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sabu-rina · 5 months

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Sour - past Touya/OC (NSFW)

tags/TWs \\ References to Underage, Reference to grooming, Spit Kink, mention of vomit, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Canon, Deku is dead and the villains won, Touya survived

Villain!Eun AU. She once loved him, so Touya could be the key to getting Eun back, but it's easy to forget or dismiss the damage done when you "date" a 16 year old girl as a 24 year old man. Now 18, Eun isn't the girl he knew. (AO3)

Eun ran her tongue from palm to pinky, collecting the lime juice that had dripped from her lips. She set her shot glass on the bar with the others, leftover salt from the rims crackling beneath it, then picked up the next one. She paused a moment to stare down at the clear liquor with eyes so heavy-lidded she looked as tired as she felt, but the good parts of her soul needed a little more drowning to shut them up, so she threw it back, not bothering with a chaser. No flinch, even if it did burn all the way down.

As she reached for the last glass, she felt warmth at her back as two long arms appeared in her periphery, easily reaching around her to grab the bar, effectively locking her in place. Lips pressed to the shell of her ear, further heating her booze-warmed body.

“I never took you for a tequila girl,” came the low, raspy voice of Dabi—Touya Todoroki. His leather jacket creaked as he unbent, tilting his head to see at least part of her face. She was flushed, but no more than when he’d walked in. Rather than turn, to see his face, she flagged the bartender for three more shots. He nodded, but she knew if she were anyone else, he would have cut her off.

“What do you want?” she asked coldly.

“Just thought you’d want to know I survived your little trick.”

“Yeah. I saw.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“If I wanted you dead, you would be.”

“You dropped a building on me.”

She heard his smirk and couldn’t help the upward tick in the corner of her mouth. Her gaze dropped to the glass as she picked it up, then she sat back a bit, the small distance all she had before her shoulders met the wall of his body. She closed her eyes and stuck her tongue out to lick along the rim, collecting as much salt as she could. When she tilted her head back to down the shot, her black, glassy gaze bore into his, her expression uninterested while the light in her eyes almost appeared heart shaped. She swallowed and he saw the bob of her throat, but then his eyes drifted lower to the hemline of her tank top where a small dark bruise had freshly formed on the top of her breast.

Fuck.

He quickly resettled his eyes on her face, which was now facing him fully as she kept her head rested on his shoulder. The little quirk of her lips was gone, leaving her emotions unreadable even to him. After a brief silence between them, she spoke first.

“Are you going to cage me all night or sit down?” she asked dully.

“We both know the second I move, you’ll use an illusion and escape,” he said. She studied him for a moment, then sighed and leaned forward again, turning away.

“No, I won’t.” The bartender set down her trio of shots and went to clearing away the rest. “I’m not done drinking.”

Touya stared at the back of her head and contemplated dragging her out of the shitty villain bar. Without a Quirk dampener or shock anklet, there wasn’t a soul inside that could stop him…Except her. The fight wasn’t worth it, so he sighed and made his way to the empty stool beside her and pulled it right next to her before sitting. Well, all the stools were empty. None of the other patrons sat at the bar with her. He glanced behind at the tables of people talking quietly amongst themselves, and no one looked in their direction.

He looked at her next, letting his eyes trail up the entire length of her body, from her feet to her cute, little nose. Even hunched, he could see how long and tall she was, especially her legs, which were no longer covered by joggers. He remembered hating the sweatpants after seeing her in nothing, wishing she’d wear a skirt like she did at school. The thought skeeved him out now; Dabi could ignore the whole age thing, but shame had introduced itself to Touya.

Even though she was an adult now, he found himself preferring joggers and oversized t-shirts over her current getup. She wore thin, dark grey leggings with torn knees and shiny black hotpants. The black tank top was lowcut and just as skintight as the rest, giving the illusion of more cleavage and leaving little to the imagination, including the fact she was braless. Gone were her sneakers too, replaced with boots that had seen better days.

He let his gaze wander once more before seeing the bruise again. His eyes narrowed and flicked up to her face, which paid more mind to her next shot than him. He watched her lick the rim again before downing it, then biting into her last slice of lime, the juice dripping down her chin as it had before. Before she could wipe it away, he reached over and grabbed her chin to smear it with his thumb, just to get her to look at him for real. She didn’t look surprised and made no move to pull away, just stared at him. Tired. Gone.

“Eun,” he said softly, his thumb moving to her bottom lip. He pressed gently, nearly mesmerized by the glossy pink flesh, wet from the lime. He wanted the stars back, the way her black eyes would light up when he showed her affection, a surprisingly adorable reprieve from the darkness. But when he looked into her eyes again, there was still nothing there. He pulled her lip down a bit before letting it go and retracting his hand.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low and brow furrowing. “What are either of us doing here? You should be at home, not throwing back shots in the slums like it’s all you’ve got left.”

“Oh? And where should you be?” she asked, her blank expression unchanging.

“With you,” he said, without thinking.

She laughed once, humorless, then scoffed and looked forward again. Three more fingers, the bartender nodded and cleared the old, not sparing Touya a glance. He watched her, trying not to be hurt by her reaction, but his heart had grown 3 sizes since they met almost two years before. She waited for her drinks before responding, pointedly doing her next shot without salt or the lime, and even more pointedly, slamming it on the bar dangerously close to where his hand rested. She turned on her stool and slammed her boot into the stool between his legs, forcing it backward and actually startling him.

Finally, she showed an emotion, but it wasn’t one he wanted. She seethed at him and bared her teeth.

“I don’t need saving, and I sure as fuck don’t need you. The only reason that building didn’t crush you is because I didn’t want it to, but not because I have feelings or some bullshit. Not for you.”

“So, it’s true…” he said quietly. She faltered, confused, then looked more pissed than before, if that was possible.

“What is?” she asked.

“When you stabbed Mr. Anger Management, you missed on purpose. You could have killed my little bro too, but you didn’t. Just like Uncle said.” She opened her mouth to argue, but then snapped shut. She sat a little straighter.

“Uncle is here?” she asked, suddenly incredibly calm. “Where?”

“Can’t say,” he said, then added, “Don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Really, Eun. He comes and goes.”

She gave him a once over with a look as though he were dogshit on her shoe, then turned again and got off her stool, boots thudding heavily on the creaky wood. The bar had gone silent, the other patrons staring down at their drinks as they waited for the storm to pass. Without sparing Touya another glance, she reached over and grabbed the last two shot glasses, then turned heel, and marched for the door, unimpeded by anyone.

Once her figure had disappeared out the door and into the rainy night, the low din of the bar returned as relief washed over everyone. The bartender clicked his tongue and mumbled about not paying, so Touya pulled a stack of cash from his pocket and slid it to him, earning a surprised but elated look. He got to his feet, waving off the man’s gratitude—it was his dad’s money anyway.

Lightning cracked when he set foot outside, lighting up the vacant street and all the connected alleys. Touya squinted through the heavy rain and looked both ways for her. It didn’t take long to find her thanks to her dirty blonde hair catching the light from one of the working streetlamps. He jogged lightly to catch up, then slowed to a brisk walk once a little closer. She was hunched with her arms crossed, fuming for reasons he wasn’t quite sure yet. Luckily, she wasn’t going as fast as she could, so he caught up to her just as she turned into an alley.

“Fuck off,” she said once he was close.

“Eun, please. Just talk to me.”

“Eat shit.”

“Wait a fucking second.” He grabbed her arm suddenly and yanked her back, his Quirk flaring for just a moment, enough to light up her face as she spun around. The rain running down her face looked like tears, her hair glued to her forehead or pushed behind her ears, leaving her eyes wide open for him. She looked surprised rather than angry, but that changed when the blue fire died away, leaving them in shadow again.

“What do you want?” she spat. She ripped her wrist from his hand and shoved his chest with surprising strength.

“I’m trying to tell you, it’s okay to come home! They’ve been trying to tell you sorry, but you’re too stubborn to listen! You don’t have to work for that dusty ass, you don’t have to be a villain!” The irony of his own words made him sick, but he needed to get through to her. The others were so sure he could, that he might be the only one who could, but that was proving incorrect. She stared at him for a long while, the whites of her eyes almost glowing in the dark. Slowly, she spoke again.

“I’m where I want to be,” she said quietly, “And it’s not with you, or with them.”

“It’s Shigaraki, then?” he said, the sharp edge of jealousy leaking out. She clenched her jaw, not going to qualify the accusation with an answer, but then he was in her face, one hand on her shoulder and the other holding her hip. She didn’t move away or flinch, not even when his fingers dug into her flesh, shaking ever so slightly with anger. His hand drifted from her shoulder to her neck, then her throat where it tightened, jerking her even closer to him. She was only an inch or so shorter than him, but his boots gave him a couple extra, making him look down at her just a bit. Her lips parted in a small, silent gasp, her eyes widening as he leaned closer, his own lips drifting closer to hers.

Then he relaxed his shoulders a bit and let go of her throat to run his hand down her chest, fingertips grazing over her collarbones on their way to the top of her breast, where they lingered and pressed lightly on that damned bruise. Her breathing stopped, knowing exactly what he was touching.

“It’s Shigaraki,” he repeated, almost whispering, “It’s this. That’s why you’re here.”

“…What are you saying?” she asked, barely breathing.

“You let him touch you,” he accused, “More than that?”

Suddenly, the wide-eyed girl with a cute little nose and pretty lips, the one who kissed him earnestly after he’d been such an ass, the one who still cared for her friends despite all the agony life threw at her, that girl was gone.

In the moment her face darkened, and her fangs returned, when her third eye shot open and glowed red, he felt his limbs wrench from his body, saw them bounce off the gritty alley walls on either side of them. His guts lurched as he was pushed back by an invisible but incredible force, his feet leaving drag marks in the ground, then the force was gone and he fell to his knees, barely catching himself on instinct as he emptied his stomach on the concrete. As he huffed, vision swimming, it dawned on him that he still had his arms and legs, even though the pain had been real. He coughed, more spittle joining the puddle, then leaned back on his legs so he could look up at her. She was staring down her nose at him, third eye slowly closing again.

“I let him touch me. I let him fuck me too, and sometimes we cuddle, and I pretend it’s love. But you know that already, because I’m just a stupid little girl who will lay down for any older man who shows me attention, right? Spit in my mouth. Praise me. Degrade me. Show me what I’ve been missing. And I’ll call him daddy because daddy issues are hot. Pun fucking intended, you fucking asshole.”

Her boot collided with the center of his chest, sending him onto his back. He felt his heel hit the mess he’d expelled moments before and grimaced. Thud. Thud. She slowly approached, each foot on either side of his waist when she stopped. Then, he grunted as she aggressively sat on his aching stomach. Rain hit his face, his eyes stinging with each thick drop. She grabbed his face with her hand, index and thumb pressing into the lines where the healers removed his staples and tried to fix his scars. She kept pressing until his jaw was forced to open, then leaned forward, knees on the ground, and eyes boring into his. She blocked out the rain and that was when he saw it, a little bit of light in those endless black irises. It glowed red, but it was something in the abyss. He tried to smile, but her fingers were pressing into the hinges of his jaw too hard. She was hurting him…

Eun loudly cleared her throat and, with a sneer, spat the glob into his open mouth. She forced his jaw shut, making his teeth clack, and smirked as she pressed her palm over his lips.

“Swallow for me, baby,” she purred, “You’re so good at it.”

He swallowed it and felt it slide down his throat. The sensation went straight to his cock, which was already twitching from her grabbing his face like that. She got to her feet and walked toward the street, purposely stepping close to his head like she might stomp it. He listened to her receding footsteps, barely hearing them over his own panting. Fuck.

“You…you said you liked it…You said you…loved me,” he forced out, straining to speak loudly. His entire body was sore from her attack, like the aftermath of having the wind knocked out of him by a tank. She paused at the end of the alley.

“I do,” she said, “And I did love you, really. But then I grew up.”

He wasn’t the man for the job, after all. Touya smiled to himself as he heard her leave and thanked the rain for washing away the blood running down his cheek and cooling the burning shame on his skin.

Thanks for reading! I hope there's enough context here, and I think I got enough warnings in. There is an epilogue as well, "No Love Among Villains."

#oc x canon #eun mha #mha oc #original character #touya todoroki #touya x oc #dabi x oc #tw grooming #tw vomit mention #eun is 18+ but she wasn't always #sabuwrites

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featherburnt · 2 years

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➟ TIL THE HURT IS GONE: BLOODFEATHER

Title: Management Part #: 13 Pairing: Hawks x m!OC Word Count: 11,782 Tags: Emotional turmoil, guilt, death mentions, anxiety, the commission is literal actual trash, government b.s., etc.

Summary: For three years, the hero Hellhound has been hunting, infiltrating groups of villains and probing for information in his search for one named Sonata, the former hero Prisma. A U.A. graduate, he should know better. He should be protecting civilians, hunting down villains when ordered, but his heart lingers on the pains of old memories, the hot desire for retribution burning in his chest. On one fateful night, when the enemy is locked in his sights, a man with vermillion wings snuffs the flames seated in his palms, using his words to burrow under his skin like a fowl little bug. What will he do then? Will he continue his hunt, or will boiling blood finally cool?

Nogitsune, Nogitsune... So many eyes, so many emotions, truth and the despair it brings-- What do you see? What do you feel? Is it worth it? Don't crumble under the blue, don't falter under the weight of the past.

As always, minors do not interact.

Bloodfeather Chapter Masterlist

Sunlight trickled in between the shade slats of Nogitsune’s office window, yellow rays striking dark marble tile and shining with a peculiar muddiness, ignoring the swirls and streaks of quartz-white. So, too, had it cast a dim shadow on worn porcelain and faded paint, swipes of crimson, cerulean, sage, and gold lined with chipped and grayed charcoal now but mere yellow-cast remnants of their former wearers. Arranged in a modest circle, each porcelain mask represented a fallen sidekick or teammate of Nogitsune’s, from Ichtheleo’s scratched and broken lion mask to Vivi’s charred and blackened peacock, and to even those who had merely retired, given up on their claim to herodom. A plain and featureless mask remained, seeing no wear and tear over the past few years, as empty and enigmatic as its bearer. The bear remained, too, hard and angry as it ever was, with few dents. Neither of their owners had passed like so many others had, however.

No. When Hellhound disappeared, Black Knight swore adamantly never to return and hung his mask upon the wall behind Nogitsune’s desk, denouncing his status and abandoning the Foxfire agency to whatever its fate, but Tarot had other reasons and, in truth, his expulsion was quite different, willing or otherwise. Tarot slipped away quietly behind Black Knight, who'd made no move to hide his disgust or his anger, and such could have only been expected… Few others did the same, if they hadn’t already suffered their deaths; Crovita, Stargazer, and Lightbringer joined Black Knight in turning in their masks, though they hadn’t quite shrugged out of their costumes. Rather, instead of leaving herodom at all, they simply left Nogitsune to his own devices, seeking out fuller careers of their own in jaded attempts at proving they could stand on their own, without help or influence. Such was their right, and Nogitsune couldn’t blame them, nor had he tried to stop them.

The fact of the matter was, they'd outgrown him, in the end.

Besides, he was the very thing holding each of them back, staunchly holding to half-assed traditions in order to make them all feel as if they’d belonged somewhere in their big, terrible world so rife with failure, misery, and violence - but all he really did was push them all away, preying on their weaknesses, forcing them into the right boxes in the name of boasting a rounded, versatile workforce. Though, even that wasn’t quite true. He turned each and every prospective hero that ever came through his agency into a force to be reckoned with; Killers, headhunters, spies, deep-cover agents capable of far more than any average hero, expert search and rescue types, and all of which were to follow the Commission’s orders. They were distanced enough from direct involvement with the Commission, enough so that loose ends could be eliminated at a moment’s notice by Lady Nagant, or whoever else so happened to be serving as an Enforcer. All to maintain the status quo, all to fulfill the wishes of the Director, all to serve a country that knew not the dangers posed to it. He sacrificed their individuality, their humanity, all the while masquerading as someone noble, worthy of their admiration, selling them out for the sake of something labeled as a nebulous whole.

He trained them thoroughly, taught them everything he’d learned over the years, and such often drew blood. He’d throw them out into the field before they were ready, before they’d ever graduated from their respective schools or independent academies, and he’d show them just how raw and cruel their world really was. Sink or swim, he would say, before deserting them in the middle of a mission, watching them from afar as they fought to effectively use their quirks against villains that far out-matched them, villains harnessing quirks that put their own at severe disadvantages - and, sometimes, he wouldn't be so gracious as to even give them warning. Self-preservation was the key to unlocking their potential, and children especially had it in spades for they had not yet given up on the world, let alone the lives they’d yet to live. They still had hope, even at their lowest points; They were still bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, desperate to be the change they wanted to see. He took advantage of that, lured them in with false promises and deliberate lies, changing the way they viewed themselves and others around them, before ultimately exposing them to the very worst society had to offer and forcing them to figure it out on their own.

He had done what the Commission is now doing to Hellhound many times over by the time he'd ever taken him under his wing, and there were others he'd handled just as poorly to his own selfish ends.

The brothers Ichtheleo and Ichtheleon, the lion and the leopard, were his prized students, his prized sidekicks. They showed the most promise, often took the initiative, and skillfully applied what they’d learned during their time at the Foxfire agency, managing to survive the most unlikely of circumstances and still quickly arrest their targets with little to no issue. Ichtheleo was the man with the plan of the two, carefully mapping out multiple plans in case one or another went awry, and Ichtheleon was the man of action, carrying out each plan accordingly, adapting to every change no matter how unexpected. They knew when to bow their heads, when to retreat and live to fight another day, when to make their moves and how, and they were stubborn; They never let anything go, pushing and pushing until their goals were achieved. Perhaps it was their brotherhood that encouraged them to keep moving forward, a bond so strong it could never be severed no matter the circumstances, of which many had been impossible with the odds severely stacked against them.

If it came down to a choice between all of Japan and each other, a choice hinging on their attachment to one another and the so-called greater good, they always made the right choice, but in the end, they kept each other alive. One never left the other behind and both fought tooth and nail for balance, for an end to a villainous serial killer’s chokehold over Nagasaki, over Japan.

Their combined talent and sense of honor and duty were why Nogitsune chose them from the beginning; He wanted to shape and mold them into heroes that could, quite literally, do it all, and they’d accomplished as much, despite their apprehension toward Commission-ordered and sanctioned murder (or, perhaps, assassination was a more apt term). They made him proud, always doing what was right no matter what they’d gone through, no matter what horrors they’d bore witness to, no matter what was at stake, and they’d succeeded more times than he could rightly count. By all accounts, he’d wanted them to take over the Foxfire agency for this reason; They’d have taught their interns and sidekicks well and just, urged them down paths brighter than Nogitsune ever could, and perhaps they’d have championed every bit of what Hellhound had. Strength of character and will, unyielding principle and the unbroken promise to protect all others, boundless self-sacrifice for the greater whole and the ability to forgive but never forget; Such values and many more would've been treated with utmost importance, for the world was greater than any one hero and Ichtheleo and Ichtheleon understood this better than any Nogitsune had ever met.

If only they hadn’t lost their lives.

While both Ichtheleo and Ichtheleon were considered his greatest achievements, so, too, were they his greatest failures, and such guilt still clung to his bones like tar, dragging him further and further into a sort of despair no one could escape unscathed.

He ferried them to their deaths as if an agent of some punishing underworld, held the torch that showed the way, grasped the knife that slit their throats, during the initial hunt for Prisma. He ordered them to search that warehouse. He ignored the dangers laid out before them, desperate to put an end to that pathetic excuse for a man, the one who manipulated the manipulator, the one who left him with an arm he could no longer use and a neck he could barely turn anymore, splintered nerves and tendons in a hand he couldn’t even close, the one who left an unending trail of bodies in his wake. But he wasn’t quite motivated by revenge, even if he had been a hero known for holding long-lasting grudges. He sent those boys to die because, if he hadn’t, many, many, many more would’ve died in their stead - and they did anyway. Their combined combat prowess, knack for hiding in plain sight, speed, strength of will– None of it had made a damn bit of difference, even with him at their side.

He couldn’t wedge himself between Bat Wing, Kioku Nusumi, or Prisma fast enough, couldn’t invoke Kuda-Gitsune in time, couldn’t find purchase in flesh, armor, or fabric and incapacitate a single one of them. They were already dead where they stood in that warehouse, memories erased and replaced by Kioku Nusumi, their bodies mangled and broken by Bat Wing, deaf to his cries, and all the while he was kept pinned by a choice he was too weak to make, watching in horror as Prisma tore them open and crushed their hearts in his hands. Brilliant white and spotted furs were stained with a sickly scarlet glimmering in the dim light and as the moments passed, as their once bright eyes turned dull and empty, their bodies blackened and shriveled into husks too thin and too weak to maintain form. And, just like that, they were thrown to the ground, crumbling and snapping into fragments of long-withered human flesh, their decay near instantaneous, and all Nogitsune could hear was the cold, self-satisfied, diabolical laughter exploding out of Prisma and echoing all around him.

All because he was too afraid of making the choice he trained Ichtheleo and Ichtheleon to make time and time again, all because he choked on his courage and fumbled in his cowardice.

There was a time he might’ve argued that his broken heart clouded his judgment, that his desperate search for normalcy in a chaotic, filth-laden life butchered his own resolve, that coming face-to-face with the man who shattered his ability to ever trust again had broken him down as a man and left him bare for all the world to see. There was a time he may well have rejected his own foolishness, his own naivety, his own lack of forethought, and there were many more. There was a time he cursed everyone involved, blamed any not himself, onlookers, outsiders, civilians and heroes alike, but there was no one else at fault but himself. No one else to blame. Prisma may have landed the final blow, but he never would’ve been able to do so if Nogitsune hadn’t used the brothers' sense of good will, duty, and love for him as a weapon against them. They would still be saving people from disaster, laughing and brooding in the break rooms, awkwardly shimmying out of doting crowds of adoring fans, if only he hadn’t so blindly acted on his combined emotions and orders without a plan, on the ache in his chest, on the fear he couldn’t conquer.

His petty concerns should never have had any bearing on the task at hand, and they paid the ultimate price for his incompetence.

In the end, he saw himself for what he truly was, then, beyond cowardice. He trained his interns, his sidekicks, to die for him, and there was no forgiveness to be had for that, no matter how he sliced it.

He didn’t want it, either. Above all, it was undeserved, and it didn’t matter at all that some part of him had noble intentions. He capitalized on them, built his case on the deaths of countless others, and used the blood pumping through his heart as fuel for the fire, only to then light the funeral pyre for his best students, his dearest friends at the time.

Nogitsune stared down his nose at the photo of them all laid across his desk, fingertips hovering over Ichtheleo, then Vivi, then Ichtheleon, then the fledgling Hellhound - all the men he’d failed. The photo was taken a few short weeks before Hellhound finished out his initial internship, his work-study, so his costume was still simple and dull as ever. He’d been bent sideways, narrowly avoiding a wet-willy Ichtheleon was attempting while Tarot dipped his head in too close, mask bumping against Hellhound's. Vivi, Crovita, and Stargazer laughed and laughed… Black Knight and Ichtheleo were their usual selves, wet blankets the both of them, unamused and annoyed with the situation as it was.

He remembered the day well, as if it were yesterday, and he treasured the memory all the same. The fifth of June, the summer heat so heavy and thick it could be cut with a knife, the cicadas chirping their songs after the first rains. Their sparring matches had all come to an end and Stargazer suggested they take a sort of ‘family’ photo, to which Nogitsune could hardly say no. He spent upwards of half an hour trying to corral them all together, herding Hellhound toward the middle, reluctant though the boy was. Ichtheleo and Ichtheleon stood closely together, their arms slung over each other’s shoulders while Ichtheleon teased Hellhound. Crovita towered over them and Stargazer leaned in close to her, holding two fingers up and laughing all the while. Tarot crowded Hellhound (he suspected there’d been something between them at the time), but Nogitsune himself barely made it into frame and Black Knight merely shuffled in toward the very end, keeping as much space between himself and the others as he could, never once looking at the camera or smiling. All of them wore their masks and all of them were sweatier and smellier than any would’ve liked to admit.

The rooftop terrace had been greener than ever before, butterflies fluttering their pretty wings as they floated on the breeze from flower to flower, a few bumblebees joining them along the way.

It was the last time they were all together, before…

Before everything fell apart. Before I let Ichtheleo and Ichtheleon die. Before I discovered the truth behind Tarot’s mask and Hellhound’s bruises. Before everything–

Nogitsune scowled and fingered the crease in the middle of the photo, quickly folding it in half and tossing it aside, wincing at the particularly painful pang in his chest. Mossy eyes found something else to look at, catching on the single ray of sunshine brightening the manila folders stacked on the left-most side of his desk. Each of those files contained vital information on some of Prisma’s victims, and he couldn’t bear to look at them either, ripping his gaze away and attempting to focus on his computer monitor, but the soft snuffling of a tiny little creature claimed his attention and he had no choice but to turn his head and look her way, the distraction welcome.

Stacy’s cage was set on the table behind him, just beneath the masks of his deceased and retired friends and allies, and she was all but sniffing and grunting around her bedding, her pale, spiky back protruding from the fluff of recycled paper shreds. Her little nose, every once in a while, tipped upward, high in the air, and her beady eyes shone with yellow light. She was round, fat and well-fed, well-loved in Hellhound’s absence, and as she slowly made her way to her clay food dish, Nogitsune realized it was empty and her water bottle was getting close to it.

He let out a short sigh and half-smiled to himself.

“Sorry about that, little lady,” he cooed, his voice forlorn yet brimming with affection. “With all the excitement from your master’s return, I guess I’ve forgotten, but don’t you worry. I’ll get you some yogurt chips to make up for it. Maybe I’ll throw in a few berries, too.”

Stacy didn’t reply, briefly pausing in her shuffling to lift her head and quickly getting back to it. She was cute, that way, just a tiny little hedgehog minding her own business and always so, so hungry.

He’d been taking care of her every day for nearly three years, since Hellhound vanished in the bay, cleaning out her cage on a weekly basis and feeding her as often as required, sometimes throwing in special treats - no doubt at Hellhound’s behest. He never did like it when Nogitsune fed his hedgehog any treats that weren’t fresh berries or mealworms; he was overprotective that way, the average, run-of-the-mill helicopter parent, only for a hedgehog and not a child. His love for her was nothing short of admirable, if a bit obsessive, and Nogitsune couldn’t begrudge him that. He could only care for her exactly as he should, with a few exceptions to show his own adoration for her.

Of course, she didn’t like him much, typically shying away from him and all else who happened to walk past her cage. No, no, Hellhound was very much her favorite and she made no effort to hide as much. After all, he was her owner and perhaps she was far smarter than any might give her credit for. She could pick Hellhound out of a crowd and scuttle right to him, and she was an excellent judge of character. There was only one person in the world who could ever care for her as dearly as she needed, and that would always and only be Hellhound. They had a unique bond, one expected between a dog and his master, but, then again, Saryn shared certain physiological traits with dogs– Was it really so strange that this unlikely bond be forged?

Nogitsune swiveled around in his chair to face Stacy in full, pushing himself to his feet and swiftly undoing the latch to the front door of her wired cage, despite her soft hissing. Reaching for the mostly-full bag of her organic pellets, he sprinkled in enough to fill her bowl as quickly as he could without further disturbing her, watching her toddle away and hide in her dark pink dome. The small pouch of yogurt chips was soon to follow, once he’d set aside the bag of pellets. He took a lone chip between his fingers, gently offering it at the mouth of her dome, waiting for her to make her slow approach towards him, but she never came and he just as soon left it there where she could find it.

“All this time and I still haven’t won you over? You’re a cold mistress, little Stacy,” he teased, furrowing his brow and wrinkling his nose in mock disappointment.

He never expected her to come to like him.

Hellhound really ought to be glad to have her back. That is, once Nogitsune could set aside the time to pack her bundles of food and supplies up and bring her to Hawks’ agency. He didn’t know how Hawks himself would feel about having a pet in the office, but there was no guarantee Hellhound would have a home to take her to by the end of the day, let alone the end of the week. He didn’t know what the Director had planned and such had been purposeful; Nogitsune would never again be permitted possession of any further knowledge regarding him outside of what he caught on television, or anything Hawks might deign to update him on.

And he would simply have to be okay with that, no matter how much Hellhound had meant to him.

He closed the wire door to Stacy’s cage and made certain it was secure before sliding back into his office chair, his only working hand sliding across his face, fingertips rubbing into his eyes. About all he knew was that the media had been abuzz with news of Hellhound’s triumphant return to work, a press conference slated for the afternoon news when everyone would be watching, but he always hated attention like that and Nogitsune took some measly amount of comfort in having known something, anything at all. He wasn’t even privy to the identity of his public relations specialist, though he’d suspected the Director would’ve made the obvious choice in selecting the best and only for the job: Hatsukawa Teiko. If anyone else had been sent to work with Hellhound, he doubted they’d have an easy time with him, considering his clear inability to trust. He never did work well with most people, always dodging their attention as if that alone would spell his end, always skirting direct questions, always so private, always so afraid of letting anyone in on the great secret of who he was. The problem with that was no matter how hard he tried to hide himself away, someone would manage to catch him at the right time, in the right place, and the truth would be made known to them, raw and no doubt disconcerting.

Despite Hellhound’s defensiveness and reactive outbursts, he had a knack for tugging on just the right heartstrings when it counted, but even without such an unintentional talent, the story behind his life was full of aches and pains - and many of them would never have been without Nogitsune’s involvement.

He closed his eyes and dropped his hand, his arm now hanging limply over the arm of the chair, much like his other arm did in perpetuity.

The press conference would begin in just a short while, he knew, and he would watch it with bated breath as he always had, but, this time, his heart would be heavier than it’d ever been before. For the first time since Hellhound’s debut, Nogitsune couldn’t be sure if he even had the right to see him on-screen again; He knew what the implications were, he knew the reasons he’d be standing before an ignorant crowd with some agent or another in his ear, he knew whose fault it was, but… He also knew it all had to be done, or else Hellhound’s life would’ve been forfeit, sentenced to the tragedy of imprisonment in Nogitsune’s place.

I’m so sorry, Saryn. I’m so, so sorry, he thought, knowing full well that the young hero may never come to forgive him. Not that he should, but there was a vain and desperate hope burning deep within Nogitsune anyway, that Hellhound would one day find it in him to understand. The deal had to be made; It was already unfair that he had to bear any of the consequences to Nogitsune’s actions and to bear any more would likely have been the final nail in the proverbial coffin. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t further rob Hellhound of any more of his life, future prospects, nor the joys offered by life itself. He deserved his freedom, he deserved to find acceptance, love, and support. He deserved, above all, to heal, and maybe, someday, he could retire properly and leave herodom behind with all his business finished. The circumstances were more complicated than that, however, but even so–

He only wished he could be there to see it through, to watch Hellhound find his footing and reclaim all that was taken from him, and while he was happy to avoid addressing his own penance, Nogitsune couldn’t rid himself of the shadow looming over him, the promise of his death. Kuda-Gitsune was his only guarantee that Prisma could be defeated and even if it would end in mutually assured destruction, it was final and would be true; No one else would ever have to suffer at Prisma’s hands, nor would they ever have to watch as their loved ones were taken from them. No parent should ever have to bury their child, no husband should ever have to bury his wife, no son should ever have to bury his mother, no sister her brother, no mother her daughter, no one–

“Fuck,” came Nogitsune’s hollow whisper, his lungs empty, devoid of the hope he clung to.

If only he’d done what needed to be from the beginning.

But how long could he continue to lament the past, present, and future? It all seemed so dire, so painful, but even so, he wasn’t quite like Hellhound. He couldn’t linger on everything as he had been, couldn’t sit idly and suffer his own thoughts for too long; There was work to do and plenty of it.

And debts to be paid.

He sat upright at once, desperately shoving his guilt and self-pity to the back of his mind, and pulled open the desk drawer containing his keyboard and mouse. If Hellhound’s press conference was to begin soon, then he needed to tune in quickly, or at least be prepared for it. It was potentially the last time he’d ever see his ill-tempered former teammate and no matter how he felt, he wouldn’t allow himself to miss it - not for anything, not even if the world was on fire, not even if Prisma was sitting right in front of him.

Looking up at his monitor, set diagonally across from him, he opened up the Hero Network through a series of quick clicks and audibly gasped, surprised to find that Hellhound’s press conference had already begun - and was being broadcast as if urgent news. He was standing at a podium, his head angled downward as if reading from note cards, and he’d been dressed in a strange version of his typical uniform, a corporate imitation that only vaguely captured the spirit of his minimalist preferences. The bright red clashed with his burgundy hair, drawing the eyes to that specific pop of color, and even his mask seemed a trite, cheapened representation of his former one. Too perfect, too neat, too new. Hellhound would never have given the go-ahead on such an exaggeration of himself; He didn’t want to be flashy or eye-catching, didn’t want to invite curiosity or attentive gazes. How could they have designed such a uniform for him? Despite its overarching simplicity, there were far too many details added and they were all perfect, not a stitch out of place, and it was even more surprising that they’d allowed him to keep even a shred of his relative anonymity. No doubt, however, Hellhound was even more uncomfortable now than he’d ever been before, but as Nogitsune looked on, he began to take notice of even more, turning up the volume on the computer so he could listen properly while he all but gasped once more.

“--returning to work within the month. It is my hope that I am able to make a meaningful difference and rise to every occasion as I am needed, so that you, the people, may be protected from any villain aiming to rob you or otherwise bring you harm–”

A head of soft blue, almost white, cut and styled into a dainty bob nodded and dipped as Hellhound spoke into the microphone, and instantly he recognized her as none other than Hatsukawa Teiko.

He didn’t even have to see her face.

A small smile of relief pulled at his lips knowing that she was there with him, that he would have a long-time friend as he faced the unfamiliar and untrustworthy. If anyone had his back, it would certainly be her.

But on his other side stood that scraggly bastard Saboteur, his plump and bitter raccoon perched on his shoulders, his hair hanging in his eyes, an awful smirk on his face. He must’ve been there to make certain Hellhound didn’t run–

Do they really think they can put that natural-born rebel in his place?

“--The future for us all may seem uncertain at times, but with hard work and due diligence, it is my goal to aid in ushering in an era of peace, to put a stop the threats to our lives, our children’s lives, and to all else we each hold dear–”

Nogitsune narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, everything now falling out of Hellhound’s mouth tugging at a nerve. This was corporate.

They’ve written him such uninspired drivel, it’s driving me up a wall. How can they expect him to– But he has no choice, does he? He’d never say something quite like this. It’s too pretentious for him, if typical and unsuspecting. Hatsukawa didn’t write any of this, but she’s there anyway. Are they trying to confuse anyone observant enough to really look at this?

He tapped his chin with a lone bony finger and wholeheartedly scowled, dragging his eyes right back to the metallic mask concealing Hellhound’s features.

What was he thinking? Was he relieved that Hatsukawa was beside him? What could’ve led to that? Did the Commission pull some strings, give her an offer she couldn’t possibly refuse? Or did she leap for joy at the chance to once again work with her favorite hero, the one who’d rescued her from that Ripper attack in Nagasaki?

Hatsukawa would’ve done anything to keep in relatively close proximity to Hellhound. He plucked her from the wreckage of a life fraught with despair, unspeakable abuses, and he saw some piece of himself in her, and she in him– And they must have used that to their advantage, playing tricks and mind games on a lonely girl. As great as it was that she should once again take the reins of his public relations, there’s no doubt she’s been played for a fool. The Commission will do anything to keep their new prized heavy-hitter locked down.

Nogitsune since stopped listening to the hollow words Hellhound was spewing, staring directly at him, Hatsukawa, and Saboteur at the podium. He hadn’t seen Hawks, but that ought to have been for the best. The Commission had reduced him to nothing more than a babysitter, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have other, more pressing matters to attend to somewhere nearby - hence, Saboteur’s presence in the first place. Hawks was charming and, as expected, nearly instantly gained Hellhound’s relative favor, however small it may have been. After all, Hellhound was more than willing to air out their dirty laundry in front of the Wing Hero without so much as batting an eyelash. Comfortability, agreeability, trust–

And now Hatsukawa.

The Commission was desperate, going so far as to fan the flames of Hellhound’s ever-burning fury and put Nogitsune between a rock and a hard place himself, forcing him to forfeit his life and lead Hellhound to believe it was something he wanted.

What a realization to have, when it was too late to do anything about it.

Just how desperate were they to tame a wild flame on par with Endeavor’s Jet Burn, to collar a man whose renown barely reached beyond the borders of Nagasaki’s ZIP code? But then… hadn’t they always been desperate to put a leash on any hero that would serve even their most nefarious of purposes? After all, they’ve bought and sold uniquely talented children before, and even if they got to the Inugami Hero a bit late, they’ve pulled out all the stops in-line with their usual methods and even beyond them. Although, this time, it didn’t seem they were at all interested in going easy. Promises were always backed up by a threat they would follow through on.

Such had been obvious with how they strong-armed the Atashi family into giving up one or two of their children for Commission service–

Nogitsune grit his teeth and pawed at his left arm, ruffling the silk of his snow-colored haori, and with great reluctance did he turn his attention back to the dipped head of his former teammate.

All of this was a sham.

“--once again apologize for my absence. I disappeared and left nothing behind, and I’m certain you may have many questions that need answering, but…rest assured, I will work tirelessly to repay you for your patience, appreciation, and unwavering faith. I’m sorry for having wasted your time all these years–”

This left a foul taste in Nogitsune’s mouth.

“--but, from the bottom of my heart, I am grateful for you all. Thank you for your support. Thank you for welcoming me back–”

He seemed so earnest, now, despite the indication that this had all been scripted. Unless–

“--Thank you for your time.”

And the crowd huddling before the stage clamored, screamed, and clawed for attention, barking out questions as the flash of their cameras went off in erratic intervals. But Hellhound pushed away from the podium and bowed deeply, and for the briefest of moments, Nogitsune could spy the anxious tweak of the corner of a marred and bruised lip as he moved.

He wasn’t prepared for the turn-out, was he? He’d touched the hearts of many in his seemingly short career, or lack thereof, or maybe the people held their faith that he wasn’t a fever dream, propaganda, or a false entity - like he’d hoped. Funny, that; The Inugami Hero maintained a popularity rating in the mid-hundreds, which was surprisingly high for someone with a fouler temper than even Endeavor’s, let alone someone who’d been missing for years.

Still, Nogitsune watched as that head of burgundy ducked away and disappeared left-of-stage, followed by Hatsukawa, then Saboteur, and a handful of suits from the Commission. Nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the buzzing crowd. Was any of this real? Was Hellhound really being lauded with praise and excited, pleading questions as if he’d never vanished at all?

He moved the cursor to the exit button, but he didn’t end up clicking out of the Hero Network. No, something caught his eye.

A sense of foreboding rushed him with all the force of an unstoppable tsunami, anchoring him to his seat, his arm, fingers, shoulders, everything– heavy, buffeted by a constant, unseen deliberation that something was amiss and it was wrong. His heart hammered in his chest, straining against his ribcage, and as he stared at the screen, long and hard, picking apart every minute, shitty goddamn pixel he could see–

His blood ran cold, mossy eyes locked on the quick bobbing of black and violet hair and the impossible shine of sinister blue as the woman disappeared into the crowd.

“No…”

It was her.

Hawks sipped from a can of sweetened iced coffee, making room for the silence Hellhound practically begged him for a moment prior. Or, what little silence he could get with elevator muzak tinkling in the background over the metallic scrape and slide of the wheels on their wires. Stuck in an elevator for the second time that day and the tension was so thick it could be cut clean through with a knife, uncomfortable, palpable, and, in some ways, intimidating. It emanated off of him as if a vortex of unchecked heat, settling deep within Hawks a sensation of If he had to guess, Hellhound was headed toward a breaking point, overwhelmed by the attention he got at the press conference to the point that not even the reappearance of one of his long-time friends could calm his nerves.

Not that he blamed the temperamental hero. Having so many cameras go off in his face, for someone who wasn’t big on that kind of attention, would obviously take its toll. Either way, he would be fine, so long as he could focus on something else.

He took a deep breath, turned his head, grinned, and said, “Are ya sure ya can’t handle a crowd? ‘Cause you did a pretty good job of dodging and shutting down unnecessary questions, keeping yourself on track, and maintaining an air of professionalism I didn’t know you had. Well, since you cuss so much–”

“That’s…not what I’m thinking about right now,” Hellhound stated, his voice low and strained. Hawks could see the deep downward pull of his mouth from just beneath the snout of his mask, and a carefully hidden tremble.

There was something else going on in that head of his. I guarantee it.

“Worried about your meeting with the Director?” Hawks probed, dragging his sharp avian gaze over the slight creases around burgundy eyes, the tint of his visor casting the other hero in a slightly orange light.

Hellhound didn’t respond right away, further tightening his frown, but after a few moments, he finally relented and gave one short, nearly imperceptible nod.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. If ya can handle a crowd of busybodies, you can handle their commander-in-chief.” Playful, measured, encouraging; He had to be careful, lest he indulge in comforting the other hero too eagerly. Even if that’d proven effective in reeling Hellhound in, he couldn’t allow himself to get too close, and vice-versa.

“That’s not really it either…” Hellhound rasped apprehensively, shifting where he stood, his discomfort and concern much more obvious with the inward, almost defensive change in his posture. “I know how the Commission operates. I know what will happen after this meeting, and I don’t think it’s going to pan out well.”

Hawks took a calculated swig of his coffee, trying and failing to enjoy the sweetened roast. He wasn’t going to lie, even he felt strangely toward what was to come, but he knew a fair bit more than Hellhound. He knew what the meeting’s purpose was, what information he would then be privy to, who was going to assist in the training that would follow shortly after, what methods they were each going to employ, and he knew exactly what the Director expected from him, even if it hadn’t been stated outright.

But it was because of what he knew that he shared some of Hellhound’s sentiment, even if he clung to a shred of the comfort knowing anything had brought him. He should be worried, because he was going to bump heads with quirks he’d worked with before, one he had a veiled but negative history with, and something told him that there’d be no comfort in that. He’d been gone long enough to understand that people change, some for the worse and others for the better, that their quirks evolve; The training he would undergo after his meeting with the Director was going to hurt, and it was purposeful, deliberate.

Maybe they think the only way you’ll learn anything is if they push your limits, your buttons, and everything else. But they want you on your knees by the end of it, I know that.

How much of this should I keep quiet about? Wouldn’t telling you what really comes next give you an advantage, a means to prepare? Wouldn’t it also stand to reason that it could just make things worse?

“If you know what to expect, then you already know what you need to do in order to make things easier on yourself. Don’t sweat it.” Another sip of his coffee, cover for his own concerns.

“You know just as well as I do that it’s not that simple.”

You’ve got spirit, pup.

“Do I?” Hawks lofted a brow, grinning like a fiend in just the way Hellhound had come to expect, and just when that burgundy gaze dragged away from the heavy steel doors in front of them to look at him. He tapped his temple with two fingers and cupped a covered ear in emphasis. “It’s always best to keep your eyes peeled and your ears open so you can get all the information you can and be aware of your surroundings, make smart moves. Y’know.”

Hellhound crossed his arms over his chest, as if annoyed by that. He thought it was funny. He also thought it was cute. It was almost like he was pouting, petulantly demanding more like a grumpy brat - for a split second and only a split second. The gravity of the current circumstances were not lost on Hawks and, all the same, they quickly returned to their post as first and foremost.

“What do you know, Hawks?” But his tone took a sharp turn, devoid of any comfortable familiarity - and patience.

They didn’t have much time before they’d arrive at the top floor of the building Commission Headquarters was located and Hawks had a choice to make here; How forthcoming was he going to be with Hellhound? How honest could he afford to be?

How long was he going to wait around for permission from the people who–

I’ll tell him this one thing. Better to hear it from me than the Director, right?

“You’re not gonna like it, pup,” he said, pausing to take a quick mouthful of his coffee, buying himself a nanosecond’s worth of time. “Training starts today, and you’re going to face-off with Saboteur–”

“Just him, or is there more I need to be worried about?” Hellhound demanded, his rasp tight and almost authoritative, but not outright offensive. He was more or less forcefully phishing for information, or so he believed, but Hawks was willfully giving it away. This wasn’t going to be any sort of routine training, and Hellhound needed to know that.

“--and he will be gauging your resistance - and adherence - to verbal commands, obedience, discernment, among other things. Sounds all fine and dandy, but you know what that guy can do with a word or two when it counts and seeing as how you two are already bumping heads, I’m sure he’s not gonna make it easy for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“But, you’ll also be going up against someone else, and they’re banking on him affecting you in a much more impactful way. The other guy’ll be testing you on timing and your emotional state in combat. You’re gonna have to overcome some of that anxiety, pup,” Hawks continued, giving the other hero a nudge with his elbow, his tone gradually softening, “or you’ll definitely struggle with that one.”

“Who is it? What do you mean?” Hellhound pulled on his haori sleeve, only slightly pulling away but ultimately letting himself settle back into place. “Is it someone else I know?”

Hawks took a quick breath and glanced up at the red numbers above the elevator doors, letting out a languid sigh to contrast. He didn’t know what the full extent of Hellhound’s relationship had been with him, but the falling out that resulted in the dissolution of their relationship also resulted in him being thrown out of the Foxfire Agency in no truly concrete terms. Nogitsune failed to notate as to why, seemingly outright refusing to outline any details, as if he’d all the hopes in the world Hellhound would never have to come into contact with that man again and the need to address it would never arise. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out as to why, and he was sure that his own suspicions about the man in question would be confirmed the moment Hellhound was made aware.

Abuse seemed to follow him wherever he went.

Nothing in his life was held sacred, treated as mere tools with which to destroy him, unceasingly, until there would be nothing left of him but a malleable, servile husk. But, Hellhound kept so much close to his heart despite this, despite how unwilling he often was to show it, and it had only taken a few days of idle conversation in the hospital and a heartrending trip to a cemetery to ascertain as much… Was it an act of mercy or cruelty, to tell him now? Drudge up suspected old memories, traumas that’d been purposefully locked away with great care?

With the ping of the elevator, the signal that they’d arrived at the top floor, Hawks drew yet one more breath, swallowed down more of his coffee, and shifted his weight in preparation to exit.

“Tarot.” His voice was tight, controlled, but even, delivered in as gentle and private a manner as he could manage without sacrificing the need for expediency.

As the doors opened, the air went uncomfortably still and the world around them both seemed to stop moving entirely, frozen in the certainty of bad news. Not a sound could be heard from the other hero, but Hawks was sure he saw his jaw drop and the color drain from what little he could see of his face, then immediately clamp shut, his eyes blown wide with a flurry of agonizing emotions that seemed to distill into one he could only understand as dread. He gulped and abruptly snapped his head around to face forward, but he remained unmoving where he stood, statuesque and eerie, as if a young boy had been exposed to wanton violence and destruction - to horror - for the first time. Shock still, locked in place, frozen to the bone.

He could see the wheels turning in that wine-red head of his, rushing head-first into overdrive to make sense of what he’d just heard, to put all the miniscule pieces together, and Hawks could only feel sorry for having been the one to be the bearer of such news, but if he’d been anyone else… Hellhound may well have reacted differently, worse, and, either way, his suspicions had been confirmed as predicted.

With it, his heart sank.

All he had to go on were vague hints, general ideas, rumors, Hellhound’s reactions, and Nogitsune’s notes that Tarot was much more of a twisted bastard than he’d have anyone believe. He always presented himself as just some guy with his own set of eccentricities, the same as anyone else, and a pleasant, if dimwitted, smile. Hyperactive, playful, bold, a prankster– On the same token, he was more likely to employ drastically unorthodox methods in his work, but how far had he gone to get what he wanted, to complete a given assignment? How much of his apparent behaviors extended into his personal affairs? Did he use his quirk on unsuspecting allies? What did he do? Hellhound was sixteen when they met, and at that time, Tarot had to have been twenty-six. What was the nature of their relationship? Romantic, sexual, friendly…? Was it a habit or a fascination of his that he should go after younger men to the potential of taboo, or did it happen by accident, pure chance? How willing was he to forego legality or even morality for the sake of his cause?

Who was Tarot anyway? Shinekawa Senkei was just a name and Tarot was merely a title, perhaps a lie or a teasing hint at his quirk, or the uncertainty of the future regardless of how it unfolds. A metaphor, but he holds all the cards, right? After all, tarot is a tool used for divination and what can he see but a few moments into the future as he is involved? There was nothing saying he didn’t use his quirk to further his own personal goals, manipulate his peers, targets, or the people he saw as beneath him; Did he consider Hellhound a stepping stone, or a toy? What did he think of everyone else? What did he do? What did he do with his quirk?

The implications made Hawks’ skin fucking crawl, even without directly referencing what really made his stomach turn.

I don’t know what your history is with him exactly, but there were some traces of it left in Nogitsune’s notes, short as they were. I know something happened between you two, and I know enough about Tarot to know what that may have been, even if it isn't much. Still, it’s important that you know who you’ll be up against. At least then, you’ll be prepared.

You can overcome what shakes you at your core. I know you can.

“Are-are they…are they insane?” Hellhound whispered, staring beyond the confines of the steely elevator and through the freshly cleaned window across from them, at the cloudless skyline, but he wasn’t really looking at it. He was lost in his own head and his eyes had darkened with emotion, a hesitant hand coming to rest on the snout of his mask and pull it downward, but his fingers were shaky now, his shoulders slumping, trembling–

What really happened, Hellhound?

“I can’t believe they’d…” he trailed off, the rale in his chest from too many burns, too much smoke, garbling his words. His visible knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on his mask, gulping hard over and over again as if he couldn't get enough air, couldn't keep his mouth from going dry as cotton.

Hawks hazarded a reach toward him, a small but significant part of him begging to help, begging to honor the promise he so foolishly made hours before, his free hand slowly easing over his shoulder, his thumb gently but firmly rubbing a single circle into the spot beneath the nearest end of his collarbone. It was meant to be soothing, meant to draw Hellhound out of the trance-like terror clawing at him, but the second he touched him, he nearly jumped out of his skin, his other hand reflexively clapping around Hawks’ wrist.

You're shaking.

Hawks didn’t pull his hand away, didn't budge, but he loosened his hold for Hellhound's sake.

“Don’t sweat it, pup. I’ve seen you fight. I’ve fought with you. This should be a breeze for you, no problem at all,” he tried, his voice low and soft, his attempt at encouragement falling on deaf ears. There were just some things he wouldn’t be able to help with, and this…seemed to be one of them.

But just as quickly as the moment came, it went, and Hellhound dropped his hands to his sides, bowed his head a smidge forward, and grappled for and reclaimed some level of professional composure, stepping out into the long, windowed hallway, drawing away from Hawks entirely. He didn’t turn to face him and he didn’t say anything more.

This isn’t good.

Saryn didn’t know what to think, how to feel, what to do, or even what to say. Time dragged on between the world and himself, between himself and his peers, and all he could bother to pay attention to was the intense ticking and tocking of the clock hanging on the wall. The room was heavily shaded, the space between the blinds and window sills minute and almost useless, shadows stretching on across the ugly carpet, dual rays of light accompanying them without much to offer. The illumination couldn’t hope to reveal anything of import, and such had been fine. He didn’t want to look at the Director, didn’t want to dignify her with any more of his attention than she’d already been given, but not even Hawks’ presence could embolden him to deny her outright.

But he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the storm whirling within him, terrorizing his nerves, was making this harder on him than he could’ve ever been prepared for. While some small part of him was grateful that Hawks had let him know exactly who he’d be spending the mock battles of his training with, he was angry, too, his mouth ashen and devoid of any moisture, his fingers periodically twitching, heart pounding incessantly. He didn’t want to remember what’d happened oh-so many years ago, and he wanted even less to have to come face-to-face with Tarot again, but the Director had other plans - and she didn’t care. It wasn’t her job to, and she made no effort to hide it. From beginning to end, it seemed as if she’d made it her personal goal to make it as difficult as possible for Saryn to escape this, keeping him shackled to the Commission with an important public appearance, going so far as to bring Hatsukawa into all of this, gift him with a new uniform, a new home, a new phone, new everything, so that he might feel guilt, despair–

Or, maybe, it wasn’t that deep.

Puny shreds of impotent hope had no place in her office, however.

He reluctantly glanced at her, made hasty mental notes of the perpetual scowl on her face and the crease of her brow before looking away once more.

Her expression told him it was deeper.

She hadn’t spoken for some time. Enough ticks on the clock had been all he needed to figure that out, even if he’d been counting them, desperately awaiting the end of this pitiful meeting. All she’d done was greet him, coldly welcome him back into the fray, and admonish him for having dared to leave it in the first place in the same way a mother would harshly scold her child for disobeying her. Like he owed her, like he belonged to her, as if he’d no right.

He didn’t rebut, complain, or defend himself in any way, swallowing as his mouth went achingly dry and his already terribly rattled nerves quivered and burned. He didn’t apologize either, didn’t quite give in, busying himself with focusing too hard on the carpet, shadows, and lighting or lack thereof. It was easier.

“This is your second chance, Hellhound; Your second chance at a clean slate with all your past transgressions expunged and forgotten,” the Director said with finality, the click of her tongue sharp and difficult to ignore. “I would like to thank you, personally, for dealing with Prisma. He posed all of Japan and, really, the rest of the world a terrible threat and it was your efforts that put an end to that threat.”

He looked at the clock from the corner of his eye, struggling to make out the second, minute, and hour hands.

“What’s done is done, and I think you and I can both agree that you’ve suffered him enough. You should be awarded for your service and your sacrifices, thus you’ve been granted this second chance to prove you’re every bit the valiant hero you’ve tried so hard to be,” she continued, but every word felt like she was preparing to pull the rug out from under him, like the edge of a knife had been gently grazing the same spot on his skin until ready to split him open.

He looked at Hawks, who’d taken his place off to the side, his wings reflexively adjusting every now and again. He didn’t return Saryn’s gaze, but he was there and that was enough for the moment. Stabilizing, in a way, despite how heavy he felt.

“Pay attention, Hellhound,” the Director snapped, her voice rising an octave and piercing right through Saryn’s ears, commanding his full attention. He was rigid beneath her stare and he pulled his eyes away from Hawks, compliant, daring to look at her.

“Yes, ma’am…” came his hushed rasp.

“Now then, as I’ve said, you’ve done us all a great service and your reward for having done so is the allowance to continue doing so, along with anything you may need to accomplish this. What that means for you is that you will be replacing Nogitsune following his retirement, as I’m sure you’re already aware, but you will not be given any ordinary position or set of responsibilities. Nogitsune’s position is entirely classified and will remain so, but so, too, will yours be. Replacing Nogitsune means you will be taking on his workload, his position and everything that happens to come along with it. In plainer terms, you will become whatever we need you to be, when we need you to be. A spy, an Enforcer, a plain hero–”

“An Enforcer?” Saryn bitterly exclaimed, interrupting her and damning the consequences for it. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t fathom what they were thinking or planning. Even he knew what an Enforcer was, what they did, how broken they were as heroes, let alone people. How stupid were they? Did they really think he’d be willing to kill again, that he’d be willing to put down other heroes, civilians, and villains for any bullshit reason they’d feed him? They didn’t know him at all, their hopes hinging solely on his compliance, on his willingness to bow to the threat of imprisonment or torture or worse. And she was so brazen, removing all the trappings of professionalism and formality for the sake of shock value, to rattle him even further. She didn’t even try to beat around the bush, get him comfortable before she got down to brass tacks. She just…said the quiet part out loud, like it was nothing. A small, ignorable detail–

He was sick to his stomach and he found himself becoming more agitated than he already was, fingers twitching, gnawing on his lip as she got exactly what she wanted out of him. Every ounce of his dread came to the forefront of his stormy mind and it was gradually becoming more difficult to breathe without panting, his palms clammy, his muscles screaming with that familiar urge to run.

The Director raised a brow and seemed, almost, to chuckle to herself.

“Oh? This surprises you, when you’ve shown your ability and your willingness to kill? Did you really think we wouldn’t put that to good use?” She clicked her tongue, condescension clear in her tone.

None of this is right…

But one thing was clear to him, despite the rapid and continuous onset of his anxiety: For now, the Commission had the upper hand and it didn’t matter if he now knew they were, to some degree, desperate to reel him in and keep him under their thumb. They were replacing one of their best and worst Enforcers who happened to also be an effective spy when it counted, and whatever their reasons for doing so, they needed it done quickly. As incompetent as Nogitsune may seem now, with so much revealed, he was a terrible hero but an incredible agent; His only true downfall being his inability to detach himself from one target in particular, and the resulting fallout of his choices… But wasn’t that why they were replacing him? Because he didn’t handle Prisma when he should have and effectively allowed him to continue to kill?

Saryn swallowed around a knot in his throat, burying his canines into his lower lip.

What else was going on? Was any of this based on merit or the plain, desperate grab for control, a proper replacement for their retiring agent? And what did retire even mean in this context? What were they going to do to Nogitsune?

An incalculable number of horrifying thoughts flooded his mind and between bloody visions of a potential execution by his own hand, murdering his closest friend, and seeing the fox bound in a straight jacket with a frightful security system armed and ready to gun him down at a moment’s notice, he could feel nothing more or less than raw fear, choking on the knot in his throat. The possibilities were endless and worse than any that should come before the next. As much as he hated Nogitsune for everything he did and didn’t do, for every lie he told and every truth he hid from him, for every death he was responsible for, he didn’t… He didn’t want him to die, didn’t want to see his freedom ripped away from him.

In the depths of himself, he prayed to all the gods above that, maybe, the Commission had the same definition for retirement as any layman, any civilian who happened to be ignorant to what was hidden behind the curtain, but what little comfort that would have provided him vanished before he could take it.

He fought every urge to curl his hand around the snout of his mask and pull, as he’d always done to ground and center himself in the face of troubling news or awkward social encounters, and for a time, he succeeded, balling his hands into tight fists with fingernails digging deep crescent moons into his clammy, scarred palms.

“Pull yourself together, Hellhound. Do you think you can afford to let your emotions stand in the way of your future, or the future of this country? You worked with an Enforcer for the entirety of your professional career and you faced many challenges, suffered many injuries and even more losses. All this time while you were in Nogitsune’s care, did you really think he wasn’t training you to one day replace him anyway?” the Director said, the full weight of her authority heavy in her voice.

Saryn cast an uneasy glance at Hawks, whose expression hadn’t budged, but a flicker of…something could be seen in ever watchful gold.

The Director heaved an impatient sigh as she leaned back in her office chair, the soles of her shoes audibly clicking against the plastic mat under her desk, wheels squealing across the floor as even the slightest movement displaced her chair. The clock continued to tick, taunting each and all with the uncomfortable passage of time, and in the gloom of the Director’s office, Saryn swallowed down breath after breath, his nerves rattled, his heart aching. He shifted his weight once or twice and desperately tried to drown every negative feeling bubbling to the surface, but he was at a loss, waiting for another shoe to drop, waiting for the Director to yank the rug out from under him; This inch-by-inch approach was only making things worse. He could hardly fathom things as they were, couldn’t stomach the implications of his newfound position or Nogitsune’s forced retirement, and he swore if his hands got any clammier, if his stomach lurched any further, he was going to vomit.

“Although,” the woman continued, as if musing to herself, “no matter the severity of the challenges you faced, you met each with impressive resolve and overcame them. Your mother, your friends, and many others died because of Nogitsune’s incompetence and you, demonstrably stubborn and reckless as you are, hunted down and murdered the villain who took them from you, without help. You single-handedly defeated and arrested Ripper despite the life-threatening injury he left you with. You managed an aerial battle with Bat Wing and won, despite having no ability to fly, and you did so without causing harm to Hawks or any of the civilians below. In all that time, you strengthened your control over your quirk and increased your heat output, proving you to be quite the destructive and intimidating adversary. In your time as a vigilante, you never went back on your core principles, arresting criminals and leaving them for the police to find. You kept yourself hidden from both heroes and villains for three years, using what you’d learned from Nogitsune along the way - until now.”

If he hadn’t already been uncomfortable and unnerved, he most certainly was now.

“Impressive, really. Skirting the law for so long, committing so dire an atrocity as cold-blooded murder without recompense.” She didn’t laugh, but she sounded amused. “It is for this reason we’ve chosen you as Nogitsune’s replacement: Your willingness to do what’s necessary, no matter the personal cost to yourself. Forsaking your friendships, sacrificing your professional and personal lives, devoting yourself to the mission - Some might view that as selfish, a sign that you have no sense of self, but we would argue the opposite is true. You would make the hard decisions where Nogitsune would not because you, and all others, stand to lose everything.”

Was she…trying to appeal to his sense of duty? It was true that he’d given all of himself to any given cause; He felt particularly strongly about his work, to the point he’d lost count of how many times he’d nearly lost his life to it, because the people deserved peace, his friends deserved peace, he deserved peace, and he owed it to each and every one of them to put a stop to any villain that would take it from them. He would make difficult choices, leave herodom behind, bend and break the rules, suffer unfathomable fear and doubt–

The Director, once more moving around in her squeaky chair, leaned over her desk, fingers lacing together beneath her chin. He could feel her eyes burning through the holes in his mask and even though he was content to stare in Hawks’ general direction, to anchor himself to something she hadn’t yet poisoned with her attempts at manipulation that day, he swallowed thickly and inevitably returned her gaze with great reluctance.

He didn’t dare dignify her with a proper response.

“Moving on,” she announced plainly, narrowing her eyes under the curtain of her too-blond, too-clean brows. From this day forward, as I’m sure you’re already aware, you will be given a - ah - refresher course by way of training, which will include a number of benchmark tests so we can see where you’re at exactly and determine how to proceed from there. Your proctors have already been chosen: Saboteur, Tarot, Stargazer, Eraserhead, and Nogitsune himself. Hawks will also be taking part in your training, which will last until we are satisfied. You will be expected to arrive here in the early morning, no later than six, and your training will end at five o’clock each day. However, there may be instances in which your training will be extended well into the evening, perhaps even overnight.”

Saryn immediately looked to Hawks, who himself had taken to looking at the Director, but there was nothing discernable in his eyes. They were dark, to be sure, but he couldn’t decide if that had been directly caused by the gloom pervading the office or if the avian hero had felt strongly one way or another and refused to show it. He had no tells, but…beyond that, why was he so involved in this? Did the Director think having some relative acquaintance along for the ride would be helpful, encouraging, an anchor point even? Was Hawks doing this of his own volition, if begrudgingly so? Or did he simply have no say in the matter? Why was he involved at all, beyond his agreed upon accompaniment? Was this an attempt to strengthen an existing relationship in some way, or was it merely a formality?

Hawks… I don’t understand.

Barring that, however, remained the bone-chilling confirmation of Tarot’s presence throughout this so-called training course, but it was thanks to Hawks’ prior warning that Saryn was able to more or less move on, accept it, and even gloss over it in his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about it anymore than he had to and instead deal with him when the time came. There was no other way. If he was to be forced into speaking with him, fighting with him, seeing that awful, conniving, dastardly grin day in and day out, feeling those hands on his body again through such twists propagated by the Commission, then so fucking be it - but he would do so in a way that he could handle, albeit with great anxiety.

He was tired, weighed down by the inevitability of that which he could not control, that which he had no say in.

“You’re doing an awful lot of thinking, Hellhound. Is this too much for you already?” the Director prodded disdainfully, the faintest hint of condescending amusement in her words.

“N-no, ma’am,” he rasped, though it was hardly above the volume of a whisper.

She hummed in acknowledgement, perhaps vaguely pleased with his answer.

“Good. Now,” she continued, sitting upright for a brief moment and pulling open one of the drawers in her desk. She produced a single manila folder thick with what Saryn assumed had been paperwork and carefully set it on her desk, clearing her throat. “Throughout your training, you are to investigate the villain known as Kioku Nusumi, an ally of Prisma’s. This file,” she tapped a lone finger against it as she spoke, “contains all the information we have on her, and all else you need to know regarding your case and what is expected from you. However, I’ll tell you this now: Your goal is to locate her, figure out what she’s up to, and stop her - by any means necessary, of course.”

“You mean…” Kill her?

“Correct. Study the information available to you and act accordingly. You will be rewarded for your work pending your success.”

The coldness with which she spoke sent a chill down his spine, icy and impossible to ignore, as if this were all nothing more than a business decision. Even though Kioku Nusumi was an ally of Prisma’s, she was still a person, her life still carried value, and it was more likely than anything else that she was roped into Prisma’s service via manipulation, gaslighting, and horrific abuse. Granted, treating her with kid gloves would be useless, unhelpful, and ultimately detrimental, but outright denying her any respect–

As if I’m one to talk… I put Prisma down like a dog. What right do I have–?

With the sudden resurgence of his guilt pricking at his heart, he swallowed.

“And If I fail?” he asked quietly, taking in a raling breath.

“The consequences will be great. We will not tolerate any failures from you,” the Director answered matter-of-factly, her voice firm and her expression grave.

Saryn nodded slowly, taking a few uncertain steps toward her desk in order to retrieve the file on Kioku Nusumi, his knuckles turning white and his heart pounding. As he reached for it, hesitant fingers brushing the cool manila, he pursed his lips in an attempt to conceal how he truly felt in all this, knowing she could see the lower half of his face clearly now. She allowed him to take the file without interruption and once he had the hefty thing in his hands, she teetered back in her office chair and looked up at him with a cold darkness in her eyes.

“Hawks will be there to monitor your progress and lend you any aid should you require it. You will be working with each other, as a team. Bear in mind that if you fail, so does he,” she said, knitting her fingers once more and briefly casting her frigid gaze Hawks’ way. He remained shock-still and otherwise unreadable. “Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Saryn breathed, inching back to his original spot.

But…what does failure mean to you, Director? I don’t want to kill anyone. I can’t do it again– So what will happen to Hawks if I don’t kill her? Do I have to kill her, is that the goal? Or do I just…

Can I just–

“Now, then. In one hour, your first test will begin. Nogitsune will meet you at the ground-level front desk to take you to the necessary facility.”

This is wrong. How can you expect me to–

“We look forward to seeing you in action, Hellhound. Do not disappoint us.”

But what if that’s all I end up doing?

#bloodfeather #hawks #takami keigo #hawks x oc #takami keigo x oc #hawks x male oc #takami keigo x male oc #mha x male oc #bnha x male oc #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #fanfiction #death mentions /#anxiety /

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aspenforest732 · 5 months

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Mortem ad Wrens Chapter 21: For the Courage to Decide

Summary:

tw: torture mention Important conversations and a deal

Notes:

‘text’ JSL Text thoughts

Dark Shadow was the first to notice their footwear, and they looked up at Akira curiously from between their and Tokoyami’s desks. “Why are you wearing house shoes?”

‘My left shoe got accidentally destroyed, so I needed something quick to wear.’

Tokoyami peeked over, feathers ruffling as he noticed the bandages. ‘What are those for, Reaper?’ he signed, eyes piercing and worried.

Akira sighed, ‘Eraser is aware. And maybe Mic?’ They thought for a moment, last night a bit hazy from sleep deprivation and pain. ‘I got burned by Wildfire in an avoidable situation that was my fault, and I got help when I needed it.’

Ida strode over, arm chopping. “Mori, it is in violation of the dress code to not wear proper shoes to school. You should change.”

Akira just rolled their eyes. ‘Engine Calf, I don’t have other shoes right now.’

Ida flushed and sputtered an apology before returning to his seat. Akira held back a sigh as a location ping came through from Dabi at their apartment: Danger.

After a visit to Recovery Girl to heal their leg the rest of the way and remove their bandages, Akira met Dark Banquet back in the classroom, only to find Shoto with them. They waved and carefully slid into their chair while trying not to jostle their leg much. ‘Blank, looks like I’ll be staying another night.’

Shinso just nodded, shoulders tense as the others looked between them.

Shoto spoke first, neutral expression taking a confused cast. “Is something wrong?”

Koda interpreted for Akira since Shoto was still pretty new, ‘My roommate has a difficult-to-control fire quirk, and there was an incident last night that was completely avoidable on my part. Can we not talk about it? I’m getting tired of explaining.’

Shoto blinked, more confusion filling his eyes, “What does that have to do with Shinso, though?”

‘When things were getting bad while my roommate and I adjusted to living together, I told Mad Banquet that I would leave if things got worse. Which they didn’t.’

“I heard when Recovery Girl came. Dad would only call her if things were hospital bad. Then I wake up to your leg still covered in second-degree burns and gaps in the bandaging. How the hell is that not worse?”

Akira winced, not sure how to respond for a while. ‘It would put you in too much danger to explain why-’

“Danger?” Shinso leapt to his feet. “You want to talk to us about danger. We survived USJ, the League could strike again any day, and you’re being burnt to a crisp by some asshole when you have a place to go! I’m not going to just stand by and watch you sacrifice yourself just because you hate limelight heroes. What could Pop possibly do that would be worse than what you’re going through right now?”

‘What he could do or what I think he’d do?’ Akira signed after a moment, trying not to pull away.

“What?” Shinso flinched back, continuing at Akira’s gesture. “Both? Either?”

Akira sighed, looking down at their food. They carefully pulled up their sound- and voice-based tormentors in their analysis hall, grateful for Dark Shadow’s velvety touch and vibrations as they started shaking from the rumbling pain of old memories. ‘Sound quirks are capable of far more destruction than most people realize. Beyond the intensity of the sound waves ripping apart cells, specific frequencies that people with enough training – like Mic – can produce are capable of far more damage when built up over time or pulsed. Specific nerve endings can be triggered to the nth degree, intense nausea and vomiting induced, seizures triggered, internal hemorrhaging, the list goes on. All of which I have personally experienced on multiple occasions at the hands of limelights.

What do I think he’ll do?’ Akira finally looked up, tired eyes meeting their friends’ shocked expressions. ‘I have no idea. I want to trust that he won’t do those things. He hasn’t shown any signs of that in class or with you, and he is married to Eraser. But… how do I know that won’t change the moment I decide to stay? The moment he finds out who my bio family is? After something I didn’t know would set him off?’

“But you trusted Fat Gum?” Shinso said weakly.

Akira laughed humorlessly. ‘Not with that much. He had enough prior knowledge and experience from his work that he figured out who I was with less than I’ve told you.’ After a moment, they added while barely moving their hands, ‘I almost ran when he said their name, and he’s a twilight.’

The rest of lunch passed in silence, Shoto contemplative while Akira tried to keep their head above the ocean of memories trying to drag them under. Every so often, phantom pains still shuddered through their body. As focused as they were on existing, they barely registered their friends’ worried glances.

By the end of the day, Akira was heavily leaning into their crutches while deflecting concerned looks from their teachers. They still met up with Kaminari and Tokoyami at the library with their lesson plans, using real-world examples and pictures to help Kaminari with math while giving him their texture ball to help them focus. For Tokoyami, they actively involved Dark Shadow in talking in English, encouraging the pair to work together on schoolwork since they were both aware most of the time during classes. Things still felt a little awkward from lunch, but both seemed content to focus on studying for now.

Kaminari’s grasp of English wasn’t good either, but he seemed to learn better if Akira let them hyperfocus for a while. After the first two hours, Akira asked Dark Shadow to vibrate at a certain frequency, and sure enough, after a few moments, Kaminari looked around confused.

“Do you want to start on English now or keep going on math?” Akira passed them a note.

“I thought I was doing math for the first half?”

“Kaminari, it’s been two hours,” Tokoyami said concerned.

Motioning for Tokoyami to interpret, Akira signed, ‘I think you were hyper-focusing. It’s one of the signs of neurodivergence.’

“Oh, uh yeah,” Kaminari blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have ADHD. If that’s a problem, I can go…” they started to stand up.

Akira quickly shook their head, blinking rapidly as their head pounded. ‘No, that’s not what I meant. I thought you might after doing some research on your learning style and habits yesterday, so I made lesson plans based on what I could find. Does the school know? There are some accommodations you can get that might help.’

Eyes wide, Kaminari shook his head to Akira and Tokoyami’s confusion. “No! I can do it, just need to focus more.”

Glancing at Tokoyami, Akira signed, ‘I have accommodations for my chronic pain and quirk drawback. Does that make me any less of a hero student?’

“No…”

‘Then why would accommodations for your brain being wired differently make you any less of one?’ After a moment, Akira motioned for them to sit back down. ‘Let me know if something wouldn’t be helpful…’

The trio continued studying for two more hours before Aizawa strolled in, and Akira started packing up and reminded Kaminari to ask about an IEP conveniently as Aizawa walked into hearing range but before he was noticed by the others.

“What were you talking with Kaminari about?” Aizawa asked as they walked to his car, Yamada and Hitoshi already waiting.

‘He has ADHD but is worried about getting help. I was reading about ways to help them yesterday when his behaviors lined up in my research, and they should qualify for some accommodations like a different question format and more time to take tests.’

Aizawa’s eyebrows raised, “That’s dedicated for a study group. I’ll talk with Inui to see how we can best approach the conversation. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

As they headed to presumably a mall, Akira made a group chat with Bakugo and Kirishima.

Reaper: I’m worried about Kaminari.

Murdergod: why?

Redhot: yeah, is something wrong?

Reaper: he’s more insecure than I thought

And I already thought they were faking

Pretty sure he doesn’t think they belong in 1-A

Murdergod: the fuck?

Redhot: we’ll talk to him, thanks

Murdergod: get back to studying, nerds

‘You should tell Pop,’ Shinso signed.

Akira winced and stared at them. ‘Like hell I will. I’m not taking that risk.’ At his returning stare, they huffed. ‘Besides, he already knows I’m even more uncomfortable around the other teachers.’

When they arrived at the mall, Akira tried not to stare at the sheer number of options. They were quickly pulled along by Shinso as Yamada pointed out what stores had different clothing and shoe options. At Akira’s simple request for dark durable shoes, Aizawa led them to a store that, judging by the muted colors he mostly wore out of costume, was where he primarily shopped. It focused on visual kei and dark to neutral clothing in general. Akira grabbed a pair of black combat boots and loose, dark grey cargo shorts. Turning around, they took in Yamada holding up a black peplum three-quarters jacket with a few metallic accents. Akira’s eyes lit up, but they bit their lip as they thought through their budget.

“Do you want to try it on, little listener?” Yamada asked with a grin.

‘I don’t have enough in my budget for all three, and I need these.’

Yamada frowned in confusion and motioned Aizawa over with a glance. “Sorry if we weren’t clear enough last night, little listener, but Shouta and I are paying, not you.”

Akira cocked their head, ‘But I’ll pay you back, right? That’s usually how this works.’

Yamada shook his head, “No, we don’t want anything in return. It’s enough to see you express yourself.”

What? There’s always some kind of catch. Akira tried to puzzle through what they could’ve possibly done to front a favor in exchange for this.

“I can see your wheels turning, kid. What’s on your mind?” Aizawa crouched in front of them, eyes searching but kind as Yamada looked on from behind.

‘If it’s a favor exchange, I can’t think of what I’ve done to pay forward, and I’d rather know now what kind of favor is expected,’ Akira signed after a moment.

Understanding sparking in his eyes, Aizawa asked, “Would you be more comfortable if we asked for something in exchange for buying you things?”

‘Yes,’ Akira signed instantly.

“Alright… stay with us through final exams.”

Akira waited a beat for him to continue before looking even more confused. ‘That’s it?’ At his nod, their eyes narrowed. ‘And my job?’

Aizawa sighed, “I don’t suppose we could just give you what you’d earn on those nights? Alright, but if you’re injured, come to us. Understood?”

Akira nodded and hesitantly accepted the jacket from Yamada. Looking in the mirror, a small smile slipped on their face. Turning back, they let Yamada pick out a few shirts and another pair of pants, hesitantly drawing the line at a pair covered in belts and zippers. The blonde just shrugged and put it back, and as they checked out, Akira wondered if this was others’ normal.

Akira was surprised by the small personal touches in the guest room from the black and gold color scheme to Latin books on the small bookshelf to a couple Fat Gum posters on the walls. Akira set their bag down off the soft, dark purple rug covering most of the floor and started sweeping the room for bugs. As they finished, they heard Aizawa walk up to the open door. Carefully replacing the books, Akira turned to face him.

“The only cameras we have are exterior and hand-held. Same for audio recorders. You’re welcome to read any book in the house if you have trouble sleeping. Do you need anything?”

Akira shook their head. ‘Thank you, and no, this is… wonderful.’ Akira sat on the bed, pulling a cat plushie that looked like Bastard onto their lap. There were a few others on the bed of varying sizes and shapes, Bastard about the size of the real cat.

“Good.” Aizawa went to leave before adding, “The grey blanket on the nightstand is weighted. Feel free to grab more blankets from the linen closet by the bathroom if you want more.”

Akira did try to sleep on the bed for an hour before giving up. They slid the pile of blankets onto the floor, arranged them in a nest, and pulled the weighted blanket off the nightstand. Just as they were about to doze off, they got a location request from Dabi. After a moment, they rejected it with the attached message “safe.”

Notes:

welp I can add fashion to the list of things I wasn’t expecting to research for this fic lol I knew the aesthetic I was picturing wasn’t quite goth, but I didn’t find what it was until I found visual kei, a Japanese fashion subculture. Also!! I just finished Libertias aut Mortis today :D sent it off for Moss Nightwing to sensitivity read, but it'll probably take a month or two given how dark it is and what it covers (usually faer turnaorund is faster, but it's a lot and fae's going through a lot right now). Bello Licentiae is shorter than Mortem ad Wrens, so I'll post every other day for that one to catch y'all up with hopefully not much downtime between that wrapping up and posting Libertias aut Mortis.

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