Shigaraki hates the sappy stuff, Izuku will have to thank him; he’d been the one who pulled Izuku away from the cliff’s edge, and to think, he’d guide him back to his father, too. “Why didn’t—why didn’t you tell me?”

His father doesn’t answer him for a long moment. Continues to stroke Izuku’s hair, back and forth, twisting curls with gentle pulls. As much as Izuku wants answers, he doesn’t mind waiting either, if it meant another moment he didn’t have to leave.

“...I have lied to you about many things, Izuku, and while your admiration for heroes may have dwindled, I do not think you’ve completely changed as a person for it. I knew you’d be upset, but I suppose I failed to consider that this approach would make you upset in a different manner.”

It’s Izuku’s turn to be silent. There are a lot of things Izuku could say; the lies are obvious, now that he’s here, talking to his father who is also Sensei, the ancient man whose Quirk lets him take and give Quirks as he pleases. His father didn’t tell Izuku from the start, either, that he was his father when they met again at Shigaraki’s insistence. He never gave any hint of his true occupation when Izuku was a child—though, of all the lies, it’s somehow the easiest to forgive, if only because Izuku suspects it is the simplest piece of this puzzle. It’s everything else that, while Izuku already knows he’ll forgive, does not erase the questions and worries swelling within him.

So the question is where does Izuku start with this. That list lengthens with every passing second, and he wonders if it’s better to start chronologically or alphabetically, worth spilling them out in a gush like he had when he was young and eager to decipher Quirks with his father, or one at a time like his father would when guiding Izuku to a predetermined destination. 

Another thought crosses his mind, then, far later than it should. A different wound reopens, oozing as he realizes another implication about Izuku’s past, considering who his father is.

Does he start there, at the place so close to his insecure heart? Or does he start with distance, and hope there’s time to draw closer (or not enough, so he can ignore the doubt, and maybe the inevitable hurt that comes with the worst possible answers?)

He takes a deep breath. The comforting scritching in his hair doesn’t cease. Another breath, something shaky as he decides it’s better to hope this decade old wound can be clumsily stitched shut again rather than fester until the day Izuku breathes his last.

Meekly, Izuku asks, “why… was there a reason you thought I should stay Quirkless?”

There’s a hundred additions Izuku can add: you knew about the bullies, you knew I cried myself to sleep some nights, you knew I had nightmares of bullies more than I ever did of villains, you knew I was alone, you knew I wanted to save so many people but was never going to be given the chance and you could’ve changed that. 

You could’ve put a stop to it before it began, and we wouldn’t have known the difference.

“There were a few reasons why you were led to believe you were Quirkless.” 

Izuku’s eyebrows furrow. “Led to believe?”

The hand leaves his hair, and while his father’s grip around him loosens, he doesn’t push him away. Rather, he only maneuvers Izuku so that he can look at him while keeping Izuku as close as possible. Then, he holds his hand out to him, palm up. Izuku looks between his father’s face and the hand, before tentatively setting his hand in his father’s. 

“Close your eyes,” his father instructs. “I want you to focus on the space where our hands are joined.”

His father’s hand is chilly and his palm is rough. Izuku thinks he feels a small gap in his palm, in the space Izuku once thought was simply a tattoo or a scar, but now wonders if it’s a mutation. 

Somehow, that spot feels different than the rest of his hand—it’s still cold, but the more Izuku pays attention to the unique ridges of his father’s palm, he realizes it’s not simply cold; it’s like he’s close to submerging in something, a diver floating just above the waves, looking into murky waters below and wondering what there is to find. 

“I want you to search for something there. Something warm—and when you find it—” he plunges, rumbling in his ears as he enters the dark depths of the unknown, but he can already feel traces of it, wisps of light and the smell of smoke, just hovering at the edge of his senses “—pull.” 

Izuku grasps. His fingers squeeze his father’s hand, and with a tug, that heat spreads within him, crawling up his bloodstream and settling in his lungs while something warm and wet settles in the space between their palms. 

His next breath chokes him, and he coughs, bits of smoke and spark with every hack. There’s blood between the crevice of their palms, but Izuku doesn’t think much of it as he raises his hands to his mouth and feels the lingering heat hovering on his lips. 

He exhales, one formed from practiced desperation, and between his bloody palms, fire blooms. 

“This is—”

“Fire Breath,” his father tells him. “It was the first Quirk I took, and I knew if I ever got the chance, I wanted it to be one of the Quirks I gave you—more specifically, I hoped this would be the first Quirk you took from me.”

The truth is both a sledgehammer to the chest and wings fluttering with every breath: “I wasn’t Quirkless.”

“No, you were not.” His father flicks his wrist, and from nothing, a wet cloth is held in his clean palm. Gently, he takes Izuku’s wrists and begins to wipe away the blood, revealing the center of each where a mutation, like his father’s, now sits. “It would’ve been dangerous to have a four year old running around with this.”

Dangerous seems like such a small word for all it can encompass. Who was it a danger to? Was anyone meant to be safe if Izuku had knowledge within his grasp?

“Giving you a Quirk was risky, because it could’ve triggered the mutation regardless of what you were given. If that happened, I suspect you would be more susceptible to an urge to use your Quirk, and the consequences of that… well. Beyond whatever fallout would happen at that moment, this would have drawn eyes that would threaten our family. It was safer for us all if you simply believed there was nothing to find.”

Izuku almost wishes he didn’t understand that decision. With his father’s status as a career criminal who was both rumor and real, having a child appear with the same Quirk was both a red flag to anyone with the right information and something that could draw massive attention even without. A Quirk like that could threaten everything—even just quietly existing in the background, like it does now, already leads to worried ripples and terrified whispers. 

There is something else that catches Izuku’s attention: “urges?”

“We’ve discussed it before, I believe. Dr. Itou’s—”

“Quirk Impacts on Human Psychology,” Izuku echoes. “He said that humans are inclined to use their Quirks, and that Quirk use or lack of use can have impacts on executive functioning and mental health…”

“That’s right. I imagine you’ve been handling any sort of urge through your analysis, which worked well when you had no reason to suspect, or try, taking someone’s Quirk. But now, it’s likely that examining Quirks will not be enough.”

Izuku stares at their hands. He might be a villain, now, has destroyed a man with his own two hands, but the idea that he could be driven to theft of such a personal degree is unsettling. “I’ll have to steal Quirks.”

“Only if you want to. I don’t mind parting with some of my collection until you’re ready to go somewhere else for something new. Even if you’ve chosen this path, I know your actions will still be driven by kindness, Izuku.”

It’s strange how he realizes that the statement isn’t a compliment, and, even more than that, it’s completely foreign to recognize he doesn’t mind that. Kindness has burned him—it took him almost too long to realize that. He gave and he gave and he burned and he burned for simply existing as someone who wanted to do good rather than be nothing. 

He left because he was tired of burning, wanted to die because every inch of him had been lit by someone else’s fire that he could not put out, and even now, he knows the kindness hasn’t molted from his flesh. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to shed it entirely, but little by little, maybe it will thicken and he will learn when to sheathe his kindness and when to wield it. 

Izuku leans his head against his father’s shoulder and stares at the freshly carved holes. He imagines sweat pooling on his palm and caramel sparks popping from his fingers—thinks, when that day comes is the day my kindness is my own, for his gentle heart cannot care for itself until he learns selfishness, for it was kindness that became the dangerous beast that can not be tamed. 

Shigaraki has captured it, for now. In its cage it rattles and rears its head with every act it witnesses and condones and participates in that it deems wrong, and Izuku clings to its neck, not ready to let go but knowing it's not safe to hold on. That beast will trample him—the bottle of pills hidden under his mattress tells him as much. 

So for now, Izuku can’t sit with the idea of such intimate theft without growls swirling in his stomach. But, quietly, “someday, I think.”

Someday, I’ll tame that part of me that wants to die. The day I want to live is the day I’ll be free to do what I want—and I don’t want to leave these people behind, no matter what it means.

Fingers start carding through his hair again. A curious hum. 

“Someday,” Izuku repeats, more certain, flexing his fingers. “Someday I won’t mind. I… I already know what I want, when that day comes.”

Those growls roar louder, scratching and hissing, as Izuku wonders what that boy will think when that power is taken from his hands. How the thing that made him wanted by this world would suddenly be gone, and would never be his again—how he’d feel knowing it was taken by that he burned most. 

Dreams burn, Izuku knows. It will be a lesson he imparts to Kacchan, too, when he can stomach the idea of it—after all, childhood showed their dreams were meant to match, but now Izuku is slipping onto a path so far from those nostalgically painful days and his oldest friend is forging ahead without a care for the ruins left behind, not yet aware that he will one day be dragged back into those crumbling halls and swallowed whole.   

It sounds fitting. Poetic, even. Shigaraki would get a kick out of it, and he thinks his father will too. 

“Then that day will come,” his father reassures. “We’ll make sure it does.”

Together. Izuku closes his eyes. He’s home, and the future will burn, but Izuku will not burn with it. 

#mha #bnha #dad for one #my fic #tw: suicidal ideation #again not the focus but it's there #astersatdawnfics

[astersatdawn]

Nightmares Forged From Fractured Peridots

Relationship: Midoriya Izuku & Sensei | All for One

Rating: Not Rated

Sensei | All for One is Midoriya Hisashi, Bad ending, Izuku has been vaulted, non-consensual (platonic) touch, non-consensual haircut, non-consensual Quirk use, referenced non-consensual drug use

Oneshot (Series) | 8.8k words

What a failure he was. Not able to stop All for One, not able to prevent his own arrest, not able to find his mother or the exit that would let them escape this labyrinth All for One used to trap them. Continuously running in useless circles of conversations with this demon in some desperate attempt to regain control. 

All for One sought a fantasy and deemed all of Izuku’s dreams as illusions in parallel. Izuku hated the tiny part of himself that was scared that those hopes were as futile as All for One insisted they were. 

-

[Or, another day, another failed escape attempt from All for One’s prison, and the consequences that come with Izuku’s failure.]

ao3 link: here

This is a sequel to Brimstone and Emerald Dreams (tumblr/ao3) but it is (probably) not necessary to read that fic before reading this one.

And just like that, it was over again.

He tripped, and then there was a hand wrapped around Izuku’s bicep—it was not a friendly gesture to keep him from falling, but a chain to drag him back to his cell.

“Izuku, what did I say about running in the halls?” All for One chided, maneuvering Izuku to face him as easily as manipulating putty in one’s hands. His other hand clamped onto his other bicep, keeping Izuku firmly in place, even though it was a paralyzing Quirk and not his grip that kept Izuku from running now. “You could get hurt.”

There were plenty of responses he could’ve said to that. He could’ve simply said that it’s too late for that. Izuku could point out the bruises from where his fists pounded against the walls, could point to the dried blood beneath his fingernails and the missing skin from his overly bitten lips. He could point to his own heart, rotting beneath his decaying ribs, or how his flesh sank inward despite how he fought for something more than a bone-brittle existence.

He could even scream about the thunderstorm in his chest, the one that rumbled whenever he was dragged to and fro on a whim, the one that raged when his father spoke of his mother’s treatment, the one that bristled with every patronizing word out of All for One’s mouth, spewing sugar-coated nonsense about the nuclear family he had shattered with his own two hands—how Izuku was always to be his parent’s child, an object to be smothered like he’s nine rather than sixteen.

Assuming he was still sixteen. 

He might be older, he didn’t know. Time is knowledge, and All for One, knowing Izuku is one to protectively cradle every detail close to his chest, would withhold far more than he ever gave, but still led him on with something like the possibility of answers, knowing Izuku would hang off his every word if it meant Izuku could gather one of those sparse fragments.

And All for One had given some answers at first. Not many. Some already known, others new, everything chosen with a meticulousness perfected by time. He’d kept Izuku in stasis as he carried his freshly woken body outside and walked around the barren streets of a city Izuku could not name—the only signs it had been a city once were the abandoned vehicles, the dilapidated storefronts with their half-burnt signs, and the charred scraps of bones and picked at skeletons. 

“I want you to understand where home is now, Izuku. There’s nothing out there for you—nor is there anyone who would accept you as you are, not like me. So stay here. You need to do nothing more than that.”

Maybe everything out there was truly all ashes. Maybe there was nothing, or no one, left for them to find. It was hard to be worried about a what-if when anywhere was better than here—it’s why he had to believe there was something else left out there. A friend, a stranger. Anyone. News to uncover. A sanctuary for two tucked away out of All for One’s sight. A desperation for a better life that kept Izuku running no matter how many times All for One insisted there was nothing better left. The world could not be lost, and their world could not be contained to just this place.  

He wouldn’t let the carefully selected scenery erase his dreams of hope, wouldn’t fall into the trap that was the logic of a megalomaniac man. Giving up on his wishes meant more than giving up on himself. He had to keep trying for the sake of his mother and whoever else still lived and fought another day in All for One’s Japan. 

So the statement “you could get hurt” was the most redundant thing Izuku had heard since he was brought here. It was far too late. Izuku was bruised and bleeding and holding on by the skin of his teeth. 

Telling All for One that truth was out of the question. 

But with the way Izuku was held, unable to move anything but his facial muscles, he knew a response was necessary.

“I know.”

“If you know, then you shouldn’t do it.” All for One sighed. “You’d get hurt less if you just listened to me, Izuku.”

Izuku held back a scoff. It’s obvious All for One wasn’t just referring to running in the halls, or any other prior admonishment for something treated like a childish antic. Ever since Izuku woke up here All for One played up the loving, concerned father as if that’s all it ever was. While he was not wrapped in layers of chains like he had been before, the thinness of his wrists, irregular doses of drugs that kept him even weaker, and the thick walls of the vault did nothing but remind Izuku that, as welcome as he was to be here, this was a prison and not a home, and this place had hurt his family more than enough. 

All for One had implied that obedience—that giving up—would change Izuku’s situation. Claimed that Izuku giving in to every one of All for One’s demands to act as the adoring son would make his quality of life improve, that he would get everything he wanted and that he’d never be in pain again. But Izuku knew better. If he agreed to that he may as well consider himself more corpse than man, for the heart that beat within his chest would no longer be his own. 

If getting more hurt would get him out of here, he would continue to accept that over succumbing to a bleak existence. 

Listening to All for One was not an option—it didn’t matter how frayed the rope Izuku clung to was, all that mattered was getting his mother out, and making sure enough of himself was left to go with her. Letting go—giving up—meant the end.  

He couldn’t give a half-hearted shrug in response, shoulders frozen as they were. Instead, all he did was mumble a quiet “I know.”

“No, you don’t. If you did know that we wouldn’t be here.” All for One’s hands squeezed his arms. “You’re making things far more difficult than they need to be.”

“I know.”

“Do you know how to say anything else?”

“Nothing that I want to tell you, and nothing that you’d listen to.” 

All for One sighed. “You’re proving my point. I’m not your enemy, Izuku. I’m your father—you can trust me.”

“Sure I can,” Izuku muttered, bitterness laced more heavily into his tone than it had been before. 

“What am I going to do with you?” He shook his head. All for One was silent for a long moment. Then he lifted a hand and his fingers were running through Izuku’s hair, curls falling past his chin. “I suppose that can come later. You’re overdue for a haircut.”

“It’s fine—” 

“It’s getting tangled.” All for One tugged on a small tangle to prove his point. “If you’re not going to take care of your hair, you shouldn’t let it get this long.”

Izuku bristled. It’s not like Izuku purposely let it get this unkempt—outside of Izuku’s rebellions, all decisions that should be his were instead ripped away from him. His schedule, from when he ate to when he bathed, were not his to decide. His clothes and appearance were not his to decide. Any tool, be it a comb or a toothbrush, were quickly classified as something Izuku would try and use to help his escape, and thus kept from him. With that structure, Izuku’s only means of managing his hair was with his fingers. 

“I can take care of it.” 

“Clearly not, you’re doing a poor job of it.” All for One ruffled his hair, making it messier than it already was, further empathizing just how much control he exhibited over Izuku’s every choice, or lack thereof. “Come on, let’s get that taken care of.”

Without warning, All for One adjusted his arms and lifted Izuku up. 

“I can walk,” Izuku spat out, unable to kick his way out of the hold. 

“You can, but you don’t need to. I can take care of you.” All for One squeezed Izuku like it was supposed to be a comforting touch. “And considering your display just now, I know you’re not interested in taking a walk.”

“I’ll walk,” Izuku insisted between gritted teeth. 

“And I’ll carry you. I want to take care of you, my little prince.” All for One ran his fingers through Izuku’s hair, passing by the knots that had formed since Izuku’s last struggle to pull them apart, and tilted Izuku’s head towards his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I have too much lost time to make up for.”

Time Izuku would rather spend away from him, but he knew saying that would make All for One more unbearable than he already was. Every touch kept his hairs standing on end, the stone in his stomach sinking deeper than it already was. Already, Izuku was sick of it, and it had only been a few minutes. Every disagreement seemed to increase All for One’s clinginess, and considering Izuku had an unwanted haircut coming up, Izuku knew he was nearing his limit of coddling before he said something that would get him a worse punishment than usual. He couldn’t risk losing too many windows of opportunity, not when they were already so limited.  

Tartarus had been a kinder place to him if only because it kept him out of All for One’s clutches for a while, even if that proved to not be enough—how long had it been since Izuku first found himself in captivity, struggling and failing to get free and do what needed to be done? 

What a failure he was. Not able to stop All for One, not able to prevent his own arrest, not able to find his mother or the exit that would let them escape this labyrinth All for One used to trap them. Continuously running in useless circles of conversations with this demon in some desperate attempt to regain control. 

All for One sought a fantasy and deemed all of Izuku’s dreams as illusions in parallel. Izuku hated the tiny part of himself that was scared that those hopes were as futile as All for One insisted they were. 

It continued like that for the next few minutes: Izuku, stuck stiff in All for One’s arms, fingers in his hair, silent and stewing in his resentments while All for One acted all merry. They didn’t go to Izuku’s cell, but a hallway not far from it, that Izuku had already inspected through a mixture of his escape attempts and All for One dragging him around. 

Their destination was a small multi-purpose room, shelves stocked with miscellaneous items ranging from hair care products to silverware. On the opposite wall of the door there was a sink, and above it, a mirror that captured the both of them: Izuku, glaring off into the distance, eyebags and pale skin illuminated by sickly lights, matted hair curling just beneath his chin, held tight like a trophy to All for One’s chest, who smiled not with that of deranged madman’s, but with something almost peaceful. 

Izuku would not be surprised if, before, this room had been a torture chamber, considering the centerpiece was a chair with multiple leather straps hanging off of it, which was right next to a miniature surgical table that already had a pair of scissors and a brush on top; even if it hadn’t been, he certainly felt tortured every time he was brought in here like this.

All for One gently set him down in the chair, and began to restrain Izuku. It was done with a practiced hand, one hand deftly tightening straps and buckles around Izuku’s arms, legs, and chest, while the other was still somewhere on Izuku—his hand, his knee, his shoulder, his head—to keep the paralysis Quirk in use. 

When he was done he ruffled Izuku’s hair and let him go. The second Izuku felt his limbs were his own again he tugged at his restraints, pulling up and forward and squirming no more than an inch. 

“It’s cute that you still think you can escape,” All for One cooed. Izuku felt the brush run through his hair, tugging and pulling with rapid strokes.“You’re not leaving unless I let you, Izuku.” 

“I literally just got out without you letting me.”

“No, you didn’t. You left your room, but you didn’t leave.” A yank. A few strokes more, each growing more gentle than the last, before it stopped altogether. He heard All for One set the brush back down on the table before he  walked over to the shelves, and picked up two bottles to compare. “And even if you found your way to the exit, I know you wouldn’t go, not without Inko.”

Izuku’s nails dug into his palm. He wished it wasn’t so obvious, if only if it meant Izuku knew something All for One didn’t. She had to be in this building, All for One had implied as much, and even if it was a lie, Izuku couldn’t take the risk of leaving her behind in this sort of place. Her presence was another cord for All for One to pull, but also a reward to give if Izuku submitted enough for All for One to attempt recreating the sham of a family he so desperately wanted. 

And he had seen her, more than once, since that condition became clear. 

Part of him hated that fact. He had fallen so far that he’d been seen as compliant, and yet, seeing his mother reignited him more than memory ever would. It was hard for those dinners not to, seeing the wariness in her darting eyes, her gentle voice gone mouse-quiet and fragile, resignation a heavy mantle on her shoulders, as playing her part meant she could see Izuku again. The truth of the matter was, as much as she was tether and treat for him, so too was he treat and tether for her. 

Every minute, every word, and every touch, was just another opportunity for both of them to break, and compliance meant falling apart faster—Izuku could only hope that his choice to keep fighting would give her the strength to not give up all the hope she had left. 

“...Where is she?”  

All for One settled on one of the bottles and grabbed a towel before heading back towards Izuku’s side.  

“Do you really think I’m going to tell you that?” The towel flapped out of sight before All for One tucked it around Izuku’s shoulders. “We just established her location is your goal with your escapades, Izuku.” 

From somewhere behind him, he could hear the squeak of a faucet, and then the rush of water splashing against the bottom of the sink. It wasn’t a consistent stream, as he could hear the water shifting as All for One’s hands moved under the water. 

“When will I see her?”

An amused huff. “You should know by now disobedient children don’t get what they want.”

“She’s my mother. If you’re going to discipline me then she should be involved.” 

“And you don’t need to see her for her to be involved, Izuku. You should know parents discuss things without their children.” Abruptly the back of the chair was pulled down, and Izuku’s eyes shut as warm water fell onto his forehead. All for One’s hands were back in Izuku’s hair. Instinctively Izuku tried to pull his head away, only for All for One to drag his head down more firmly into the basin, before using the Quirk to keep Izuku still. “You seem quite desperate to make some sort of progress today. Any particular reason for that?”  

The answer was a contradictory matter: there was a reason, in the same way there wasn’t one at all. A realization had struck him as he lay awake, waiting for the illusive mercy of sleep, that Izuku had no milestones to measure the length of his imprisonment. Izuku did not know when the last time he saw the sun or the stars was. He had no way to count the days, no concept of time—All for One made certain of that; the limited light in his cell never changed, and when his pacing and plotting became tiring Izuku tried to sleep with little way to distinguish between a minute and an hour. He had no clue how much time had passed between his imprisonment in Tartarus and the first day he woke up here—all he had was the memory of passing out in heavy chains in his tiny cell and waking up to the echoing chill of metal walls and the warm hand of a familiar-stranger Izuku never wanted to speak to again.  

All he had were those questions that he gathered and guesswork swirling inside him and melding into a desperate voice that slithered through him. Pick up the pace, his heart had hammered. Every minute here is a minute too long, every minute spent is another you fail to save somebody else, his toes restlessly curled tighter. You’re not supposed to be this useless again, get out, get out, get out, and his guts would spill out between his fidgeting hands, as he uselessly stared at walls for hours and hours as if waiting for sleep or death or salvation despite knowing he was the only one able to fight for it.   

Inaction built up every word, until the rambunctiousness of that inner voice had driven him to do something, anything, to get them one step closer to freedom, to find quiet in the adrenaline that guided him down labyrinthe halls, eager to find something more than fragmented hope. 

And instead he failed again. 

Now that voice was knocking, and despite the many ways All for One had to make Izuku’s body another prison, he could never capture his mind and silence a voice not even Izuku could quell. 

“No,” Izuku replied, and it couldn’t even be considered a lie.

“Nothing at all?” All for One hummed.  “There’s no shame in saying you simply miss your parents.”

“I only have a mother worth missing,” Izuku snapped before he could think. 

The hands in Izuku’s hair froze. Nails dug into his scalp, and a thick glob of horror swelled in his throat. 

He knew this would happen, had known coming into this room was a minefield ready to burst, and yet he walked right onto it anyway. There would be no simple, straight-forward punishment for this, Izuku knew that, too. 

“Oh? Then what about your father, Izuku? What am I worth to you?” 

Panicked eyes stared up at All for One, who stared down at him with a predatory smile and chilling gaze. It made Izuku aware of just how close they were—that if Izuku were anyone else, the hands on his head may have already pierced through his skull, uncaring for the mess that’d be left behind. 

Just as Izuku was desperate for escape from him, so too was All for One desperate for the affection of those he called his. The cost to them did not matter, not if it meant getting what he wanted, and denying him even the illusion of it invited the threat to return and rip away something more to get what he desired.

There had been one time before when Izuku had said something that caused All for One to snap like this. What exactly he had said was an answer left behind somewhere between heavy doses of drugs and darkness, but he knew it was something about All for One not being his father—something that opposed the illusion, and Izuku learned the best tactic was simply avoiding such topics altogether. 

And yet, here he was, implying this man had more value by not being around at all. A perfect contradiction to All for One’s disturbed fantasy.

What did he do here? Did he try to backtrack and appeal to All for One? 

No. He couldn’t—not even if he wanted to. Lies had never been his strong suit, but his honesty was still a fine line to balance. He was already due for an extension of the usual punishment, but now that he was in this more dangerous territory, he knew he could inadvertently drag his mother down with him if he didn’t take even a second to think. 

He didn’t mind digging the hole for himself just a little deeper if it meant making sure his mother stayed out of it.  

“I—mom might disagree, but I wish you never came back.”

Other words boiled in his stomach, words better left in the past Izuku could not completely bury, damning ones he vowed to never say, ones he hated himself for even thinking as he had searched his mind for excuses: I regret having missed you—loving you, thinking you were someone I wanted around. 

“How harsh, Izuku. To think you’d say such a thing after all I’ve done for you.”

“What you’ve done for me?” Izuku snarled. Snapshots of memories flashed across his vision: eager Quirk dissections on the couch after a long day and a mocking voice gleefully recounting a massacre, a warm meal for three with bites taken between chatter and laughter and desecrated cities beyond what they eye could see, birthday wishes that reminded him he wasn’t alone and isolated time lost in cold metal prisons, bedtime stories detailing dragons and sorcerers and suffocating visions of the death featuring people he loved. None of that had ever been for Izuku, no matter how often All for One said it was, no matter what Izuku once believed it to have been. All those resurfaced hurts and sickening thoughts festered within him. “You’ve done nothing, I wish you were a deadbeat—it’d be better if you were dead—”

Izuku’s jaw clamped shut without his permission. The dangerous expression on All for One’s face didn’t twitch, even though Izuku’s forced silence was a response enough that Izuku had not only crossed a line, but barreled far past the cliff’s edge. Without a word he shut the water off and lifted the back of Izuku’s chair back into a sitting position, and Izuku didn’t even have a second to orient himself before he was spun around so that he was face to face with All for One. He took Izuku’s face in his hands, cradled his cheeks and drew his gaze up to meet his. 

“What an unheroic sentiment from you, Izuku.” A chill ran through Izuku, hair standing on end, in response to such a cold voice. A drop of water trickled down his nose and crawled to his chin. “I’d almost be proud, but we don’t wish for death for our family, even in anger. Do you understand me?”

He felt a weight lift off his tongue, though it didn’t feel like less of one, considering it simply sank past his pounding heart and into his stomach instead. “Yes.”

“What was that? I can’t hear you, Izuku.” 

“Yes,” he said louder. Yet All for One’s expression did not shift, and Izuku knew at that moment he was expecting something more: appeasement. Izuku had seen All for One like this once before, only days after Izuku woke up here; once was enough to know it wasn’t worth ignoring again—he’d almost lost his chance for any opening to escape at all. He knew he wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. He was too close to teetering back into the very same darkness he was trying to avoid. One more wrong word, and he knew he’d never see light again.

A shaky inhale, a trembling heart—how useless of it to waver only now. How pathetic it was that he had to grovel at all, to cave into demands he had been clawing against not even a minute before. A hurried exhale—again, again—not fast enough as thumbs rubbed into bone. A desperate gulp—it was all simply another heavy stone to swallow. 

“Yes, dad. I’m sorry.”

How quiet those words were, syllables ashes on his tongue. The inflection probably didn’t matter—in the end, it was just another victory for All for One. Words had power, and for all the defiance Izuku could spout, if he was forced to kneel long enough to keep himself afloat, All for One would consider it another step closer to the obedient puppet All for One wanted him to be.

The strings dictating Izuku’s life were not all his to control anymore—one by one All for One plucked at the cords that created Izuku’s core, and as much as they vibrated with resistance, one day, Izuku suspected, All for One would be fed up because, as much as he tried, Izuku would never be what All for One so wished him to be. 

Izuku could not be here when that patience snapped. He’d already poked at the edges of it, and he was scared to find out what would happen to Izuku and his mother when he couldn’t bounce back. Yet, there was no telling how long All for One’s patience would last—while All for One was ancient, even he could not be forever patient, not when Izuku’s lifespan was far more limited than his. 

“Very good, Izuku.” The worst of the menacing aura faded, but Izuku knew it still lingered. He’d be walking on a thin tightrope until he was alone in his cell. “Thank you for your apology. You’re forgiven.”

For now went unspoken.

As if a final act of reconciliation, rather than the prize All for One saw it as, All for One held him like he was a pet owner comforting a sodden dog, petting his hair and holding him close. Izuku felt tears rise to his eyes, but these were not tears of relief. 

They were tears for all the things Izuku could never say, for all the pieces of himself he had to neglect to make sure they had a chance at getting out of here, for all of his failures and the mistakes he couldn’t name.

All for One would claim them as his, though. Tears for the regret of harsh words, for an imagined, repeating, grief if he were to leave Izuku again—even if both of them knew that was not the truth. 

They would both dream. All for One dreaming for it to one day be true, Izuku dreaming for the day he and his mother got the freedom they longed for. And in those dreams they lived, clashing and coexisting, determined to achieve their reality, utilizing every tool to reach their goals, and snuffing the other’s out until there was nothing of it left. 

Fingers threaded through his hair, and after minutes too long, All for One let him go. A wistful sigh. “Well, we do need to resume your haircut. I’d rather it doesn’t dry first—unless you have any objections?”

Another test. Izuku’s eyes flickered down to his lap. “...no.”

A doubtful hum.

“I need a haircut,” Izuku murmured. 

“That’s right, my little prince, you do.” In the corner of his eyes Izuku watched All for One pick up the scissors. Something twisted in his stomach—the scissors were less dangerous than All for One’s hands on him, and yet, the sight of something that could so easily be turned into a weapon left him even more unsettled. He wondered if it was because, once, he had been comforted by All for One’s physical affections, or if it was because he’d grown so used to them again; he hated the part of himself that wondered those things—it was the same part of him that didn’t offer another possibility that was kinder to his heart. “I’ll take care of you.”

A sharper twist. Izuku swallowed his tongue, and even though he was restrained but not paralyzed, he didn’t move an inch.

All for One’s movements were slow and thoughtful, but that didn’t keep him from chatting between each snip. 

A question about Izuku’s thoughts on a Quirk theory. Snip. Asking how Izuku enjoyed the book All for One had been reading to him. Snip, snip.  A harsh, off-handed reference to a hero Izuku admired—nails digging into palm and a clenched jaw. Snip. A quiz on the applications of a gravity Quirk that didn’t feel as theoretical as All for One tried to make it sound; tears bubbling within lowered eyes—a shaky breath as Izuku gave a careful answer. Snip.

Izuku felt a bundle of strands fall onto the back of his palm. Snip. They shook in time with every snip. Snip, snip, snip. His hair was pulled back and his skull jostled with it—the lost hair fell off of his hand and drifted onto the floor, featherlight and free. Snip. A hand on his cheek, the turn of his head. Snip. Up, down, pulled around gently like a little doll. Snip. Snip. 

Hot whirling air in his ear, something running through his hair. A chill as it dissipated. The room seemed to grow colder and colder as All for One kept swiping at his hair. Snip. The circling of a vulture around Izuku as if he were a corpse ripe for the picking. A passing thought spoken aloud Izuku had no response for. Something metallic set down.  

Hands on his cheeks and the edge of breath—they were so warm, but Izuku longed for the cold again. 

“Oh, you look so cute Izuku.” A kiss to his forehead and the ruffling of his hair. All for One moved to stand behind Izuku, one hand curled over his shoulder and the other under his chin nudged his gaze back up. “And so much like your father.” 

Izuku barely recognized himself in that mirror.

His hair was short, just a bit shorter than Izuku had ever let it get. It had always been a deliberate choice to never let it get cut to this length. Even as a child, this short curly hair had reminded him of his father. It may not have been as nightmarish when he was small, but now that Izuku knew more, having the similarities between them so starkly presented made him sick.

He could see the hint of his sharpening jaw, the shape of his eyebrows, the curve of his ear—similarities Izuku could hide when his hair was just a little longer. Before his imprisonment, he’d been considering letting it grow out even more, as if his thick hair could bury his secrets. Now even that choice was ripped away from him, and Izuku was forced to confront the things he never wanted to face.

Ignorance was not an option, not when All for One wanted to engrave this truth into Izuku’s very soul.

“Your father did a great job, didn’t he, Izuku?” 

A prompt, and Izuku knew he couldn’t risk ignoring it. Not after earlier. Bile soured his throat. “Yeah. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Izuku.” All for One pat his cheek. Through the reflection Izuku could feel All for One’s unrelenting stare. What All for One saw at that moment, Izuku didn’t know—he didn’t want to know. Whatever delusion All for One saw fulfilled in this moment was one Izuku never wanted to understand. “You’ve had quite the eventful excursion today—it’s time we get you back to your room.”

All for One spun the chair around to face him and then reached for the first of the latches. Izuku remained still as they came undone, one by one. Twitched as the last one came undone, and froze again as he saw All for One’s expression: taunting, expectant—ready to make Izuku’s existence more miserable, even if that’s the last thing All for One would call it. 

Izuku remained seated. 

A hand ruffled his hair, and Izuku flinched at the touch. A light twitch of the lip, but All for One made no comment about it. 

Careful inhale—shaky, quiet, exhale. Izuku’s hands curled into tight fists. How pathetic it felt to be compliant, how much his heart raged and his mind screeched louder the echoes of every error that got him here, but even more clear was the one voice reminding him that if he didn’t leave himself the possibility of opportunity, there would be no chance he would save his mother, let alone himself. He had to get her out of here, no matter what. 

Izuku moved, slowly, eyes on All for One, whose face betrayed nothing, to get out of the chair. Every movement felt like a test, even as Izuku simply stood up before All for One. Not running. Now wasn’t the time to go, even if he wished it was. Even if Izuku wasn’t monitoring his every twitch with such intensity, he would know now would be a poor time to run, even if earlier he would have tried to catch All for One off guard anyway.

Once it was clear Izuku wasn’t running, All for One’s smile grew and he ruffled his hair. Some demented reward—a pat on the back for All for One, a signifier of victory that Izuku had been forced to hand over. Then did nothing else; expectant, again, and this time, Izuku had no guesses as to what.

Izuku shifted on his feet, warily eyeing the space between All for One and the door. There’s no way All for One would let him walk back unsupervised, especially not after the conversation earlier. A step out of line, and Izuku could imagine the dark encroaching on him, the heavy restraints—cold stillness and warm adjustments—the sharp pain in his elbow keeping him half-lucid, and his mother’s crying voice—whatever this was now was the true tipping point.

Don’t mess up. Run. You’ve taken too many risks today—no, not enough. Ignore your instincts. They’re the only thing keeping you both alive and safe. They’ve ruined this attempt. Move, freeze, figure it out, figure it out. 

“Um…” Izuku hated speaking first. Not only was initiating the conversation the last thing Izuku ever wanted to do, but it was inherently a risk. All for One waited for the day Izuku spoke to him of his own free will of mundane things, but when that day was nowhere in Izuku’s foreseen future, it meant more conversational minefields to maneuver than normal. “Was there, uh… something else…?”

The only response was All for One’s poker face—still smiling, not telling if Izuku tipped towards total damnation or his ability to fight another day. 

Izuku hated it, but he hoped he had the right card to play to get the clue he was missing.

“Um… Dad..?” His voice cracked.

“Sorry Izuku, I was simply lost in thought,” he said with absolutely no sincerity, but his tone didn’t sound as menacing as before—Izuku didn’t breathe easy, but he didn’t feel like he was about to be thrown off a cliff. “You’re quite eager to get going, aren’t you?”

“Um…” Sounding eager translated to wanting to get away from All for One, which while undeniably true, was always the wrong thing to say. His brain scrambled for some reasonable excuse. “I… I’m just… tired. Sorry.”

Something flashed behind All for One’s eyes, but before Izuku could decipher its meaning, it was gone.

“Oh why didn’t you say so?” Like it was an invitation, All for One swept Izuku off his feet again. His arm was already out to strike out when he froze, the answer hitting him far later than it should’ve. 

Because of course this was what All for One was after—no matter what Izuku tried, he never let Izuku walk between rooms without restraints that kept him from running, and especially not after any escape attempt. Today, the restraint was All for One himself. He probably only let Izuku get away without directly asking All for One because Izuku called him dad without prompting.

Izuku did not want to decide if asking All for One to carry him or calling him dad was the worse choice of the two. 

With robotic stiffness Izuku lowered his arm, and All for One chuckled. “You seem surprised.”

“It—it was just sudden…” Izuku stared at his twined hands. 

“Hmm. You certainly seem more tired—you’re quieter than usual.” Was that an admonishment or not? Izuku couldn’t tell. He raised his shoulders in a short-lived shrug. All for One adjusted his grip to make Izuku lean closer to him. “We should get you to bed.”

An underlying implication—no meal first. 

It was a minor punishment; it had been an internal debate in the earliest days, to eat the food provided to him or not. It was better than the prison gruel he’d been living off before—sometimes it was even recognizable as his mother’s own cooking, which was something that he couldn’t bring himself to reject regardless of the circumstances—but accepting any of it still felt like some sort of concession, especially when each meal was a roulette wheel of if he’d be taking another dose of drugs Izuku could not name. 

In the end, Izuku knew if he wanted to get the two of them out of here, he needed to build up the strength he lost while in Tartarus, even if the efforts felt futile, and he was, at best, kept at a too-weak baseline. 

It also meant this would likely get back to his mother, and he knew she hated seeing him hurt himself in that way. It hurt her emotionally, and made Izuku feel guilty when he hadn’t before—a small, but effective punishment. He could feel that guilt settling in his stomach now, his mother’s face on the forefront of his mind.

“Okay,” he murmured, even quieter, trying to sound more tired than he felt. 

Maybe this was the best outcome of the day’s events. While he made far too many mistakes today, it seemed  All for One might be leaving him alone sooner than he would’ve had Izuku not made such a massive blunder. 

All for One still filled the silence as they made their way back. Izuku was careful with his responses, slower—easily explained with the cover he’d given himself earlier. It didn't take long before the door to his cell opened again, and he was once again back at where he started.  

All for One set him on the bed in the corner of the room, and took his time to tuck Izuku in like he was a toddler again. He fidgeted with each movement, but didn’t outright stop it, even as All for One ruffled his hair and Izuku felt the back of his head sink further into his pillow. 

“Um… night..?” 

“Sleep well,” All for One said, giving no hint to what the actual time was.

Izuku closed his eyes, and listened for the sound of All for One leaving.

And waited.

And waited.

He wasn’t leaving, was he?

Izuku tried to keep his breathing even. He knew All for One had seen him asleep, but he’s not going to open his eyes to check if All for One is watching him fall asleep—or just watching him in general. That unsettling feeling creeping over Izuku’s skin was enough of an answer, even if in another scenario someone may have brushed it off as paranoia. 

This wasn’t exactly unusual. He would never get used to the staring; it was uncomfortable as it was normal. 

Worse, he knew All for One knew his status because of Search. Even when he tried to fake it, he’d know if Izuku was really asleep or awake—not like being in either state would change the situation. It truly didn’t matter to All for One, and that may have been the worst part of it all; it never mattered what Izuku did, his existence alone was enough for All for One’s attention to be on Izuku. 

This may have been another punishment in of itself. Izuku would have gotten back up a few minutes after All for One left and started pacing—there were too many pent up feelings inside him to sleep. When he was moving it was easier to focus on what he needed to do next; trying to sleep made it too easy to spiral into the past. 

It was no surprise he didn’t sleep often.

Only when Izuku’s thoughts became so incoherent that they stumbled over themselves did Izuku find himself passing out for unknowable lengths of time. If none of the words inside of him could be understood, there would be no regrets to linger on while he rested. 

All for One staring at him, combined with the restlessness simmering inside of him, meant there was no way Izuku would stop thinking, let alone sleep.

Could he think himself into unconsciousness? Plan and review ideas for future escape attempts with All for One sitting so close to him? Could those ideas get so loud they’d drown out all else—would they consume him if he let them ring loud enough? 

Something ran through his hair and Izuku nearly jumped out of his skin. “Trouble sleeping? Would it help if I sang a lullaby?”

Izuku kept his eyes closed if only so he didn’t glare at All for One. “...if you want.”

The fingers in his hair toyed with his curls as All for One began to sing something low and familiar—something from a collection of vague memories, so distant it was easy to forget. Nightmares hadn’t been strangers, even as a child. From his youth they had clung onto him, never letting go, growing from tigers to monsters with every year that had passed. 

And in those moments, when his weakness was made transparent in the dark, it was not always his mother he ran to.

He remembered a hand in his hair like this, shaking as his fingers sunk into fabric desperate for an anchor. As tightly as he held on, so too was he held, shielded from all other eyes, as Izuku would find comfort in a heartbeat and that low voice that always sang this same rhythm. He’d been so small back then, so small and unknowing, so easy to carry back to his room—”you need to let go of me now, sweetie,” his mother squeezed him as she set him back on the floor. 

He looked up at her, clutching the bottom of her skirt. “But I don’t wanna.”

She laughed, and with such a gentle smile, she spoke, “I think you’ll like what’s out there.”

Izuku glanced toward the door in the distance, soft sunlight peeking beneath the gap in the bottom. The light looked nice, but he couldn’t help but glance back up at his mother. “But what about you?”

“What about me?” 

“I don’t wanna leave mama alone.”

“You won’t be.” She crouched down to meet his eyes. “Because I know you’ll come back after you have some fun, and then the two of us will be together again.” 

Something tugged at his soul, and he looked back towards the door. His tiny fingers began to unfurl, but didn’t let her go. “You won’t be lonely?”

“No.” She smiled. Slowly, he let her go. “Have a good day, Izuku.”

He grabbed the handle, cold beneath his scarred hand. Yet he couldn’t help but look back, find a reason to stay a moment longer, extend this conversation before he was forced to leave her again. “Do I look okay mom?”

His mother shuffled closer, muttering something under her breath as she fixed his tie. “You look great, my little hero. Now get going, or you’ll be late.” 

“Okay, I’m going, I’m going. I’ll come back.” It felt like such a heavy promise, even though he wasn’t going far. 

“I know.” 

He opened the door and stepped into his classroom. Immediately, a group of heads gathered in the far back corner lifted up and met his eyes.

“Deku!” Uraraka waves.

“Midoriya-kun! Please be mindful of the time! You were almost late!” 

“There’s seven minutes before class starts.” 

“That’s two minutes before the five minute bell! Students should arrive at least 30 minutes early—”

“Isn’t that a little overkill prez?” 

Iida launched into a lecture about the merits of arriving early, and while Izuku let the lecture fade into the background, thinking about how much Iida cared about all of them soothed him. He went around the classroom greeting his classmates: smiles and laughter and previous days discussed—Kacchan’s words gruff and dismissive even as he leaned towards the closest conversation to listen, Todoroki’s quiet recollection of his most recent visit to his mother, Uraraka cheerfully recounting a few great sales she and Tsuyu stumbled upon as they wandered the mall the day before, Jirou recommending music to Kaminari and Yaoyorozu leading into a discussion on synesthesia, the updated score for Kirishima and Ojiro’s recent set of arm wrestling matches, another match demanded with Ashido and Hagakure cheering them both on, Satou passing out treats, each uniquely decorated and getting thoughtful compliments and gushing excitement and gratitude from the rest of his classmates.

“I missed this,” the words slipped out of Izuku’s mouth.

“Missed what?” 

“I… I don’t know.” Izuku shook his head. He set a hand above his chest—for such a lovely moment, his heart seemed so still. His fingertips felt so cold, yet his chest, unbeating as it was, felt so warm. Tears slipped out from his eyes, and he brushed it aside, watching it dry on his flesh as if it could give him an answer for why peacefulness felt so foreign. “But… but, I’m here now, so—” 

A startled gasp, a tight tug on his scalp—Izuku scrambled to sit up but his limbs locked in place, his body manipulated by hands that weren’t his. 

His pillow was gone. Instead, his head rested on All for One’s lap, and now he stared up at him, utterly frozen beneath that cold anger that had no origin Izuku could name. 

Yet, as quickly as that anger had appeared, it was gone, and All for One stroked the top of his head as if to heal the lingering aches. “It’s good to see you awake, Izuku.”

He slept? No, of course he had—pieces of the dreams still lingered, even if the gentleness that had tried to hold him was quickly fading into a longing ache paired with a quiet apprehension. But if he had been asleep, what had bothered All for One so much to wake Izuku up so violently?

“While you were asleep, I spent some time contemplating your punishment.” Of course everything before now hadn’t been enough—his teeth clenched, trying to figure out what could be coming, even if the alarm in the back of his mind already told him, if it was coming so suddenly like this, it wasn’t meant to be guessed. “Your sudden bout of tiredness gave me an epiphany, and so I decided that this time, I’d choose your punishment based on a gamble.” 

“A gamble?” Izuku echoed. What sort of gamble would All for One make while he was asleep?

All for One’s hand cradled his cheek, his thumb tracing the dark eyebags beneath Izuku’s lids. “Truthfully, I never liked watching you sleep, Izuku. My time with you was already limited, and even more was taken from me whenever you needed to rest. I had a choice to make when you were younger: did I let you keep a regular sleep cycle, and risk you running away from me as you grew older, or did I trap you within your delusions but knowing you’d physically always be close by? I made my choice, and we’re here now as a consequence of that.” 

Izuku shuddered—had he really been that close to being imprisoned in his own mind as a child? 

Then, a worse thought: there was a reason this was coming up now, and an unsettled dread crept through his veins. 

“But now I realize—neither of those had been the right answer at all. And so, that brings us to my gamble. I wondered how much your dreams changed, my little prince, and so, I decided to find out. Lullaby, Deepened Sleep, Dream Toggler, Gentle Dream, Dream Reader—all of those Quirks to test your subconscious. If they showed something I liked, then I’d keep things as they were before, and pick a different punishment.”

A gamble Izuku was always destined to lose, then. All for One would be the delusional one between the two of them if he had truly expected any other outcome—but maybe, the more likely truth was that All for One knew the outcome of his self-made bet from the start. If he hated his previous decision in hindsight, and found a better solution during the perfect time to implement it, there was no way All for One would pick any other alternative.

Even more violating was the fact that the kindest dream he’s had since he’d arrived was no longer only his to remember. 

Maybe Izuku should be more surprised that his dreams were intruded upon. Yet, with All for One’s obsessive need for control, it was surprising it had taken this long—already, his body was not always his own to move, and sometimes words he never wanted to say were ripped from his throat. So how long would Izuku’s mind be his sole solace from that control? How long did he have before even his every thought was overheard? 

“You’re familiar with the gift I gave your uncle, and I’ve decided I’m going to give you a similar one.”

“A Quirk?” Izuku couldn’t hide the horror in his voice—it was both an inexplicable worst case scenario and one that didn’t make any sense. “You—you can’t get that back, not without—”

Not without taking One for All. 

“I won’t need it until you’re ready, Izuku. Until then, I’d rather you hold onto it—it’s called Sleepless. Its purpose is rather simple: you don’t have to sleep anymore, Izuku—you won’t be able to even when you want to.’

That… that didn’t sound like the worst thing. He may not be able to escape his own thoughts, but more time awake meant more time planning to escape and getting out of here. He had to be missing something—there’s no way it could be that simple. 

“The best part of that Quirk is that, despite the purpose of that Quirk, it doesn’t grant any immunity to sleeping Quirks. You’ll still be able to sleep when I need you to, Izuku.” All for One tapped the skin next to Izuku’s eyeballs. “Maybe with this those eyebags of yours will finally clear up.”

Izuku’s eyebrows furrowed. “When…  when you need me to?”

“That’s right. Unlike before, I can spend all your waking hours with you, and when I have to go away, you can finally sleep. You won’t be able to use that convenient excuse to get out of spending time with your father. We can be together for as long as we want—isn’t that great, Izuku?”

Izuku stared up at him, wide-eyed with horror and rage. Every muscle in his body yelled with desperate need to fight, to resist; his skeleton desperate to rip away from his flesh and bring Izuku’s mutilated body somewhere out of All for One’s reach. But he couldn’t even shake his head, couldn’t even snarl every word trapped within his clogged throat. That demented, gleeful smile peered down at him, fully aware of the turmoil in Izuku’s gut, but eager to achieve an unexpected checkmate. 

Every waking moment spent with All for One, trapped in stasis when he wasn’t. Every expectation of Izuku’s imprisonment had just been turned on its head. Up until now every plot, every attempt, had been made when All for One’s eyes were drawn away from him. Maneuvering around All for One’s moods on a semi-regular basis was difficult, but if he had to spend all his time doing that?

When would he have the time to figure something out? How could he sneak away when All for One would watch his every move more closely than before? 

Izuku hadn’t thought there was a worse punishment than being half-aware in the dark—didn't think this situation could get any worse at all.

All for One’s hand fell over his face, could see the streaks of red light as something shoved its way through Izuku’s flesh, only had one thought as the sickly taste of Sleepless crammed itself into his skull, and its influence spread its roots beneath his eyes.  

He was wrong. 

#mha #bnha #dad for one #dreams that are(n't) mine au #i'm indecisive about the rating for this fic #considering the tags #so i'm going with not rated how spooky #anyway surprise i actually wrote a sequel for once #this happened because i wanted to try to write something worse than b&ed and had the epiphany that i could in fact write a sequel #and there might be more to this au but i will not make promises #but just know i have plans. evil plans #considering how this au (and fic) spawned i've decided the nature of this series is literally “how can i make it worse” #the fact that this is hurt/no comfort hurts my hurt/comfort loving soul i hope you all know this #(but boy do i also love angst) #astersatdawnfics #my fic #long post

[astersatdawn]

Human Trait or Learned Behavior

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Sensei | All for One

Rating: G

Sensei | All for One is Midoriya Hisashi, and he keeping the poor boy in a vault

Oneshot | 576 words

Flashes of memories come to mind: locked janitor closets and spider lily decorations and starburst scars. He remembers vandalized desks and notebooks and thinks of deliberately chosen ignorance. 

“But that’s not what I chose to find.” Izuku captures a piece with a rook. 

“Then what do you see, Izuku?” He laughs, curiosity and derision mixed in something that Izuku thought was warm, once.

-

[Or, Izuku and his captor talk during a game of chess.]

ao3 link: here

“You’re naive.”

“And you’re cynical.” Izuku moves his knight. It’s not like he has much better to do right now, besides keeping his budding plans for his next escape attempt quiet. 

“I have over a century’s worth of experiences, Izuku.” The white bishop captures one of Izuku’s pawns. “I have seen the savagery humanity tries to hide—though I suppose it’s no longer a well kept secret.”

“Yet you only see what you interact with, and what you’ve chosen to create.” He moves a pawn one space forward. “Of course you’re only going to see the worst when you only seek that out.”

“I know you’ve seen it too. You may have One for All now, but you were Quirkless before.”

Flashes of memories come to mind: locked janitor closets and spider lily decorations and starburst scars. He remembers vandalized desks and notebooks and thinks of deliberately chosen ignorance. 

“But that’s not what I chose to find.” Izuku captures a piece with a rook. 

“Then what do you see, Izuku?” He laughs, curiosity and derision mixed in something that Izuku thought was warm, once.

And the memories Izuku digs up are fewer in number, but crystal clear in their beauty. He thinks of simple things: a boy getting a cat out of a tree, of an elder beginning to explain the unknown to a curious youth, of a young couple dropping their too many groceries and helped by a small group of teens. 

He remembers these moments with bright summer lights and through cold autumn rains. He remembers a neighbor with a premonition Quirk warning about winter snows and helping craft a garden with dirt-painted hands come spring. 

And closest to his heart, he thinks of quiet nights in the dorms, steaming mugs and comforting whispers in the dark. He thinks of comparing notes, lighthearted banter traded between correct answers and secret smiles as a teacher watches on without admonishment. He remembers a mother’s embrace when he sobbed his heart out, and even now he thinks of the bittersweet hair ruffles from father to son when pride had swelled in Izuku’s chest and it was something to be shared, not stolen or diminished. 

“Kindness,” he says after a long silence. 

His opponent makes the move Izuku had been hoping he’d make, and Izuku fights back the tiny smile that comes with that same little bit of pride—a simple childhood dream finally in reach after years of learning and growth and persevering. Maybe this shouldn’t be the moment for such an expression, for such a feeling, but it’s a memory Izuku will still tuck into that box of those bittersweet moments that will never quite glisten again. 

“Hope.” He moves his rook to the other end of the field. “And checkmate.”

The expression on his father’s face is bewilderment he will actively treasure when Izuku goes back to quietly plotting in his isolated cell. It will give him hope that he can find his way out—if little Izuku’s dream of finally beating his father at chess could come to fruition, then who’s to say Izuku can’t escape his father’s possessiveness too? 

His father laughs, and his expression changes again. It’s not mockery, or sadism, or a manipulative grin, but one he recognizes from moments of pride shared. It is human nature, it is goodness on the face of evil incarnate. It’s familiar, even if the ache that settles in Izuku’s chest is not.

“Checkmate indeed.” 

#mha #bnha #dad for one #happy april fools the joke is i'm posting more than one (old) fic today #because that is totally a joke right??? xD #astersatdawnfics

[astersatdawn]

“Did you really risk our entire plan just to play music at random times from Akechi’s phone!?”

“I didn’t risk the plan.” Futaba shrugs. “He’s far too deep into denial to have caught on.”

“What do you mean ‘too deep in denial?’ That doesn’t make any sense!”

-

[Or, after Futaba meets the party, music becomes a regular part of the Phantom Thieves lives.]

gen + m/m / rated t / 3.3k words

#persona 5 royal #fic #shuake #astersatdawnfics #old fic #my adoration for the p5 ost will never die

[astersatdawn]

The movements come naturally now, efficiently cleaning the wound and moving to pull out some clean gauze to wrap up the first injury. He works carefully, even under Kurusu’s intense stare as he twists the gauze around his arm.

“I’m tired,” Kurusu admits in a whisper. Of everything, Kurusu doesn’t say. Of murder and politics, of the masquerade of the detective prince, of living.

Goro doesn’t pause his work, letting his hands carry him while his brain decides his words. “I know.” Goro says. “And I don’t care.”

“You don’t sound like it,” Kurusu responds.

-

[or, in another universe, a different black mask survives the engine room, but not without injury.]

m/m / rated t / 2.1k words

#persona 5 #shuake #fic #old fic #astersatdawnfics #written for akeshuake fluff & hurt/comfort week

[astersatdawn]

It’s a misunderstanding, Goro reminds himself, nails digging into his palm, stopped from curling too deeply only by the leather of the glove. It’s a misunderstanding, and they’re not even dating anyway. It’s fine, he repeats to himself as his teeth grind together.

-

[Or, while hanging out, Goro, Akira, Ann and Shiho are mistaken as couples and dragged into a couples photoshoot.]

gen, m/m, f/f / rated t / 5.2k words

#persona 5 #shuake #fic #old fic #written for akeshuake fluff & hurt/comfort week #astersatdawnfics #this was a fun one to write #goro & ann is great but consider: goro & shiho

[astersatdawn]

Every corner he turns has him looking out for just a hint of Joshua, but all he finds are more brand names he doesn’t recognize on storefronts he had once known and a crowd of pedestrians he bumps into with more frequency than when he was 15.

-

[Or, the streets of the city he loves are unfamiliar, but it doesn’t stop Neku from seeking out its composer and spot a glimpse of his burden undertaken for it.]

m/m / rated t / 3.3k words

#joshneku #neotwewy #twewy #fic #old fic #joshneku valentine's day exchange 2022 #astersatdawnfics #i think i'm finally caught up with the drafts for old fics OTL #it felt like it'd never end... lol #now the question is will i actually get these queued (it's sept 4) #i started making these drafts in... before august. #srsly there is a variety in the time periods i wrote these tags i wonder how dated they'll be when they finally get posted lol #ofc there's still a few more repost posts incoming since i shuffled them #this one just happened to land towards the back xD

[astersatdawn]

Yet what makes his breath stop is another mask shift, a white mask fitting onto Kurusu’s face with prominent scars running below in perfect cohesion. Beneath the mask, his silver eyes are sharp, like they see the truth of a person: their personality, their secrets, their life stories, and it makes Goro wonder how exposed he had truly been when Kurusu had been wearing Goro’s own mask.

-

[Or, Goro Akechi has always been able to see the masks people wear. It takes longer for him to realize their connection to the metaverse, and even longer to meet someone with an unusual assortment of masks…]

m/m / rated t / 2.9k words

#persona 5 #shuake #fic #was posted for shuake week 2020 #this was a fun fic to write #astersatdawnfics

[astersatdawn]

Joshua doesn’t answer, instead, his eyes follow the images along the prescribed path. “I wonder, did you pick those notes for any reason?”

“Not really.” Neku leans further back against the wall. “They’re pretty random since I’m not much of a composer.”

Joshua’s snicker is quiet, just at the edge of his hearing. “I suppose that’s true. Your artistic talents clearly lie in the more visual arts. Still this is quite a surprising sight.”

-

[Or, Neku finishes a mural and Joshua decides to visit.]

m/m / rated t / 1.7k words

#twewy #neotwewy #joshneku #joshneku week 2021 #fic #old fic #astersatdawnfics

[astersatdawn]

As the living room comes into view, he finds the unexpected: someone is sitting on the couch, one arm lazily slung over the back of it, head twisted to look directly at him, the other hand dangling a steaming mug between his fingers, attempting to look as if he belongs in Neku’s house even though he doesn’t live here.

“Good morning,” Joshua says, voice airy as he gives the mug a light shake, all as if he isn’t here before dawn.

-

[Or, Neku has a nightmare and a visitor.]

m/m / rated t / 2k words

#twewy #neotwewy #joshneku #fic #old fic #joshneku week 2021 #astersatdawnfics #one of my favorite pieces i posted

[astersatdawn]

Joker: i don’t flirt with him, not at all

Joker: just your imagination

Then he switches back into the game.

[Joker Wild]: awww honey<333333

[Joker Wild]: you’re so sweet<33333

-

[Or, Akira and Goro get married in FFXIV. It gets harder to hide their feelings when their flirting begins to escalate because of it.]

m/m / rated t / 2.1k words

#persona 5 #shuake #p5 ffxiv gamer au #was for shuake week 2021 #i wrote all those fics in like... 2 weeks? #it might've been one #absurd i know i can't do it anymore lol #anyway i have way too much fun mashing my favorite things together #it is a genre of fic/art that i will not stop creating #astersatdawnfics

[astersatdawn]

In the background the news chimes about the details on how Shido had collapsed just an hour ago in the Diet Building, and Akira wraps his arms around Goro’s neck. Goro’s hands settle on his waist as the newscaster mentions that the cause of death appears to have been a mental shutdown. Even though Goro’s head no longer rests on his shoulder, he hasn’t taken a step back, the two of them still pressed chest to chest as they sway to the rhythmatic announcement of Shido’s untimely demise.

-

[Or, a night of celebration after the death of a politician]

m/m / rated t /  4.7k words

#persona 5 #shuake #fic #old fic #astersatdawnfics #written for akeshuake fluff & hurt/comfort week

[astersatdawn]

“What are you doing in my house?”

Kurusu shrugs. “I was bored.”

“Bored…” Goro mocks under his breath. “How did you even get in here? I know I locked the door.”

“I unlocked it. Wasn’t that hard.”

This idiot. “I could have you arrested for breaking and entering.”

“But you won’t.”

-

[Or, Akira and Goro live in the same apartment complex, so visits between the two are frequent. They become more common when Akira starts breaking into Goro’s apartment on a regular basis.]

m/m / rated t / 5.3k words

#persona 5 #shuake #fic #old fic #astersatdawnfics #written for akeshuake fluff & hurt/comfort week #tbh i was very proud of this one #so it makes me happy that it's one of my more popular pieces

[astersatdawn]

To Goro Akechi, a beloved rival, Tonight, I intend to steal a most precious possession and it would be quite a shame if the guest of honor and a stalwart companion did not try to catch me in the act.

-

[Or, Goro’s morning starts with a calling card in his mailbox and the aspiring detective, Nanako Dojima, at his door. A new day, a new mystery to solve.]

gen, m/m / rated t / 7.5k words

#persona 5 #persona 4 #fic #old fic #shauke #astersatdawnfics

[astersatdawn]

In all the time Goro has known Akira, he’s never seen him so shaken. In the past, he’d watch as Akira would run into problems in his life, dancing alongside them all with extreme care but playful attitude. Maybe it isn’t a good idea to trust Akira, with his goals so close and Akira’s actions so out of the ordinary it’s suspicious.

-

[Or, Goro is an assassin for Shido Masayoshi. When he returns home from his most recent mission, he returns to an anxious Akira, ready to run, yet Goro has no idea why.]

m/m / rated t / 2.7k words

#persona 5 #shuake #fic #was written for shuake week 2020 #old fic #astersatdawnfics