UNLIMITED

A free NSFW TodoDeku zine

This project is 18+ and intended for
adults only!
The table of contents contains
relevant content warnings in red
like this. Please proceed with
caution and curate your experience.
This project is 100% free. No
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 Table Of Contents

6
Sirketz
DSir_Ketz
Art Mod

Crza 8 Just another

Tuesday
DCrzAngel96

20
Tomato
Dmilkysasuke

18 Burning
Aria Desire
Dxyaoi420 Slight Degradation
Organization Mod

25
Yuukinoryuu
DwYuukinoryuu
Greyedscale 26 Wrapped in
thorns of
D50scalesofgrey obsidian
greyedscale Self-harm,
Dissociation,
Injuries

36
Wildmage
DwildmageNSFW
Mild Blood, Chains

37 5 times
Yuu tddk got
Dsnakefujoshi cockblocked
Interrupted sex

44
Koyomu
DKoyomu13
Cover Artist

Yuru 45 Off Beat

Semi-public sex
DYurusarenai3
Formatting Mod

52
Pirta
DPirtart
 Ana 56 Memory Fit
Sex toys,
Dsailoraegis Trans Izuku
eagleharpies

67 Carmine
DCarmineCranes
Graphics Mod
Dildos, Trans Izuku

Aavocado 70 Dream Come

Dhornyaavocado True
Graphic Gang-Rape,
aavocado Mild Gore
Writing Mod

82 Z
DStarkjhoy
Blow Jobs

Nagi K. 83
Forehead kisses
break my
Drowdynagi kneecaps
rowdyhomo Noncon, Violence,
Social Media Mod Body Horror

94
Sirketz
DSir_ketz
NonCon, Body Horror Art mod
 Just another tuesday
By CrzA

The day had been going so well. Everything was calm.

There were no villain attacks, no major incidents that
required hero interference. It was just a peaceful patrol,
clock in, put in the hours, clock out. But, of course,
something had to happen just as Izuku and Shouto were
about to pass the torch to Kacchan and Eijirou.
Thankfully, there was no malicious intent, just a young,
overly excited fan letting their emotions get the better of
them and losing control of a quirk they didn’t yet fully
understand themselves. Izuku certainly couldn’t blame
them for their enthusiasm, and given his own past, he
definitely couldn’t judge them on what happened because
of it. Still, when he felt the burst of energy knock him
backwards, his stomach lurched unpleasantly and
something about him immediately seemed off. The fact
that he didn’t hit hard concrete but something soft and
squishy wasn’t helping ease his worries either, even if he
was somewhat grateful for the lack of a potential
concussion and a new bruise on his rear.
The loud call of a wholly unfamiliar voice yelling “CUT!”
only made matters worse.
“Great job everyone, let’s all take a much-deserved break,
but don’t wander off. We’ll pick back up in twenty.”
Izuku opened his eyes, blinking up at bright artificial lights
hanging from high ceilings rather than the blue skies he’d
been under just seconds ago. His body felt sore and tired,
something he wasn’t entirely unused to, but when the day
had gone so uneventfully, it shouldn’t be this bad. When
had been the last time he felt this sluggish, as if he hadn’t
stopped jumping around for hours on end?
More unknown voices bounced off walls that shouldn’t be
there, saying words that made no sense in his mind. His
gaze flickered behind him and the cold anxiety in his gut

8
spread further into his veins, chilling his blood.
Was that… a camera?
His entire body froze, his suspicions that something
wasn’t quite as it should be all but confirmed, yet more
and more questions rising in his mind the more seconds
that passed.
Then, suddenly, something pressed against the back of his
hand, the warmth barely noticeable under his gloves, but
when he finally turned to his side, the mismatched eyes
that greeted him from above made some of his worries
melt away.
“Izuku…?” Shouto whispered, voice low enough that only
he would hear it, and that soft tone, that familiar cadence
to his speech, was like the sweetest music to his ears.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Izuku sat up, taking that
offered hand in both of his with a sigh of relief, something
he knew so well and held so dear in what was slowly
proving to be more and more alien.
“Oh, thank goodness, you’re here.”
“Yeah… where is here, though?” Shouto asked, sweeping
the large, crowded room with his gaze. Greenscreens, light
stands, cranes and rails… “Are we in a studio?”
They had both seen their fair share of them in their time
as full-fledged heroes; from interviews, to adverts, to the
occasional promotional shoot, places like these were as
much a part of their career as the streets they protected.
But the fact of the matter was that they most definitely
shouldn’t be in one right now. And why were so many
people eyeing them suspiciously?
Realizing they’d likely been lying here for a while now,
Izuku quickly scrambled to his feet, pulling Shouto up with
him. Was it just him, or did he somehow feel heavier? It
had to be his imagination.
Two young women approached them immediately,
offering them bottles of water with nothing more than a

9
bow of their heads before quickly returning to wherever
they had come from, glancing over their shoulders with
disbelief written all over their faces then secretively
whispering to each other. Somewhere behind them, Izuku
could make out another hushed conversation that was
surely not meant for either of them, straining to listen for
any clues.
“Since when do those two get along?”
“Does this mean filming with them will be less tense from
now on?”
“As if.”
“They’ll be at each other’s throats again in no time.”
Were they talking about them? Shouto and him? Fighting?
They stared at one another, then at the people watching
them still, even more confused than before. Not really
knowing what else to do, Izuku scanned the area for an
exit, finding the green and white sign at the furthest
corner. He held Shouto’s hand tighter, making his way
towards it as fast as he could without calling even more
attention to them, yet feeling eyes boring holes into their
backs every step of the way.
Luckily, they came out into an empty hallway leading to
what looked like dressing rooms, away from prying eyes
and ears, where they could at least gather their bearings
until they figured out what the hell was going on. Izuku
twisted on his heel to face Shouto as soon as the door
closed, tripping over his own two feet in his nervous haste
and tumbling forward, eyes widening with a gasp. He
reached for Shouto on instinct alone, aiming for his arm or
his shoulder, but somehow going a little higher than
intended.
His fingers wrapped around the fabric of his hero suit by
his neck, tangling in strands of red and white and
accidentally tugging.
Izuku expected his head to follow, his expression to

10
scrunch with the pain. Instead, the hair slid right off his
head without much resistance, dangling limply from his
hand once he righted himself, staring at it horrified. An
undignified shriek crawled up his throat at the scene, all
his thoughts grinding to a screeching halt as he gawked,
an apology turning to ash on his tongue as he got struck
with the feeling that wouldn’t be enough for somehow
ripping the hair right off his boyfriend’s head.
“Huh…” Shouto said simply, effectively pulling Izuku out of
his stupor, and he snapped his head up to look at him,
blinking stupidly at that annoyingly characteristic
underwhelming reaction.
Izuku didn’t really know what to expect when he faced
Shouto again, fingers still buried deep in the mass of hair
that he was only now realizing didn’t feel nearly as silky
and soft as he was used to. But it wasn’t thick, black hair
carefully and meticulously swept back and away from his
face. Shouto poked at the intricate web of pins someone
had likely spent a fair amount of time placing perfectly so
that no stray locks would poke out from underneath the
wig. The wig that Izuku was still holding carelessly, no
doubt tangling it into an unrecognizable mess.
Jerking back to reality, though certainly one that wasn’t his
own, Izuku struggled to straighten it out, standing on the
tips of his toes to place it back on top of Shouto’s head.
Part of him was relieved that it was in fact nothing but a
wig, but another one entirely really didn’t know how to
feel about any of this.
As he did his best to brush out the few knots he’d created
in the wig with his fingers, Izuku inadvertently lost himself
in Shouto’s beautiful eyes staring back into his own,
glimmering with a mix of affection and amusement that
warmed his heart, even beneath the lingering sense of
dread hanging over their heads. Slowly, he felt himself
leaning closer, caught in Shouto’s gravitational pull, in the
invitation that was always there when they found
themselves alone and in each other’s bubble like this.
Instinctively, he brought his hands up to frame his face,
ready to close the distance between their lips, when

11
something caught his attention.
Shouto’s pupils dilated slightly and… Izuku stuck his face
closer. “Are those contacts?!”
At the sudden outburst, Shouto jerked slightly, but didn’t
quite pull away, still leaning into his touch, all but ignoring
his comment in a silent plea for his lips. Without thinking,
Izuku rubbed at Shouto’s left cheek with his thumb, over
the reddened, rough skin, his curiosity as to what else
about his unique image was purely fabricated in this
strange dimension they had fallen into getting the better
of him. Shouto merely cringed at the rough gesture, the
scar, against all odds, remaining unchanged.
“So, the scar’s not makeup.” Izuku observed
absentmindedly.
That, it seemed, finally made Shouto pull away slightly, a
little pout at his lips that made Izuku’s thoughts turn
blank. “Did you want it to be?”
Izuku’s eyes widened at the ludicrous question, mouth
opening to refute immediately, yet his words cutting off at
the sound of someone else’s entirely.
“What the hell are you two nerds doing here getting all
chummy with each other?!”
An explosive voice came from somewhere at the end of
the hall, and they broke apart instantaneously. Izuku
turned to the source with a strange mix of embarrassment
and joy at yet another familiar face joining them, stalking
in their direction with purpose. With relief washing over
him, Izuku stepped towards Kacchan, bracing himself for a
smack in the head at their obvious public displays of
affection.
Though what followed was much more shocking to his
system than even the most powerful of Kacchan’s
punches. Just as he was about to reach Izuku, that
threatening glower melted into a welcoming smile in the
blink of an eye, and, without warning, Kacchan threw his
arms around his shoulders, bringing him into a hug so

12
tight he was worried it might crush his ribs. A squeak
caught in his throat as he gasped, blood draining from his
face when Kacchan let out an excited squeal.
“I haven’t seen you in so long! We haven’t had any scenes
together lately, huh? Isn’t it awful?!” Breaking apart,
Kacchan—no, not Kacchan at all—smacked both his
shoulders lightly, grinning from ear to ear. “I missed your
adorable face!” He turned to Shouto then, who somehow
managed to keep his usual stoic expression, giving
nothing away even as the other straightened his wig a
little further. “You guys finally made up and played nice
with each other? That’s so wonderful! Don’t you just love it
when everyone gets along?”
At his eager expression, Shouto gave him a noncommittal
hum and he turned back to Izuku, still smiling brilliantly.
Izuku simply stood there gaping, yet that didn’t seem to
faze this fake Kacchan in the slightest, letting out a hearty
laugh and patting his back a couple more times.
“Gosh, I’m really looking forward to today! I’ll be going
ahead, so you can finish your little rendezvous.” He
chuckled with an actual wink, before fully letting Izuku go
and moving towards the room he and Shouto had fled
from. “See you two sexy beasts on set!”
A loud slap rang through the hall as he passed Shouto and
Izuku balked, jaw hitting the floor as he stared at him
casually walking off as if nothing happened.
“Did he just…” Izuku wheezed as Shouto rubbed at his
rear with an appropriately surprised expression, for once.
“He definitely did.”
Izuku ran his hands through his curls, fleetingly grateful
that at least his hair was still his own, and leaned against
the nearest wall before hugging himself as he shuddered.
“This place is insane. I mean, Kacchan being friendly
would be weird enough, but whatever that was, was…”
“Wrong.” Shouto offered helpfully, and Izuku nodded in
agreement, closing his hands to fists and testing his

13
strength.
“Can you use your quirk?” Shouto simply shook his head
and Izuku sucked in a breath. “We need to get back, but
how? It’s safe to assume this is the result of that fan’s
quirk, but we don’t know any details. If we were somehow
transported to an alternate universe in which our whole
lives are just some—TV show, and quirks don’t even exist,
then…”
“There won’t be anyone here who can help us get back.”
Izuku swallowed thickly, a cold sweat running down his
back at the thought. “Let’s not panic, though. I’m sure
someone from our world will work on a solution at least.
So, for now, we should probably just play along and try not
to get in trouble.”
“Okay.” Shouto walked closer, taking Izuku’s hands and
squeezing them reassuringly before pointing to the door
to the set with his head. “Shall we, then?”
“I guess there’s not much of a choice.”
All the answer he got from Shouto was a low hum, the
characteristic response somehow serving to calm his
nerves as they stepped back into the thick of things.
Everyone was still frantically getting everything ready to
continue shooting, people shouting instructions every
which way in a sort of organized chaos that made Izuku’s
head hurt slightly. He nearly jumped right out of his skin
when someone turned straight to them, telling them to
get into position as if that was supposed to mean
something.
Izuku stood there awkwardly for a few beats, looking
around for any sort of context clue until he found crimson
eyes shining brightly at him and all but inviting him to step
closer. Despite every fiber of his being yelling ‘IMPOSTOR’,
Izuku swallowed down those feelings and approached the
friendly actor.
“You look nervous, this isn’t like you.” The other smiled at
Izuku’s mildly panicked expression, the little chuckle that

14
followed not at all mocking. Though Izuku almost wished
it were—it would make a lot more sense, coming from
that face, at least. “Did you forget the script?”
Izuku glanced over at Shouto, who merely shrugged.
“Um… yeah, we got a little preoccupied… sorry…”
With another small laugh, Kacchan huffed in amusement,
pointing at a couple of red marks on the floor just a bit
ahead. “This next scene is easy, you two just lie down and
look unconscious, and I’ll slap Deku awake. Well, pretend
to anyway. There’s no way I’d ever hurt your beautiful
face.”
Izuku exhaled sharply, completely glossing over that last
comment for the sake of his own mental health. That
sounded simple enough. Slowly, Izuku and Shouto both
walked to their places, lying down on the floor and looking
at Kacchan’s actor questioningly. In all honesty, the
thumbs up they received in return only made Izuku feel
more doubtful. He could be pranking them or something,
trying to make them look like complete fools.
How believable would it be if they pretended to have lost
their memories all of a sudden? Would that get them out
of this, at least for long enough until they figured out how
or when they would get back and prepare accordingly?
Before Izuku could reach any sort of conclusion, the order
for the scene to start jolted him out of his thoughts, stiffly
following the directions barked at him for how to position
his body. Much like when they first got here, Shouto’s
hand found his own, brushing against it lightly, the touch
barely lasting more than a few seconds, yet managing to
steady him enough to remain still.
The cameras started rolling, he heard the shuffling of
boots on gravel, steadily coming closer.
“Oi, you damn nerd. This isn’t the time for a powernap!”
Kacchan’s voice rang in his ears, so perfectly matched with
the one he knew that he had to tell himself it was nothing
like the real thing.

15
A hand wrapped around the front of his shirt, lifting his
body off the ground, and Izuku found himself strangely
heavy, his limbs limp. Maybe this acting thing wasn’t as
hard as he thought it would be.
And then, with the force of someone who didn’t care if it
hurt, a gloved hand slapped right across his face. Izuku’s
eyes shot open with a gasp as he sat up, grabbing at fake
Kacchan’s collar, outraged.
“Hey, what the hell?! You said you were just pretending!”
Kacchan’s eye twitched slightly, a vein popping on his
forehead as tiny explosions crackled at his right hand.
“Hah?!”
Izuku blinked, noticing the remarkable lack of cameras
and fake props around him, and slowly loosened his grip
on Kacchan’s shirt, bringing his hands to his face instead
and squishing his childhood friend’s cheeks. “Is it really
you?”
“The fuck—get off me, Deku!”
As Kacchan pushed Izuku back onto the road, he turned to
his side, finding Shouto sitting up with Eijirou beside him,
tugging at his hair and sighing in relief when it seemed
very much attached to his head.
“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry! Are you all right?” The fan
asked urgently, running closer as they kept apologizing
profusely. “M-my quirk—I-I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right,” Shouto quickly assured once Eijirou helped
him to his feet, still looking a little confused, yet placing a
comforting hand on their shoulder as he crouched down
to smile at them softly, calming them down, “accidents
happen.”
“But what was that?” Izuku found himself asking, both his
curiosity and shock getting the better of him as he felt at
himself for anything missing. Luckily, everything seemed
to be the way it should be.
“I-it’s called Dream Scape. I-it just induces a fever dream of

16
sorts. Sometimes collectively.”
“Stop being so dramatic, you idiots were out for like a
minute, tops.” Kacchan grunted, rolling his eyes at them
and patting at the kid’s back to get them back to their
parents.
At that, Izuku couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, the
tension that had built up in that backwards world leaving
his body all at once as he sat down on the sidewalk and
just breathed. Shouto sat beside him, their knees
bumping together as they looked toward the horizon,
unseeing.
“Let’s never speak of this again.” Izuku muttered.
“Your face is red.” Shouto ignored him, resting his cooled
hand where Kacchan had slapped him. “I’d kiss it better
but… you tried to wipe my scar off my face.”
With an undignified noise, Izuku pushed Shouto to the
side, standing up and stomping off with a petulant purse
to his lips. “I hope you have nightmares about Kacchan’s
doppelganger!”
“Now that’s just low, Izuku.” Shouto chuckled, falling into
step with him and taking his hand.
Izuku sighed, holding it back. Just another Tuesday.

17
 Burning Desire
By Aria

Content Warnings: Slight Degradation

Late afternoon light filtered through the windows of
Shouto’s room. It was quiet in the dorms right now, with
most people napping or studying, which was what Shouto
had ostensibly invited Izuku over to do. In practice,
though? Studying together was impossible. Always had
been. Alone, he would be able to focus. Even with
Yaomomo, he would be able to work in quiet
companionship. But the simmering desire he felt for Izuku
was an ever-present distraction. Not that he didn’t try to
focus. He knew he needed to study, and he began every
homework session with the best of intentions, but he
would inevitably find himself off-task. How could he be
expected to read about the history of the Hero
Commission when he could watch the way Izuku’s fingers
moved over the page instead? Naturally, his mind would
wander, thinking about the way those same fingers would
feel on his skin or tangled up in his hair, and that was that.
Well, at least one of them was getting some work done. He
stared at Izuku’s freckled face as he poured over a
textbook. They were set up on the floor, just a few feet
apart, and Izuku was sitting against the bed, deep in
thought. His fingers were at his mouth, pulling at his lip
while he concentrated. It probably wasn’t a habit most
people would find endearing, but Shouto did. Watching
Izuku think was something he enjoyed. If he was honest,
watching Izuku do anything was something he enjoyed.
Shouto himself had given up studying at least ten minutes
ago. It was just too hard to keep his thoughts from drifting
to lewd places.
He pictured himself grabbing Izuku’s hand, pulling it to his
own mouth to kiss his battered knuckles. Or maybe he’d
suck on his fingers. The first time he had ever done that,

18
Izuku’s reaction had been swift and overwhelming in the
best of ways. Oh, how Shouto longed to feel the weight of
Izuku on his tongue, to taste the salt of his skin, to look
into his big green eyes and see his own lust reflected back
at him—
Oh. Izuku was looking at him right now, actually.
“Shouto, don’t we need to study?”
Shouto blushed at being caught in the act, as if his dirty
thoughts were written across his face. The way Izuku was
smiling at him said he knew exactly why Shouto was
unable to focus right now.
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Is something on your mind?”
Shouto didn’t want to look at his face, so he looked at
Izuku’s thighs instead. He was wearing sweatpants, and
they looked so good spread over the muscle of his legs,
and—shit, there he went again.
“No.”
He blushed. He didn’t want Izuku to think he was some
horny idiot mooning over him like a schoolgirl.
“Are you sure? You seem distracted.” Izuku teased.
“Maybe a little,” Shouto mumbled. He should have
learned by now that there was no point in lying. Izuku had
a knack for getting Shouto to spill whatever was on his
mind, no matter how humiliating.
Izuku didn’t reply, but he leaned over to close Shouto’s
textbook. The definitive sound of the cover snapping shut
changed the atmosphere in the room. That peaceful, late-
afternoon feeling was gone, replaced with something
electric that made Shouto’s skin buzz with anticipation.
Izuku stretched out his arms, beckoning Shouto close.
“C’mere, baby.”

19
20
The pet name made him feel warm and syrupy inside.
Baby. He was Izuku’s baby. Shouto crawled over his
forgotten homework, shoving the textbook out of the way,
and let Izuku pull him into his lap. A hand on his jaw tilted
his face up until he met a pair of soft, warm lips, and his
mind went sweetly blank as they kissed.
Shouto had never kissed anyone but Izuku. The first time,
he’d been so awkward, so wooden, that he was nervous
Izuku would never kiss him again. Of course, that didn’t
happen. Izuku was patient with him in all things, kissing
included, and he gently guided Shouto on how to move
his head, how to keep his teeth from getting in the way,
how to use his tongue. Now, kissing felt natural, like he’d
been kissing Izuku his whole life. Izuku was good at
making Shouto feel like he’d always been there, as if the
part of life that had occurred before they met was some
faraway nightmare.
Izuku’s big hands cradled Shouto’s face as he deepened
their kiss. Shouto sucked on his tongue, enjoying the
sloppy feeling of it. When Izuku moaned into his mouth,
he felt pure satisfaction. Shouto wasn’t exactly a quick
study, but he’d been determined to figure out exactly
what Izuku liked the most when they were together like
this. Luckily, they indulged each other with many
opportunities to practice, and by now, they both knew
what made the other one’s blood run hot.
Izuku bit Shouto’s neck and sucked a mark into his skin.
Shouto didn’t bother to stop him. It didn’t matter who saw
the physical proof that they belonged to each other, and
honestly, Shouto couldn’t deny that he wanted people to
know. The thought of people seeing the bruise on his
throat and knowing Izuku gave it to him made his heart
race.
“You taste so good.” Izuku pressed wet kisses all over his
jaw and the side of his mouth, as if he couldn’t make up
his mind on where to focus his attention.
“Mmm.” Shouto didn’t know how to respond. It could be
overwhelming, the way Izuku loved him, and it was
difficult to do anything but drown in the tide of sensation.

21
Izuku’s lips found his again as he slid his hands up
Shouto’s shirt. Rough palms moved over his nipples,
making Shouto gasp into his mouth. He could feel Izuku
grin, pleased, as always, by his body’s responsiveness to
his touch. Shouto wanted more. He rolled his hips down,
chasing friction in Izuku’s lap. Izuku’s hands glided down
his torso to grab his hips and grind against him. Sparks of
pleasure radiated from his core as his hard cock rubbed
against Izuku’s.
“Touch me.” The frantic sound of his own voice shocked
Shouto. Only Izuku could wind him up like this.
Izuku slid a hand into Shouto’s pajama pants and curled
his fingers around his cock. He was already so wet. Izuku
ran his thumb over his leaking cockhead, smearing
precum down his shaft as he moved his hand. If there was
any room in his brain left for such things, Shouto may
have felt embarrassed or even slutty by the way he rutted
into Izuku’s fist, mindlessly chasing friction. All he felt was
desperate. Desperate for more, desperate for anything
Izuku would give him.
Shouto vaguely wondered if it would always feel this way
between them: this burning, insatiable urge, growing
stronger by the day. After all, desire couldn’t be sated; it
could only be fed. Where had he read that? His mind felt
hazy, he couldn’t remember, all he could think about was
how even his left side didn’t burn as hot as this thing
between them that he was certain would one day reduce
him to a pile of ash.
Izuku was jerking him off with tight, quick strokes that
made his belly feel tight. His other hand was tangled in
Shouto’s hair, pulling hard at the back of his neck, just the
way Shouto liked it.
“I want you so bad.” Izuku murmured against his ear,
giving him goosebumps. “Wanted to fuck you right there
on the table at dinner.”
Something dark and deep twisted inside Shouto’s core at
his words, making him squirm in Izuku’s lap. His reaction
didn’t go unnoticed. Izuku squeezed his cock harder,

22
twisting his fist on the upstroke and making Shouto’s toes
curl.
“Yeah? That make you hot? Me fucking you in front of all
of our friends?”
“Fu-uck, yes, yes.” He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe,
overwhelmed by the lewd thought of Izuku fucking him in
public, claiming Shouto in front of their friends and God
and everyone.
“That’s what I thought, baby, I know you want ‘em all to
see you take my cock.”
It was too much. His body was on fire; Izuku had never
said something so filthy before and it made Shouto
almost nauseous by how turned on he was.
“You’re my slut and you want everyone to know it, don’t
you?”
“I-Izuku, ‘m gonna—”
That hot, slick grip got even tighter as Shouto fucked
Izuku’s fist shamelessly, like a dog, like a mindless slave to
pleasure until all that tension deep in his gut snapped and
he was spurting across his scarred fingers.
“That’s it, that’s it, baby, cum for me.”
All Shouto could do was whimper as he rode out his
orgasm in Izuku’s lap. Izuku pumped him through the
aftershocks until he was oversensitive, and when he
finally let go, Shouto slumped against his chest like he was
boneless. Izuku peppered kisses against the side of his
head, murmuring sweet little things that Shouto was too
blissed out to hear.
When Shouto pulled away, he tried not to look at the
sticky mess he’d made of Izuku’s hand. Now, the
embarrassment crept in. Had he really cum that hard
from a quick handjob? He bashfully met Izuku’s eyes.
“Um. That felt . . . really good.” That was apparently the
best his post-orgasm brain could manage.

23
Izuku laughed a little, though not unkindly. “Well, that was
the point.” He picked up Shouto’s hand and pressed a kiss
to the inside of his wrist. “Think you’ll be able to focus
now?”
Shouto glanced down at Izuku’s lap, eyes landing on the
obvious bulge in his sweatpants.
“Never.”
Izuku laughed again and pulled him in for another kiss.

24
25
 Wrapped in thorns
of obsidian
By greyedscale

Content Warning: Self-harm, Dissociation, Injuries

A sharp, stabbing pain permeates through Izuku's head as
he tries to wrestle control over Blackwhip. The more Izuku
uses the new aspect of One For All, the more nights like
these have been occurring. The problem was that Izuku
had always been good at compartmentalizing his feelings;
but Blackwhip didn't take that into account. No, the quirk
liked to dig and dig until it had pulled all of Izuku's
emotions to the surface.
The thing is, Izuku is not as cheerful, as innocent as he
tries to be. Izuku has his bad days more often than not,
and most days he bites his lips and holds it in until it's as
rough and chapped as Shigaraki's. He clenches his fists
and holds his breath. He turns the blind eye and hates
himself for it.
More often than not, Izuku bids his friends good night,
locks his door, turns his lights off, and goes to bed,
bandana in hand. It's easier to convince himself what he
feels is not self-loathing but hatred for the status quo. It's
easier to roll his pants up, find a spot as high up his thigh
as he dares, and rear his fist back. No one questions
bruises on a hero student, after all, and Izuku makes sure
to be so careful with where he chooses too—makes sure
he hits the same spot over and over again until even a
body as resistant to bruising as his turns purple and
green. And when that isn't enough, he cracks his knuckles,
pads slowly—quietly—out onto his balcony and punches
the concrete floor as hard as he can.
The thing is Izuku knows it's not healthy, but he can't seem
to stop himself. Not when Blackwhip crows so gleefully at
his soreness the next day, picking eagerly at the anger and
resentment of the previous night, tugging it to the

26
forefront of Izuku's mind. Not when his exhaustion pulls
at him, weighs at his tired body so.
These days, Izuku spends more time planning how to
dodge Shouto's well-meaning questions about his sleep
quality and shoving Blackwhip down than focusing on
being a hero. Perhaps, that is why he lost control when
Bakugou spoke his usual taunts.

It's a day where Izuku wakes up, eyes still glazed over and
mind frozen. Blackwhip is pushing insistently, and Izuku's
anger at the difficulty of the quirk only amplifies its
effects. However, all he can do is just grit his teeth and
bear with it.
Izuku's mind wanders and does not come back to
awareness until All Might's voice jolts his entire body into
uncomfortable vigilance. A sharp stab of pain tugs
insistently at his head, an idle irritation at having to deal
with this now expands the pressure of Blackwhip, making
Izuku feel like a ticking bomb.
"And for today," All Might pauses for dramatic effect, "We
will be reprising the battle simulations from our first day
together except with the roles switched!"
Izuku's eyes instantly lock in on Bakugou and the blond's
grin suddenly feels more sinister than it has in months.
Danger Sense pounds at his skull, a thousand ringing bells
echoing in his mind. Blackwhip wraps eagerly around
Izuku's thighs, reinforcing his 'weak' spots. He winces at
the pressure.
Booming laughter erupts from the corner of Izuku's
awareness. It's not loud enough to pierce the ringing of
Danger Sense. "Looks like Young Midoriya is eager for his
rematch. That's perfect! We'll have Bakugou-shounen,
Iida-shounen, Midoriya-shounen, and Uraraka-shounen
start! Midoriya-shounen and Uraraka-shounen, your prep
time as villains start now."

27
"What do you think we should do, Deku-kun?" Uraraka's
voice is muffled as if far away and underwater. It's still
hard to hear past the pounding of his heart and the
piercing rings of Danger Sense. Izuku does not remember
what he says to his partner, but rather, when he comes to
again, he is in a hallway with the sweet smell of
nitroglycerin invading his nostrils. Danger Sense allows
Izuku to hear his gasping breaths, the thudding of his
heartbeat in his ears, and the ripping of his uniform as
Blackwhip manifests even stronger than it has before.
Izuku hears another boom and with oversaturated vision,
barely makes out Bakugou in front of him. The blond’s lips
are moving but Izuku does not hear anything but—
"… Deku …"
And the resentment rises out of his chest, reminds him of
the slime villain with how fast he regurgitates the black
miasma that's overtaking his body. There's a puddle of
something dark on the floor and Izuku feels the both the
inwards pressure of Danger Sense and eager escape of
Blackwhip pushing outwards. The opposing forces are so
strong, Izuku knows he will burst, can see in his mind’s eye
the mixture of blood and bile pooling around his ankles,
chunks of flesh floating in the pool of liquids.
"Take it," he gasps, hunched over and pulling at his hair,
"Take it away from me. I don't want it anymore. I don't
want it. Just let me be quirkless Deku again. Take it. Take it.
Take it."
He does not register Bakugou, does not remember he is in
class. In that moment, the only thing One for All's holder
perceives is that the world is surely ending.

When Izuku wakes up, it is to the phantom feeling of a

warm hand on his cheek and the deafening silence left
behind by the absence of Danger Sense. Blackwhip pulses
weakly from the direction of Izuku's wrists but is unable to
manifest. As Izuku starts to sit up, he hears the clanking of

28
handcuffs on his arms.
"Ah." Izuku suddenly understands why Blackwhip is
unable to manifest.
He's whacked by a familiar looking cane. "Don't, 'ah' me,
young man," Recovery Girl scolds, "That beau of yours
went through great trouble to get those quirk cancelling
handcuffs for you."
"Todoroki-kun did what?" Izuku rasps.
Recovery Girl raises a single eyebrow. "Carried you over all
the way from Ground Beta and then proceeded to pester
Detective Tsukauchi for two quirk cancelling handcuffs so
that we could actually treat you without One for All getting
in the way."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh," Recovery Girl repeats amusedly. "So, you
better thank him later."
"Yes," Izuku replies faintly, mind already plotting all the
ways he could avoid his boyfriend later, "I will for sure."

Izuku does not thank Shouto. In fact, he does his level

best not to spend time with his boyfriend for a whole
week, even going as far as to use Present Mic's upcoming
English exam as an excuse to spend time alone. It's not
that Izuku doesn't want to be with Shouto, but rather,
Izuku knows, with the state of his life (and Blackwhip) right
now, he can only taint Shouto's life if they were to meet.
Ironically enough, it all comes to a head on the day of the
English exam Izuku had used as an excuse. Izuku is mid-
exam when he feels Blackwhip itching to explode again.
Danger Sense is ringing in the worst way, transporting
Izuku to the middle of a crowd, pressing in on him until
there is no space to breathe. Izuku tries to read the words
on the paper but the letters are swimming in front of him
and the panic gripping his heart is threatening to make his

29
breathing loud enough to be noticed by the rest of the
class.
Izuku does not remember why but all he knows in this
moment is that he needs to make sure he does not lose
face, does not seem weird to the class or gain their
attention in any way. He slowly brings his hands under the
desk and clasp them together, squeezing hard to try to
suppress the tremors. Izuku looks back at the exam,
shoving all of Blackwhip's protests deep within his own
stomach. He takes a deep, long breath as quietly as he
can. He puts his head down, trying to quell the burning
rage of Blackwhip, a fire which seems to be cooking his
flesh from the inside out.
He does not notice the eyes on him, nor the way a certain
pair of mismatched eyes seem to be focused on anything
but their own exam. He does not notice the bell ring; does
not notice Shouto getting up to talk to a quite unusual
group of Uraraka, Ashido, and Jirou; does not notice their
quick glances or shaking of heads. He lays his cheek
against the once cool desk, closes his eyes, and wishes
that he doesn't exist anymore.

Izuku does not remember walking back to his room, but

what he knows is that everything hits him all at once when
the door closes. His heart is working overtime, beating
loudly in a way that only amplifies the shrill noise of
Danger Sense, a pickaxe striking against his skull. He
clutches at his temples, breathing increasing rapidly;
however, before any noise could escape him, Blackwhip
cooperates for the first time since it manifested. It snakes
across Izuku's bodty, wrapping itself tightly around Izuku's
mouth, squeezing around his head and throat like a snake
as Izuku finally lets go. He lets everything he had been
holding back out and lets One For All take over. Green
lightning creeps across black tendrils, hands glowing a
destructive red.
Izuku screams into his quirk, curling his fingers in an
attempt to spread out the pressure. It feels like every

30
atom in his body is being simultaneously pushed and
pulled in opposite directions. Blackwhip finishes wrapping
itself around Izuku, digging into his flesh once there was
no bare skin exposed, suckling at the blood of his wounds,
amplifying every minute pain and frustration and
panicked emotion by a thousand-fold.
Izuku is not sure if he is controlling Blackwhip or the other
way around anymore.

Izuku is wrapped up in bandages more often than not

these days—although it is not much of a change from his
pre-One For All days. He walks a little slower, slumps a
little further. He is anything but present. He's stuck in a
constant loop of trying to suppress Blackwhip just enough
to not trigger Danger Sense, overwhelmed and weary with
all he has to do to suppress the quirk he was given.
There's a knock on his door, and Izuku wonders if the
person would go away if he just pretended not to be
there.
"Midoriya?" Iida's voice drifts over, muffled not just by the
door separating the two, "Don't forget it's your turn to
pick up the snacks this week! I just wanted to remind you
since I just remembered as well. That's all."
Gradually fading footsteps infiltrate Izuku's ears. He sighs,
hauling his body off his bed. Might as well go now.

Izuku is three people into the checkout line at the local

convenience store when a villain attacks. Body heavy and
eyes lidded, Izuku sighs as he puts his basket of snacks
down. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his
provisional license.
"This is Provisional Hero Deku. Please stop with your
unauthorized quirk use."

31
The villain laughs, responding with some generic villain
statement Izuku has heard more than a dozen times. He's
not paying attention, rather, Izuku is busy wondering why
Danger Sense isn't ringing, why Blackwhip isn't trying to
break loose.
The villain says something Izuku's ears don't register.
There's a pause, and Izuku can suddenly feel everyone's
eyes on him. They're waiting for a response. Izuku blinks
deliberately a few times as he tries to figure out what to
say. His mind is lethargic, and he's kind just done with
everything. Yeah, whatever. He mentally shrugs as he
leaks a sliver of the enhancer portion of One for All into
his bloodstream. He flexes what seems like a single
muscle, and in a blink, the villain is pressed against the
ground, Izuku's hands gripping the villain's wrists tightly, a
gun laying on the floor.
Izuku almost lets go of the villain as he jolts in his body.
When did he move?
"Can you call the police?" Izuku hears a confident voice
order firmly. He feels the vibrations in his throat at a slight
delay. It's his voice.
It's only once the police finished up and returned to the
station and Izuku was left with slightly smushed,
complementary snacks that he realizes he has not felt
anything from Black Whip or Danger Sense in hours. He
wonders what that means.

Izuku is not aware of how much time has passed since he

laid on his bed, door unlocked, shoes still on. He feels the
knock on his door in his chest but is too numb to respond
to it.
"I'm going to enter, okay?" he hears float over, muffled,
from the door. It's Shouto.
The door opens, but Izuku is too tired to even turn his
head to take a look. A weight settles on Izuku's right side,

32
and he opens his eyes halfway. There's a silence where
Izuku is both just floating and waiting for Shouto to say
what he needs to and anxious in a slightly distant way for
what may come.
He hears a deep inhalation. "We should break up."
Izuku doesn't have the breath to reply. He can only lie
there, paralyzed in the suddenness of feeling as the
silence overtakes them.
"I mean," Shouto continues, "It's obvious that since we
started dating you've gotten worse. Mentally, I mean. That
is, well, I mean you. … You seem to be having a tough time
dealing with how … fucked up I am." Shouto's voice breaks
on the last phrase, chokes a little as if he had swallowed
wrong while chewing but was pretending to be fine.
"I'm sorry I did that to you," he whispers at last. His
breathing hitches in the way Izuku is all too familiar with;
he didn't mean to make Shouto cry.
Izuku still can't muster up the energy to sit up straight, but
he knows he has to say this at least. "'S not your fault."
"How can it not be?" Shouto gasps out between his tears
and irregular breaths. "How can it not be when you're like
this?"
"'S jus' not," Izuku gets out, "It's all me."
"I don't believe you," Shouto whimpers. Izuku feels the
bed shift a little, and he just knows Shouto has his head in
his hands.
"'S'all me though," Izuku gets out, eyes still only half open.
He's just so tired. "Quirk's all funky and bad."
"What do you mean?"
"Keeps 'sploding n' stuff. Likes to latch onta anger. Kinda
like Dark Shadow when s'too dark. 'N it keeps ringing
when I'm just tryna get through the day. Why can't it just
ring during actual villain stuff like earlier today."

33
"You met villains today?" Shouto sounds horrified, one
centimeter away from slipping into full blown panic.
"Nothing much happened," Izuku quickly reassures from
his position on the bed, "Just an attempted robbery. The
danger alarm part of my quirk didn't even register it, so
that must mean I wasn't in danger at all."
"What do you mean you weren't in danger? There was a
villain ready to use lethal force, wasn't there?"
"… I think so?"
"What do you mean 'I think so?' Either there was or there
wasn't."
"He had a gun. But I don’t remember what he said. And
Danger … alarm, the aspect of my quirk that tells me I'm in
danger didn't go off."
"Izuku," Shouto begins after a long pause, "I don't think
that's the normal definition of not being in danger."
He shakes his head into the bed. "Are you saying I'm not
normal?" he asks; if it weren't for how numb he was, he
might've truly been offended.
"Well," Shouto pauses a bit, "I wouldn't say so."
Ice runs down Izuku's spine, and this, this is finally the
impetus he needs to sit up all the way. "You're calling me
crazy."
"No, I'm saying you need help. … And that I think I need
help too."
"Wha—"
"Let me finish," Shouto grabs Izuku's hands in his, forcing
the green-haired boy to stare into his eyes.
"We're both not okay. Not you with—" he waves his hands
vaguely "—whatever the hell is going on with your quirk.
And not me with how I immediately assumed I was the
problem."

34
"No, we're not." Izuku stops struggling and leans a little
into Shouto. "We're really not okay," he repeats hollowly.
Tears start slipping down his face, wetting Shouto's shirt
in an uncomfortable way. His cries are slipping out of his
throat, throbbing in time with Black Whip's urge to burst
out, suppressed only by how exhausted and empty Izuku
feels. Shouto pulls Izuku tighter into his taller body, hands
stroking at the other boy's messy hair. They stay like that
for a while; immersed in void that crying leaves behind;
trapped in the damp, gloomy atmosphere; left with only
their bodies, heavy with the reality of what it means to
feel empty.

35
36
 5 times tddk got cockblocked
(and the 1 time they returned the favor)
By yuu

Content Warnings: Interrupted sex

(one)
“Shouto,” Izuku moaned as Shouto kissed up the side of
his neck, sucking hickies against his pulsepoint.
Shouto had the slimmer teen against the lockers, one
hand under Izuku’s perfect ass to hold him up while the
other started on removing his jumpsuit. Izuku’s arms
twined around Shouto’s neck, trying to pull him closer as
the two rutted against each other, erections straining
against their clothes.
“Oi, you two fuckfaces ready to get on the training field or
do I need to tell Aizawa you’re too busy sucking each
other off to get to class?”
Shouto froze, breath hitched as he turned a bit to see
Bakugou at the entrance to the locker room, a peevish
look gracing the blond’s face. Honestly though, Shouto
should be the one who was peeved—this was the first
time he and Izuku had any time together in weeks, and
the blond had the audacity to come in now?
With a sigh, Shouto moved his hands, carefully lowering
Izuku so his feet could reach the ground.
“We weren’t even at that part yet,” Izuku grumbled as he
started to zip his jumpsuit back up.
A quick glance showed that getting walked in on had killed
Izuku’s erection, the other’s cock flagging.
Shouto wasn’t as lucky, still half-hard in his pants. “You go
on ahead with him, I’ll catch up in a bit.”

37
(two)
Hands of two slightly different temperatures played at
Izuku’s nipples, wringing moans and lewd gasps from the
green-haired teen. Shouto reveled in those sounds.
Something crashed against the floor, as if someone was
throwing textbooks against the ceiling.
“GO TO SLEEP YOU FUCKERS! NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR
YOU FUCK LIKE RABBITS!”
Shouto groaned, burying his face against his boyfriend’s
chest in frustration. Again? Seriously? “We should have
gone to your room,” he mumbled.
Izuku tried to cover his face with his arms, although
Shouto could tilt his head up to see how red his ears had
gotten. “If we did that, Aoyama would probably show up
with celebratory cheese or something. And Mineta would
definitely record us.”
Shouto hissed in disgust. All right, getting cockblocked by
Bakugou (again) was still the better option. “Why can’t he
get a partner to spend the night with so we could do
something here?”
Izuku laughed, warming Shouto’s heart, better than any
fire he could generate.

(three)
Maybe it wasn’t the most subtle way to walk together, but
Shouto didn’t care. His hand was around Izuku’s waist,
pulling the slighter frame towards him. Izuku was more
than happy to oblige, molding against his boyfriend’s side,
breath tickling the slide of his neck as he commented
about the things he was seeing.

38
From behind them, Bakugou made a gagging noise. “Ugh
can’t you two lovebirds get a room or something? No need
to be like this when we’re out on fucking patrol.”
“We did,” Shouto deadpanned, staying close to Midoriya—
their arms were brushing but no longer intimately so—
“but someone threw textbooks towards us to get us to
stop.”
“Correction: get a room that isn’t fucking above mine!”
“Duly noted.”

(four)
The rest of the patrol had been long and harrowing, and
now, at the ridiculously early hour of two in the morning,
Shouto could finally relax. Save for the microwave meals
and the dim lights, they were the only ones in the
cafeteria, and any sound they made echoed against the
walls.
His lips trailed up, pressing kisses against the nape of
Izuku's neck, his cock growing hard and heavy against his
lover’s back. No one was around; he could devour Izuku
right here and now, no need to head back to the dorms
and—
“Are you fucks seriously going to do this in front of my
food?”
Shouto sighed against the warmth of Izuku’s shoulder
blades, glaring towards his blond classmate in frustration
at the interruption. “There's a whole cafeteria, empty of
everything but us three—why must you sit across from
us?”
Izuku tried to get off of Shouto's lap, only to squeak as the
half-hot-half-cold hero squeezed him against his front, not
willing to let his boyfriend go. “Kacchan's right—it's still a
public area, even though it's so late.” He placed his hand
against Shouto's, a comforting presence. “We should

39
finish eating and head on to bed.”
The snickering from their friend that gremlin didn’t make
him want to have sex with his boyfriend any less, but
instead of pulling Izuku closer, Shouto removed his arm
from his middle with a sigh.
“Fine,” Shouto grumbled, going back to his microwave
soba.
“And I’ll make it up to you tomorrow during break,” Izuku
whispered with a giggle before sliding off of Shouto’s lap.
Once in his own seat, Izuku dug into his own noodle dish,
intent on finishing it in as few slurps as possible.
Well.
At least there was some silver lining.

(five)
Izuku’s breath hitched as he tried to concentrate on the
words in front of him, biting his lips to not make any
embarrassing sounds. The vibrating dildo buzzing away
inside of him stilled for a moment before turning up even
higher, making Izuku jump up in his chair, eliciting a yelp
and making all the papers at the interns’ workstation go
flying.
There were a multitude of curses as Kacchan started
collecting the paperwork out of the air, tossing Izuku an
odd look. “What crawled up your ass and died today,
Deku?” It was concerned in the only way Katsuki knew how
to show—by sneering and condescending.
Izuku was touched by the concern but had no idea how to
explain away his distraction. And of course, instead of
stopping, the vibe inched higher in intensity, as did the
vibrators attached to his nipples. The various buzzing
noises were easy to hear in the quiet of the room, and by
Izuku’s red expression, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots.

40
Katsuki stared at Izuku for several long moments before
turning to shoot a glare at Shouto beside him. Shouto
stared back, a hint of a smirk on his lips, not even
bothering to hide one of the soft blue remote he had in
his off hand. “Absolutely fucking gross. You two, we’re
fucking on the clock!”
With a scream of frustration, Kacchan snarled. “I’m going
to get a goddamn drink and you two better be ready to do
your jobs or so help me—” Izuku wasn’t sure if Kacchan
wanted to be ominous or just couldn’t think of a severe
enough ultimatum before the blond stomped off, hands
sparking in his agitation.
A minute passed as the vibrators stopped. Izuku felt a
little bit full from the one in his ass, but he could handle it
while they finished up paperwork. “I’m surprised that you
aren’t asking to try and squeeze a quickie before he
comes back.” Izuku chuckled.
“I considered it,” Shouto admitted, putting the controllers
back into his pocket, “but with our luck? Not going to
chance it.”

(and another)
“I don't see why we have to get him,” Shouto groused,
even as he followed Izuku up the flight of stairs to the
fourth floor. “We could have a nice time without Bakugou.”
“Do you want just the two of us to hang out with your
father and his other sidekicks?” Izuku asked with a laugh.
“It's a thank you dinner for his staff, us interns included,
so of course Kacchan needs to come!” Conversation
between the two continued, Izuku questioning the place
Endeavor had chosen while Shouto gave his impressions
of the last time he’d been there. “Hmm, that’s strange he
hasn’t read his texts yet,” Izuku mused.
If it was Shouto and the texter was his father, that would
be the normal state of affairs—he only knew about this

41
dinner because Izuku had checked his messages. On the
other hand, the blond was normally fairly prompt at
responding back, albeit with one word answers, unless he
was asleep.
By the time they got to Bakugou’s door, Izuku had brought
himself to a full on mumble storm over the possible
reasons for the lack of response. Etiquette dictated that
the two of them should knock first before entering
someone else’s room, especially if that person was as
notoriously territorial as Bakugou. Izuku was poised to do
just that, but Shouto beat him to it, bursting the door
open and intent on grabbing the blond.
What Shouto expected to see was Bakugou doing
homework or working out or—if they were unlucky—an
empty room with no idea where to look next.
What they got instead was this: a tanned backside, naked
save for the pale hand resting happily against it, not quite
covering the delicate red handprints that they must have
left earlier.
Bakugou mewls—mewls—as he squirms on the other’s lap.
“Keep playing, Daddy.”
And Yaoyorozu chuckles, hand smoothing against his
backside and giving it an affectionate pat.
Shouto closed the door and quickly grabbed Izuku to push
him away from the door, who probably had seen a little
less of the scene than he did. Izuku’s face was flushed red
and Shouto could tell from the heat on both sides of his
face that his own was matching.
“We’ll tell the old man that Bakugou’s busy and never, ever
speak of this again, all right?”
(It didn’t happen that way—Momo was out the door in
something a bit less risque before they even made it to
the elevator to stop them. A few minutes later, a rather
red faced but more dressed Bakugou exited as well,
grumbling about calling ahead before barging into
someone’s room. But it seemed like he had seen the text

42
message from Endeavor and was ready to head out to the
restaurant.)
(Days later, the three of them still didn’t mention the
scene they walked in on, and Shouto was fine with sticking
to that status quo. Although … Huh, Momo might be a
great source of toys in the future, wouldn’t she?)

43
44
 Off beat
By yuru

Content Warning: Semi-public sex

Izuku still had a hard time comprehending the fact that he
regularly worked around famous people. He’d been in
several music videos by now, and had maybe a small cult
following of his own, but like, he wasn’t famous famous.
Or at least, not on the same level as Shouto Todoroki.
They lived in practically different worlds.
Except Shouto was talking to him, and he seemed…
maybe happy? Izuku was having a hard time reading his
flat stare, the monotone cant of his voice, the ice prince
act that apparently went all the way to the bone.
“I see you drink coffee,” Shouto said, nodding toward the
paper cup clutched in Izuku’s hand.
“Oh, uh, yeah. They have it in craft services.”
“I, too, drink coffee,” Shouto continued, as if that was
somehow a bit of trivia and not the default state of most
of humanity. “We should drink coffee together sometime.”
“Oh! Um… do you want me to go grab you a cup?”
Craft services really wasn’t that far away, and Izuku was
not an intern, but if Shouto Todoroki wanted a cup of
coffee from the backroom, then Izuku would go get him
one.
“No, not here,” Shouto explained. “We should go
somewhere else and drink coffee. Together.”
“Yeah, that sounds… like fun.”
“Good,” Shouto replied. “Tomorrow at nine, before
shooting starts. The café down the street.”

45
And like that he was gone, leaving a startled Izuku to
wonder… did he just get asked on a date?

The coffee shop was nothing special, but his time with
Shouto—that was special. Even though they’d been
around each other for dozens of hours at this point, Izuku
was still struck dumb by his ethereal beauty.
It was just a cup of coffee, so Izuku had dressed
appropriately: a shirt and khakis. But here was Shouto at
nine in the morning in black silk on lace from head to toe,
his makeup already impeccable and his hair twisted into a
knot on his head, looking like he was ready to debut on
the runway.
“So do the people in hair and makeup do anything for
you?” Izuku blurted. “You look like you're all ready to go.”
“Mm? No, I still have at least an hour in the chair. You do
makeup different for the set lights so you don’t look
washed out.”
“Right. I knew that.”
Izuku did not know that. He plopped down in that chair
every time with all the unknowing awe of a caveman
blundering into a time machine. He never knew what was
going to happen to him, only that it would be beyond his
comprehension. To him, Shouto was some magical being,
capable of witchcraft with only a stick of mascara and a
metric fuckton of foundation.
Gulping, Izuku realized that maybe he was attracted to this
man. Okay, no, he was definitely attracted to this man, and
he had known it for a while, but now he was thinking…
maybe he’d like to try and act on that attraction, as
impossible as it seemed.
So while Shouto brought his cup to his lips and sipped at
his triple-shot cappuccino, Izuku ever so gently set his
hand face up on the table between them. Casual. Nothing

46
too desperate or overt, just an innocent hand, resting
between them while they talked. Just available at any
point for Shouto to reach out and take. Just a casual hand,
fingers wiggling ever so often, just waiting—
Shouto never even looked at it. He was so laser focused
on Izuku’s face, watching his expressions, his lips, paying
close attention to what he said. It was flattering, but it was
not… hand-holding.
Izuku was left wondering if maybe he had gotten his
signals mixed after all.

True to his prediction, Shouto was locked in hair and

makeup for a couple of hours that morning. He was in
there longer than Izuku, which on one hand seemed
completely unnecessary because he was already so
perfect, but on the other hand made sense since Izuku
was just an extra.
But when he did finally come out—oh. Oh, Izuku felt his
heart hammer 140 bpm, faster than any of the music
they’d be recording today. He felt dizzy looking at this man
that looked like he was part fever dream, part sentient
fashion ad. His eyes traveled over his outfit, the ten
million layers that still managed to adhere to his body like
cling wrap, the complex embroidery and frilly cravat, up to
the man’s face.
Shouto was staring right back. Noticing Izuku ogling him.
With an embarrassed jump, Izuku pretended to busy
himself with piling a plate full of the different snacks craft
services had to offer. Yes, the croissant had some peculiar
flakiness to it, a fractal composition of pastry for him to
examine. Yup, normal pastry inspection.
When he had spent an inexcusable amount of time
preoccupying himself with carbs, he dared to look back
up. Now it was his turn to catch Shouto looking at him.
The other man snapped his gaze away quickly, but… but
Izuku could have sworn…

47
Suddenly self-conscious, his hands ran over his face to
make sure things were in place. No, he didn’t have
anything obvious smeared across it, so why would Shouto
be observing him? He wanted to ask, but Shouto was
already retreating toward the set, his mark coming up.

The shoot was wrapping up. When you were working with
absolute professionals like the Todosibs, there wasn’t a lot
of need for reshoots. It made Izuku’s job easy—and it also
meant it would be awhile before they would work together
again. Izuku felt the pang in his stomach, the sweet sorrow
of parting dampening his mood. Of course he and Shouto
would bump into each other again, since their industries
crossed, but it wouldn’t be every day. And suddenly, Izuku
realized how much that would hurt. No more early
morning coffee, no more bumping into each other in the
chair, no more coy looks onstage—
“Midoriya,” Shouto said, interrupting his thoughts. The
man still had his stage makeup on, his hair a red and
white cascade around his shoulders, and the sight took
Izuku’s breath away. The man walked up to him, inhaled a
breath, and then said, “I want to keep seeing you. Let’s
date.”
It was very fortunate that Shouto was a cool-headed
person. Anyone else might have panicked when Izuku’s
initial response was a high-pitched noise followed by
several moments of silence.
Izuku’s brain was not working. It had shut down, leaving
him with nothing but his gut to guide him. His gut was
about to call it quits, too.
Shouto Todoroki wanted to date him. Date him. Date. Date
hold hands and kiss and was he going to let Izuku take his
clothes off? There were so many clothes. Layers and layers
of them. Izuku wasn’t sure he would be able to untangle
them all without making a fool of himself.
However, deep down, he knew that he wanted this, even if

48
it meant him fumbling and messing up. So he had to say
something, to make it known this was what he wanted.
“You’re my favorite musician,” he replied, very belatedly.
When Shouto’s response was just a slow blink, he realized
that wasn’t actually an answer to his question, so he tried
again.
“I think you’re very attractive.”
Damn it. That’s not right, either.
“I remember the first time I saw one of your videos, and
you had your hair up in a ponytail and you threw your
head back and your hair was like a whip and it looked so
long, and I remember thinking to myself, ‘How long is his
hair out of the ponytail if it’s that long put up?’ and then I
came to a fan event to meet you and your hair was put up
in a bun so I couldn’t tell, and I remember being a little
disappointed, but I was still so nervous to meet you that I
ended up not standing in line to shake your hand.”
Izuku was distinctly aware that everything coming out of
his mouth was garbage, so he clamped his jaw closed and
regretted being born.
However, the look on Shouto’s face was fond, a sedate
smile. Rather than look weirded out, he just said, “That’s a
shame. I would have loved to meet you back then.”
Looking down at his shoes, Izuku tried not to blush. He
failed.
“Anyways,” Shouto continued, as if Izuku hadn’t just
embarrassed himself past all redemption, “you should
come to my next show. I got a ticket for you.”
He held out the slip of paper, wagging it in Izuku’s face.
The boy took it as if in a trance.
With a wink, Shouto said, “See you there.”
Then he turned and left, leaving Izuku confused about just
what exactly had happened.

49
This wasn’t Izuku’s first time seeing [Link] in concert.
He’d gone a couple of times in high school. However, a lot
of things had changed since then. Namely: he now noticed
how much of the audience was teenage girls, pawing at
each other and cooing over the different band members.
Not all of the audience, but definitely… definitely a
significant margin.
The girls were bright, youthful, tittering together in
anticipation. Meanwhile, Izuku stood alone, once again
wondering why exactly Shouto had asked him out. At the
end of the day, he was just a nerd. A nerd in an oversized
band t shirt, and was it lame to wear his supposed
boyfriend’s merch? Was that cringe? Was Izuku cringe?
Almost certainly.
The longer he sat in the crowd, the more his brain did
awful things. What if he had just imagined that Shouto
had asked him out? What if he had misread the entire
situation? Here he was with an IMDb page shorter than a
tweet, and he thought he could date someone like Shouto
Todoroki? The lead singer of [Link]? No, it couldn’t
be.
Then the actual show started, and any doubts Izuku had
were promptly put to rest. Because Shouto didn’t just put
on a show—he made sure to put on a show specifically for
Izuku. As soon as the theatrical fog cleared, the lead singer
picked him out of the crowd and locked eyes with him.
Long, skilled fingers wrapped around the mic stand,
gripping it in a way that made Izuku shudder. They slid
delicately down that metal shaft, back up as Shouto broke
into the first notes of “Pyre.” As always, his expression
remained fairly level, even as his voice rocketed through
highs and lows, lilting and spinning.
Izuku knew the song by heart. However, there was
something very, very different about hearing it live… and
having the singer lock eyes as he slowly gyrated his hips.
During the musical break in “Nuclear Winter,” Shouto even

50
went as far as licking a slow stripe up the mic. The fangirls
burst into frantic squealing, frenzied. They needn’t have
bothered. The gesture wasn’t for them—it was for Izuku.
Holy shit, Izuku thought to himself, that man wants my
dick.
The realization was as earth-shattering as it was very, very
flattering. However, there was no denying it, no hiding
behind insecurity any longer. Shouto wanted him, for
whatever reason. The only question was if Izuku was
ready to reciprocate.
He had the rest of the show to panic and think about just
what exactly he should do. Through the crowd favorite of
“30 below” and the rousing refrain of “Boiling Point,” Izuku
looked at Shouto and imagined what it would be like to
press his lips to the nape of that neck, to breathe in the
scent of hundred-dollar cologne and designer-brand.
Around him, the music blasted loud enough to shake his
bones, but Izuku stood still, captivated.
Yeah. He was going to fuck that man.
When the show finally ended, he wasted no time
brandishing his backstage pass at security, eager to make
his way through the dimly lit labyrinth of sound
equipment to Shouto. The man was leaning against a
speaker, cold water bottle cracked open, guzzling it so
that his throat bobbed. A stray drop broke free, tracing
the path of his jaw. It caught the distant glare of the
spotlight, gleaming.
When Shouto noticed him, he lowered the bottle, held it
out slightly to Izuku.
“Thirsty?” he asked. His eyes traveled down Izuku’s body,
eyeing the suspicious lump in Izuku’s pants. His lips tilted
up in a smug smile. Reaching out, he snatched hold of
Izuku’s lanyard and yanked him forward, locking their lips
together.
Izuku was definitely thirsty. He kissed those cool lips with
an open mouth, moaning into it. When he pulled away,

51
52
Shouto’s lipstick was smeared across his face. He didn’t
look any less stunning.
“Should we… find like a changing room or something?”
Izuku asked.
“No,” Shouto replied, and pulled him back in for another
kiss. One gloved hand cradled the back of Izuku’s neck,
the leather warm and soft like dragon hide. “Dragon
Hide,” coincidentally, was a name of a song from their
debut album and Izuku really should not be thinking of
[Link] trivia while in the midst of frotting against the
lead singer.
The hand pulled away, and there was the clink of belt
buckle being undone. Shouto rolled down his pants, just a
bit, the tight fabric reluctant to reveal any of its wearer. It
clung to him like shrink wrap, the black contrasting with
Shouto’s pale skin. Turning around, the man swung one
leg up onto the nearest surface: a speaker. It probably
cost hundreds of dollars, and Shouto leaned against it like
it was a cheap kitchen table. He looked back over his
shoulder, leering at Izuku over one lace-clad shoulder.
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
His ass looked so good, a bright band of silver, like
moonlight reflecting over water. Nestled in between those
cheeks glinted a plug, and the thought of Shouto
performing in that… Izuku didn’t know what he was
waiting for, but he knew he wasn’t going to keep waiting.
How often did he get the opportunity to fuck someone
this beautiful in a place this inappropriate?
He pulled his dick out, stroking it to hardness. Shouto
watched him raptly. The man didn’t move from his
position, posed as perfect as a statue, riveted to the spot
by the promise of dick. Izuku was compelled on by the
promise of hole. Both were extremely eager to collide.
Reverently, Izuku transferred hands to Shouto’s body. As
gently as possible, he worked the plug out, freed up that
sweet little space. He lined himself up, pulled those
cheeks apart, pressed in. Shouto’s breath hitched for a

53
second, but then his back was arching, a satisfied growl
leaving his throat. Even pulled up, his hair was long
enough to reach the middle of his back when he threw his
head back like that. Still a bit uncertain, Izuku reached up
and wound a hand in it. This elicited more groans from
Shouto, along with a clench around Izuku’s cock.
“You like that?” Izuku asked.
He gave a gentle tug, increasing the curve of Shouto’s
back. The man was practically an S curve at this point,
leaning against the speaker, pulled back towards Izuku. It
couldn’t have been comfortable, but comfortable wasn’t
what Shouto was looking for.
“Yeah,” Shouto panted, “just like that. Fuck me like you
mean it.”
Izuku definitely meant it. He thrust harder, making Shouto
collide with the beleaguered speaker with every thrust.
The poor thing would never be the same after this. It
didn’t help that Shouto was making a mess all over it, his
dick leaking just like the proverbial “Secret Garden
Fountain” from their song of the same name and Izuku
really needed to stop thinking about that sort of stuff right
in the middle of fucking his boyfriend.
(But now that he was thinking about it… was that what
that song was about???)
Shouto’s hair came loose from the pins holding it in place,
cascading around his shoulders in a cinder and snow
waterfall. Izuku didn’t even pause his thrusting; he wound
his hand through Shouto’s hair again, anchoring him in
place so Izuku could fuck all the harder.
Subconsciously, he found himself thrusting to the beat of
his favorite [Link] song: “Heart Burn.” It must have
been transparently obvious, because Shouto ground back,
a counter-melody, a chorus, the two of them playing each
other in perfect time.
Shouto came with a loud groan and an unchecked
splatter. The poor, abused speaker below bore the brunt

54
of it. Izuku was right behind, pulling out so that he could
paint the dark fabric of Shouto’s corset white. It looked
good like that, a monochromatic masterpiece, the jizz
speckled across the surface with all the carefree chaos of
a Pollock painting.
“Sorry if I… ruined your outfit,” Izuku said, realizing
belatedly that maybe that was a dick move.
“Don’t worry about it. I can buy ten more,” Shouto replied.
“Besides, I already ruined this speaker, so what’s one
more piece of collateral damage?”
The two looked at each other, both smug and enjoying the
afterglow. However, Shouto wasn’t content to let it last
long.
“Round two?” he asked.
“Hell yes,” Izuku agreed. “But seriously, we should get a
hotel before we trash this entire place.”
“Deal,” Shouto said. “Come on, let me show you how a real
rockstar fucks up a hotel room.”
He grabbed Izuku’s hand, tugging him toward exit stage
left.

55
 Memory Fit
By Ana
Content Warnings: Trans Izuku, Sex Toys
Shouto wakes to his phone blowing up with text notifica-
tions at eight-fucking-thirty in the morning. On his late
shift day. He groans and rolls over, slapping the Do Not Dis-
turb button before scrolling through whatever notifica-
tions he already has.
Three hundred and thirty-seven. All from the Class A
groupchat. He unlocks his phone and swipes through,
scrolling too fast to properly read much. A few words
catch his eye, like ‘sex tape’ and ‘leaked’, and he figures,
oh, maybe Kirishima and Bakugou finally decided to invite
the world to their bedroom, whatever.
He scrolls further and reads, in this order, the words
‘Deku’, ‘scandal’, and ‘unworthy’, and decides, hell no.
He sends the response before his sleep-addled brain
catches up to his thumbs.
[Shouto]: Midoriya having sex is normal, and doesn’t affect his
ability to save people.
And with that, he turns off his phone and passes the fuck
out.

He wakes up a few hours later, body having caught up

with missed sleep from last night’s patrol, which ran late
thanks to some idiot pulling a late night robbery. Really,
can’t they wait for a weekday?
His phone is, thankfully, still off. He switches it back on
and is greeted with exactly fifteen notifications. Fourteen
of them are from the Class A groupchat, mostly Uraraka

56
and Bakugou defending Midoriya, and one of them from
Midoriya himself, in a private text.
Thank you, it says.
Shouto smiles at his screen. Sex tape or not, Midoriya is
still easily flustered and probably feels too overwhelmed
by the attention. Shouto is just doing what a good friend
should. Because that’s what they are. Friends.

A few hours later, Shouto walks into Gang Orca’s agency

with an iced latte and a good mood. He’s on paperwork
today; such is the life of a sidekick. It’s boring, but it’s still
Hero work, so he gets it done. Around four o’clock in the
evening, the rumor mill kicks up.
“Did you hear about Hero Deku?” His desk neighbor asks.
A passing sidekick leans in. “I saw the sex tape. It’s kinda
hot,” they whisper conspiratorially. “Who knew Hero Deku
would be so kinky?”
“He looks so innocent,” another person whispers.
“What kind of role model is he, spreading that around?”
“Did you see his statement?”
“I wish I were his partner!”
“I think it’s unprofessional of a hero to have a sex tape
leaked.”
Shouto tries his best to block out the gossip, but that last
comment boils his nerves.
“Deku is not unprofessional. That tape was leaked without
his consent—hence, leaked—and his sex life has no bear-
ing on how he does his job. Furthermore,”—and now
Shouto is vaguely aware he’s on his feet—“you should be
ashamed of yourselves. That’s our fellow sidekick out

57
there. If you use this as a way to leverage your own rat-
ings, then you’re not very good Heroes.”
His coworkers stare at him, eyes wide in shock and mild
terror. Good. Now they won’t say another word against
Midoriya. Shouto packs his things and leaves, only passing
by Gang Orca’s office to politely say good night.
For the next five days, he isn’t expected back at the
agency. Gang Orca has some rule about not overworking
his sidekicks and potentially burning them out, and
Shouto is grateful for the break.
His first day off goes as it normally does. Light workout,
shower, breakfast (not soba, Fuyumi would be proud), and
sit for hours in front of the television watching his friends
kick ass. At precisely ten at night, he unfolds himself from
his couch donut, shuts his book, shovels down whatever
leftovers he has in his fridge (Thai takeout, this time) and
conks the fuck out.

The next day off comes with a text notification from

Midoriya.

[Midoriya]: hey awkward question

[Shouto]: shoot
[Midoriya]: you haven’t seen the thing have you
[Midoriya]: actually you don’t have to answer
[Midoriya]: just um. some of the sidekicks at idaten were talk-
ing and one of them has a friend at GO’s
[Midoriya]: and they said you yelled at them?
[Shouto]: I may have yelled at them, yes. But I haven’t seen the
tape, so don’t worry

58
[Midoriya]: oh okay
[Midoriya]: sweet
[Shouto]: How are you holding up? Do you need anything?
[Midoriya]: i’m fine, but i’m taking a break from things. Tensei
told me to take a break and honestly i’m just gonna go home
[Shouto]: Understandable. Let me know if you need anything?
I’m off for another few days
[Midoriya]: I will :)
[Midoriya]: we should meet up the next time we have a
proper break together
[Shouto]: We should. It’s been a while
[Midoriya]: when this blows over, let’s go to that diner again?
[Shouto]: Absolutely
[Midoriya]: :D

Shouto smiles at his screen. He misses having late night

dinners with Midoriya. Their schedules haven’t matched
up recently and it’s taking its toll on both of them, clearly.
Late night diners and early morning coffees. Sometimes
Shouto wants to take him out on a proper five course
meal at an expensive restaurant, but something always
holds him back.
He isn’t an idiot—he knows he has a crush on Midoriya.
He’s had a crush on Midoriya ever since second year. He
knows Midoriya has a sex life; so does he. It’s normal.
Some small part of him wishes he didn’t have to know,
though.
His coworker's words decide to pop up in his mind. I wish I
were his partner, she said. Shouto’s traitorous brain sends
a message to his equally traitorous fingers and suddenly
he has the leaked tape pulled up in his browser.

59
The video is dark, most of Midoriya’s partner’s body hid-
den in shadow, but Shouto can very clearly make out the
shape of Midoriya’s legs, the way his toes curl. Lamp light
filters through the window, casting a glow on Midoriya’s
cheeks, his eyes, his lips. Shouto watches those lips, open
in a silent scream, Midoriya’s tongue poking out from be-
hind white teeth.
He presses play.
“You like that, hm? Such a good boy, so good for me.” Midor-
iya’s partner’s voice is smooth and sultry, deep and deli-
cious. It fills Shouto’s stomach with an odd mix of jealousy
and desire.
“Oh, gods, please, please—” Something stirs in Shouto,
blood rushing south at the thought of Midoriya begging
for him.
“Please? That’s all you had to say.” Midoriya’s legs bounce
and shake as his partner drives deeper into him, his knees
folding up by his ears, a cry of pleasure—
And the video cuts out.
“No, no,” Shouto hisses, tapping the screen, looking for a
buffering line. But that’s it. That’s the end of the video.
A second passes. Two seconds. Three. This is his best
friend’s sex tape. His best friend whom he’s had a crush on
since high school. His best friend, unbelievably attractive
in mind and body.
Shouto hits replay.
Nobody has to know.

Day two of his break. Shouto wakes up feeling guilty as

hell, but not guilty enough to stem the thoughts flowing
through his brain and sending blood coursing downwards.

60
He thinks about Midoriya squirming under him, one of
Shouto’s hands working him open while the other hand
edges him so sweetly, a paradox in and of itself because
edgeplay is torture. Midoriya would sing like a little song-
bird in that dulcet tone of his when Shouto licks into him,
pressing his fingers in into the soft flesh of his thighs, rub-
bing his lovehandles, smoothing the hair over his belly,
and Shouto digs his nails into his pillow, toes curling as he
spills over his stomach, untouched and overstimulated
from a late night of fantasies.
Shouto lies there, cock still twitching, guilt creeping in at
the edges. He slides out of bed. The cool morning air hits
him and he makes his way to the bathroom and turns the
shower on, high temperature. While he waits for the wa-
ter to heat up, he looks at his bathroom counter. Black
marble countertop, black marble sink, gold accents run-
ning throughout.
Two thoughts cross his mind in an embarrassing moment
of association: ‘clean the counter’, and ‘Midoriya’.
Shouto exits his shower half an hour later, only half clean
because lathering himself up with soap became too
arousing to continue. He also needs to invest in more self-
care time.
No time like the present. He performs self-care for the
rest of the day.

Day three. Shouto is determined not to jerk off to his best

friend’s sex tape.
Unfortunately, several online markets have jumped on the
sex tape and all of Shouto’s “personalized” ads are of sex
toys. He doesn’t own any sex toys.
. . . Midoriya would use sex toys, right?

[Shouto]: Question, make sure your mom isn’t around

61
[Midoriya]: she’s out rn
[Midoriya]: what’s up?
[Shouto]: I didn’t think I’d get this far
[Midoriya]: ?
[Shouto]: I’m going to buy a sex toy. Possibly several.
[Shouto]: And you actually have an active sex life which is why
I’m asking you
[Shouto]: Don’t judge me
[Midoriya]: no judgement, my sex tape literally just got leaked
lmao
[Midoriya]: uhh i’d say go for the silicone ones. they’re easy to
clean and safer for inside. Also get some that vibrate
[Midoriya]: don’t get glass or acrylic. Actually glass might be
okay if you like temperature play?
[Midoriya]: wait stainless steel is better for butt plugs. silicone
will probably stink and you’d have to boil it and that’s a pain
[Midoriya]: i can send you a link for the one i like, if that’s
okay?
[Shouto]: sure, yeah please
[Midoriya]: -link- -link- -link-
[Midoriya]: i sent a few of my favorites, hope you don’t mind
[Shouto]: Not at all
[Shouto]: Thank you
[Midoriya]: Good luck! :D

A few minutes later, Shouto’s online cart is filled with toys

and lube and, on a whim, fluffy pink handcuffs. He clicks

62
the button for same-day delivery. You only live once,
right?
By six o’clock, Shouto is anxious. His package should be
arriving at any moment. Three vibrators, a jewelled plug,
those pink handcuffs, three bottles of flavored lube
(cherry), and one limited edition Deku-themed fleshlight
with vibration capabilities in the inner lining (ten settings,
memory fit, top of the line technology made by Hatsume
Industries).
His packages arrive by seven. Thankfully he doesn’t need
to sign, so he waits for the delivery person to leave before
slipping out and scooping them up. Even better, the par-
ticular store that Shouto bought the toys from prides itself
on privacy. For once, Shouto feels completely safe in his
online purchases.
A quick slide of scissors over tape, and the package is
open. The tissue inside is pink, and the shade is far too
similar to the color of Midoriya’s tongue, in Shouto’s
humbly horny opinion. He pulls the tissue out and sets it
aside.
Nestled within the packing peanuts are the boxes for his
vibrators, the bottles of lube, and his soon-to-be prized
possession, his Deku fleshlight. He pulls that one out first,
along with whichever lube bottle touches his hand, and he
practically skips to his bedroom.
He pulls his shirt off, tosses his phone on the bed, and
flops down, quickly unboxing the fleshlight. Small mercies,
he supposes, when it buzzes to life. He sucks on his fin-
gers, using his spit as lube, then runs his thumb over the
tip of his cock, coaxing it into hardness.
He’s impatient as hell, so with a swipe of his thumb, he
loads up Midoriya’s sex tape.
God, that feels dirty. It’s not like he’s going to stop himself,
though. Hearing Midoriya’s delectable moans and whines
get him hard in record time, and he pours a bit of lube
over his fingers to make the friction easier.

63
When Midoriya’s thighs jerk, Shouto drizzles lube into the
entrance of the Deku fleshlight, and slowly pushes in, sa-
vouring the squeeze around his head. He doesn’t want to
turn the vibration on just yet, but he does want to imitate
Midoriya’s position in the video.
He tucks the fleshlight into a folded pillow and presses in,
and at the same time, Midoriya’s voice echoes out of his
speaker, begging and pleading, and Shouto almost loses it.
Sweat gathers at his temples with the effort he’s making to
hold it in, and he rocks his hips back and forth to the beat
of the squeaky bedframe in the video.
The video goes by almost too fast, and Shouto is nowhere
near finishing by the time Midoriya starts crying for re-
lease, so in a moment of desperation, he flicks the vibra-
tion on—
The Deku fleshlight buzzes around him, sucking and
throbbing, pulling his orgasm out by force just in time to
match Midoriya’s wails.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Shouto pulls out, a sticky string of white connecting him to
the toy, and sighs. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself, and he
flops over, exhausted. And that was just one orgasm.
Imagine having a marathon.
His phone lights up with a text, and he rolls over to check.
It’s from Midoriya.

[Midoriya]: hey, i hope you like the recommendations, let me

know if u need something different!
[Midoriya]: i have a LOT of stuff, so i can be ur unofficial uh
[Midoriya]: guide. Or something
[Shouto]: They came in today. I tried some of them out

64
[Shouto]: I really liked them
[Midoriya]: that’s wonderful! Ahhh i need to buy more, that
reminds me
[Shouto]: I heard there are hero themed toys
[Midoriya]: are there really? is there a shoto themed toy ;)
[Shouto]: I haven’t checked
[Midoriya]: oh lmao i thought u wouldve bought one for your-
self
[Midoriya]: i think maybe having a sex tape helped my pop-
ularity, even if i have to deal with assholes
[Shouto]: You shouldn’t have to. What you do is none of their
business
[Midoriya]: ah, thanks todoroki. It’s just weird seeing my face
plastered on every billboard and knowing WHY i’m on every
billboard
[Shouto]: I understand. I’m still free for dinner if you’d like to
meet up and chill?
[Midoriya]: nice pun lmao
[Midoriya]: how’s tomorrow?
[Shouto]: Tomorrow’s great :)

Tomorrow is now today, and it would be great, if not for

the fact that Shouto has spent literally all night unloading
in that damned fleshlight. If he can’t hold it together for a
toy, he’s not going to be able to keep it in his pants for the
real thing.
As for the real thing. . . Shouto knocks on Midoriya’s apart-
ment door. Once, twice. No answer. He tries the knob —

65
ah, it’s open. He pushes the door open, and steps into the
apartment foyer. One by one, he kicks his shoes off.
“Midoriya?” He calls. It’s not unusual for Midoriya to be do-
ing some last minute touch-ups to make his place look
cleaner, but this time, Midoriya doesn’t come running out
of some room to greet him.
Now, anyone would be stupid to try and ambush the num-
ber four hero (on a straight path to number one) in his
own apartment, but Shouto can’t help the pit that settles
in his stomach.
“Midoriya,” he calls again. “I’m here. Are you alright?”
A sharp cry directs his attention towards Midoriya’s bed-
room door. He creeps closer. “Midoriya?”
He slides the door open, and his dick is treated to the best
sight he’s ever seen.
Midoriya, kneeling on his bed, thrusting a red-and-white
Shouto-themed vibrator into himself, barely keeping his
body up. His legs tremble and his toes curl and Shouto
barely holds back from burying his face in the slick apex of
his thighs.
“—One more, just one more—shit, Shouto—” Midoriya cuts
himself off as he cums, a low moan resonating through
the room.
And then he turns his head, presumably to watch where
the vibrator is going, and locks eyes with Shouto. His face
crumples in pleasure once more.
It takes Shouto exactly three seconds to yank his pants
down, lunge forward and trap Midoriya on the bed. The
Shouto-themed vibrator gets lost in the folds of Midoriya’s
blanket, Midoriya crying at the loss of something plugging
him up.
“Shou—Todoroki, I—I’m sorry,” Midoriya babbles, very obli-
vious to Shouto’s dick jumping at every syllable.

66
67
Shouto tangles their fingers together. “Midoriya. Izuku. It’s
fine,” he says. And then very seriously adds, “I fucked your
fleshlight all night.”
“Oh,” Midoriya says weakly.
“And I might have seen your sex tape. More than once,”
Shouto admits. There’s no missing the way Midoriya’s eyes
darken when he says that.
“Oh,” Midoriya says. His eyes trail down Shouto’s body, tak-
ing in the simple black tank top, and then his eyes widen.
“Are you wearing the—”
“The Deku stirrup leggings?” Shouto grins. “Yeah, I am. Like
them?”
“Shit,” Midoriya says. “I need you to fuck me. Please.”
Shouto rolls his hips, letting his cock slide between Midor-
iya’s legs. “As you wish.”

Shouto peels his eyes away from the city lights twinkling
through the window, and looks down at Midoriya, nestled
against his chest.
“Hey, Izuku?” He whispers.
“Yeah?” Midoriya mumbles. His voice is tinged with ex-
haustion—they’d spent the better part of the evening fuck-
ing their feelings out.
Shouto cradles him closer and plants a kiss on the crown
of his head. “I really like you.”
Midoriya tilts his head back and smiles. A close-lipped,
sweet smile, just for him. “I really like you too.”
“That’s good,” Shouto says. “That fleshlight didn’t do you
justice.”
Midoriya snorts. “That vibrator didn’t do you justice. It
couldn’t become hot and cold at the same time.”

68
“Seriously?” Shouto wrinkles his nose. “You’d think they’d
make it accurate to all my sexual capabilities.”
“It didn’t even finish in me,” Midoriya sighs dramatically.
Shouto pinches Midoriya’s nose. “Next time. Go to sleep,
we have joint patrol tomorrow.”
Midoriya hums, settling down.
It’s comfortably silent for a few minutes. And then, “Can
you fuck me in the garage before work?”
Shouto grins. “Yeah.”
They fall asleep a little while later, fitting together in a way
their hero themed toys could never match.

69
 Dream Come True
by aavocado

Content Warning: Graphic Gang-rape, mild gore

Shouto wakes up to a weight over his pelvis and a hand
pulling at his hair.
He opens his eyes: Midoriya straddles his hips, leaning
forward and carding a hand through his hair.
“Midoriya?” Shouto murmurs.
Midoriya brushes his lips over Shouto’s ear. “I’ve waited so
long to do this.”
Panic catches in Shouto’s throat, and he says louder this
time, “Midoriya—”
Midoriya latches his mouth onto Shouto’s and yanks at his
hair.
Shouto whimpers at the sting and tries to pull away from
Midoriya’s tongue. Is he drunk? What the fuck? Midoriya’s
tongue sloshes around Shouto’s mouth, and the saliva
tickles at the back of his throat.
And then he hears it: a muffled scream reverberating
through the apartment.
Shouto gives Midoriya a firm shove—but Midoriya doesn’t
pull away. Midoriya’s tongue slurps at his own, and Shouto
doesn’t want to hurt him, but he needs this to fucking
stop.
This is not how he wanted his crush on Midoriya to
culminate.
The screams draw closer, deep and guttural, accompanied
by thuds. The bumping and sobbing enters Shouto’s
bedroom, and his eyes flick over to the door.

70
Two more Midoriyas step into his room, dragging a third,
distraught Midoriya along the floor. His limbs are bruised
and his face is caked with tears—and holy shit, this
person with his tongue in Shouto’s mouth isn’t Midoriya, is
he?
Midoriya (the real Midoriya?) locks eyes with Shouto and
murmurs, “No,” in a broken croak.
This is bad. This is really fucking bad. But if the person
assaulting him isn’t really Midoriya, then Shouto doesn’t
have to worry about hurting him. Shouto wills his hand to
ice over.
Fingers grasp his bare ankle—and Shouto’s ice doesn’t
form more than a light dusting over his fingertips. This is
one of Midoriya’s quirks—the quirk-weakening one.
Shouto kicks at the Midoriya on top of him, but this
doppelgänger is as strong as the real Midoriya, so he does
the last thing he can: he bites the intruder’s tongue.
Fake Midoriya rips himself away and cracks a fist against
Shouto’s jaw.
Real Midoriya wails.
“Stop crying,” hums one of the clones against Midoriya’s
ear. “You’re about to get everything you’ve ever wanted.”
The Midoriya on top of Shouto grins with blood dripping
down his chin. He lifts himself just a little to let another
clone slip slink some fingers under Shouto’s waistband
and yank down his pants and underwear in one violent
movement.
“No,” real Midoriya stammers. “No, no, I don’t want this,
stop—”
Shouto fruitlessly flails a leg again. Holy shit. He’s about to
be raped by doppelgängers of Midoriya.
Shouto locks eyes with the real Midoriya, the one held to
the floor and sobbing, and Shouto can feel a tear fall from
his own eye.

71
A finger scrapes past the dry ring of muscle protecting
Shouto’s asshole, and he screams.
“You’re so good, Shouto,” the Midoriya on top of him
whispers. “I love you so much.”
“Stop!” the real Midoriya screeches. “Don’t hurt him! Take
me! Please!”—he sobs— “Don’t hurt him!”
“We’re not hurting him,” says the one by his groin,
wriggling his finger side-to-side against the walls of
Shouto’s asshole.
“We love him,” another Midoriya continues. “You know
this, Izuku. Because we’re you, and you’re us.”
“Stop,” Midoriya bawls. “Please, stop!”
A second finger prods at Shouto’s entrance, and he sobs.
The Midoriya on top of him leans forward and licks a
moist strip along the lower edge of his scar. “You sound so
good.”
Shouto tosses his arms against the fake’s hold. A second
finger scrapes its way inside Shouto’s asshole, and he
screams again.
“Just relax, baby.” A Midoriya steps right up to Shouto’s
side. A hand brushes through Shouto’s hair, and his jaw
pangs too much to repress his whimper. The
doppelgänger beside him is sliding down his own pants,
pulling out his cock; it’s so big—he can’t—he can’t—make
this stop, please.
The fingers pull and stretch at Shouto’s asshole, and he
whimpers in a high-pitched exhale at the burning. He
scrunches his eyes shut.
Damp flesh prods at his cheek. “We spent a long time
discussing who would get their dick wet first.”
Stop it stop it stop—

72
The fingers withdraw from his asshole. Is it over? No. No,
he’s not stretched enough, they can’t—
—but then the Midoriya straddling him pushes off,
floating up into the air. The one at his side, with his—with
his dick out, grabs him by the arm and drags him out of
his futon. The Midoriya heaves him across the tatami, his
arm and jaw and asshole all stinging with pain.
“Of course,” one of them says amidst a backdrop of
sobbing, “our original gets the first taste.”
“No,” the real Midoriya whimpers. “I do not consent. I
don’t want this. Stop it. Please, god, please.”
Two Midoriyas wrench the real Midoriya’s legs apart. The
legs are twisted and naked, and his dick is just hanging
there, limply. Even flaccid, it’s too fucking big, and Shouto’s
jaw pulsates in agony. The real Midoriya weakly struggles
to close his legs, but the others yank them further open.
Why are they doing this?
Someone grabs Shouto by a chunk of his hair and dangles
his head over Midoriya’s crotch. Another pinches the skin
of his swelling jaw, digging in his fingernails and yanking it
down.
“I’m sorry,” the real Midoriya babbles. “I’m so sorry,
Shouto. I’m so sorry.”
A Midoriya grabs the limp dick and slides the tip into
Shouto’s mouth. It’s dirty, like shoving his face into a bag
of garbage, and he flinches away from it.
“Our original here’s quirk is weakened,” one of them says.
“So he won’t heal if you hurt him. You won’t bite again, will
you, Shouto?”
But he’s raping him. No—not Midoriya. Shouto wheezes.
The real Midoriya wouldn’t do this.
Pain oozes from his jawbone as the clone yanks it open
further. The hand on his head presses him onto the dick,
but it can’t fit, it’s too big, he can’t breathe, he can’t—

73
—a finger pries into his asshole again, and Shouto sobs
around the oversized flesh in his mouth.
And then it stiffens, pressing against Shouto’s tongue.
“No,” Midoriya sobs. “No, I don’t, I won’t.”
“But you do,” one of the Midoriyas drawls. “You’ve
dreamed about this for years.”
“Not like this. Not—never—Todoroki, I’m so sorry.”
I’m so sorry, his mother sobbed after pouring boiling water on
his face. I’m . . . so . . . sorry.
Another finger scrapes into his asshole and yanks. Shouto
tenses and moans as agony surges through his jaw.
Midoriya whimpers in panicked breaths.
“Oh, Shouto,” another Midoriya taunts. “You hurt him.”
He’s raping him—
“Strength, let’s trade out,” a voice murmurs from above.
“You can hold his jaw open better.”
Strength. . . .
One of the Midoriyas hums. They shuffle around, and two
fingers clamp down on Shouto’s jaw and yank it open with
a quirked glow.
Shouto screams, as well as he can with a broken jaw and
so much flesh filling his mouth.
The fingers pull on the sides of Shouto’s asshole, pulling it
apart, and Shouto keeps screaming.
“Cum inside him,” a Midoriya says. “Mark him as yours.”
Midoriya whimpers. “No. No.” His voice is manic—he’s
terrified—but . . .
You’ve dreamed about this for years.

74
“Maybe this’ll help.” Another Midoriya chuckles. A thick
hand carries a black gizmo into view and pops it inside
Midoriya’s asshole. (No scars or crooked fingers—that isn’t
right.)
The hand clicks on the gizmo, and it hums. Izuku’s
vibrator. Shouto’s seen it before, when Izuku leaves it on
his bed after exhausting himself with it.
The hand taps the button three more times, ramping up
the noise and wrenching a moan straight out of the real
Midoriya.
“No,” he whispers.
“Let it all out!” another Midoriya says.
Izuku twitches with the vibrations, and bitter liquid fills
Shouto’s mouth. Shouto has to dig his fingernails into his
palms to stifle his gag instinct. Cum floods out of his
mouth and drips down his chin, and the hand in his hair
slowly drags him off of the real Midoriya’s dick.
Shouto swirls his tongue in a move to spit, but a Midoriya
slams his jaw shut with an agonizing pop.
“Swallow, baby,” the same Midoriya whispers in his ear
while pinching his nose. “This is just your appetizer.”
Shouto gulps. He just fucking gulps it all down, like
childhood cold medicine, and he lets the tears fall from
his eyes, and he doesn’t fucking care. There are a lot of
moments in his life that he thought were the embodiment
of suffering, but this absolutely takes the cake.
The fingers in his asshole tear out of it in a hellish
movement that rips a moan from his throat.
Then something cold a coldness slaps against his butt,
and Shouto tries to twitch away, but a hand grabs his
thigh and holds him steady. A lubed finger prods his
asshole a few times, and Shouto moans in relief, because
they aren’t taking him dry.

75
“He’s ready to go whenever.” A Midoriya slaps his ass with
an open palm.
Another Midoriya hums, and then he grabs Shouto by the
arm and flips him onto his back. Shouto’s head hits the
tatami with a thud, and before he can blink, something is
yanking at his legs.
Shouto narrows his eyes. Blackwhip extends from one of
the doppelgängers’ fingers, wraps around his calves and
yanks his legs back, folding him in half. Then, the same
doppelgänger unleashes another tendril and weaves it
around his torso and thighs, pinning them together, and
leaving him so fucking exposed.
It’s . . . Shouto’s brain whirls around his head, but he . . .
The clones gather around him, looming over him. Shouto’s
dick and balls are just fucking hanging there, all exposed
by his lewd position, and he’s just fucking glad that no
one’s in his mouth right now.
The Midoriyas shed their pants, and Shouto gulps. Each of
them free their dicks—all equally long and thick—and toss
their clothes haphazardly across the room.
“Fuck, he’s beautiful.”
(Six. There’s six of them. And Midoriya has six quirks.)
“You wanna fuck him now?” another Midoriya asks.
“Unf.” Blackwhip yanks him up from the legs, tossing
weight up his neck and onto the back of his head, and he
feels fingernails scrape into his thighs.
“Loosen up Blackwhip a bit, I need somewhere to hold
onto,” a Midoriya says, and Shouto’s binds slacken.
Hands slide along his hips, and Shouto can feel something
prodding at his asshole.
His neck aches, and his skin stings—and a Midoriya
plunges into his ass, and Shouto feels like he’s been
fucking shot. His muscles scream and so does Shouto.

76
The Midoriya whimpers, and suddenly he thrusts again,
pounding against the broken muscles of Shouto’s asshole,
splitting him apart in such a painful rip that Shouto wishes
with all his heart that he could stop being alive.
But it just keeps happening. The Midoriya thrusts into
him, dragging his dick back and forth, and Shouto sobs.
His tears flood his eyes, and it fucking stings, and he tries
to focus on that, to focus on any pain that’s not his
screaming asshole.
“He needs more time to adjust, please,” a Midoriya
whispers. The real . . . Midoriya.
“And miss out on his tight heat?” another Midoriya
simpers amongst the thrusts.
“He’s in agony,” the real Midoriya rasps. “If you love him,
you’ll stop.”
“Why the fuck would we do that?”
The Midoriya in his ass speeds up, slapping against
Shouto’s spine with bruising strength.
And then he pulls out, and Shouto breathes.
“Ah, look at that.” One of them slides a hand against
Shouto’s hole, and he whimpers.
“I’m ready,” another one says. “You wanna do your thing,
Blackwhip?”
“Fuck yeah.”
Blackwhip loosens on Shouto’s legs, replaced by the firm
grasp of another Midoriya digging his fingers into the
crook of Shouto’s hips.
“Gonna stuff you so full,” a Midoriya moans—and then
Shouto is impaled again. A dick tears into his asshole, and
it’s so sore, so tender, but it’s not as bad—doesn’t feel like
a cheese grater—and Shouto sobs.

77
And then something curls around his dick. No . . . they
can’t . . .
Shouto’s eyes slide open. A Midoriya stands between his
legs, thrusting into him over and over, with the glow of
One-for-All dancing along his muscles. Blackwhip clings to
the base of Shouto’s dick, and a new tendril prods at the
tip.
The surrounding Midoriyas look down at him with grins
splattered on freckled faces, and they spin. Shouto feels
like he’s falling through the floor, and he jams his eyes
shut again.
The tendril presses against the tip of his dick, and it’s . . .
Blackwhip wedges its way inside his dick and Shouto
shrieks.
The Midoriya continues to thump against his ass, and
Blackwhip snakes deeper, grating inside his tender cock
like he’s pissing a chopstick.
It burns, and Shouto can’t do anything but twitch as he
hovers in the air—and it hurts it hurts it hurts, but he can’t
stop twitching, and the Midoriya in his ass slaps against
his bruised cheeks, and his back aches, and his ass wails
like it’s been dilated with a knife.
Shouto’s dick pulsates around the intrusion as it gets
deeper and deeper inside his dick. It burns. The sensation
of a bloated scraping turns into an explosion of nerves. His
dick feels like it’s going to just fucking combust in a very
literal sense.
Blackwhip wriggles against the base of Shouto’s weeping
dick, pushes against his insides, as a Midoriya thrusts into
his ass over and over again.
“Can’t wait to see him try to cum,” a Midoriya snickers
above him.
Blackwhip mashes against that spot inside of him, and
Shouto whimpers. It hurts—he can’t—he can’t.

78
Then the Midoriya in his ass digs his fingers tighter into
Shouto’s achy hips, lifts Shouto’s body up a bit higher,
slams his dick against the other side of Shouto’s prostate.
No, no, he can’t; he’s being raped; his dick is full; he
physically can’t—
—Shouto’s hips buck, and he can feel the tightness in his
balls, and then it releases, and he exhales in a lewd moan.
His ass clenches around the rapist, and his dick bloats
with trapped cum.
“Fuck, look at that,” a Midoriya mutters from the side.
Then cum splatters against Shouto’s face, while at the
same time, the Midoriya in his ass stills.
“Fuck,” one of them hisses.
The Midoriya pulls out of Shouto’s ass and releases his
hold on him.
Shouto lands on flesh (when did he get off the floor?), and
he whimpers, the brief tranquility of his orgasm already
replaced with the agony of overstimulation.
The Midoriya below him immediately works his dick into
Shouto’s ass, and he doesn’t even need to thrust; the dick
slides right in and brushes against Shouto’s prostate.
Shouto whimpers—
—and then he explodes.
Blackwhip tears out of his dick, and Shouto screams and
shrieks and wails. His vision goes black, and his hearing
gets all bubbly, and he sobs until his sounds are muffled
by a dick thrusting into his mouth again.
Shouto digs his teeth into the flesh, trying to will it, will
everything, to fucking stop. His jaw pangs, and his ass
throbs, and his dick pulsates like a gushing wound. He
sucks and clenches like a baby growing his first tooth. The
Midoriya in his mouth moans, and Shouto hopes it’s a
moan of pain.

79
Then Shouto screams into the flesh. His asshole stretches
too far, more than it ever has before, and it’s too much; he
can’t. A second dick slams into him. It doesn’t fit, but it’s
still inside of him, and Shouto’s body convulses. His body
tingles with agony.
The two dicks inside his ass slide up down against each
other, ramming his oversensitive prostate and grinding
against his anguished asshole.
Shouto whimpers into the dick in his mouth. Coppery fluid
soaks into his tongue, and he knows its blood—knows it’s
his rapist’s blood—but it tastes so much better than the
bitter cum from before.
Dicks slap in and out of him at a rhythm. One-two, one-
two.
Then the one in his mouth is spraying down his throat,
and Shouto gags. His jaw loosens painfully, and the clone
pulls his bloodied dick out of Shouto’s mouth.
Liquid burns up Shouto’s throat, and he twists his head to
let it drip out of his mouth and nose. It’s thick; bitter.
The other two Midoriyas slide out of his ass, and Shouto is
plopped onto the floor, twisting onto his side. Shouto
peels open an eye. Hand-shaped bruises mark his thighs,
and his dick is bloodied, but it’s there, and he groans.
“Look, he wants more.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, that’s all you get today.”
Is it over?
A Midoriya scoops up a cell phone from the floor. What is
he . . .
The Midoriya taps on the screen and puts the phone to his
ear. “I’m Midoriya Izuku, pro hero Deku. Are you recording
this?” A pause. “Great. This is my confession: I just violently
raped my roommate, Todoroki Shouto, pro hero Shouto.
He’s in dire need of medical attention. So am I, but I don’t
deserve it. Please come soon. Guns blazing, of course. I’m

80
very violent. I’ll come back for Shouto once he’s healed up.
Thanks!”
Shouto twitches.
“He’s so excited!”
This is going to happen again. Shouto closes his eyes. He’ll
be prepared when they come back—the heroes will find
them—it’ll be fine—
Shouto sobs.
He’ll never be fine.
Shouto feels footsteps humming through the tatami. A
door slams, and everything is quiet save for two heroes
crying.
“T-Todoroki-k-k-kun,” that voice whispers. “I’m sorry.”
Shouto’s ass throbs. His jaw aches. His skin stings with
smears of cum over bloodied flesh. And Midoriya’s sorry.
Midoriya’s sorry.
Midoriya’s sorry.

81
82
 Forehead Kisses Break
my Kneecaps
By Nagi K.

Content Warnings: Noncon, Violence, Body Horror

Mutters and the rapid scratches of a quill fill up the
brightly lit study like a frenetic fog. Izuku’s leg judders up
and down while he alternates between pinching at his
bottom lip and twisting green curls between his fingers.
Abruptly, the metal nib rips across his notes, drier than
bone.
The man curses, tapping the quill back into the inkwell.
He’s so close to cracking this spell open. Perhaps, a
stabilizer here? Or maybe some sort of bridging glyph?
“Oh—a circle! With the cardinals—then the elements—and
with the body as the center—”
There’s no noise, no change in the air or prickling along
his neck. Nothing at all to warn him, yet still he breaks off
to whip about and throw himself into the new arrival’s
arms.
“Shouto!”
The prince catches him, a small laugh bubbling up his
throat. Izuku bunts his head against Shouto’s like a cat.
Izuku feels the laugh through his own chest like a physical
warmth. A call and response.
“It’s been so long,” whines Izuku, playful affection twining
with true longing. A potent enough force to punch an
elongated sigh from the prince.
Izuku almost winces at the sound. He’s always known that
while he’s first in Shouto’s heart, he’s second in duty.
While he may poke at it, he doesn’t truly hold any grudge
against the prince for his duties.
He hates when his dearest feels otherwise.

83
Shouto offers no excuses, his regret a voiceless apology.
I’m sorry, he says with a hand running through Izuku’s wild
hair.
Izuku can only feverishly offer in turn, I forgive you, by the
press of his forehead to Shouto’s. Always, says the brush of
noses. Forever. The sweet seal of lips.
I love you.
Shouto draws back, a breath of amusement escaping him.
“Although, considering how deep you were in your
thoughts, I’m surprised you noticed anything at all. . . .”
Izuku pinches his nose in retaliation. Shouto offers a truly
princely squawk.
“I always notice!” Izuku pouts. His playful anger
immediately brightens. “Would you like to see? I almost
have it figured out!”
Stormy sea and clear skies slide past Izuku’s beaming
smile to take note of the mess of scrolls and loose papers.
Ink stains the desk and traps the feathery remnants of
quills that couldn’t withstand the enthusiasm of one Izuku
Midoriya. Near the center of it all sits a book. Old and
unassuming, as most spell tomes are. Dark creased
leather and oily thick pages.
A brief moment of discontent slants Todoroki’s expression.
Wariness. Midoriya immediately dismisses the caution.
Shouto’s always been sensitive to magic outside the
shimmer of his own veins. Even Izuku could rub his senses
wrong no matter how innocuous the spell.
Shouto smiles, clearly brushing away the thought as well,
when he caresses one freckled cheek. Izuku lays his own
scarred hand atop it, heart a soft dripping goo between
his ribs.
“Go ahead. Show me your mischief, love.”
Izuku grins, excitement bursting through him like little
pops of sunlight. As much as learning and creating and
progressing fills him with purpose, nothing quite beats

84
showing off. He spins about and shoves all the papers
into the book. He tucks it under his arm, snags Shouto’s
hand with his own, and sprints back out his home.
Shouto’s laughter fills the air behind him, reaching down
into his own lungs to pull out his own sounds of delight.
Once out on the porch, Izuku settles Shouto on the steps
fussing over him until the prince sends him off with a kiss
to his knuckles.
Izuku flushes, sputters, and is off again. Dropping papers
everywhere, he mutters a quick explanation of the
multivariate, multi-purpose use of the somewhat-
misnamed blackwhip as he drags out a magic circle with
his foot. Once the preparations are complete, Izuku
pauses, shoulders tight and old insecurities pressing
down on his tongue.
The magician gives Shouto a nervous smile over his
shoulder. “Now I haven’t actually completed this before,
so it might not work. . . .”
“If not now, it will eventually,” Shouto hums. Ironclad faith
glows in the curve of his smile. “I have faith in you—do
your best.”
With lightened spirits, Izuku begins the spell, writing
glyphs into the air and chanting rhythmically. A sense of
fullness begins to permeate the air. A pressure—a
presence, as magic builds and builds and builds—
A cry, the final command and the magic coalesces and
sinks into Izuku’s skin like it belongs.
The wind settles, pressure easing. Izuku inhales a
steadying breath, stretches out his arm, and thinks.
In a blink, dark crackling energy whips out from his
knuckles. It shoots across the clearing swiping through
the tree line, dicing the trunks, before catching them up in
individual strands.
“I did it!” Izuku laughs, breathless and near maniacal. He
turns to look back as Shouto appears beside him.

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Shouto grins back with enthusiasm of equal fervor. “You
did it!”
“It worked!” Izuku shouts, punching both hands in the air
with a victorious screech. The excitement immediately
dissipates. The alchemist mutters, “This is only temporary
of course; I’ll have to find a method of making it
permanent. A different kind of matrix maybe? Maybe
something to do with passivity—”
Shouto scoops him up and Izuku helps as he’s spun
around. His hands clench tightly into rich fabrics, a laugh
stuttering from him. “Shouto!”
The spell breaks as they leave the circle with a little twirl,
the cacophony of collapsing wood rising.
“That’s enough out of you. Enjoy your victory first, hm?”
Shouto chastises lightly.
Shouto nuzzles their noses together lightly, and Izuku is
powerless to agree. Midoriya wraps his arms around his
prince and kisses him firmly.
“Right, right, of course—” Izuku murmurs between kisses,
“—but there’s still so much—”
“But you succeeded now didn’t you?”
Piercing shades of sky peer into Izuku, daring him to
disagree. “Yeah,” breathes Izuku, dropping his forehead to
Shouto’s. “I did.”
“I never doubted you for a moment.”
Butterflies in his stomach and so much love in his throat
he can choke on it, Izuku presses closer. Kisses deeper.
Rough hewn hands and slender aristocratic ones move to
touch to grip more firmly. Izuku slides his hand to Shouto’s
jaw, tilting his head to get at that spot on his neck below
his ear Izuku knows makes the prince’s knees go weak—
Shouto pulls away.
“Ah, sorry, but I can’t now. . . . I’ve probably been gone too

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long as is.” Shouto sighs.
Disappointment sparks. Izuku frowns. “You’re leaving
already? You’ve only just got here. . . .”
Shouto grasps Izuku’s hands, lifting them to kiss the
knuckles. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just with the wedding
coming closer—”
“The wedding,” Izuku mutters, dull resentment simmering
in a way it hasn’t before in his gut.
Shouto sighs again. “The wedding.”
First in his heart, second in duty; Izuku knows this. But, it’s
never quite stung like this before. Sat fat and heavy in his
chest like a maggot.
“Are you sure that the Yaoyorozu alliance—”
Shouto huffs. “We’ve been over this Izuku.”
“And I still think—”
“Izuku.”
Izuku quiets but doesn’t drop his defiant gaze. Something
not unlike resentment, though the feeling is out of place.
Another exhalation, exhausted and sad. Shouto never
used to look this sad before. “Can we please just . . . just
try to enjoy what we can have?”
Quiet still.
“I love you.”
And then he’s leaving.
Izuku feels every step, every mile, Shouto takes away from
him, from love, toward an unwanted marriage, a
suffocating father, turmoil and politics like fresh bruises
across his heart.
Izuku’s always known theirs was never meant to last, but
by god how he wishes. How he wants his honest, kind

87
prince to be just a little more selfish, to look Izuku in the
eye and admit to the melancholy tearing him apart. All
Shouto has to do is ask and Izuku would tear down the
stars and turn the tides, would take him away from here,
would save him from duty and harsh choice.
Would lock him up far, far away from a world that doesn’t
even deserve him—Izuku frowns, shakes his head and
gathers his notes.
While it’s true only Midoriya deserves to behold Shouto,
Shouto also deserves more than another cage.
Even if it were for his own good?
As Izuku returns to the house, the thought doesn’t go
away.

Shouto’s heart drums in his ears, louder than any thunder,

faster even than the hoof-beats beneath him. His fingers
clench knuckle-white on the reins of his mare while
winter’s cool and summer’s heat roil in his chest.
Come quickly.
Nothing less, nothing more. No signature or whiff of plant
life that usually accompanies these little notes. Just two
hastily scrawled words. Desperate. Urgent.
All Shouto’s fault.
He had noticed the shadow dogging Izuku’s steps. He had
watched the way he’d gone from shy cloying schemes
meant to beg even just a few seconds more of Shouto’s
time to strained smiles and quick excuses meant to send
the prince on his way. He had allowed it, had even
encouraged it by staying away and giving Izuku that space
he seemed to crave. So certain that because the cause of
Midoriya’s turmoil—surely his engagement with Princess
Momo—was immutable there was nothing to be done. No
comforts or empty sweet words or assurances.

88
And now, so distant from his lover, something urgent
enough had happened to break the silence between
them. What, Shouto didn’t know, but his mind was all too
eager to spin horror after horror. Each imagined plague
darker than the last as he all but threw himself from his
mount the moment Izuku’s home came into view. He
sprints the last few yards and bursts through the door. His
magic coils and tightens in his veins, begging to be let
free.
“Izuku!”
Silence. Panic pangs sharper with every breath as Shouto
strides past the main rooms. Though the windows are
open and sunlight streams through in syrupy beams, the
hearth is empty and dark, and shadows cling sharp and
cold along the walls and crevices. The home no longer
feels like safety but as if it were only a beautiful shell
hiding something terrible and unknowable beneath it.
Shouto brushes the thought away as he moves into
Midoriya’s study, throwing open the door and calling his
name.
There is no sunlight here to offer even a facsimile of
comfort. The shutters are firmly closed, as if to only
emphasize how lonely and empty the room is. Shouto
enters, noticing the new carpet spread upon the floor.
Dim light fogs over the home, just enough to see by, as
Shouto crouches down. He examines the unexpectedly
plush surface, fingertips tracing sigils and magic circles he
wishes he could read. If only to know whether some clue
of Izuku’s whereabouts lay within.
The sensation of being watched trails down his spine like
a cold drop of water. Inhaling sharply, Shouto whips about
readying himself to fight—
—it’s only Izuku. Naked as the day he was born, smiling
so, so gently at Shouto. As if the past weeks of tension
and discomfort were only a figment of a nightmare, Izuku
sighs happily. “You’re here.”
Relief crashing through him, Shouto ignores the way the

89
little hairs on the back of his neck have yet to fall flat. He’s
frazzled and anxious; of course his senses are still on high
alert as he steps into Midoriya’s space and cups his face
with his hands. But there is no danger here, least of all
from Midoriya.
“Izuku, thank the gods—” Shouto gasps, pressing his
forehead to Izuku’s. Midoriya in turn smiles up at him,
drawing the prince closer with arms around his waist.
“—you’re okay.”
Midoriya tilts his head, his smile still in place. “Why
wouldn’t I be?”
Todoroki pauses, mismatched brows pinching together.
“Your message—it made it seem like—like something was
wrong. . . .”
The prince trails off, embarrassment coming on the heels
of his easing panic. Perhaps . . . he’d misread the whole
thing?
“. . . and you’re naked,” he adds. It’s a nice view; the curve
of Izuku’s muscles nicely accented by the dim lighting, but
it doesn’t do anything except add to his confusion.
“Oh, right, don’t worry about that,” Izuku soothes,
smoothing away the crease in his brow with a thumb. “I
had to make sure you got here as fast as possible, is all.”
Mortification tumbles easily into frustration as Shouto
starts to pull away with a harsh exhale. “Izuku, if this is
some sort of game . . .”
Rough-hewn hands that have taken him apart and put him
back together far too many times to count take hold of his
face. Gentle, but firm, those hands direct sky and sea to
peer into veridian forests. Midoriya’s stare is intense, so
full of deep devotion and forceful determination.
(Dangerous, a primal part of him warns.)
Instinctively, Shouto caresses one hand, leaning into the
touch.

90
“Shouto,” Midoriya begins. Something troubled in the
depths of his voice that Shouto wants nothing more than
to smooth away. “You know I love you, right?”
Todoroki’s heart clenches, as he squeezes Izuku’s hand in
his. He declares solemnly, without hesitation, “Of course,
and I love you. With everything in me.”
The words had always been unspoken between them, but
known, or so Shouto had thought. Was this the source of
Izuku’s strangeness and distance? Had he simply needed
reassurance? Shouto’s chest aches like a broken thing. He
should have come sooner—
“And you know I’d never really hurt you, right?”
The confusion returns, but Shouto answers with the same
unwavering surety as before, “I know you’d never hurt
me.”
A shadow akin to sadness flickers across Izuku’s gaze, as
the other man sighs. The breath holds such melancholy
weight as he closes his eyes and leans further into Shouto.
The prince holds him just as tightly.
“I wouldn’t say never. . . .”
Dimly, as Shouto recoils with surprise from the words, he
registers that the magic in his blood has been silenced.
The carpet—the symbols—a seal—
“. . . just not really hurt you, you know?” Izuku gives him a
sunny smile. No, not a smile, the baring of teeth. “Don’t
struggle, it’ll only make it worse for you.”
The hands on Shouto move to his hair, grip, and pull.
Shouto should flinch, should resist, should do anything
except nothing. All of his finely tuned instincts made silent
by kindness bred complacency.
Shouto’s head yanks back and his body follows—control
the head, control the beast. He tries to react. Tries not to
think about the fact his magic won’t respond and even if
he counters it’s too late because he’s already caught.
Shouto’s back rams into the table just as he stomps his

91
heel into Izuku’s instep.
Izuku grunts his annoyance, tightens and shifts his grip in
Shouto’s hair, then slams Shouto head first into the table.
Shouto feels himself go lax, dazed, even as he struggles.
His stomach is in his throat and head seemingly at his feet
as the world spins and spins.
Izuku affectionately strokes his cheek, murmuring
meaningless platitudes, and Shouto does his best to bite
his hand off. He gets a comparatively gentle slap for his
troubles. Shouto’s ears ring as Izuku laughs.
“You always were too stubborn for your own good,” Izuku
coos, flipping Shouto onto his front. The prince is vaguely
aware of his limbs being arranged, of the sound of tearing
silks as he’s quickly divested of his clothes. Izuku starts to
speak again. The words are familiar. Powerful. A spell from
what feels like a lifetime ago. One that leaves the taste of
tar clinging to the back of Shouto’s tongue. “That’s what I
like about you, though.”
Izuku’s hand fists in his hair again, pulling Shouto off his
belly and his spine into an arch. Shouto struggles through
the fog in his head, weak as a newborn kitten, something
close to dread and twice as bitter ballooning in his chest.
Izuku’s other hand rests at his hip.
“You could stand to be a little more grateful, though, you
know? I’m doing this all for you, after all,” Izuku adds, his
magic thickening the air until it is heavier than the burden
of duty.
The spell activates.
Shouto becomes agony.
He might scream, he might not. He doesn’t know. He can’t
hear, he can’t see. Can’t think. Shouto is nothing but a
thousand rusted nails digging into his veins and tearing
him apart. Magic burrowing into his marrow and carving
him away to make space for—for something—something
he doesn’t want to know.

92
The world snaps back into existence, Shouto’s wails
echoing in his own ears. The flickering firelight, Izuku
behind him, inside him, immovable and unstoppable
object in one. Izuku’s voice is soft and full of excitement, a
terrible shattered reflection of Shouto’s voice cracking in
terror. The familiar rocking motion of Shouto’s body, once
pleasurable and shared, now painful and taken. Shouto’s
hand clawing at his own face—no something growing out
of his face. Skin puckering and thickening, dark roots
digging into his skull. And the magic. Izuku’s magic.
Corrupt and wrong and hurting him and everwhere.
Everything is too much all at once and not enough. Just
enough that Shouto wishes he was dead if only so it
would stop.
But it doesn’t. It doesn’t. The magic just gets deeper,
Shouto’s mind gets fuzzier, Izuku gets deeper into Shouto.
Closer. Chest to back, skin to sweat-slicked skin, Izuku’s
nose in Shouto’s hair, his lips on Shouto’s cheek, and his
voice in Shouto’s ear—
“I love you so much, Shouto. So, so, much, do you know?
You’re my everything, you’re mine. Only mine. I’ll keep you
safe, I’ll take care of you I promise, okay? Because I love
you, I love you, I love you!”
—as Shouto crumbles into ruin.

93
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The members of
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