Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His quirk was never the problem.

Idiots always speculated. “Hey, Tomura? Will your whole body disintegrate if you touch yourself?”  

Toga had asked that.

“No, you idiot. Do you think I’d still be alive if that was the case? I’d have been reduced to a pile of dust years ago. Besides, most people’s bodies are compatible with their quirks, which is why people with fire quirks don’t burn. Unless you’re Dabi.”

“Fuck you,” Dabi had snarled.

No, he was perfectly capable of touching himself anywhere and everywhere, however he wanted to.

It also had nothing to do with his sexual identity. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it or he had no sex drive. The desire and the need were there and had been ever since he had his sexual awakening playing Metal Gear Solid and laid eyes on Solid Snake for the first time. 

Puberty was the worst. Seriously, how many brawny, older male heroes could they jam-pack into those things? Nathan Drake? Chris Fucking Redfield? They were his guilty pleasure, the stuff of wet dreams, boner-inspirations to the nth degree.

He’d watched porn too. He tended to gravitate toward hentai and 3D porn games more than the real stuff, but either way he found his niches—the content that made his dick weep and his gut burn. And each time he got that aching need for release, he tried to satiate it. He tried everything. A dry hand, a lubed hand, humping the fucking pillows, a fleshlight, the damned shower head…

It wasn’t that he couldn’t masturbate or that he didn’t want to. It was, and had always been, the itching.

It always started off fine. But the closer he came to that pinnacle of pleasure, the more discomfort he would feel until it was unbearable. Until every stroke or buck felt like sandpaper scraping his cock and he physically couldn’t take it anymore and gave up.

That’s why, in his early twenties, Tenko still has never made himself cum. It’s why the extent of his pleasure has only gone so far as waking up from a dead sleep with wet boxers and a sad, pulsing cock.

He got over it a long time ago. As Tomura Shigaraki, he convinced himself he didn’t need to waste his time with things like orgasms. It wasn’t necessary. A pain sometimes, sure, but he was above such base animal instincts. That was what he told himself, and it was easy to believe when his body was being hijacked by a psychopath anyway. He didn’t need an All For One audience to his jerk-off sessions.

But things are different now.

All For One has been defeated. Deku rescued Tenko from the prison that was “Shigaraki.” He’s over a year into rehabilitation now, Japan is being rebuilt, and Tenko’s unwanted “gift” of a quirk has been removed.

He isn’t angry anymore. Resentment, rage, bitterness, hatred… These are things that have faded, leaving room for regret, sorrow, forgiveness, and joy. And without these negative emotions clogging his mind…he doesn’t itch .

And yet…he still can’t do it. He still halts when he’s close to climax. His hands still shake and his body tenses too much to give him release. And he’s starting to realize that this was never about not “needing” pleasure. It was about not deserving it.

Which, fine, what the fuck ever. He has plenty of atoning to do and reparations to make anyway. It doesn’t matter that he was under All For One’s control the whole time. If one of the consequences for his sins is that he can’t get off, so be it. He can live with that.

Or, at least, that was what he thought before Deku and his bratty little friends made him play Truth or Dare with them.

Tenko doesn’t understand why he’s still being forced to socialize with a bunch of teenagers. All of this shit about “missed formative years” and “social development” really grates on his nerves.

“Playing video games with Spinner in between mass murders doesn’t count as appropriate social engagement,” Eraser had told him.

Anyway, Truth or Dare with a bunch of third year high schoolers was a fucking mistake because of course they wanted to know if he’d ever dusted someone during sex, to which he had to grudgingly admit to being a twenty-something gamer incel.

“But you can do it now, right? You won’t disintegrate someone if you touch them?” The pink girl had asked.

“Not that many people would probably want to have sex with the guy that almost wiped out the global populace, but who would you fuck if you could?” the annoying blond one inquired.

“Guys, leave Tenko alone! This is probably a really awkward topic of conversation for him!” Deku said, valiantly trying to defend him as usual.

But that unpleasant encounter got him thinking. Who would he touch, if he could? Then, he realized it didn’t matter because he still can’t even touch himself.

And that’s how he found himself here, perched on a windowsill, shimmying the glass up as quietly as possible so he can slip inside.

He could have gone to Deku for help. Honestly, he was the first one who came to mind. That goody-two-shoes hero wouldn’t hesitate, but that’s kind of the problem. He’d take it as some kind of holy duty. “Poor Tenko’s never jerked off before. Aw, poor baby boy, let big strong Deku take care of everything for you, it’s okay.” The thought makes him sick. He doesn’t need to be patronized. Not over this.

Unless he wants to swallow his pride and go to someone from the League (which he doesn’t), there’s only one other reasonable choice. Only one other person who’s held him up, taught him, guided and forgiven him despite the things he put him through. The token “dad” of the bunch. The responsible and mature mother hen and protector of charity cases like Tenko and Eri. The stoic, cool Eraser Head.

At least if Eraser turns him down, he’ll also keep his mouth shut and not tell anyone that Tenko came to him begging for a lesson in masturbation.

The veteran hero’s room is empty. He expected this, though. He knows the guy’s schedule by heart. Some old stalking habits die hard, okay? The thing is, he needs to have the advantage here. The fact that he’s doing this at all is agonizing. The idea of slinking to the hero’s door with his head held down and knocking on the wood with trembling fingers… He’d rather die. He needs an edge. Something to give him just an ounce of protection from a situation already painfully embarrassing.

So, he waits—crouching next to Eraser’s bed, eyes lazily scanning over the messy interior. An unmade bed, clothes thrown on the floor, open drawers, an overflowing laundry hamper that smells like mildewy towels. What a slob, he thinks, lips curling into a small smirk.

He’s not sure why, but he likes this about the older man. He’s far from perfect. He’s a chaotic mess at home, doesn’t give a shit about shaving every day or following a regular routine, he sleeps in on the weekends, he drinks, and Tenko’s seen the ashtray outside his window and knows that, on stressful days, he even indulges this bad habit. He’s not perfect, and that’s another difference between him and Deku. The kid is unbearably perfect, selfless, and helpful. It makes him impossible to talk to.

Eraser Head might not have ever been a villain, but he’s done some sketchy things as a hero and definitely seems morally ambiguous at times. This is…comforting.

Tenko is no stranger to chaos. Too much order and cleanliness makes his skin crawl to this day. The sight of Eraser’s messy room is a comfort, and he already feels better about this.

Minutes tick by and he grows restless, head filling with doubts. Maybe this is a terrible idea. Maybe he’ll laugh at him. He’s not sure he can handle that. Not from the Eraser Head. Or worse, maybe he’ll be angry. He has every right to be. Tenko’s the reason he lost an eye and a leg. Tenko’s the reason he saw friends die. He wouldn’t want to help him with something so personal either. Fuck, maybe Eraser doesn’t want to help him at all. Maybe he hates being his handler. Maybe he wishes Shigaraki had been decimated in the final battle and Tenko had never been restored.

I should leave.

He groans and stands up. He’s about to push aside the wind-blown curtains and flee when he looks at the veteran’s bed one more time. Is that…Is that a cat plushie? Does Eraser Head snuggle a fucking cat plushie at night?

It’s too good to be true. Tenko flops onto the bed and picks it up. Sure enough, it’s one of those round, squishy ones that could double as a pillow. It’s black with a grumpy face and he’s pretty sure it must be a gift from Eri or maybe a gag present from Shinso, but the point is that Eraser definitely sleeps with it, or else it would be on the floor or nightstand, not among his other drool-stained pillows.

“Loser,” he snickers as he hugs the plush against his own chest. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to leave. Eraser’s bed is so soft, and it smells like sweaty pro-hero and a little like some kind of masculine shampoo. Mostly the sweat though.

His sheets are cool, the comforter is soft, and his pillows are all flat from overuse and they smell like his hair. And now, Tenko really doesn’t want to leave.

He thinks again about what the brats asked him. “Who would you fuck if you could?”

He’s never thought about it before. He never needed to. He never deserved to. It didn’t matter because he couldn’t touch anyone anyway, and the thought of anyone touching him made his skin itch.

But now…

Who… ?

He pets the plushie and breathes in Eraser Head’s scent and he thinks… maybe you.

Or maybe he only feels this way out of remorse for the things he did. Maybe there’s a sick, masochistic fantasy in the hollows of his twisted mind that thinks, if anyone deserves to use and abuse Tenko, it’s Shouta—Eraser Head—Aizawa.

Just as he thinks this, he hears the front door of the apartment squeal on its hinges. Tenko straightens up and sits cross-legged on the bed as heavy boots clomp inside.

This is it.

He hears a deep sigh and the uneven steps of his prosthetic leg after he discards the boots. Another minute passes, and finally, the bedroom door opens.

The veteran takes a step inside and freezes. Tenko watches in amusement as a brief, fleeting expression of surprise passes over his face. An eyebrow twitches and his lips part, but just as quickly, he composes himself. He straightens up proudly and crosses his arms over his chest. That stern, default expression settles on his features and he lets out a languished sigh.

“There had better be a good reason you’re here.”

Tenko pulls at one of the plushie’s ears and responds with a quivering smirk. “There’s a reason,” he admits. “But whether it’s a good one or not is probably subjective.”

Eraser’s eye narrows further. “And you couldn’t wait outside of my apartment like a normal person? You had to break into my window?”

Tenko looks at the open window. “I didn’t break in—it was unlocked. You should be more careful about that. You know that’s the first thing villains will try when they’re trying to get in, right? Slipping in through an unlocked door is a lot more convenient than busting inside of every house.”

Eraser sighs and drops his arms. “What do you want, Tenko?”

Tenko clutches the plushie a little tighter. His confidence drains away so easily, and it’s a struggle to find words for a moment. He makes eye contact with the hero, gazing flicking from the patch over one eye and back to a dark pupil. “I need your help,” he finally admits.

The man’s gaze softens, ever-so-slightly. He steps inside and closes the door behind him, then sits in a chair across from the end of the bed. He doesn’t scold him for being on his sheets or violating his plushie with trembling hands. He simply sits, leans forward with his elbows on his thighs, and says, “I told you that you can always ask me for help, didn’t I? So, wipe that terrified look off your face and talk to me.”

Tenko wants to, but suddenly he feels so small. Yet again, he’s the defenseless child who was trapped in an altered body piloted by a monster. He’s practically an infant compared to the great Eraser Head. Tenko hates it as much as he craves it. This feeling of vulnerability, of childlike need for a paternal figure who won’t hurt him this time… Eraser does this to him.

“Is someone harassing you again?” he guesses. “Or, does this have to do with the nightmares?”

“Neither…” Tenko confesses. “Think of it more as…trouble adjusting to this whole, ‘New Year, New Me,’ thing.”

Eraser’s fingers thread together and his brows furrow. “I’m listening.”

Tenko tosses his hair back and tries to control the nervous waver of his voice as he quietly says, “There’s something that I’ve never done before, and I was hoping you could…teach me. Like you taught me how to drive and how to enroll for online classes and the right manners for using chopsticks. You’re always teaching me new things, Eraser.”

“Teaching aspiring heroes is something I take very seriously,” he says, his voice heavy with meaning. “Just tell me what you need, Tenko.”

“Promise not to mock me, hero?” Tenko asks, mouth already feeling dry and lips chappy, like they used to be all the time before the change.

“Do I come off as the type to laugh at someone else’s expense?”

Tenko’s lip twitches at this. “You don’t come off as someone who laughs at all.”

Eraser’s face is deadpan as he nods seriously. “There. You can trust me. Tell me what I can help you with.”

Tenko nods. His fingers knead and tug at the plushie in his lap so hard that he’s sure he feels one of the ears tear a bit. His voice is raspy when he finally draws up the courage to speak.

“I’ve never done it before,” he sighs through gritted teeth. “Teach me how to make myself cum.”

Eraser’s face goes comically slack for a moment, and it would almost be enough to make Tenko laugh if not for the fact that his stomach is churning with nerves. The man opens his mouth, closes it, shakes his head, and repeats what must sound like an asinine request. “How to make you…what?”

“You heard me,” Tenko says, somehow managing to keep his head high. “I’m sick of being the inexperienced child who’s never even been party to my own orgasms. I need to know how to masturbate, and how to do it without…freezing up.”

Eraser leans back and runs a hand through his hair before dragging those fingers down along his jaw and stubble. His expression is incredulous, but Tenko can already see the cogs spinning in his mind as he stares at him, one eye analyzing every detail of Tenko’s body, expression, posture… He’s checking to see if he’s serious.

“You’ve never…?”

“Never.”

Eraser looks at the plushie, and Tenko gets the distinct sensation that he’s really looking beyond all the cotton and fluff, imagining Tenko’s sorely neglected twenty-two year old cock.

“And you want my help because…?”

“Because you promised to help me when I need you,” Tenko says, leaning forward. “And because you’re so cool, Eraser. I can’t think of anyone better for the job.”

The man sighs and leans back in his chair. His eye closes and his fingers tap rhythmically on the arm of the chair. “I’m assuming you already tried to do this on your own?”

Tenko laughs bitterly. “I’ve been trying since I hit puberty. No luck.”

“Because of your quirk?”

Tenko shakes his head. “The itching.”

Eraser nods slowly. “I see.” He leans on his knuckles and stares Tenko in the eyes, unblinkingly. It’s intense, and he can’t help but remember the war, when Eraser Head kept that unblinking gaze on him for minutes at a time, unflinching even when severing his own limb. Tenko shivers at this memory. He really is so cool. “What is it, exactly, that you want me to do, Tenko?”

He shivers again because Eraser’s voice isn’t condescending or disgusted. He sounds contemplative. He sounds willing to help. Cautiously accepting.

“Nothing too crazy,” Tenko says. “Just…talk me through it. You’re good at that.”

“To be clear,” Eraser says, “what you’re asking me to do is to sit with you and give you instructions while you masturbate?”

Tenko shrugs. It sounds so clinical when he says it like that, geez.

“That’s all you want?”

Tenko’s lips pinch together. Is this a trick question? What else is there? Does the older man have something else in mind? No, that can’t be it. Tenko nods. “That’s all.”

Eraser nods too. It’s reluctant, but Tenko can tell that it’s a nod of agreement. “When?” the veteran asks.

Tenko looks around the room, out the window toward the setting sun. He takes in the sight of the disheveled bedroom, feels the cotton of the plushie on his lap as well as the heat of Eraser’s stare. Most importantly, he feels the pulse of his slightly stiffening cock in his pants.

In a meek voice, hardly suited for himself, he finally answers. “…Now?”

Eraser nods again, slowly. Tenko can only watch in astonishment as he rises to his feet and walks to the open window.

“First, put Miss Fluffy-Butt down on the floor. I don’t want you soiling her.”

Tenko obeys, snickering at the name and the way Eraser says it so seriously. Meanwhile, the veteran shuts the window and, notably, locks it this time.

“Get undressed,” comes the next command. “And listen to me carefully.”

Tenko shivers at the authority in his voice. He nods even though Eraser can’t see him assenting.

“I’m not going to look at you,” Eraser says, returning to the chair and flipping it around so it’s not facing the bed. “I’m going to sit here and talk you through it. I need you to talk to me, too. Tell me how you’re feeling, physically and emotionally so we can make sure this works. And, when you cum, please don’t get it on my sheets.”

Tenko’s stomach flips at these words and the hairs on his arms stand up. “You seem confident that you’ll be able to make me cum,” he notes. “What if you can’t? I’ve been trying for years, you know?”

Eraser sits down on the chair casually, back turned toward Tenko. “I’m not worried,” he says slyly.

“Cocky much?” Tenko scoffs.

“No.” The man’s shoulders shrug. “I’m confident in my abilities. Besides.” He leans on the arm of the chair and Tenko wishes he could see his expression. “You came to me because you know I can do it. That’s more than half the battle.”

Tenko releases a shuddering breath. Is that why he’s here? Because he expects to be putty in Eraser Head’s hands? Because, if anyone can help him cum, it’s the cool and collected hero in front of him?

He’s not sure, so he shakes the thoughts off and starts to strip, shivering as the cold brushes his bare skin.

“Tell me again why this is a problem for you. Be specific.”

Tenko sneers as he tosses his shirt onto the floor. “What are you, my therapist? I already told you, it was the itching.”

“You said ‘was,’” Eraser points out. “But you haven’t had allergy problems since your quirk was removed. What’s the issue now? ”

Tenko’s hands pause, fingers resting on the tab of his zipper. “I…don’t know,” he murmurs. “I can get close, but then…” He hisses through his teeth. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Ah.” Eraser’s voice is low and musing as he processes this information. “That explains a lot. It’s all mental. You think pleasure is a privilege you need to earn.”

Tenko shrugs, a tremble moving through his fingers as he tugs his zipper down.

“You’re wrong,” Eraser says, surprising him. For a moment, Tenko’s chest swells with some kind of sugary emotion that he can’t stand. Pride? Joy? Is Eraser telling him that he does deserve pleasure? “Your first mistake is thinking sexual release has anything to do with morality.”

Tenko frowns as he kicks off his shoes and starts to shimmy out of his pants.

“Orgasms aren’t sacred. Having one is a neutral and natural bodily function. It’s neither good nor bad. It’s animal. That’s all.”

“Animal…” Tenko repeats as he strips to only his triforce print boxers. That’s supposed to make him feel better, right? So, why does he feel kind of annoyed by it? What’s with the uncomfortable heat in the pit of his stomach that feels defensive or indignant somehow?

“Does that help alleviate some of the guilt?” Eraser asks.

Tenko shrugs as his thumbs hook on his boxers. “Dunno. Guess we’ll know when my orgasm gets ruined again.” He hesitates to pull off the last remaining article of clothing. He’s not sure why but his hands are trembling. His eyes outline the shape of his partially erect cock through the thin green fabric and it sends a creeping tendril of trepidation up his spine. Disgust and anxiety crawl under his skin, a phantom of the old itch, the impulse to tear off the flesh that holds him against his will. Then, Eraser speaks again.

“That won’t happen this time,” he says, his voice a sure promise. “Not with me here.”

For some reason, the absoluteness of this statement and the confident tone of his voice grounds Tenko in the present moment. It’s only a small boost of encouragement, but it’s enough to make him finally slip out of the boxers.

“Are you undressed?” Eraser asks.

“Yeah…” Tenko answers unsteadily. He’s looking at the back of Eraser’s head—at wavy black hair and broad shoulders instead of his own cock.

“Are you hard?” the man asks—and the way he doesn’t even skip a beat when he asks these questions is fucking impressive. Tenko feels a blush spreading all the way across his shoulders at the briefest acknowledgement of what’s happening here, while Eraser doesn’t even flinch.

“Sort of,” Tenko says with a reluctant look down at his half-swollen dick. “Not all the way.”

“Alright, the first thing I want you to do is to relax, Tenko. You’re panicking, I can tell.”

“How?” Tenko snaps. “You’re not even looking at me.” He’s surprised by how accusatory his voice is. As if…he wants the older man to look.

“I know you,” Eraser deadpans. “I can hear it in your voice. You’re too stressed out. You need to relax, loosen your muscles, and then think of something that turns you on.”

Tenko lets out a few slow exhales, props up some of the man’s pillows so he can lean back on them, then focuses on loosening his clenched core muscles. Then, he closes his eyes and tries to think about something that’s a sure fire way to get him hard. His mind blanks instantly. He forgets everything that has ever made him pop a boner.

“Do you have something?” Eraser asks.

Tenko opens his mouth to say ‘no,’ but then he’s looking at the man’s hair again and watching the way some strands fall over the back of the chair. His eyes are tracing over a sturdy shoulder and down a thick bicep, all the way to long fingers idly stroking a chair leg. A jolt of pleasure shoots to Tenko’s cock without warning and he stutters out a quick, “Y-Yes,” before his brain can catch up.

“Good,” Eraser croons. “Now, I want you to grab the base of your cock and stroke slowly up and down until you’re fully hard. Can you do that for me?”

Tenko shivers. Why does he have to ask it like that? Like Tenko’s doing him some kind of favor by obeying. “Sure, whatever,” he grumbles as he hooks his fingers around his cock and pulls.

“Are you circumcised?” Eraser asks.

Tenko’s eyes widen as he continues to look at the back of the other man. “Why the hell does that matter? Is it something you’re into, Eraser? Wanna take a look and see for yourself?”

He expects the veteran to sigh or act otherwise annoyed. He doesn’t give any indicator of a reaction, however, which causes a pout to form on Tenko’s lips.

“It matters,” Eraser says simply. “Are you or not?”

Tenko’s fingers catch on the head of his cock and he clears his throat. He chokes on speech again, heat burning his cheeks as he tries to prompt himself to answer. Most Japanese men aren’t circumcised, but Tenko…

“All For One screwed with my body a lot,” he says, by way of explanation. “Including…that.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Eraser says. “There’s no reason to feel ashamed, Tenko. It’s not that unusual. At the very least, it will make talking you through this easier for me.”

“Good for you, I guess,” Tenko mumbles.

“No more sass,” Eraser commands, his voice slightly sharper now, in a way that cuts Tenko all the way to his shuddering rib cage. “Just shut up and stroke your cock exactly as I tell you to.”

A small, breathless sound escapes Tenko’s lips at the harsh command. He feels his cock twitch in his palm and immediately resumes his prior motions, feeling a little more inspired.

“Move slowly at first,” Eraser continues. “I want you to focus on every stroke. Twist slightly at the top and rub your thumb underneath the head where you’re the most sensitive.”

Tenko does as he’s told, and it’s a little awkward at first because typically, when he does try to do this on his own, he’s quick and rough, desperate to try and chase release before the feeling evaporates. But the motions are nice, building up a slow and tantalizing pleasure that dulls his nervousness.

“How does it feel?” Eraser asks, and it’s definitely just in Tenko’s imagination but his voice almost seems hoarser than it was before.

“Feels like I’m jerking my dick,” he answers as he squeezes the head and makes his stomach muscles jump.

“What did I say about the sass?” Eraser warns. “This will only work if you don’t fight me.”

“Fine, alright…” Tenko huffs. “Feels good.”

“Good. Keep going. A little faster, but not too tight. You need to tease your nerves. Make your body need it.”

He’s about to argue that this is easier said than done and that he’s tried everything to make it happen, but…there’s something different about this. There’s something about Eraser’s deep-throated commands and the sight of his fingers still teasing the chair leg that has excitement boiling in his gut. Every sensation of his cock feels magnified now, every touch like a buzz of electricity.

“Feels good,” he says in little more than a grunt this time.

“Keep your pace even. Don’t get ahead of yourself and don’t tense up. Just think about how good it feels, Tenko. How does the friction feel? Is your hand warm around your cock? Are you starting to leak precum yet? If so, how does it feel to rub that liquid all over the tip?”

Tenko shivers, instinctively pulling faster as these molasses-sweet words flow into his ear and flood his body.

“There you go…” Eraser says in something that sounds like a purr. “You’re doing well.”

Tenko hisses through his teeth and pumps faster, doing his best to stay in a rhythm, but…the hero’s praise does something to him and he can’t help it. He tries to bite back a moan, but it vibrates from his throat without permission when he swipes the tip of his cock with his thumb and feels the fluid there.

“It’s okay, don’t hold back,” Eraser says. “You can be as loud as you need to be, Tenko.”

It’s stupid how intensely this gets to him. Eraser has barely finished the sentence before Tenko is letting out a pathetic whimper, moaning on the veteran hero’s bed with his dick in his hand like a whore.

“Good boy,” comes the soft praise—and honestly, it should insult him. He’s not some bratty kid like one of Eraser’s students. He’s not a child who needs to be coddled, and yet…

“Shit,” he whines as his hand strokes faster still, wrist flicking at the end of each pull.

“You sound close,” Eraser says. “Good job. Keep going.”

Tenko is panting now. His heart pounds in his chest and he can’t look away from the man in front of him. He notices the way Eraser’s fingers are clutching the arm of the chair now, nails digging into the wood as if he’s trying to hold himself back. From what? From turning around and doing something to Tenko himself? He moans at this thought. “E-Eraser,” he huffs. 

He’s close, he can feel it. His balls are tightening, his center is starting to burn like a charged ball of electricity, he knows something is about to happen. This is it. This will be the first time he gets to feel an orgasm. And it’s going to be on his back on Eraser Head’s bed.

“Come on, Tenko… A little more. Right there.”

He’s starting to feel lightheaded, vision blurring with stars. He’s right there… It’s within reach. It’s as close as Eraser is right now, as if he could lean forward and crawl a little ways and touch it. Right. There.

He chokes on a cry, he can imagine himself reaching for that peak and then…then…

“ No! ” He curses as the feeling immediately plummets before that cliff-side. He was so close but again, it’s just out of reach, not unlike the man whose head hasn’t turned an inch since he sat down in the chair.

An angry spark flares in Tenko’s stomach and his balls feel for a moment like they’re going to rupture from intense pain and need for release. Need that Tenko can’t meet, yet again. He slumps further into the pillows and lets out a frustrated groan. “ Fuck. ”

Eraser moves, shuffling slightly in the seat and leaning against the arm. “Relax. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not fucking okay!” Tenko says through heavy breaths. “If this doesn’t work, nothing will!”

“I understand your frustration, but it’s not over yet. Unless you’re ready to give up, that is.”

Tenko looks down at his weeping cock, which has already started to go flaccid from disappointment. “What’s the point?” he mumbles. “It doesn’t work. Obviously, I can’t do it.”

“I have a few ideas for how to get you there if you want to keep going. If not, put your clothes on and get out of my apartment.”

Tenko stiffens. He doesn’t want to leave yet. He feels like he just got here. He likes listening to Eraser’s voice and being in his bed and…he really likes the way the man was gripping the chair for dear life a moment ago.

“I don’t want to give up,” Tenko says. “I want to keep going.”

Eraser is silent, and Tenko wonders if he’s smiling. “Good boy,” he says again. “Before you touch your cock this time, I want you to open my nightstand drawer and get the bottle of lube there. We’re going to approach this from a different angle.”

A different angle? What the fuck does that mean?

Tenko huffs and rolls onto his side to reach into the nightstand. He freezes after he opens the drawer, eyes scanning over the contents in shock. There are some regular items there, like eye drops, a small bottle of lotion, sleeping pills, and some loose change. But , there’s also a half-empty bottle of lube, a handful of condoms, wipes, and…is that a vibrator? What the hell does this man do here? The condoms insinuate that he at least fucks in this bed. But who? Random internet hookups? Women? Present Mic?

Tenko scowls at the contents, suddenly feeling indignant. It’s a stupid feeling, he knows that. He’s being childish and petty, and there’s no reason for him to care who the hell Eraser Head sleeps with. It’s not like they’re a couple.

Now that’s a stupid thought. The Eraser Head? In some mutually exclusive relationship with Tomura Shigaraki, the psychopathic vessel of All For One who personally crippled the veteran hero himself? It almost makes him laugh! Or, it might, if he isn’t busy feeling some kind of bitter grossness in his throat, as though Jonny’s goop is sliding up onto his tongue.

“Do you have the lube yet?” Eraser asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Tenko grabs the bottle and lies down on his back again. “I was a little distracted by your sex drawer.”

Eraser chuckles. “ That is not my sex drawer.”

The words imply that there’s a much larger collection of objects somewhere in this room, which sends prickles of excitement all over his skin. He’s too astounded to muster a good comeback, so he simply lets out an “Oh,” and settles back into the pillows.

“Are you ready to continue?” Eraser asks.

Tenko fiddles with the lube cap, popping it open and snapping it shut repeatedly as he hesitates to answer. “Whatever,” he finally says. “But I feel sensitive now and my dick’s not hard anymore.”

“We’ll get you there, don’t worry,” Eraser insists. He leans casually on the arm of the chair, and Tenko wishes he could see his face, just once. “Pour some lube onto your cock for me. Don’t worry about using too much. I have other bottles.”

Tenko can’t decide if he’s more caught up on the “for me” part of these instructions or the “other bottles” part. Is this guy some kind of sex menace? The fuck does he need multiple bottles of lube for?

“Tenko,” he says. “Are you still with me?”

“Y-yeah, just a sec…” He pops the cap open one more time and squeezes it onto his partial erection. He hisses out a startled breath at the sensation. “Shit, it’s cold. ”

“Oh,” Eraser says, “I should have had you warm it in your hands first. My apologies. It’s not easy to guide you while I’m trying to visualize what you’re doing.”

“You could solve that problem by looking at me,” Tenko says before he can stop himself.

Eraser is silent for so long that Tenko is absolutely sure he’s going to dissolve into an anxious pile of dust by the time the hero responds. He wants to stutter out an apology, but pride and a little bit of curiosity keep his mouth pinched shut.

“I don’t think so,” Eraser says finally. “Now, start to stroke yourself again. Slowly, so you don’t overstimulate yourself.”

Tenko snuffs out the disappointment that wells in his stomach. It’s not like he’d gotten his hopes up. Of course, Eraser’s not going to look at him. Tenko is disgusting. He might be less crackly these days, but he’s still scarred and pale, with a mane of white hair, sunken in eyes, and permanent scratch damage on his face and neck. He still looks like the villain who struck fear into the hearts of heroes and civilians. He’s filthy. He’s ruined. Of course, Eraser has no interest in watching him do this. He’d probably puke.

“Tenko,” the man says, voice stern. “Get out of your head. I’m losing you.”

Tenko bites his lip. How does he know?! He’s not even looking at me!

He shakes off the uncomfortable feelings and focuses on his hand, slowly slathering his cock with the slippery lube. It’s gradual, but the repetitive motions finally get the blood flowing again and he rises to full mast, rolling waves of dull pleasure into his gut. It feels better this time with the slick glide of his hand, and he likes the squelch sounds his fingers make at the base of his cock with the quicker motions. He likes the way Eraser’s fingers are stroking the arm of the chair again.

“Sounds like you’re getting into it,” Eraser says, his tone sounding…pleased? “How does it feel with the lube?”

“Fine,” Tenko answers. He moans at a particularly nice stroke under the head of his cock. “Good, but I don’t know if it’s going to be enough.”

“Hm…” Eraser taps the chair and hums to himself for a moment. “Are you familiar with erogenous zones?”

“No,” Tenko answers.

“They’re areas on your body that provide indirect pleasure. They can be used to enhance your experience and bring on more intense orgasms. Lips, the sides of your neck, your nipples, balls, taint, the rim of your ass, your prostate. Why don’t you try stimulating one of these areas with your free hand?”

Tenko scoffs as embarrassment burns his cheeks. “That’s stupid. I’m not going to play around with my body like that.”

“But that’s the point, isn’t it?” Eraser muses. “This is supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to feel good, excite you, and make you want more. Playing is exactly what you should be doing, Tenko.”

He shivers at these words. Is that right? Pleasure is supposed to be…a game?

“You like games,” Eraser says, reading his thoughts again. “You like competitively mastering them, don’t you? If it helps you to think of it like that, then consider this a challenge in a game that you have to overcome.”

It’s so fucking dumb—the entire idea is laughably stupid, and yet… He moans as his free hand drifts up his torso and his fingers roll over one of his nipples.

“Where are you touching yourself?” Eraser asks. His voice sounds huskier, or maybe that’s Tenko’s wishful thinking.

“Don’t ask me that,” he complains as he plucks a nipple and continues to pump his cock.

“You have to talk to me,” Eraser says. “I want you to talk to me, Tenko.”

“Shit,” he groans. “My nipples. I’m playing with them, alright? Happy now?”

“Yes,” the other man breathes. “Does it feel good?”

Tenko lets out a shaky breath. “Sort of. They’re not super sensitive but it helps, I guess.”

“That’s not good enough,” Eraser says. “We don’t want ‘sort of,’ we want ‘enough to make you cum.’”

Tenko swallows hard at these words. Honestly, he’s feeling pretty close to that goal now.

“Try touching somewhere else.”

Tenko looks down at his body. “Where?”

“Wherever you want,” the veteran says vaguely, and Tenko wonders if there’s a reason for that.

“Where…” he pauses to wet his lips, “where do you like to touch yourself, Eraser? What’s your erogenous zone?”

He doesn’t expect an answer. He expects to have the question batted away like his suggestions that the man look at him. He’s stunned when he gets a reply a few beats later, after Eraser has taken the time to consider it.

“My balls,” he answers. “I tug on them when I’m close to climax.”

It’s humiliating as hell, but Tenko moans as soon as the words leave his mouth. It’s a pathetic, bitch-moan, too—but how’s he supposed to help it when he’s suddenly imagining the cool Eraser Head sitting in Tenko’s place, jerking his cock and fondling his balls until he sprays his stomach with cum?

Tenko’s hand slides down to his own balls. He cups them, massaging lightly while he bucks up into his lubed fist. He hisses in discomfort and drops his hand. “I don’t like that.”

“That’s okay,” Eraser says. “Everyone’s different. Try something else.”

Tenko’s hand slows and he looks at his shaking fingers. Should he…?

He looks back up at Eraser. His eyes travel down his arm to the fingers still idly playing with the arm of the chair. Then, his gaze drifts over to his other arm. He’s adjusted his position, and Tenko can’t tell from here, but…it looks like maybe his hand is resting in his lap now based on the jut of his elbow. Tenko bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood when he sees the subtle but unmistakable motions of this arm. Small, repetitive movements as if…oh shit …as if he’s palming his cock right now.

Is he getting off on this?

The thought pulls another lewd moan from Tenko’s lips. He licks away blood as he moves his hand again and adjusts his hips. His fingers drift up and down over his taint, sending a much more intense sensation rippling through his body than playing with his nipples did.

Inspired by the discreet motions of Eraser’s arm, Tenko drags his fingers lower until a fingertip catches on his rim. “Shit,” he groans, hips instinctively bucking up again.

“Talk to me, Tenko,” Eraser commands. “Where are you touching now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teases as he rubs circles around his clenched entrance.

“I would,” Eraser says in a low voice, almost too quiet for Tenko to hear.

Tenko shudders. His hands instinctively pause to grab the bottle of lube again. He pours a small amount into his palm, rubs his hands together, then allows the lube to run down his finger until beads of it slide over his hole.

“Tenko…” Eraser prompts. “Talk to me.”

“My asshole, okay?” he snaps. “I’m…touching it.”

He’s absolutely positive that he hears the man’s breathing hitch. He watches as Eraser’s shoulders roll to release tension. “And does it feel good?”

Tenko focuses on the sensations, pressing lightly into his entrance and shivering. “Yeah. Better than the other stuff.”

“Good,” Eraser says through an exhale. “Good boy, Tenko. Keep going.”

Tenko whines, gripping his cock harder with his other hand. He keeps looking at Eraser, gaze flicking to his hand. His fingers are still stroking the arm of the chair, but now…he’s rubbing a small circle with his index finger as if…holy fuck is he imagining rubbing Tenko like that?

“Eraser,” he gasps. “I think I’m getting close again.”

“Easy,” Eraser directs. “Pace yourself.”

Tenko nods, even though he can’t see him. “I’m going to try…” he watches as Eraser’s fingers freeze while he listens to Tenko’s voice. “I’m going to try putting my finger inside.”

“Good idea,” Eraser says, and Tenko doesn’t miss the way he trembles and has to stretch his neck to ward away his tightening muscles. He likes the sound of that.

Tenko dips a lubed fingertip inside, moaning at the sparks of sensation that shoot straight to his cock.

“Try to relax,” Eraser says. “It will be easier. It might feel strange at first, so give yourself a moment to adjust. When you’re ready, you can move a little more, massage your walls, stretch yourself out.”

“You know a lot about this,” Tenko huffs through gasps for air. “You have a lot of experience fingering yourself, Eraser?”

“No,” he says instantly. “Not myself.”

This shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but Tenko whimpers as his gut coils with fire. He’s close. Really close. He lets out a guttural groan as he slips his finger in deeper, rotating it to stroke every spot he can reach, experimenting with the sensations.

“How does it feel?” Eraser asks. His voice is shakier now and his fingers keep twitching on one hand while his other arm seems to move a little more insistently.

Tenko knows he’s asking if he likes it, but…the sight of Eraser losing a little bit of his cool is intoxicating. He’s on a power trip and he knows he’s being a brat when he answers, but he’s beyond giving a shit now. “Tight,” he moans. “So tight and…fuck…it’s so hot, Eraser.”

He watches as Eraser’s hand balls into a fist and he’s pretty sure he can hear a muffled expletive grumbled against the man’s collar.

“Am I doing a good job?” Tenko asks, feeling his stomach muscles tighten and his head start to fog.

“Yes,” Eraser says in something suspiciously like a moan. “You’re doing so well, Tenko.”

He shivers and forces his finger deeper. He chokes out a cry when his finger brushes something inside of him, something that makes his legs suddenly shake and his body feel weak.

“I…shit…” he moans as he touches this area again. “I think I’m going to…T-think I’m gonna cum this time.”

“You will,” Eraser says. “You can do it. Surrender to that pleasure, Tenko.”

He wants to. Fuck, he wants to. He’s grunting and his hips are bucking and his finger is making his head spin and shit he’s never felt like this before. He’s so close, so fucking close, but there’s something missing—something wrong. He wants something. He needs it.

“Er…aser…” he pants as he looks at the back of the man’s head. “ Eraser. ”

His body is clamped down, refusing to give him that release until… “Eraser, please…” he begs. “Look at me.”

Eraser lets out a shaky sigh but doesn’t move.

“Please,” Tenko pleads. “Need you…to see me cum…”

Still, the man doesn’t move. Tenko is burning alive now. His gut is coiling so tightly with heat that it hurts. The bulb of his cock is a swollen purple, his balls are too tight, his asshole is clenching desperately around his finger. But he can’t do it. Not yet. Not without… “Please!” he cries. “Please look at me! Shouta!”

That does it. As soon as the name leaves his lips, the veteran hero’s head snaps around. One dark eye fixes itself on Tenko, intense, glowing red with want .

And that’s all it takes. Pleasure like a tidal wave crashes down on him. Tenko practically screams as his first ever real orgasm grips him with all its strength. He’s shaking, bucking, writhing as hot cum starts to shoot onto his stomach. He can’t look away from the other man’s face as the climax wrecks him, ropes of white painting all the way up to the corner of his own mouth, as if the pressure of years without proper release is behind the force.

I’m cumming. Shit, I’m cumming.

And it’s the best feeling in the world. It’s overwhelming, completely overtaking his body, sending him soaring into heights that are almost unbearably high. He’s so high up that there’s no oxygen up here, and he’s choking for breath and he’s pretty sure he’s crying too, but he can’t feel his cheeks. Everything is white hot pleasure and Eraser’s face. No… Shouta’s face.

He crashes back down too abruptly. He’s whimpering, body trembling, chest heaving. He still has no control over his twitching muscles and…yep, he’s sobbing like a baby.

He’s so fucking overwhelmed. It’s too much. He didn’t know it would feel like this, and suddenly he’s panicking. The tears won’t stop, and his mind is now crisply aware of how stupid and pathetic he is. He can’t believe he came here for this and bothered Eraser Head for something so vile. He can’t believe he was begging the older man to look at him. He can’t believe he thought for even a moment that maybe he deserved to feel this good.

“What the fuck,” he sobs as he covers his eyes with his arm and sobs. “What is this? Post-nut clarity? I feel like shit.”

He hears the chair scrape the floor and Shouta shuffling. He moves his arm and can see the man retreating from the room.

“W-Wait, where are you going? D-Don’t leave, please, I…” He what ? “I’m sorry.”

Shouta looks over his shoulder, expression unreadable. “I’m not leaving you, Tenko. Just getting a warm washcloth.”

“Oh…” Tenko doesn’t know what else to say, so he closes his eyes and keeps crying, listening to the sound of running water for a moment before the man’s uneven footsteps enter the room again.

“I’m going to touch you with this, okay?”

Tenko opens his eyes and stares up in disbelief. Shouta is looking down at him with a serious expression, holding a bundled up washcloth in his hands.

“I can…do it myself…” Tenko whispers.

The man ignores him and sits on the edge of the bed. Tenko gasps as the cloth touches his skin, warm and welcome on his stomach.

“Control your breathing,” he instructs, voice surprisingly gentle. “Calm down. You’re okay.” He soothingly moves the cloth up Tenko’s chest, cleaning up cum as he goes. “You did nothing wrong. No need to apologize.”

“But I…”

“Sh…” He draws the corner of the cloth to Tenko’s mouth and wipes away the cum there, delicately stroking his lips as he moves. “You did so well. You were such a good boy.”

Tenko chokes on a sob. “Stop talking to me like that. I’m not…a child.”

Shouta frowns and wipes away a tear with his thumb. “Talk me through how you’re feeling.”

Tenko scoffs, but then another wave of tears hits and he’s hiding his face under his arms as he chokes on them. “It felt good!” he cries. “Too good. I wish I didn’t… I don’t know! I don’t know, okay?! I feel like shit and you’re making me feel worse! Can’t you yell at me? Sneer? Tell me that I’m a disgusting freak and to get out of your sight? You should hate me!”

The man sighs and leans back. “Tenko,” he says quietly. “Come here.”

Tenko opens his eyes again. The man is sitting on the edge of the bed, washcloth cast to the floor. His expression is dead-serious as he gives the next order.

“Put your arms around me.”

Tenko is frozen, brain short-circuiting at this incomprehensible command. Put your arms around me? Is he stupid? Was he listening at all? He should hate Tenko, not be asking for post-sex cuddles. It’s insane.

“Tenko,” the man says. “I’m serious.”

Tenko gets defensive when he’s nervous, so his instant retort is, “When are you not?”

Shouta looks at him with a deadpan expression, lifts his hand, and makes a come-hither gesture with his finger. It’s one thing to disobey his words, but to ignore a request like that ? Tenko knows better.

He sits up and crawls closer, breath held captive by his own clenched throat. Shouta doesn’t budge, just sits there on the edge of the bed, so Tenko’s not sure exactly what he expects from him. His arms don’t open to accept an embrace. He doesn’t turn to make himself more available. It’s up to Tenko to decide how to make a move—but maybe that’s the point? Is this a test? What if he fails?

His hands are quivering more than the strings on a cello after a ringing note, but he somehow manages to wrap his arms around the other man’s chest. It’s awkward. He’s leaning forward because he’s still naked and doubts that the veteran hero wants him flush against his back. He tries to control his breathing, but he knows the man can hear his raspy, uneven breaths. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s starkly aware of the shape of Shouta’s arms under his own and the scent of his hair tickling his nose.

“All of your fingers,” Shouta says.

Tenko swallows loudly. He didn’t realize his pinkies are up, carefully away from the hero’s shirt. He’s frozen, unable to obey this command even though he wants to.

Suddenly, his mind is swarming with memories. They cluster and buzz, stinging him like wasps with painful images of the people he killed when those pinkies made contact. So many. He murdered so many people. Just a brush of all five fingers and they were snuffed out like nothing. Lives that disintegrated into nothing but dust. Hopes, futures, dreams all drifting away in the breeze because of Tomura Shigaraki. Because of Tenko.

He doesn’t deserve to touch him. He can’t. He won’t. He’s suddenly choking on a sob as he tries to pull away, but Shouta is quicker.

His hands are on the backs of Tenko’s. Palms slide forward and he pins them down on his chest, forcing all ten fingers to connect. And the moment his pinkies touch the man’s shirt, he’s sobbing, eyes pinching shut and a wail escaping his lips as he imagines the pro-hero dissolving under his fingertips, gone forever. Forever out of his reach.

“I never wanted to,” he gasps as reality distorts around him. “You were the one I never wanted to destroy. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Tenko,” he says softly—so softly that it erases the buzzing swarm in Tenko’s head and suddenly he’s grounded again. “You didn’t destroy me.” He presses Tenko’s hands harder against his chest. “Feel me. I’m here. I’m alive. Despite everything Shigaraki and All For One tried to do to me, my heart is still beating, right under your hand. Your hand, Tenko.”

Tenko can’t breathe. His hands fist in Shouta’s shirt, relax, spread out on his chest, and fist again. His breath all comes out in a whine and he drops his head into the man’s shoulder, wiping tears against that coarse, black hair.

“Come here,” Shouta orders. He doesn’t give Tenko the chance to carry this command out, though. He turns and he’s suddenly slinging an arm around Tenko’s waist and pulling him roughly onto his lap. He apparently doesn’t care that Tenko is still very naked, because he hoists him up by the bare ass and forces him to wrap his legs around his waist. Now, Tenko is in Shouta Aizawa’s lap, staring down at the rugged face that gazes back at him.

Tenko whimpers as the hero hooks his hands on the edge of his shirt and takes it off before throwing it to the floor with Tenko’s clothes. The veteran is bare chested now, broad torso and scars all on display. It’s so fucked up, but Tenko can’t look away from his firm pecs and the dark nipples gracing them, nestled in the thin patch of black curls that leads down toward his navel.

“Touch me,” the man says, and it’s cruel, disgusting, horrible, but Tenko feels his already spent cock give a pathetic twitch after he hears the words.

He tentatively places his hands back on Shouta’s chest, breath hitching as soon as he feels the warm skin beneath his fingertips. It takes every ounce of willpower he has, but he somehow manages to lower his pinkies as well, letting them drift across dark peaks because he can’t help it. He’s a disgusting pervert and Shouta is letting him do this—asking him to.

“Good boy,” Shouta says in a murmur. “You like that, don’t you?”

His teeth grit in shame, but he nods. He’s trying to remember if he’s ever touched anyone with all of his fingers since he was saved. If he has, he can’t remember. This feels brand new, holy somehow, like Tenko’s been given the gift of brushing his fingers along the edge of the holy grail. He can’t drink from it, can’t hold it, can’t indulge in the sacred water inside, but he can touch.

“I like it too,” Shouta says, and if anyone told Tenko before this that four words could punch the air right out of his lungs, he wouldn’t have believed them. Now, he swears he’s never going to breathe again. Shouta’s going to have to resuscitate him in a couple of minutes because holy shit did he really say that?!

“I already told you, Tenko,” he continues as one hand lifts and does the unthinkable—it cups the side of Tenko’s face gently. “This has nothing to do with principles like worthiness, or anything to do with your past. We’re human. We enjoy touching and being touched. It’s simple.”

Tenko leans into his palm, whining as a tear slides down to the warm skin pressed there. No one has held his face like this since he was a child and his mother used to touch him as if she loved him. “That’s not what I want to hear,” he whispers, the confession a vise around his heart.

“Oh?” Shouta says. “That doesn’t comfort you?”

Tenko shakes his head. “It sounds like trash, hearing that it’s all animal.” He scoffs weakly, fingers trembling on the older man’s chest. “You think I want to be an animal? I was a dog on a short leash for my entire life. I want…touching…to mean more than that.” His voice gets quieter with every word. 

“Fuck, that sounds cringey, never mind.” He pulls his hands away. “Great, yeah, we’re animals, it’s natural, whatever.” He starts to shuffle to get away from the man’s lap. “Thanks for the lesson, Eraser. You made me cum, gave me a pep talk—I’m out.”

“Don’t,” Shouta growls, arms suddenly wrapping around Tenko’s bare back and pulling him flush against him. He gasps, a jolt shooting through his body when he’s pulled so far forward that his cock is touching the man’s stomach. And it’s so humiliating, the way the contact instantly makes him throb, and he knows Shouta can feel it.

“Erase—”

His startled exclamation is swallowed by the veteran. Yes, it’s swallowed, because Shouta Aizawa’s mouth is suddenly on his and he’s capturing everything from Tenko’s words, his breath, his tongue, to the moan that tries to escape but echoes in Shouta’s mouth instead. The man’s fingers are bruising as they hold him tightly, tangling in white hair. He grunts, and Tenko swears he can taste the sound as it vibrates through his teeth, rattling straight to his marrow.

“Is this better?” Shouta asks, his voice low and gravelly in a way that makes Tenko slump against him, weak and needy. “I’m trying to make you understand that pleasure has nothing to do with your personal worth, because you asked me to help you learn how to cum.”

He tugs on Tenko’s hair, forcing him to lift his head again and startling a high moan from his chest. “But, if the real reason you came here is for validation, then I can give that to you, too.”

Shouta kisses him again, softer this time. Then, he drags his lips down to Tenko’s neck, mouth open so he can breathe on his skin. His scruff tickles as it brushes his jaw and neck, and his tongue is a hot compress that warms the pulsing artery under sensitive flesh.

“You want me to tell you that you deserve it?” he asks. “Didn’t I already tell you that you’re a good boy, Tenko?”

He’s fully hard again, but barely aware of the sensations in his groin. His pleasure is widespread, charging his entire nerve network so he’s not sure where he feels the strongest. Is it where Shouta is kissing and sucking his neck? Is it where his abdomen muscles are tensing against Tenko’s already drooling cock? Is it in his scalp where scarred hands twirl and tease locks of white hair? Or is it somewhere deeper, in some empty and obscure piece of Tenko’s heart that somehow feels this just as acutely as his body?

“Need me to tell you that you’re not Shigaraki anymore? Do you want to hear that Tenko Shimura is worthy of being loved, like everyone else?”

“Mm…” Tenko sobs. He lifts his own hands, fisting them in black waves, holding onto them like reigns as he almost falls in on himself.

“Or is it deeper than that?” The man looks up and suddenly tears away the eyepatch covering his right eye. Tenko inhales sharply as he sees the scarred eyelid and the unseeing, milky eye that looks up at him. He starts to sob because it’s his fault, it’s all his fault. “Look at me,” Shouta commands. “Do you need to hear that I forgive you?”

Tenko shakes his head, flinging tears. “No! I don’t deserve…”

“I. Forgive. You.” He takes Tenko’s hand and forces him to spread his fingers out on his face, feeling the scar over the eye and the damaged lid. “I forgive you. I don’t hate you. And you’ll just have to accept that because I… want you.”

“Y-You what?” Tenko breathes out. Hands grip him by the hips and Shouta is suddenly grinding him down, and…oh fuck, oh shit, he’s hard. How long has he been straining his pants like this? Tenko didn’t have the clarity of mind to check earlier. Has he been hard ever since he was talking Tenko through his orgasm?

“Listen to me,” Shouta commands, voice even more gruff now. “I know what you did and I know what you took from me, and I don’t give a shit anymore. It was a war . Good people did bad things, bad people got second chances, and you came out the other side as someone new.”

His hands are sliding back and forth along Tenko’s thighs, pausing to squeeze his ass. “You deserve pleasure.” His hand is suddenly slipping forward between them, fingers extending. “You deserve to cum over and over again.” His fingers wrap around Tenko’s cock, causing him to let out a pitiful whine. “And I want to be the one who makes you do it.”

“W-Why?” Tenko asks. He shakes violently as the older man rubs his thumb over the head of his cock. He can’t help the way his hips jerk, cock seeking more friction.

Shouta groans in frustration, and it’s the most emotion he’s seen out of him today. “Do you have to overthink everything?”

Without warning, he throws Tenko onto his back, pushing him against the mattress. “You’re a sassy little brat who looks at me like I hung the stars in the sky. You asked me to watch you cum in my bed while you made all of those cute sounds. It’s not rocket science, Tenko. Of course , I want you.”

The man groans again, this time slumping forward until his face is against Tenko’s chest. Shouta shudders and runs both hands down Tenko’s sides, calloused palms scratching his skin. “ Fuck , you have no idea how good it feels that you came to me for this. I thought there was no chance I’d ever get to fuck you, but then you delivered yourself like a birthday present right onto my bed and asked me to get you off.”

Tenko’s mind is spinning. He’s sure he heard that correctly. He’s positive that the Eraser Head just said he wants to fuck him. That’s what he said, right? Is Tenko dreaming?

“Happy fucking birthday to me,” Shouta mumbles against Tenko’s stomach, then he lowers his head further and breathes hot air onto Tenko’s trembling cock.

“S-Shouta,” Tenko manages to gasp out in a panic. “What are you…? I don’t…”

The man looks up at him, one dark eye gleaming with something feral. “Do you trust me?”

Tenko can’t answer right away. He’s too struck by the image of his favorite hero, leaning over his cock expectantly with his lips parted. Tenko’s brain is rooted in this image, unable to make sense of anything else around him. He doesn’t think the words that slip off his tongue and doesn’t give the command for them to spring into existence—they just fall from his subconscious and Tenko is powerless to catch them. “More than anyone,” he says.

With nothing more than a smirk of acknowledgement, Shouta Aizawa starts to suck his cock.

Tenko cums.

He doesn’t mean to. And honestly, it shouldn’t be possible since he just had the first real orgasm of his life a few minutes ago. It’s sudden, premature, and uncontrollable. The moment his favorite hero’s tongue flattens against the underside of his cock and his head dips down—the instant Tenko feels his dick sliding into a hot, soft throat—it's over.

“F-Fuck! S-Shit, I–oh fuck, fuck, fuck…” His back arches and he whines, loud and high, as his hands fly to the veteran’s hair and pull—because it’s too much, it’s too sudden, and the sensation of his cock pulsing a fresh surge of cum into his mentor’s mouth is overwhelming.

“S-Stop!” he cries, giving dark hair another yank as his nerves fire painfully in the overstimulated head of his dick. “S-Sensitive!”

Shouta doesn’t stop, but he slows down. His tongue softly, languidly rubs along the underside of Tenko’s cock. His lips kiss the overcharged head delicately, making Tenko whimper at the powerful and still somehow pleasant sensation. It isn’t until Tenko is crying again, body shaking pathetically on the sheets, that the older man finally lifts his head.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” he says, his voice dark and…taunting? Is he making fun of Tenko or is this something else? It’s like he’s both amused and… hungry.

“I never asked you to do that!” Tenko says as he tries to catch his breath, forearm shielding his eyes so he can’t see the man between his legs. “I already told you, making me cum the first time was good enough, so why…”

“Tenko,” Shouta sighs. “I’m not going to explain myself again. If you want to stop, then tell me and you can leave. If you want me to keep teaching you, then stay.”

Tenko drops his arm and stares incredulously down at him because…what else is there? The lesson is over! Tenko came twice already—he can probably replicate it again now that he’ll have the memory of tonight forever etched in his mind. But Shouta is telling him that there’s more to learn? More that he can teach him?

“I thought there was no chance I’d ever get to fuck you.”

Is that what he’s going to do? Does he want to fuck Tenko? Tonight? Now ?

“What is it going to be, Tenko?” Shouta asks, peering up at him with a steady gaze.

Tenko swallows. “I…want to stay,” he admits. He’d be stupid to say otherwise, wouldn’t he? This night isn’t going anything like he had imagined it would—it was like something from his most taboo fantasies. But if the cool Eraser Head tells him he deserves to touch and be touched…if he tells Tenko that he wants him…there’s no way he can leave. It doesn’t matter what Shouta wants to do to him. He could choke him to death right here against the pillows and Tenko would go out with a smile. “But I…” he grits his teeth. “It’s really sensitive. I think I need a break or something.”

Shouta’s dark eye sparks with something that Tenko recognizes. He’s so used to seeing that look that its meaning is ingrained in his head. He’s seen Toga flash him that glance. He’s seen Dabi’s eyes burn with it as he stared into space. He knows it so well. It’s a wicked sort of mischievousness that preys on the vulnerable like a slippery fox, stalking cunningly through the night.

“You’ll get a break when I tell you that you can have one,” he says, and the words make fire lick up through Tenko’s torso, sending steam up through his throat until it escapes in a shaky exhale. “For now, I want you to keep touching yourself, the way you were earlier.”

“You…want me to masturbate again?” Tenko asks for clarification, suddenly embarrassed by the prospect.

“That’s right,” Shouta says in that taunting, dark tone. “And I’ll watch you this time, just like you wanted.”

Tenko swallows nervously. He doesn’t move, so the man grabs his hand and forces him to touch the base of his cock. “Go on,” he commands. “I’m watching.”

Tenko grits his teeth and gives his cock a few weak tugs. It doesn’t do much. He’s mostly soft now, nerves still overcharged and aching. “I really don’t think I can,” he complains.

Shouta picks up the bottle of lube sitting on the bed and gestures for Tenko’s other hand.

“You want me to…finger myself again?” Tenko guesses.

“That’s right,” the man says simply. “Spread your legs. I want to see you stretching yourself out for me.”

For me? 

Tenko moans and willingly lets the hero pour some more lube onto his fingers. He doesn’t seem to care that it drops onto his sheets. His eyes are hungrily glued to Tenko’s now exposed hole, and he actually licks his lips as Tenko’s fingers return to his rim.

Tenko’s eyes stay fixated on the man’s face as he slips a lubed finger back inside. The expression on his face is intoxicating. Tenko’s never seen him look like this before. Not once in all the time he’s known him. His expressions are always so guarded, rarely reflecting anything deeper than surprise or annoyance. But now…that sly fox-like smirk and gleaming wolf eye, the sheer focus and enjoyment of a cat toying with a mouse. Shouta looks villainous, and it’s doing something to Tenko.

Excitement curls low in Tenko’s stomach as he slides a finger inside like before.

“Good,” Shouta praises. “Don’t forget to pump your cock too.”

This command isn’t easy to follow. His overstimulated cock burns with each upward stroke, protesting Tenko’s insistence that it swell again. He needs it to. Needs to be good for his hero.

“Deeper, Tenko. You can do it.” The man leans back to watch, and one hand slides over his thigh to palm at the cock still veiled by the veteran’s pants. This sight sends a refreshing wave of pleasure to Tenko’s struggling cock and he chokes on a whimper as he dips his finger further inside.

He obeys, all the while watching as Shouta strokes and squeezes himself through the fabric languidly, each pump a teasing display. The bored motions of his gripping fingers on the impressive bulge feels teasing, as if to say, “Watch this, Tenko? Are you jealous?”

And he is. Fuck, he’s so jealous that it’s making his throat burn and his heart pound angrily on his ribs, like someone demanding entry at a door, desperate to break down the barrier.

“Can you fit a second finger?” the man asks.

Tenko’s not really listening to the question. His attention is still tunneled in on Shouta’s cock. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life. Shit, he just wants to see it. It’s been a mystery for so long, but he’s desperate to know. He feels like a kid who’s been waiting a month to open a Christmas present under the tree. He’s crept around the tree, eyed the package from afar and from up close. The sight of the shiny wrapping paper has always sent palpitations to his heart. He’s wanted so badly to reach out and lift the edge of the paper, just enough for a peek…and he can’t take it anymore. He needs it.

“Let me see your cock,” he spits out, and Shouta’s hand goes still, fingers squeezing the head of the thing through his pants.

Shouta tsk’s and shakes his head as he sluggishly pulls on his dick. “I thought I taught you better manners, Tenko.”

Tenko groans in response. “ Please let me see your cock?” he begs.

“Try again,” the man snaps. “With less sass and with my name in the request.”

Tenko gulps, coaching his voice to come out sweet and submissive, even though he wants to throw a tantrum and demand it. “Please,” he whispers. He strokes his own cock languidly and slips a second finger beyond his rim, letting his eyelashes flutter at the full sensation. “Pretty please, will you show me your big cock, Shouta?”

To his satisfaction, his Adam’s apple bobs and he closes his eyes for a second, clearly affected by Tenko’s boyish pleading. “I like when you say my name,” he says as he suddenly stands up on the side of the bed. “It sounds right, coming out of your mouth.”

It’s not praise so much as the man making his preferences known, but it still makes Tenko’s chest swell with pride. Shouta, he thinks. Shouta, not just Eraser.

“Don’t stop touching yourself,” Shouta commands as he unzips his pants. “And close your eyes for a minute.”

Tenko doesn’t want to. He shakes his head, earning a glare from the older man.

“Close your eyes or you can forget about having anything to do with my cock tonight.”

Tenko whines in protest, but does finally obey. His eyes close and he focuses on the sensations of his hand still jerking his abused cock and two fingers now squeezed together by his tight hole. He still feels overstimulated, all pleasure muted, more like the quiet rumble of thunder in the distance rather than the snap of hot lightning.

He listens to the shuffling of clothes. Feels the bed dip again, followed by foreign sounds. Something metallic? Plastic rubbing metal, perhaps? Then, he realizes with a gut punch that he knows exactly what the veteran hero is doing.

He’s taking off the prosthetic leg.

Tenko thought he’d let go of most of his guilt after Shouta told him he deserved love and told him that he wanted him, but now ?

I did that. Oh fuck, I did that to him.

It’s awful, and suddenly he’s hyperventilating, unable to control his gasping breaths as he’s struck again by the realization that he doesn’t deserve this. He’s the very last human being on the whole fucking planet who deserves to be naked in this room with Shouta Aizawa.

“Stop that,” Shouta sighs. “Open your eyes.”

It’s ironic, but now that he’s allowed, he doesn’t want to. He’s not sure he can handle what he’s going to see.

Suddenly, a hand grips his wrist, pulling it away from his dick. Tenko gasps as Shouta tugs that hand roughly toward him, forcing Tenko’s fingers to brush a hard, sticky cock. He can’t stop his eyes from flying open in surprise, instantly fixing on Shouta Aizawa’s stiff erection.

Tenko shudders, letting out a breathy moan when he sees it’s sheer girth and length. He’s big, and Tenko knew that already but it’s totally different to see it bare like this. To see the slight curve, the thick veins pulsing with the blood of lust, the swollen head kissed by foreskin, and the shimmer of precum against Tenko’s fingertips.

“I need you here, Tenko,” he says gruffly as he pinches Tenko’s fingers around his cock and grinds against his palm. “I need you in the present moment. Need you to see what you’re doing to me now. ”

Can he do that? Can Tenko keep his attention on Shouta’s dick, on his own pleasure, on the man’s encouraging words instead of on his scarred eye and the residual limb propped up on the side of the bed?

Shouta leans forward, grinding harder against Tenko’s hand. “Here’s an idea…” He takes his hand again and moves it lower, forcing Tenko to cup his balls. “Suck my cock.”

This is the first command tonight that Tenko doesn’t question or hesitate on. Immediately, he’s rolling onto his stomach, forgetting about his own pleasure entirely as he parts his mouth to accept the offering.

“That’s a good boy,” Shouta praises, already sliding his cock over Tenko’s lips and along the length of his tongue. “This is what you should be thinking about. Mm, taste how much I want you.”

Tenko shivers and opens his mouth even more, feeling his tongue ripple along the underside of the huge cock and the way the corners of his mouth protest the action.

“It’s almost a shame,” Shouta says through a grunt as he fists his hand in Tenko’s hair. “I always wanted to know what your cracked and scabby lips would feel like on my cock.”

Tenko moans. He’d imagined that? Imagined fucking Tomura Shigaraki’s face and feeling the drag of chapped lips on his dick? Shit, why is that so hot?

“Good boy,” Shouta repeats. “Hold still, just like that. Let me fuck your throat.”

Tenko obeys, keeping perfectly still as Shouta thrusts in and out of his mouth, making him gag with each snap of his hips. He wishes the man would do even more than this. Wishes he’d choke him on his dick and make him vomit, bruise the back of his throat, abuse him until he’s nothing but drool and stomach acid and tears. 

It’s a contradiction. He likes the praise. Craves the warmth of Shouta’s hand cupping his face and his thumb brushing his eyelashes. But he also wants to be ruined—punished for the things he did to this man. He wants both. He wants it all.

Shouta pulls out and Tenko whines as the man shoves him onto his back and joins him on the bed again.

“This is about teaching you ways to cum, isn’t it?” Shouta asks. “It’s not about me.”

“But I—”

“Shut up, Tenko,” he snaps, and without warning, he’s thrusting a finger inside of Tenko, sending a rattled cry from his lungs. “Keep stroking your cock.”

He nods, hand drifting back to his groin. It’s much easier this time. He overcomes the blistered nerves by focusing on the feeling of Shouta’s finger thrusting in and out of him, keeps his eyes trained on the twitching cock that was just in his mouth. Soon, his stomach is swirling with heat again and he can feel the sparking of electricity as the pleasure rises. It’s stronger this time, pulsing through his whole body as it builds in his leaking dick.

“Perfect,” Shouta says. He pops open the lube with his free hand and slicks his fingers and Tenko’s hole a little more. He swears, he’s fucking swimming in lube now. Not that he’s complaining. It makes it so easy for Shouta to slide another finger inside, stretching Tenko so much further than before.

Tenko keens as the man’s skilled fingers stroke the ball of nerves inside of him, sending crackles of pleasure bursting in his cock and balls like fireworks. The feeling is intense, and he can’t help bucking his hips, unsure if he’s trying to get away from Shouta’s fingers or sink into them even more.

“You like that,” Shouta muses. “Good. I want you to cum while I touch your prostate, Tenko. I know you can do it.”

Tenko nods. Sweat is running down his hairline and his heart is starting to beat erratically. He pumps his hand faster and grits his teeth as the pricking pleasure claws up his cock.

“Come on…” Shouta goads. “You’re so close. Be a good boy and cum for me.”

Tenko whimpers. His hips won’t hold still now. He’s writhing, panting, jerking his cock with both hands as he chases another release. “I…” he groans. “I c-can’t! The closer I get, it…fuck, it’s too much, I don’t think I can!”

Shouta moves to shadow him. Tenko’s breath catches as the man lowers his head and breathes on his ear. All the while, his fingers keep up their motion, stroking and teasing that spot inside of him that’s melting his entire body. “Good boys get rewarded, Tenko,” he murmurs, his voice like the croon of an incubus. “Don’t you want to be rewarded?”

Tenko whines. “R-Reward?” he asks.

“Mhm,” Shouta says. His tongue drifts out to brush Tenko’s ear, dipping just barely inside before his teeth tug on cartilage. “If you cum for me, then I’ll give you what you really want.”

He starts to sob, because he knows what the man is offering and he does want it. He wants it so badly that he’d do anything to make himself cum. He’d endure any torment.

“Ask me for it,” Shouta demands. His lips drag across Tenko’s skin to his mouth, tongue teasing as it strokes softly inside before withdrawing. Shouta stares down at him with the set of mismatched eyes, and it doesn’t matter because it still feels like his quirk is activated anyway. Static fills Tenko’s head and all he can see is a red gleam that pierces through him. “Go on,” Shouta insists. “Ask.”

“Please,” Tenko croaks. “Please, Shouta–Eraser–s-sir…please fuck me,” he sobs. “Please, stuff me with your cock! I need it!”

“Ah, such good manners,” Shouta coos as he cups Tenko’s face. “I can do that for you,” he continues, “but only if you cum for me first. Cum for me now .”

Tenko bites his lip so hard that he can feel the skin tear. He pumps himself with renewed vigor, focusing on the peaks of the waves of pleasure as Shouta presses down on that button inside of him. He swears he can see it. The jagged crest of ocean waves flashing white before the roll and crash on the shore. All he has to do is reach out and touch the foam, then let the force of the ocean do the rest.

Right. There.

His muscles spasm. He’s wailing as the tidal wave slams into him and shoves him deep into the force of the sea. He’s clenching around Shouta’s fingers and the man is coaxing the orgasm out of him. It’s painful as it rips through his overstimulated cock, an intense throb that shoots out a few pathetic spurts of cum because there’s just nothing left after two back to back orgasms already.

“You really do want my cock, don’t you?” Shouta teases. Tenko doesn’t even get a chance to respond because he’s suddenly being rolled onto his stomach. He feels arms tugging around his waist, hoisting his ass into the air. Panic erupts in his chest. Already? He’s still being ripped apart by his third climax and already Shouts wants to fuck him?

He feels a hand pinning his head to the pillow as Shouta leans over and opens the bedside drawer, pulling out a condom. He really is going to fuck him. Right now.

“Bear down and relax your muscles as much as you can,” Shouta instructs as he rips the foil.

Tenko whimpers and grips the pillowcase tightly. He hears the lube again—fuck, this man’s sheets are going to be an oily mess—then immediately feels something catching on his rim.

“Shouta!” he squeaks when a large hand grips his overcharged cock. “W-Wait, I’m so sensitive, can we please…” He shudders. “Just a few minutes? It hurts.”

“I know, baby,” his low voice lulls as he tugs on Tenko’s cock anyway and starts to sink inside of him. “But you can take it. I know you can.”

Tenko’s body shakes and his fingers ball up on the pillow. He bites down on cotton as the man’s cock stretches him, filling him deeper than fingers could ever hope to go.

“Good,” Shouta says as he bottoms out and crushes down on Tenko’s curved body. “Such a good boy. So fucking tight for me.”

Tenko is sobbing. His hips jerk of their own volition, pain rippling through him with each squeeze of his cock. He feels raw now, the nerves firing all wrong everywhere from the waist down. He swears he can feel tingles in the soles of his feet that match every pulse of his overused cock.

“Look at you,” Shouta growls. His hand strokes lovingly along the curve of Tenko’s spine. “Fuck, Shig—” He cuts himself off suddenly as if realizing the slip, but Tenko is moaning, fingers kneading the pillow as tears soak dark spots into the material.

“Say it,” he cries. “I want to hear it.”

Shouta grunts and slams himself hard into Tenko before spitting out the word he’s been careful to avoid all night. “Shigaraki.”

Tenko’s muscles slacken at the sound of the old name. It’s wrong, but oh god, he wants to be beaten down with that name spat with vitriol.

“Next time,” Shouta murmurs, as if he can read Tenko’s mind. “If you want me to hurt you, then we’ll revisit that. For now…” he rotates his hip, grinding his cock around on Tenko’s walls. “I promised you pleasure. For now, let me spoil my good boy, Tenko.”

Tenko breathed out a raspy breath. What does he mean by this? Next time? Then he plans on doing this again. Not just that. He’s willing to play both games. The doting father to the wilted flower that is Tenko, and the vengeful punisher that Shigaraki needs.

“Are we on the same page, Tenko?”

Tenko nods, but realizes this could be mistaken for wiping his tears on the pillow, so he mutters a response into the cotton. “Yes. I’ll be your good boy this time.”

“Perfect,” Shouta repeats. He leans forward and Tenko feels him press a soft kiss to his shoulder. Then, while Tenko’s chest is still unfurling with warmth at the tender act, Shouta straightens up and resumes fucking him.

Despite his insistence on “spoiling” Tenko and treating him like a good boy, the older man is not gentle as he pistons in and out of him. Maybe it’s his own desire pushing him, but whatever the reason, he is truly fucking Tenko. Pulling his hips into each hard thrust, slamming himself hard and deep, with such force that Tenko thinks he can feel his teeth rattling with each impact.

“You’re going to cum for me one more time,” he says. “One more time before I do.”

“No…” Tenko cries weakly. “I can’t. It’s too much.” Before tonight, he’d never cum. To go from nothing to all of these back to back sensations is too much for him to take. He’s positive that if Shouta pulls another climax out of him, he is going to break this time.

“You can,” Shouta says. He pulls out and flips Tenko onto his back again before instantly sliding back inside. He holds Tenko’s knees open as he fucks him from this position, staring down at Tenko’s snotty and tear-streaked face.

“No,” Tenko protests. “Just fuck me until you cum and we’ll be done. I don’t need to cum again, I get it now. I know how it feels, I know how it works. I learned my lesson.”

Shouta shakes his head. “One more time,” he says. “That isn’t something you can opt out of.” He gestured toward the nightstand. “Open that and get the vibrator.”

Tenko doesn’t move.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Shouta warns.

Tenko clenches his teeth and finally obeys, procuring the small tool and smacking it into Shouta’s open palm. He watches in awestruck horror as the man turns it on, filling the room with the low sound of buzzing and the continuous squelch of his cock still moving in Tenko’s slick asshole. He selects a setting, then gestures for Tenko to take the thing back. “Hold this against your cock, right under the head. Keep it there.”

Tenko shakes his head again. There’s no way. That’s where he’s the most sensitive. That’s where pain is still whipping through him.

“Do it, or I’ll stop fucking you.” As if to prove his point, he pulls his hips back and his cock springs up away from Tenko’s opening. “And there won’t be a next time.”

Tenko’s eyes widen. “No, please! Okay, shit, fine. I’ll…do whatever you want.” He presses the vibrator down on his cock, hissing at the sensation. If he thought his teeth were being rattled before, then this is something else entirely. He’s at the center of an earthquake now, especially when Shouta’s cock slams back inside of him, accompanying the vibrations.

He doesn’t feel pleasure anymore. Only ungodly intensity that begins to drag his brain into a fog. Before long, he feels like he’s floating outside of his body, succumbing only to the diluted sensations of Shouta’s thrusts and the sounds of his grunts as he fucks the nerves out of Tenko’s body.

He doesn’t even realize it’s happening this time. One moment, he’s somewhere far from his body, existing only in a red haze, the same color as Shouta’s gleaming eye. The next, he’s crashing back into his body and everything is on fire.

There’s not even cum this time. Just the violent jerking of his dick as it jumps on his stomach. Just the most overwhelming burst of pain and pleasure that he’s ever felt. He loses control of everything. He drops the vibrator, his muscles loosen and fall, he becomes nothing but static—a network of completely frazzled nerves.

“Such a good boy,” Shouta praises in a hoarse voice. A moment later, the man is dropping his weight on top of him and pulling him into a crushing embrace as his hips stutter. He gasps against Tenko’s ear, issuing a series of grunts while he fills the condom inside of Tenko with cum.

Tenko might have blacked out. He’s not totally sure. He blinks and Shouta is gone, but his confused senses haven’t even registered the change. It still feels like he’s inside of him, like he’s still being rocked by hard thrusts. It’s that residual, sickening feeling after being on a boat for hours and trying to fall asleep later. His body tells him he’s still being fucked, even though Shouta is…

Gone.

Tenko sits up, panic overriding his bodily protests. Shit, he can’t even prop himself up. He slumps back down immediately as his eyes scan the room for the other man.

Don’t leave me, he thinks, too weak to say the words. I’m sorry.

He breathes out a relieved whine when Shouta walks in through the door. The condom is gone, he’s still naked and leaning on a crutch since his prosthetic isn’t on, and he’s holding a water bottle and a new warm washcloth.

“Sit up,” he commands gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and propping up Tenko’s head. “Drink some water. How are you feeling?”

Tenko can’t answer. He’s trembling as he struggles to wrap his lips around the straw in the water bottle. He takes a few slow sips before slouching back against the bed with a shaky exhale.

“Talk to me, Tenko,” Shouta says. “What do you need? Are you cold? Do you want me to run a bath?”

Tenko shakes his head. He weakly wrapped his fingers around the man’s wrist and pulls. “Just…hold me?” he rasps pathetically.

Shouta’s expression softens and he climbs back onto the bed, pulling Tenko into his arms. He hums against Tenko’s hair as he runs the warm cloth over his skin, cleaning up sweat, cum, and lube.

“Better now?” The man purrs into his ear. “Think you can make yourself cum from now on?”

Tenko squeezes the hands resting on his chest. “No,” he whispers. “I think I’ll need your help, just to be safe.”

Shouta’s low chuckle nestles in Tenko’s hair. “I’m sure we can arrange that. From now on, come to me when you’re looking for release.”

Tenko’s eyes close and he cuddles further back against the other man. “As if,” he mutters, even though the words make warmth kindle in his chest. “What are your lovers going to think about your debauche fuck-sessions with Tomura Shigaraki?”

Shouta’s hands go still for a moment before resuming their soft motions on Tenko’s chest. “You think I’m seeing other people. Amusing.”

Tenko’s eyes pop open. He turns around in Shouta’s grip and stares at him, reading the completely serious expression on his face. “Aren’t you?”

The man’s lip lifts in a smile. “Not right now. Not for the past few months.”

It’s so stupid, but Tenko’s heart flutters as if this means something. As if the veteran hero has had his sights set on Tenko for a long time.

“Geez,” Tenko scoffs. “No wonder you wanted to milk me of every ounce of cum I had. Desperate, horny old man.”

“You asked me to teach you,” he reminds him. “I taught you how to get off, I taught you how to take a cock, and I taught you what your limits feel like. I’d say I went above and beyond what you asked of me.”

Tenko blushes and tucks his head under Shouta’s chin. “Yeah, plus ultra style or whatever. Cocky heroes.”

Shouta doesn’t respond to this. Instead, he tucks wily white hair behind Tenko’s ear and tugs his face back up. Tenko’s breath halts as the man kisses him, soft and delicate as down feathers. The tender gesture is as powerful to Tenko as the moment when Deku’s hand had reached out across the void, ready to bring him home. He feels like that again. He’s holding onto salvation, Angel wings wrapped around him and feathery touch on his chapped lips. He’s safe, warm, drenched in ivory light.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, but he captures the hero’s mouth again before he can complain. Shouta sighs into his mouth and pulls him close again. “But,” Tenko continues when their lips part, “I want you anyway, Shouta Aizawa.”

“I’m not much,” Shouta says, a dark and a milky eye both fixed on Tenko’s face, “but you can have me.”

Chapter Text

If someone had told Shouta Aizawa a year ago that he would one day be getting nearly daily nudes from Tomura Shigaraki, he would have thought they were drunk, high, or a messy combination of both. Yet, for the past week, this has been his reality.

It started the day after Tenko broke into his apartment and asked Shouta to teach him how to masturbate. That guided masturbation session had ended in sex, overstimulation, and tears for the younger man. It had apparently also opened some kind of floodgates because Shouta’s phone gets no more than a few hours of rest between text messages now. He almost regrets giving the boy his phone number months ago with the assurance that he can reach out to him at any time, day or night. Tenko has taken this to heart.

The first picture came late in the evening. Shouta had been unable to sleep, tossing and turning in bed as he dealt with the phantom pain of his missing limb. Officially fed up, he got up to take some pain meds, knowing they wouldn’t help. It was as he reached for the bottle on his nightstand next to a cup of water that he saw his phone screen light up, Tenko’s name flashing on the screen.

Immediately, he sat upright. Tenko never messaged at this hour unless he was having nightmares. Nightmares were a problem because they led to flashbacks. Flashbacks were a problem because Tenko turned dangerous to himself and others, sometimes thinking he was Shigaraki again, deadset on murdering heroes; other times panicking and trying to hurt himself to escape All For One.

If Tenko needed him, then he would go to him, no matter what.

But when he opened the message on his phone, there wasn’t a desperate plea of “help me” on the screen, as there had been so many times in the past. Instead, he was met with a grainy dick pic, taken in poor lighting with Tenko’s bony hand wrapped around the base.

He was so stunned that he could do nothing but stare for a solid minute as his brain tried to process what was happening. This was…an unsolicited dick pic. From Tenko Shimura. Sent in the dead of night with no caption.

His only disoriented thought at the time was, “thank god, he’s okay.” Which was the only thought on his mind as he put the phone down and went back to bed.

It wasn’t until morning that he realized Tenko Shimura had sent him an unsolicited dick pic for a reason. He was masturbating when he sent it, and wanted to show Shouta that he could do it on his own now.

Good for him.

The second pic came that afternoon. Again, anxiety sparked in his stomach when he saw Tenko’s name, only to be doused immediately when he opened the message and saw yet another nude. The lighting was better in this one, and it looked like he’d propped his phone up against something so it could capture more of him. He was wearing a dark gray hoodie, flushed face captured in the frame, one hand gripping his swollen cock. This must have been taken seconds after his orgasm, because the hoodie was splattered with white and the head of his cock was shimmery and wet.

Yet again, Shouta’s first thought was he’s okay followed by, and it looks like he’s doing fine making himself cum. Good boy.

It wasn’t until the third picture that Shouta realized he was missing the obvious. Wasn’t until he got the image of Tenko on his elbows and knees, ass toward the camera, the angle showing a clear view of his cock, still dribbling cum in a long, thin string to the bedsheets.

Only then did he realize that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t Tenko’s way of saying “look at me, teacher, aren’t you proud?” It was his way of saying, “look at me, Shouta, don’t you want it?”

And well, if it was his attention Tenko wanted, he’d gotten it.

That was the first time Shouta leaned back against his couch cushions, freed his own cock, and pumped himself hard and fast to the sight of Tenko’s naked body on the screen.

I see you, Tenko. I'm looking.

The next message came through when Shouta was on lunch break at the school. In this one, Tenko looked fucked out, laying sleepily on his bed, flaccid cock drooling slightly into the puddle of cum on the bed, fingers lazily hanging from his loose hole. A message came with this one.

“Enjoy your meal.”

Shouta shouldn’t have. School wasn’t the place for it. Yet, he locked the door to his office, reclined in his desk chair, and bit down on the collar of his suit to stifle his moans as he fisted his cock until he came into a tissue, eyes fixed on Tenko’s stretched hole.

Later in the afternoon he got another message and was ashamed at how quickly and eagerly he pulled out his phone. There was no image this time, however, just a message that read:

“I know you’re looking at my pictures. You have read receipts on, dumb ass boomer.”

Shouta took a long time trying to decide how to respond. Eventually, he typed three simple words.

“I see you.”

The following day, Tenko was in his classroom. Due to not having formal education when he was living as Shigaraki, he’s required to attend certain classes at UA with the third years. He attends some general studies classes, has a tutor, and sits in once a week in hero studies. It was the first time Shouta had seen him in person since the night in his apartment when he took the younger man’s virginity.

Typically, Shouta is very good at ignoring distractions while he’s working. It has always been a skill of his, the ability to set aside personal thoughts, feelings, and problems when there’s a task at hand.

That day, however, he found his gaze flicking periodically to the man sitting in the back of the classroom, distracted by the sensation of eyes boring into him as he taught. The problem, he realized, was that Tenko’s expression was completely unreadable. At times, his gaze seemed dark, almost animal, as he watched Shouta pace in front of the students, like a cat acutely watching the movements of its prey. At others, he seemed uncomfortable, embarrassed maybe? His pale cheeks would take a rosy tinge and he averted his gaze, shuffling slightly in his chair. But the moment Shouta knew there was going to be trouble was when he looked up and saw the smirk on Tenko’s lips, the glint in his eyes, and the way his arm tensed as his palm pressed down in his lap.

Don’t you dare, he thought, fixing him with a glare.

Tenko’s smirk only widened and he stretched dramatically in his chair before rising to his feet. Shouta noted the way he pulled his hoodie down to cover his groin before walking to the classroom door.

“Shimura, where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” he said, waving him off, with no regard for classroom rules or respect. Not that Shouta had any authority over him anyway as a class auditor.

He should have known better. When fifteen minutes passed and Tenko still hadn’t come back to the classroom, Shouta should have known. But part of his brain was programmed to respond. He’d been caring for and monitoring Tenko for so long, that some things had become instinct. So, even though he knew the nature of the images Tenko had been sending him over the past few days, he didn’t hesitate to check his phone when he sat at his desk while the students did a quiz.

The hiss of pleasure that sounded from his phone speaker made his heart stop beating. He’d never closed an app so fast in his life, covering the sound with a cough as curious teens looked up from their papers at him.

“Cat video,” he said with a straight face, hoping none of them were observant enough to sense the heat that had climbed his neck and perched on his ears. He got a knowing look from Kaminari of all people, and a few endeared expressions from the girls who must have thought it was adorable that he was looking at cats in class.

Then, in an act that would have gotten him fired and which was stupid, irresponsible, and irrational on fifteen different levels, he turned his phone volume down all the way, kept the screen below the surface of his desk, and played the video.

He’d really done it. Tenko had left class to masturbate in a bathroom stall, and had filmed it to send to his teacher while class was still in session.

Fuck, it shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. The phone precariously positioned from the pocket of Tenko’s hoodie, which must have been hanging on the door hook, making for a weird, diagonal angle of the frame. Tenko sitting on the dirty public toilet, struggling to both pump his cock and play with his asshole from this position. The way he smirked when he looked at the camera, as if knowing he had Shouta’s rapt attention. The way his face twisted in an expression of pleasure that Shouta had seen in person not long ago, as his hand pumped faster.

Shouta was fixated, watching every second until Tenko threw his head back and opened his mouth in a moan that Shouta desperately wished he could hear. He watched as cum burst from the younger man’s throbbing cock, notably angled onto the bathroom floor, even though he could easily have caught it with toilet paper, or came into the bowl or onto his stomach. But no, Tenko had to be a dirty slut about it apparently. Then, the boy was panting, grinning as he reached for his phone, no regret on his face.

When Shouta exited the video, he saw the message sent along with it.

“Notice me Senpai.”

Shouta almost had a heart attack when he suddenly heard someone place something on his desk. He jerked up and slid the phone into his drawer, relaxing once he saw Uraraka turning in her quiz. Fuck. He scooted his chair closer to his desk, hiding the lower half of his body and the hard-on he needed to get control of before quiz time was over.

When Tenko walked back into the classroom a few minutes later, his cheeks were pink and his gaze bashful when it met Shouta’s. There was uncertainty there, completely contradicting the confidence he’d displayed in the video. His face looked…apologetic almost.

He’s worried he went too far. Worried that he disappointed me or made me angry.

Shouta couldn’t have any of that, so he leaned back and took out his phone again, responding for the first time to the string of messages.

“ I thought you said you were going to come to me when the urge strikes you.”

Tenko’s head shot up when he got the text, surprise on his features as he looked across the classroom at Shouta. Shouta merely gave a small nod in response before turning his focus back to grading quizzes. Tenko was a smart boy, Shouta was sure he understood the implication here.

There have been a couple more videos since then, thankfully not sent during school hours. One was a video of Tenko humping and cumming on the face of an Eraser Head plushie (not very subtle), and another was a video taken on Shouta’s bed after another apparent break-in, and included Tenko using the vibrator from Shouta’s nightstand as he fucked himself.

“Stop leaving your shit unlocked or someone might get the wrong idea.”

It isn’t the wrong idea, Shouta thought. It stays unlocked for a reason.

It’s Friday now, well past the time Shouta usually retires for the night. He stayed late at the school, trying to get through grading for the end of term. It was a long day with too much time spent sitting in a chair, sparking the aches in his damaged joints and ligaments from the war. He doesn’t have the energy or endurance for all-nighters anymore, and turned down Hizashi’s invite for drinks after work. He wants to take off his prosthetic and sink down into a hot bath, then go to bed. Maybe, if he’s not too tired, he’ll watch the video of Tenko cumming in his bed again. The noises he made in that one are special, the high mewls so similar to the ones he made when Shouta fucked him. Yeah, he’ll definitely watch it again. Maybe even go a little extra with a fleshlight and warm lube this time.

He thinks this as he opens the door to his bedroom.

Not for the first time in the last seven days, Shouta is met immediately with a sight he cannot fully comprehend. Yet again, as always, little Tenko Shimura has caught him off guard.

The window is open, breeze ruffling the curtains where the young man climbed in. The bedroom light is on and Tenko is laying on his bed, naked, sprawled out, and…fast asleep.

He’s got one leg propped up, mostly laying on his stomach, but turned enough to have Miss Fluffy-Butt hugged in his arms against his chest. White hair sticks up in all directions, a strand of it clinging to the corner of his mouth, which is slick with drool. He’s twitching, fingers, lips, nose, occasionally his toes too. His breath comes out in long, raspy exhales, and each inhale crests on the edge of a snore.

It would be heartwarming, maybe even adorable, if not for the fact that one of Shouta’s dildos is halfway up his ass, there’s a bottle of lube dripping onto his sheets, and that’s definitely cum smeared on Shouta’s pillow.

You snuck into my apartment, snooped through my things, found my box of toys, fucked yourself on my bed, and fell asleep.

He sighs as he walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. He wonders how long Tenko has been here. He must have been waiting for Shouta or he would have just left and sent a video of his shenanigans later. How long did it take before his eyes got heavy and he sleepily repeated the mantra of “stay awake, he’ll be here any second, just a few more minutes.” The thought of him loyally waiting here, hopeful and excited, for hours just for Shouta is…heart wrenching. It fills his chest with warmth but his stomach with regret. He wishes he’d left the school sooner so Tenko wouldn’t have been left alone and uncertain.

“Tenko,” he whispers, placing a hand on the cool skin of his back. “Wake up.”

He doesn’t move, so Shouta climbs further onto the bed with him, taking in the sight of his body up close.

There was always something about Shigaraki that struck a chord somewhere deep inside of him. During the war, he didn’t dwell on it. Villains and sociopaths often have some amount of irresistible charm. Heroes aren’t impervious to their charisma, their passion, or their ideals. Shouta assumed he was drawn to the contradiction that was Tomura Shigaraki—a man with the wily heart of a child and the cunning of a snake. He refused to think deeper about it until long after the resolution of the battle.

He’d spent time thinking about it since then. What was it about the League leader, the Meta army general, that made Shouta feel so…bound?

At first, he thought it had to do with the responsibility Shouta felt, burdened with the only quirk that could disable other quirks. He was Shigaraki’s biggest obstacle, there were moments when the war hung in the balance, when the battle was between the two of them more than anyone else. And when Shouta’s eyes were fixed on the unstoppable force that was Shigaraki, it was easy to feel like they were the only people on the battlefield—the only people in the world.

But as time passed and Shouta reassessed his thoughts and feelings about the war, he realized there were other things at work in his mind and physiology. The pull he felt wasn’t comparable to the effect Shigaraki had on his friends and coworkers after all. It was different. Nuanced.

There was something about the glow of his eyes and the cut behind them. Something in ivory skin and hair that looked as though it had been cut from marble, but not by smooth precision—rather, chiseled unevenly from the stone, leaving him with sharp angles and jagged lines. Something in the high rasp of his voice and the way it prickled up Shouta’s spine, like the crackle of white noise from a stereo. Something in the slouch of his shoulders, the booming command of his voice when he led armies, the deranged tilt of his smile and cracks of his broken skin. Something in the way he breathed those words with an admiration not reserved for an enemy but for an idol. “You’re so cool, Eraser.”

Tenko…Shigaraki. He was simultaneously a mature leader and an immature child. Both terrifyingly strong and pathetically weak. Somehow as proudly masculine as he was frail and feminine.

And Shouta wanted him. All of him. Wrong, fucked up, immoral, unhealthy. It didn’t matter. The want was there. The heat of desire and the warmth of affection. He wanted him. He wants him.

Fuck, he wants him now.

His fingertips glide over the muscles of his back, caressing marble, dancing over the grooves of scars. His fingers twist in thick strands of white hair—hair that he always expected to be coarse and damaged, but which glows and slides over his knuckles like silk, maybe from over a year of proper care. Tenko says his hair was black when he was young, that his decay quirk drained the color from it and even dye won’t take. Maybe it’s selfish, but Shouta’s glad it didn’t revert to black after all was said and done. He likes it like this. Likes the juxtaposition of his own black hair with Tenko’s white, and the way it brings to mind thoughts of yin and yang, balance that transcends physical form.

His hand draws down to the dimples that bracket Tenko’s spine. His thumb rests in a divot and a shudder passes through his body, nestling in the head of his hardening cock. Tenko’s waist isn’t small enough to wrap his hands around, but he can still envision the press of his palms against bone as his thumbs dig into the perfectly sized dimples, indents that look as though they were made for him.

Tenko snores and Shouta’s hand slides lower, palming one of the cheeks of his ass. The muscles are relaxed now, the skin plump and soft. But Shouta had seen them tight and strained, wiry muscles twitching under pale skin.

“What have you done to me?” He sighs as he reaches for the dildo, then slowly eases it from between the man’s cheeks, watching in fascination as his loose hole releases it, lube coated rim glimmering in the light.

“Tenko,” he repeats, thumb stroking a high cheekbone. “Wake up.”

Still, there’s no response. He’s sleeping so soundly. Is it because he fell asleep in Shouta’s bed? Does he feel safe here?

Shouta wonders as his fingers ghost near the younger man’s entrance. He’s so beautiful right now. Would he remain as peaceful and statuesque if Shouta’s fingers dipped inside of him? Could he sleep through the sensation of Shouta’s cock pushing carefully inside? Just the head. Just enough for Shouta to feel the tug of his rim as he stroked his cock. Would he even flinch if Shouta came inside of him? Or would he wake later to feel the ooze of cum?

Fuck, don’t go there.

Shouta sighs and tucks hair behind Tenko’s ear before leaning down. His lips brush the man’s ear and he murmurs, “Tenko…you can’t do things like this. I might take advantage of you.”

Tenko finally stirs, humming slightly, drawn from sleep by the tug of Shouta’s teeth on the shell of his ear.

“Era…ser,” he moans.

“That’s not what you call me anymore,” he breathes hotly against cartilage, unable to resist the urge to dip his tongue inside.

Tenko’s breath hitches with a sharp inhale. “Shouta,” he whispers obediently.

“You need to be more careful,” Shouta warns, fingers drifting up and down the backs of Tenko’s thighs. “I may be a hero, but there’s only so much temptation I can resist.”

Tenko moans again, beginning to writhe underneath him. “Maybe I don’t want you to resist,” he hisses. “Maybe I want you to take. ”

Shouta lets out a growl. “We need to be very clear about something, Tenko.” He leans back and tilts the boy’s face with his hand, forcing him to look up at him. “I won’t ever do anything new to you without your consent.”

Tenko’s bottom lip juts in a pout. “Well, that’s not very fun, is it?”

“That’s how healthy relationships work.” He squeezes one of Tenko’s cheeks.

“Relationship?” Tenko scoffs, but Shouta isn’t blind to the confused look of panic and longing in his eyes. “You think being fuck buddies is a relationship?”

“Yes,” Shouta answers, without missing a beat. “Whatever type of relationship you think this is, it’s still a relationship. It’s a collection of expectations, conversations, desires, and goals between adults. And relationships are based on respect.” He leans down and places his lips on the younger man’s forehead. “I’m not going to disrespect you, Tenko.”

Tenko scoffs and pushes him off, rolling angrily onto his back. “I don’t want your respect, asshole. What part of that don’t you get?” His eyes narrow.

Shouta sighs and sits upright. He’s been pondering this dilemma all week, remembering Tenko’s not-so-subtle requests to be brutalized. “I haven’t forgotten,” he assures him. “You want to be punished. You want Shigaraki to be beaten down so Tenko can accept the forgiveness he deserves. I know.”

“Okay, so do it then!” Tenko snaps. “Rip me. Ruin me. Or are you too much of a pussy?”

Even though Shouta is fully aware that this is a tactic to rile him up, he still feels a flash of heat at the challenge. In an instant, he’s got Tenko pinned facedown against the mattress, straddling his thighs, ignoring the protest of his prosthetic at the sudden action.

“Don’t.” Shouta threatens. “I’m not opposed to giving you what you need, but not until we’ve discussed the details, and not tonight.” He unzips the front of his suit and frees his cock. “I’m tired and not in the mood for games.” Tenko gasps as Shouta slides his cock between his clenched thighs. “Right now, I just want to fuck you.”

Chapter Text

Tenko whines, fingers clutching Shouta’s sheets as he braces himself.

Shouta doesn’t hesitate. Tenko is already stretched and lubed from his session with the dildo. Shouta’s cock slides in with almost no protest, sinking down in one fluid motion until he bottoms out, grunting at the delectable feeling of hot walls gripping him.

“You’re something else,” Shouta groans into his ear as he grabs a fistful of white hair and pulls. “Sending all of those pictures.”

Tenko mewls, gasping with each jolting thrust forward. “Knew you’d…ah–like that, you dirty old pervert.”

“If you ever pull a stunt like you did in the bathroom at the school again,” he pulls his hair hard, “I’ll drag you into my classroom, lock the door, and fuck you over my desk until you beg me to stop.”

“Shit,” Tenko whimpers. “Threaten me with a good time, huh?”

“You’re such a brat,” Shouta snarls. His hand twitches with the impulse to spank him, to leave the imprint of fingers on his pale skin. Something tells him Tenko wouldn’t mind. But… goddammit, you make it too easy to want to lose control. He has to be careful. So careful. He knows what Tenko thinks he wants, but he also knows how fragile he is. Every move has to be calculated. He can’t break him.

Instead, he shoves his head down into the pillow with a heavy palm and drives down harder, adjusting his angle for deeper penetration.

“Y-You like it,” Tenko says between high moans. “Betcha jerked…mngh-ah-j-jerked your dick to my videos.”

He’s fishing for compliments, whether he realizes it or not. Always searching for validation, for encouragement, for reassurance.

“No,” Shouta says, and he doesn’t miss the way Tenko swallows his moans after this word, or the way his fingers release the sheets as if he’s admitting defeat. He’s so easily wounded. Too easily. Shouta lowers himself down on the boy’s back and kisses his neck. “I jerked my dick to the knowledge that you’d come crawling back to me soon and I’d get to fuck you again.”

Tenko shudders, instantly falling back into moans. “Cocky asshole,” he whines.

“You should have come to me,” Shouta groans, “instead of sending me those photos. You should have asked me to help you. You know I’m always willing to help you, Tenko.”

Tenko whimpers. He’s lost the will to sass back. He’s trembling underneath Shouta now, his moans getting higher and raspier, hips moving into Shouta’s thrusts as he grinds his cock against the mattress.

“Shouta…” he mewls, voice cracking with tears. “T-though maybe you’d…hate me after last time.”

“I don’t hate you,” Shouta promises. “Could never hate you, Tenko.”

“God,” Tenko sobs. “Could you be…any more cringe?”

He says this, and yet Shouta can feel his body tightening. He can hear the vibrating tremor in Tenko’s cry, and relishes in the sensation of his walls clenching down. He’s whimpering out Shouta’s name, hips bucking and grinding as he cums on the gray sheets.

“That’s my good boy,” Shouta praises. Ordinarily, he’d draw this out, but he is tired, and a week’s worth of sexual tension along with the feeling of Tenko’s hole milking his cock between tight cheeks gets to him quickly. He succumbs to the swift rise of pleasure instead of resisting, and chases Tenko’s climax to his own.

He grits his teeth as he cums, leaning back and spreading Tenko’s cheeks so he can watch his own cock pulsing as it pumps thick white inside of him. He exhales a contented sigh as he pulls slowly out, watching his cum leak from the stretched and clenching hole.

He’s still catching his breath when Tenko snickers against the pillow. “What the fuck was the point in using a condom last time if you were just going to breed me like a bull on our second night?”

Shouta stiffens, eyeing his nightstand. “Shit,” he grumbles. “I’m sorry. I’m…tired.”

“‘s fine,” Tenko rasps. “I’m sure AIDS can’t hurt as bad as some of the shit my body’s been through.”

Shouta scoffs and rolls onto his side. “I’m clean,” he assures him. “I’ve been tested since my last partner.”

“Yeah, well, what if I’m not clean?” Tenko asks.

“Tenko, I took your virginity a week ago. I’m not exactly concerned. But if it’s not something you’re comfortable with, I’ll remember to use condoms from now on.”

“I didn’t say that, did I?” It’s Tenko’s turn to scoff. “Learn how to take a joke.”

Shouta sighs. “Are you done? I’m exhausted.”

Tenko doesn’t respond for a moment. Finally, he rolls over to face the older man. His eyes are big and brimming with emotion that contradicts his bratty tone. He moves closer, curling against Shouta and placing an arm on his chest, hand slipping under his shirt.

“Can I stay here…?” he asks in a whisper so quiet that Shouta almost can’t hear it. “I can leave before you wake up.”

Shouta looks at him for a long time, studying the pleading look on his face, feeling the tremble of his fingers on his skin. He watches the frown that passes over his face, twisting into a scowl before Tenko pulls away abruptly.

“Forget it,” he hisses. “Almost forgot this is a hit it and quit it type of thing.”

Shouta snatches his wrist before he can flee. “You are so…irritating,” he grumbles. In one brisk motion, he pulls the younger man into his arms, ignoring the stiffness of his body and the way he squirms for a moment as if desperate to escape. He crushes him close and presses his lips against his forehead.

It’s ridiculous, but he’s suddenly hit with the image of a cat. Finicky, unpredictable creatures that must be treated with respect and caution. One moment purring and arching into the touches of their masters, and the next hissing and biting the hand that feeds. Yes, Tenko is just like a cat. A wily stray with matted fur and sharp claws, but with an attachment to Shouta. It’s heartwarming, and despite the foolishness of the analogy, he finds himself smiling against the boy’s head.

“Stay,” he commands. “As long as you’d like.”

“Why?” Tenko breathes, even as his arm is clinging to Shouta’s torso in a cobra-like embrace. “So I can be a convenient fuck doll when you wake up?”

“No,” Shouta replies. “So you can feel safe.”

His eyes close, exhaustion creeping over him.

“God, you’re such an old man,” Tenko groans. “You can’t just pass out like a drunk dad. What about your gross peg leg?”

Shouta sighs. As much as he’d like to ignore him and succumb to sleep, he’s right. It would be a mistake to fall asleep without removing the prosthetic. Honestly, he should probably clean up the bed too, now that there’s a pool of cum soaking into his mattress.

Reluctantly, he sits up, just to feel Tenko’s palm pushing him back down.

“Just take it easy, geriatric old man,” Tenko says with a smirk. “I’ll do it. Tell me how.”

“I’m not going to make you do that, Tenko,” he sighs, reaching to pull up his pant leg over the prosthetic.

“Stop,” Tenko snaps, harsher than expected. He looks at Shouta with a dark, wounded, and desperate expression. “Let me.”

Shouta nods slowly. “It’s simple. I’ll pull the sleeve, you push the release buttons near the ankle. It’s just a suction. Should pop right off.”

“Will it…hurt you?”

“Not at all.” He grips the sleeve and pulls. “Go ahead.”

Tenko nods. Determination sets in his expression, his teeth grit, and he takes the bottom of the false limb in his hands, then squeezes the metal release buttons.

“Pull,” Shouta instructs.

Tenko’s shoulder muscles tighten and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. Then, with trembling hands, he gives the leg a tug. It releases with ease, and Shouta lets out a sigh of relief. He begins to roll the sleeve down, but then Tenko’s hand is on his.

“Let me,” he repeats, quieter this time, and Shouta can see the tears welling in his eyes.

What’s going through your mind, Tenko? Are you punishing yourself? Or are you trying to find a way forward?

Finally, Shouta drops his hands. Tenko takes over, peeling the sleeve down and away from the residual limb. The brush of his knuckles against scarred skin is…soothing, somehow. No one else has touched him here. No one but doctors, that is.

The sleeve comes off, leaving only the rounded nub of the scarred limb below his knee. Tenko inhales sharply, and Shouta waits. He’s perfectly still because he’s unsure of what the traumatized young man needs. Again, he’s reminded of a cat, tentatively approaching, easily startled by sudden movements. Shouta is patient with cats, however—and he’s patient with Tenko.

His fingers brush the place where bone should be. It’s slow, timid, but one by one he places all five fingers on the skin. A strangled sob escapes his lips with the addition of his pinky.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as those lithe, pale fingers caress him with the lightness of feathers. “I don’t deserve…” he trails off, and Shouta watches in silence as he leans down, lifting what remains of Shouta’s leg to meet him halfway. Then, thin lips are pressing against scars.

Shouta wouldn’t consider himself the sentimental type. In fact, he does his best to keep his emotions separate from his daily activities, his interactions, his job and tasks. He keeps a check on them, rationing their expression throughout the day so as not to bottle them up, but never letting them explode from the jar he keeps them in. Occasionally, he slides the lid open, letting out the fluttering red wings of anger, or the firefly glow of joy. But never all of it. He can’t afford that, not when there are always people relying on him. People like his students, Eri, and of course, Tenko.

But when Tenko kisses his residual limb with the tenderness of a butterfly landing softly on a rose petal, it shakes him. When silky tears meet the skin and warm breath molds to his flesh, it rattles him. Tenko kisses him with a gentleness reserved for worship, and for a fraction of a moment, Shouta is completely overwhelmed.

The lid opens, Tenko shakes out emotions in a flurry, and Shouta can’t snap the container closed fast enough. The unexpected and completely unfitting laugh of joy that erupts from his chest is humiliating. He could have sighed, started to cry, moaned even. Of course his disoriented feelings flap clumsily from the jar in an irrational laugh that now he can’t swallow.

Tenko jerks back in surprise. Shouta covers his face with his hand, wishing he could shove the sounds back down his throat but fuck he can’t stop. He’s chuckling and tears are rolling from the lines of the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.

“Ew, cut that out,” Tenko snaps. “You sound like a dying animal, what are you doing with your throat?”

He tries to get ahold of himself, but screwing the lid back on his carefully composed emotions is a difficult task. He’s not able to ground himself until he sits up and hooks his arms under Tenko’s, pulling him back down onto the bed with him. The laughing doesn’t stop until Shouta suffocates it with Tenko’s mouth—with the lips that had been kissing what remains of his leg.

Tenko whimpers into the kiss, another of his adorably high whines that echo in Shouta’s head at night when he can’t fall asleep due to pain.

“You’re insane,” the boy whispers when their lips part. “That’s how Dabi laughs, you know? Like the fucking Joker.”

“Just shut up, Tenko.”

Tenko huffs and pulls away from him. Shouta watches in silent bemusement as he clears off the bed, knocking the used dildo and lube to the floor, gently placing Miss Fluffy Butt on the nightstand, and leaning the prosthetic leg against the wall where Shouta can reach it. He uses a dirty shirt from the ground to try and soak up as much cum from the sheets as he can, then gives up and lays a towel on the spot instead. At last, he turns off the light and joins Shouta on the bed again, pulling a sheet over both of them.

“Thank you,” Shouta says.

“Whatever,” Tenko scoffs, turning his back on him. “Not like I was looking for approval.”

But you were, Shouta thinks. You always are. Instead of voicing these thoughts, he turns on his side and wraps an arm around Tenko, spooning him from behind. “You’re a good boy, Tenko,” he breathes against his neck.

“I’m not. Look at what I did to you. I wish you hated me.”

Shouta runs his hand up and down Tenko’s arm, quiet for a moment as he thinks seriously about these words.

“Tenko…I’m going to ask you something and I need you to answer honestly. No jokes, no sarcasm. This is serious.”

Tenko stiffens. He takes Shouta’s hand and threads their fingers together as he waits for the question.

“You’ve implied several times now that you want me to hurt or use you. Are you serious about that?”

He answers surprisingly quickly. “You think I’d ask for it if I wasn’t serious?”

“Tenko,” he warns.

“Yes,” comes the meek reply. “I…need you to.”

Shouta isn’t a stranger to rough sex. Or even to elements of BDSM. But what Tenko seems to be asking for is more extreme than being tied up, spanked a few times, and used as a cum dump. What he wants is something Shouta has never given anyone, something he’s not sure he can give. “Why?” he asks carefully.

He expects another bratty remark, but isn’t met with one. Instead, Tenko answers immediately again, voice quiet but full of resolve.

“Because you’re the only one who sees me.”

He waits for more as these unsettling words resound in his skull.

“Everyone else wants to pretend Shigaraki never existed,” he says bitterly. “They tiptoe around me, never talk about the war. It’s always ‘how are you today, Tenko?’ And ‘you look good Tenko.’ Even when they do bring up the past, they won’t say it. I’m fucking Shigaraki—he who must not be named—Voldemort. They pretend it never happened, that I never happened.

“But I was real,” he continues in a dark, grating voice. “I was real and horrible and wrong. Shigaraki hurt, maimed, killed, and tortured, and now he’s just gone? There’s just this shell that looks like him? Fuck that. Fuck all of it. But you…” his grip tightens on Shouta’s hand. “You still see him. You still see me. Not just one side, but all of them. Don’t you?”

Shouta’s lips brush his skin. “I see you,” he affirms. He always has.

“ That’s why,” Tenko explains. “I need to be acknowledged for the pain I caused. I need…I need someone to see Shigaraki and break him. And you, Eraser…Shigaraki hurt you more than most. You deserve your revenge.”

Shouta notes the confidence in his voice, the way he speaks as though he’s considered this in depth. It’s not a whim. Not a spur of the moment, lust-induced fantasy. He’s been ruminating over it for who knows how long. The past week since they first had sex? Or has it been much longer? Has he harbored taboo fantasies of being beaten down and destroyed by the hero for months? Years? Since he really was Shigaraki?

“I need to know,” he says slowly, “if you truly believe that being violently punished will help you heal.”

“ Yes,” he whines. “Please…how can I ever feel like I deserve the things you give me until you snuff out the person who took everything from you?”

Shouta sighs. He’s still not sure if Tenko is approaching this from the right frame of mind. It’s still about bargaining, balance, fair trade in his mind. There’s too much room for error, for the possibility of inflicting greater trauma on him than he already endures. He can’t possibly know the extent of what he’s asking for. They’ve had sex twice. Only twice. His experience is less than shallow, it's no deeper than a raindrop. 

What’s more, Shouta’s not sure he has what it takes to meet this need. Unlike Tenko, who thinks Shouta is worthy of unleashing vengeance on him—Shouta harbors no such fantasies of harming Tenko. He wants to see him thriving, flourishing, happy in his own sardonic way. But…if pain will lift a latch preventing him from meeting his greatest potential, then…there may be a way for Shouta to reconcile these things in his mind.

“If you’re serious about this,” he says finally, “then we’ll have to talk about what that looks like. I’ll need to know exactly what you want, what your limits are, what you think you can take, any details of the scene you can imagine. I’m serious, Tenko. Research, watch porn, ask yourself what exactly you want from me. There’s no such thing as too much information or being too particular with the details. And we’ll need a safety system, preferably both a verbal and nonverbal method to let me know if you need me to stop.”

Tenko groans. “You’re making me do homework? Can’t you just beat me up and fuck me in an alley somewhere and call it good?”

“I already told you. I will never do anything to you without your consent. That’s how relationships work and mutual trust is built. You can trust me, Tenko.”

“Yeah…” Tenko murmurs. “Only you.”

They fall into silence after this. And as much as Shouta would like to discuss the topic further, he can no longer fight the tug of exhaustion—especially not now, with the warmth of another body pressed against his chest and Tenko’s words humming in his head.

Only you.

Chapter Text

Limits. Limits. That’s all Shouta has wanted to talk about for days. It doesn’t matter how many times Tenko tells him he doesn’t have any. In fact, every time Tenko says that, he seems to irritate the veteran hero even more.

“I trust you. I know you won’t kill me,” he’d texted him last night.

“You’re trying to tell me that your only hard limit is death?”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself, are you dumb or something?”

Shouta hasn’t responded to a single message since then, and Tenko thinks he might have messed up.

He doesn’t get what the big deal is. It’s simple, isn’t it? Fucked up though it may be, he wants Shouta to beat him up, hurt him, and take advantage of him. At least once. He knows he’ll do it, too. He’s good at stuff like that. Setting aside his feelings and being all cold and clinical so he can get a job done. That’s what Tenko needs. It’s all he’s been thinking about since their first time together.

People do shit like this all the time, right? Well, maybe not most people, but he knows there’s a whole underground community of freaks that beat each other, put people in cages, make ‘em bleed, piss in their mouths, all that fucked up shit. He’s been in close quarters with people like that, he was a villain for fuck’s sake. He’s pretty sure Dabi fried someone during sex once, but he never could get the truth out of him and didn’t know if it was a kink thing or if the guy pissed him off.

“Whatever,” he grumbles as he slumps down in his gaming chair. His thoughts are fucking up his kill streaks and it’s starting to be a pain. He throws his controller on the dirty floor and spins once on the chair. He hates trying to think about this stuff. It makes his gut twist with anxiety, the phantom of an old itch spreading on his skin, and it also simultaneously makes him horny as hell.

He doesn’t want to think. He just wants Shouta to take action. Doesn’t he get that?

“Goddammit,” he groans as he slips a hand into the slot of his boxers—because yeah, he games in boxers and a hoodie. He closes his eyes and yanks dryly on his hard dick, thinking about the older man who dominates his thoughts these days. He’s fucked him three times now, including the morning after Tenko stayed the night. That was a given though, since Tenko had woken him up by grinding on his cock while he snored.

See, he thinks smugly as his abs twitch and his asshole clenches with each hard stroke, consent doesn’t mean shit. You liked it. So will I.

He tries to imagine what kinds of things Shouta could do to him. Tie him up? Smack him? Pull his hair? Cut him with a knife? Fuck, it all sounds hot. It all makes his stomach twist and his cock throb. It’s scary and exciting at the same time. What limits could he possibly have? He just wants to be at his mercy. Wants to be in pain while Shouta fucks him.

He moans as he pictures it, and suddenly it’s not enough to stroke his cock. His ass feels empty. He wishes he could have a thick, hot dick inside of it, but his fingers are going to have to do for now. He’s pulling his boxers down, getting ready to tease his rim when he sees his phone screen light up.

Is it Shouta finally?

“Shit!” Fuck, he’s pathetic. As soon as the possibility of Shouta texting him crosses his mind and excitement blossoms in his chest, he’s cumming. “What a–fuck-ah–waste!”

He groans in annoyance, then picks up his phone with a cummy hand. Who cares? He’ll wipe it off later.

“Are you kidding me?” He groans when he realizes it’s not even Shouta who texted him. “Fucking Deku.”

“Morning Tenko! Do you want to get breakfast with me?”

Morning? His eyes narrow at his blinds. Shit, he really did stay up all night.

He doesn’t really want to hang out with Deku. Sure, he likes him more than any of the other annoying heroes, but being around him is draining. He’s too bright and he always wants to talk for hours and he rambles and he bugs Tenko about his feelings.

Actually…

There’s an idea…

“Fine. But we’re going to that café with the cute pancakes.”

The best part about having a meal with Deku is that he’s actually quiet while they’re shoveling food. Tenko doesn’t mind him so much when he’s quiet. In fact…aside from Shouta, Deku’s the only person he’s okay with sitting in silence with. The only person he doesn’t feel like he has to watch constantly to make sure he doesn’t take him by surprise. He can let his guard down around the hero, and alright…maybe that is kind of nice.

“I always forget how much you can eat!” Deku laughs. “You really like sweets, Tenko.”

Tenko looks up from his stack of fluffy pancakes with sprinkles. “You’re one to talk. You ate three protein bowls.”

“True,” Deku laughs, a blush spreading over his freckles. “But I exercise a lot! And too much sweet makes me nauseous.”

Tenko rolls his eyes. “ You make me nauseous.”

Deku laughs like he thinks this is a joke. Eh, let him think that.

“So, how have you been, Tenko?” The hero sits back in the cushiony chair and casts him a bright smile. It looks pretty ridiculous when his head is framed by a picture of a smiling rainbow cloud on the wall behind him. Kind of funny, actually. It almost makes Tenko smile. “You seem different lately.”

Tenko chews a bite of pancake so he doesn’t have to answer.

“You seem happier,” Deku continues. “I’m not sure how I can tell, but…you seem softer, I guess?”

Tenko feels heat spread up the back of his neck. He wonders how much he can tell the goody two-shoes hero. That’s why I’m here, though. Deku likes to talk about feelings, right?

He takes another bite of pancake and speaks through a mouthful of food, as if this will ease some of the anxiety of saying the words aloud. “‘m seein’ someone.”

Deku’s jaw drops. “You’re…seeing someone? As in…?”

“As in taking it up the ass,” Tenko affirms, for no other reason than to see the hero’s whole face turn cherry red.

“O-Oh!” he squeaks. “I…uh…t-that’s good! I mean, I t-think that’s good. Right?”

Tenko smirks and wipes some syrup away from his mouth with his hand. “It’s good alright.”

Deku composes himself and smiles. “I’m glad! That must be a big step for you!”

Tenko shrugs. He pokes at the remaining slices of pancake with his fork, suddenly unable to keep the kid’s gaze. “Deku,” he says suddenly.

“What’s up?”

“I need…” he grinds his teeth as he tries to work up the courage to ask. “Need…advice.”

He dares a shy glance up at the hero, whose jade eyes are now shimmering with determination. Of course, he can’t help but leap at an opportunity to give his assistance. So annoying, Tenko thinks with the slightest quiver of a smile.

“You can ask me anything, Tenko! I might not have all the answers, but I’ll do my best!”

Tenko rolls tension out of his shoulders and pushes away the plate of food. He picks at a chip of paint on the pink table for a minute, liking the way the paint cracks under his nails. “What do you do…if you want something…but your–er–partner or whatever doesn’t really wanna give it?”

Deku takes the question seriously. His elbows prop on the table and he narrows his eyes in thought. “Well, I think it’s like with any relationship. You just have to talk to them about it until you understand each other, and then you try to find a compromise.”

“What if…the thing you want is bad? ”

Deku frowns. “It’s…hard to say when I don’t know what it is, but…I don’t think that changes anything. You still need to talk to them about it, and be willing to listen to their feelings too.”

Tenko sighs and shrugs. He’s not sure what he expected. It’s the obvious answer. Communication or whatever. Stupid.

“C-Can I tell you something from my own experience?”

His hands are shaking a bit, and he has to clasp his gnarled fingers together to stop them from trembling. Tenko looks up at his fluttering eyelashes and nods. He was going to make a joke, but he forgets it immediately, already listening intently to whatever anecdote the teen will use.

“So…um…I don’t know if you know this, but I…” Deku clears his throat and scratches his head as another telling blush spreads across his face. “I’ve been dating Sho—T-Todoroki for a while.”

“Who doesn’t know that?” Tenko rolls his eyes.

“Did you know that I’m dating Bakugo too?”

Now this takes him by surprise. His lips curl into a grin. “Well, well, good boy Deku’s a whore? Isn’t that nice.”

Deku’s face flashes with indignation. “I’m not!” He protests. “I just…fell for them both.”

It’s kind of adorable how shy he is about this. As adorable as it is sickening.

“U-Um anyway,” Deku continues. “When I realized I wanted to be with Kacchan too, I felt guilty because it was bad. I thought maybe I was cheating by even having those kinds of feelings, but…” His chest puffs. “Even though it was a hard conversation to have, I knew it was important. So I talked to Shouto about it. I told him what I wanted and didn’t want, we talked about our feelings, and we came up with a plan. It was easy after that. E-Except for the part where we got Kacchan on board. T-That’s not the point.” He clears his throat again. 

“I don’t know what kind of bad thing you want from your partner, but I think that if you’re serious and honest, it will all work out. You’re a good person, Tenko. I know your partner will see that.”

Tenko lets the words sink in. Serious and honest, huh? It doesn’t sound as bad when Deku says it. Maybe Tenko could stand to put some more thought into Shouta’s questions.

“I’m sorry if that’s not helpful or it seems like I was rambling about myself! I just thought maybe it would be useful for you to hear about someone else’s experience!”

Tenko shrugs, too deep in thought to really care about answering now.

“I-If that doesn’t help, then you could always think about it like a game! Like…um…dialogue options in an rpg? Yeah! Like you have a quest and so you have to talk to an npc about it to progress!”

Tenko’s eyes widen because that’s…that’s fucking genius. Yeah, if Shouta’s just a brainless npc, then Tenko can talk to him, easy! 

Deku lets out a sigh of relief, as if he can tell he said the right thing. “I wouldn’t worry so much, Tenko. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Tenko still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t like asking Deku for help in the first place, and he hates saying ‘thank you.’ He just hopes the savior can tell by the little nod he sends him that this conversation was productive at least.

“Um, if you don’t mind me asking…” Deku’s face softens and curiosity shines in his eyes. “Who are you seeing? Is it someone I know?”

Tenko’s heart flutters and he studies Deku’s face, weighing his options. He could keep quiet to protect Shouta’s privacy, or… nah, he’d rather troll Deku a little more.

“You might have heard of him,” he says with a shrug, propping his arms behind his head and sending a wide smirk. “He’s an older guy, I think there’s about a ten year age gap.”

Deku’s eyes widen. “Oh, I see.”

“Real daddy type, you know?” Tenko’s smirk widens further. “Kind of scruffy. Looks like a homeless guy most of the time. He’s big, too. Not like body-type, I mean he’s got a big dick.”

A cough sputters out of Deku’s mouth and he has to take a big gulp of water to calm down.

“Oh, he fought in the war too,” Tenko says casually. “He’s a cripple now, though, but that doesn’t stop him from being able to fuck my brains out.”

“T-That’s good…”

“You’re telling me,” Tenko says with a laugh. “You’d think having one leg would slow the guy down, but hey, when you’re that cool, nothing can hold you back, I guess.” He yawns and rises to his feet. “Anyway, thanks for breakfast, hero. You’re paying, right?”

Deku’s face is completely astonished, eyes unseeing as he clearly tries to process Tenko’s words. “Um…y-yeah, of course, I’ll pay, but I…”

“Great, see you later.” Tenko waves and starts toward the door. One…Two…Three…

“TENKO!” Deku jumps to his feet so fast that he shakes the table and startles the people in two booths down. “You…It’s not…Mr. Aizawa?!”

Tenko looks back over his shoulder with mischievous grin.

“T-That’s just a joke, right?!” Deku squeals. “Y-You’re messing with me, like you always do!”

Tenko shrugs. “Could be. Or I could be getting my guts rearranged by your teacher. Guess you’ll never know for sure.”

Deku flushes, especially because their conversation has now been broadcasted to the whole café. He’s speechless, mouth agape and eyes retracted down to his pupils. Tenko snickers as he leaves the dumbfounded, pure little angel of a hero behind.

Totally worth it.

It’s another school day when Tenko is sitting in on one of Shouta’s classes. Lunch hour is approaching and Shouta can’t help but wonder what’s going on in Tenko’s mind. He’s been spacing out all morning, staring numbly out the window, clearly not listening to a single word of the day’s lectures. What’s more, he hasn’t harassed Shouta with text messages for the past three days.

It’s hard not to worry about him. Setting aside their complex relationship issues, he is still a young man in recovery from a lifetime of trauma. Shouta never knows what he’s thinking, whether he’s hurting or regressing, or if he wants to run away. There have been times when he was absolutely sure Tenko would disappear—fleeing in the night to be away from the faces of the people whose lives he had changed and whose friends he had killed. Stubbornness won out each time, or maybe a fear of being alone. Whatever the case, his bouts of silent isolation are troubling, which is why Shouta insists that he spends time with the third-years whenever he can.

Shouta worries that the added stress of their changing relationship will unbalance him. Perhaps he should have denied Tenko’s request for guided masturbation. Or, maybe he should have kept his face turned toward the wall and his palm pressed to his aching cock when Tenko demanded that he look at him. If he hadn’t fucked him on that first night, would Tenko be safer now? Less solemn as he ignores the lesson and the voices of his younger peers?

When the lunch bell rings, Shouta stands abruptly and calls his name. “Shim—”

“Aizawa,” he interrupts, both of them speaking at the same time.

Tenko looks shyly at the ground, hand cupping the back of his neck and fingers twitching like he wants to scratch. “I…have a question about the material,” he says quickly. “Can I stay?”

Shouta knows that Tenko wasn’t paying attention to the class material at all, so this has to be about something else. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll help you with whatever you need.”

He’s distracted momentarily by Midoriya tripping on a desk and falling into a fit of coughing before fleeing quickly from the room. Based on Tenko’s sideways grin, he’s stirred up some trouble, though Shouta would rather deal with the priorities first.

He waits until the last student files out of the room, then walks over to lock the door. When he turns back around, Tenko is playing with an eraser on his desk, flopping it back and forth and occasionally stroking it with his pinky. Does he even realize when he’s doing that? Always playing with his pinkies when he’s nervous. Maybe it offers some comfort, knowing he can no longer use them to destroy.

“What’s on your mind, Tenko?” he asks, approaching carefully but keeping a wide berth in case Tenko’s mood isn’t suited for physical comfort.

“Balls,” he answers instantly.

Shouta blinks, too shocked to make any sense of the word. “Excuse…me?”

Tenko smacks the eraser hard on the desk. “My balls, ” he says, in an attempt at unhelpful clarification. “I don’t like them being touched very much.” His teeth grit and his cheeks flush a cute shade of pink. “So, I don’t want you to hit or pull or pinch them or anything.”

A switch clicks in Shouta’s brain as he realizes what this is about. He sits casually on a desk and crosses a leg over his knee. “Hard limit?”

“Yeah.”

“What else?” Shouta crosses his arms and regards him closely. So, you’re taking this seriously after all. 

“Nothing with shit. I didn’t think I should have to tell you that, but…” His brows furrow in an expression of bemusement. “I…don’t actually know what you’re into and I realized maybe I shouldn’t take anything for granted.”

Shouta nods, pride swelling in his chest. “That’s right, you shouldn’t. Good boy.”

Tenko blushes again, white eyelashes fluttering at the praise.

“No scat, but what about piss?” Shouta asks. “How do you feel about that?”

Tenko looks briskly away. “Don’t care.”

“At all?” Shouta presses. “Even if I pissed inside of you or made you drink it?”

Tenko looks at him again, eyes wide in horror. Shouta gives a knowing nod.

“See, this is why it’s important to talk about it.”

Tenko nods meekly. “Not in my mouth. The other thing is…I don’t know, it’s pretty fucking disgusting but it probably wouldn’t make me puke so fine, whatever.”

“What else?”

Tenko slumps down on the desk and hides behind his hair. “The truth is…I don’t know every kind of kink out there, I don’t have any experience, so it’s hard for me to just give you a magical fucking list, okay?”

“That’s okay, Tenko,” he says. He takes a risk by walking up to him. He can see how tense and nervous he is, so Shouta rubs and encouraging palm up and down his back. Instantly, he sees the young man’s muscles loosen and hears the sigh of relief that slips from his lips. “Why don’t you tell me what things you are comfortable with or that you’ve imagined.”

“I want… I guess when I think about it, I think about you hitting me. Tying me up and shit, I don’t know.”

“You say hitting,” he strokes Tenko’s hair, letting the strands fall through the slots of his fingers, “any kind of hitting anywhere?”

“Except the balls,” he reminds him.

“Right, but what if I slapped you in the face? Or punched you? Or kicked you in the gut? Or if I hit you with something other than my hands?”

Tenko swallows hard. “It’s fine. All of it.”

Shouta’s not sure about this. He wants to find that line, the boundary Tenko has but doesn’t know about yet. “What if I hit you so hard that it breaks your skin?”

Tenko shudders. His forehead slouches on the desk, hair spilling out around his head like silk. “Maybe…I could handle it.”

Soft limit.

“Broken bones?” he asks. “Does the thought of me snapping one of your arms frighten you?”

“Fuck, old man, I want to be able to move the next day,” he hisses.

“So there’s a limit to the beatings. I think I understand now.”

“Wait,” Tenko says quickly. He grabs Shouta’s hand and threads their fingers together. “Um…actually…I’d be okay with…” He squeezes, and Shouta understands the message loud and clear.

“Your fingers.”

The ones he used to kill.

Tenko nods, still refusing to look at him.

“All of them?” Shouta asks carefully. “What if I broke each and every finger individually?”

The boy inhales sharply. “I-I…just need three, so I can still function like a normal human later.”

Shouta caresses his hand softly and runs his fingertips over his thumb, forefinger, and middle finger on his dominant hand. “These three?”

“Yeah,” Tenko whispers. “B-But are you going to break them? Is that what you’re saying?”

Shouta smiles and leans down to kiss the back of his head. “I’m not going to tell you what I’ll do, Tenko. That’s why I need to know your limits.”

The younger man stands up and faces him. Shouta’s surprised to find tears gathered in his eyelashes. “Sorry. This is making me feel… fuck, I don’t know.”

“Tenko,” he wraps an arm around his waist, and uses the other hand to cup his face, brushing a tear away with his thumb. “It’s okay. That’s enough for right now. I’m just glad you’re taking this seriously. Thank you.” He leans forward to kiss his forehead, then draws his lips down to his wet eyelashes, collecting the tears. “You’re such a good boy.”

“Am I… your good boy?” Tenko asks in a breathy whimper.

“Yes,” Shouta answers instantly. “My good, sweet boy.”

Tenko chokes on a sob, hands suddenly clinging to Shouta’s shirt as he crushes his mouth against his. Shouta lets him kiss him, returns the desperate motions with his own calm, practiced movements. When they part, Tenko is sobbing.

“It’s okay, sweet boy,” he assures him, “I’ll take care of you.”

Chapter Text

“Shouta,” Tenko whines, “I’m bored.”

“I told you I had papers to grade, but you insisted on staying after class,” the veteran hero sighs.

“Are you almost done?” Tenko asks. He leans his head on Shouta’s shoulder and slumps again. “You said you’d buy me dinner if I aced that stupid quiz your students were taking, and I did and I’m hungry.”

“You won’t get anything if you keep complaining,” Shouta warns, though he runs a hand soothingly up and down Tenko’s spine with his non-dominant hand while he marks a paper with the other. “I told you that you could sit with me on the condition that you behaved.”

Tenko huffs against his neck. “Yeah, yeah…”

Shouta drops the pen and wraps his arms around him in a hug, big hands stroking his white hair as he presses a gentle kiss to Tenko’s cheek that has him melting further against the man’s chest. “Fifteen minutes,” Shouta says. “Think you can be a good boy for fifteen more minutes?”

Tenko shudders and nods against him.

“Are you sure?” Shouta asks. “I need you to be quiet so I can focus on these papers. No more complaints or attitude.”

“I’ll be good,” he promises.

“You don’t have to sit on my lap, you know,” Shouta says softly. “You could wait on the lounge chair, or sit across from me at the desk. You’re the one who stubbornly insisted on sitting here.”

“Don’t wanna sit somewhere else,” he pouts. “I’m not moving.”

“Fine, then hush.”

Tenko sighs and nuzzles against him, shifting just a little to get more comfortable. Shouta’s hands grip his hips hard, fingers digging into the skin beneath his shirt.

“And don’t move,” he warns darkly.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tenko hisses. “My legs just hurt. I’ll hold still.”

“Good boy.”

Shouta’s hands go back to work, leaving Tenko breathing shallowly against his neck. He closes his eyes and tries to think of something to occupy his mind for the next fifteen minutes. Again, his thoughts drift to the topic they’ve been discussing for the past month.

It’s been three weeks since Tenko gave him his first hard limits. They’ve talked about it since then, laying down more limits, expectations, and safety protocols. And in the meantime, they’ve been having sex, of course. Which is fucking great, because Tenko went from never having an orgasm to having them at least daily, with a few per week at the hands—and dick—of Shouta Aizawa. So, he’s not complaining exactly, but… There is a part of him that itches. The uncomfortable prickling of little insect legs under his skin, the gross feeling of anxiety bubbling in his stomach, the dull impulse to peel his own skin away from the bones.

Shigaraki is squirming inside of him like a millipede, writhing with trepidation, ready to be squashed.

Tenko wants to be Shouta’s good boy. He wants to let go and believe the words of comfort the man whispers to him in private, but…he can’t. Not until he has the closure he needs—the destruction he craves.

He hopes Shouta gives it to him soon, because moments like these…contentedly sitting on the lap of his favorite hero and feeling the warmth of his chest and listening to the sound of him breathing…Tenko wants to wring these moments of every ounce of their worth with nothing holding him back anymore. Then maybe…just maybe…he can really belong to Shouta Aizawa.

He lets this thought soothe his mind, lets the soft hum of contentment and warmth fill the space in his skull. He feels sleepy, happy, and strangely at place like this, even though Shouta is ignoring him to do paperwork. He’s so lost in the gentle fuzz of his mind, that he doesn’t even realize when fifteen minutes have passed and Shouta is closing a binder and sliding it into a desk drawer.

“Still with me?” the man asks. “Tenko?”

Tenko leans back and blinks lazily at him as his head clears. “I’m here.”

“Good,” Shouta smiles. “You were a good boy. We can get food now, if you’d like.”

“ Finally, ” he says. He moves to get up, but then Shouta is holding his hips again.

“Wait. There’s something I want to talk about first.”

Tenko waits. Something about the look in Shouta’s eye is unsettling, as depthless and dangerous as space.

“W-What? Don’t look at me like that, hero. Is it supposed to be intimidating? Doesn’t work when you’re wearing an eyepatch like a shitty pirate.”

His eye narrows and the look flashes red, making Tenko gulp.

“This weekend,” Shouta says simply.

Tenko frowns, trying to make sense of the words. “What about this weekend? You gonna take me on a real date? That’ll make headlines. Eraser Head and Shigaraki on a romantic date night. I’ll wear a dress if you wear a suit and shave your nasty face.”

Shouta doesn’t flinch at the sarcasm. His gaze is unblinking, and Tenko feels the millipede beneath his skin start to scurry.

“This weekend we’re doing the scene.”

Tenko’s heart slams against his rib cage. “You mean…”

Shouta nods seriously. “I have everything set up already and I think you’re ready. Any objections?”

Tenko’s shaking now, a cold sweat forming on his skin. “W-When? Where? Are you going to break into my house or something? How will I know it’s you and not someone else?”

Shouta shakes his head. “This weekend. Any time from Friday at Midnight to Sunday at nine pm. I’m not telling you when or how. It defeats the purpose.”

“What if I pussy out and change my mind?” he asks, already feeling the creep of fear up his spine.

“Then you use the safe word and I stop.”

Tenko swallows dryly, then blinks as realization hits him. “This weekend? Is it because the toddlers are on break next week? You think I’ll need that long to recover?”

Shouta cups his face. “I think that the more time I have to focus solely on you, Tenko, the better.”

A shiver passes through him and he blushes at the unbidden twitch of his cock, clearly visible between them.

Shouta smirks. “You like hearing that, kitten?” His hand lowers to tease Tenko’s rapidly stiffening cock. “Like hearing about how much I’m going to spoil you?”

Heat flashes through Tenko’s torso and he accidentally clenches around Shouta’s cock, which until now he’d been successfully warming while the man graded papers. “K-Kitten?”

“Mhm,” Shouta says, and Tenko can feel him starting to throb and fill out, still lodged inside of Tenko’s hole. “I’ve been wanting to call you that for a while. Don’t like it?”

“You’re just trying to use cute pet names to distract me from the fact that you’re going to rape me this weekend,” Tenko accuses.

Shouta frowns and touches his lips gently with his thumb. “You can still back out, Tenko. We don’t have to do it. We never have to do anything you’re not okay with.”

“It’s fine,” Tenko mutters as he leans forward and nuzzles into Shouta’s hair, meanwhile lifting his hips to give the man some encouraging friction. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Shouta says as his cock grows and stretches inside of him. “I’m trusting you, Tenko, don’t forget that. Trusting you to pay attention to your own limits. We have to trust each other for it to work.”

“I know,” Tenko breathes as he rocks on his hips. “I can take it. I trust you. I’ll be a good boy.”

Shouta drags his lips to Tenko’s and lets out a pleased moan. “You always are.”

Tenko knows what fear feels like. His life has been full of it. From before he even met All For One, he was living in constant terror. He was on edge, never knowing if or when his father would walk through the door angry, fist raised to strike. He lived in fear of those beatings, then in fear of his own power, then in fear of society.

He felt fear until that fear evolved into anger and the anger into hatred. And even then, there were moments when he was certain he would die. The heroes would kill him or worse, he’d disappoint All For One. He feared these things, too.

But this…is a different kind of fear.

He’s been keyed up since noon yesterday, knowing that he only had twelve hours before the window opened. He tried to get some sleep, but there was no hope in that. As soon as his clock shone with the midnight hour, everything in Tenko’s body went on high alert.

He paced in his room, looked out the window, locked it, unlocked it, hid under his blankets, even crawled under his bed at one point.

Any second. Shouta could show up at any second and…

And what? Tenko has no idea what he’s planning. Will he pin him to the bed, beat him, gag and rape him? Or will he be lying in wait in an alleyway, ready to drag him off somewhere? How far will the scene go? How long will it take? 

He doesn’t know, and that’s the best and worst part of the waiting. He’s thrilled, in an absolutely demented way, sporting random partial boners as he thinks about it—but he’s scared too. Really and genuinely scared to the point of nausea, part of him wanting the weekend to end, already wanting to put up a white flag.

His gut twists every time he’s alone. His walk from the corner store back home? The hairs on his neck are raised the entire time, eyes flicking to every shadow, jumping at every sound. He actually screams when a black cat shoots in front of his feet, and he drops all of his groceries in the panic that follows.

This is disgusting, he thinks while he burrows in a hoodie, sitting in his empty bathtub in the dark. What’s wrong with me?

He grips his arms, trembling, feeling his pinkies dig into the flesh.

Shigaraki. That’s what’s wrong with me.

A sense of resolve fills him at this thought. That’s right. This is about healing, about putting Shigaraki where he belongs. He can trust Shouta to do that for him.

The more time passes on Saturday, the more uneasy he feels. A few times, while he’s gaming online with Spinner, he actually forgets that there’s danger looming on the horizon. Then, he’ll hear a sound from outside or the click of the air conditioner and suddenly he’s on his feet, body going simultaneously red hot and ice cold.

The hours move too slowly. Tenko’s stomach is clenched and gurgling. He can barely eat, he constantly feels like he has to piss, like his bladder is trembling too much to keep anything inside. He captures brief naps, interrupted by the creeping dread that makes him jerk up, panting for breath. He whines pathetically as he pumps out a couple of orgasms throughout the day, because his confused cock is thrilled about all of this, even though everything else in Tenko’s body is petrified with fear.

Ordinarily, Tenko does his laundry late at night. He takes his Switch to the laundromat and sits cross legged on one of the chairs while his clothes spin. It is laundry day, but Tenko’s body is flushed with too much adrenaline to allow him to wait until the lonely hours of the night for this errand. He knows that if he walks out of his house at ten PM and walks through the alleys to get to the cheap laundromat, he’s going to get snatched up. Maybe Shouta was anticipating this? If so, Tenko knows he’s fucking up his plans by leaving earlier, but he just can’t walk into an ambush like that. Primal instinct tells him no.

So, it’s only six o’clock when he walks his laundry to the laundromat. The streets are full of people walking around and on their way to or from dinner. It’s crowded. It’s safe.

He relaxes as he sits in the laundromat. Shouta can’t surprise him here. At least while he does his laundry, he’s safe. In fact, he feels content enough to catch some sleep, letting his head bob forward as he waits for the wash cycle to finish.

When his phone alarm dings, signaling the wash cycle completion, he blinks groggily awake and trudges to move his laundry over. It’s while he’s crouched in front of the dryer when he thinks he sees motion from the corner of his eye. His gaze flicks curiously to the storefront windows, and…

“Oh fuck!” he hisses, jumping back so abruptly that he bites his tongue hard enough to bleed.

He’s there. Leaning casually against the glass with his back turned toward the inside of the laundromat, a boot kicked up nonchalantly as he surveys the streets. He followed Tenko here, he’s been watching him.

“You okay, buddy?” someone asks concernedly. “Mix a color in with your whites or something?”

Tenko glances at the stranger and scowls. “I’m fine. Thought I saw a roach.”

His gaze turns back to the window, but…Shouta is gone.

Oh fuck, oh god, he’s going to be waiting for me? What the fuck do I do?! I can’t sit here all afternoon, I have to leave, and then…

Tenko feels simultaneously like crying and also like he might jizz his pants when he starts the dryer.

This is it. This has to be it, right?

The next thirty minutes are torturous. Tenko can’t help it, he finds himself nervously scratching his neck like the old days as the growing discomfort of itching insects erupts under his skin. He’s shaking as he stuffs his dried clothes into the bag he brought with him. And then…he can’t bring himself to leave. He stands in front of the door for an immeasurable amount of time, breath raspy as he tries to work up the nerves to walk home.

I can do this. Be a good boy, Tenko.

He finally braves the open air, but he can’t help himself from looking in each direction for sight of the veteran hero. He remembers to train his eyes high in case he’s crouching on a rooftop somewhere, waiting to strike.

Shit, maybe he’s tracking me? No way, he’s too much of a boomer, he wouldn’t know the first thing about tracking my phone…would he?

Tenko’s not sure anymore. He’s not sure of anything as he skulks back toward home. The only thing he’s confident about is how terrified he is when he steps onto an empty street lined with trees. It’s dark now. It would be so easy for his stalker to jump from tree branches or from behind a low wall.

He tries not to run. The sound of his footsteps on the dirt sound like thunderclaps. The small road is unusually quiet. No birdsong, no distant barking dogs, no yowls of cats in the alleys. Just the sound of Tenko’s shoes.

Until…he hears the echo of his steps.

Shoes don’t echo, he thinks as horror temporarily stuns him. Sure enough. There’s a delay. His feet slid to a halt. Someone else’s feet stop walking behind him a fraction of a second later.

He knows it’s Shouta, the man he trusts more than anyone else in the world. The man who holds him and protects and guides him. But right now, it doesn’t matter. Tenko’s instincts register only fear.

He runs.

His shoes squeak on pavement when he steps onto a main road, he’s panting, tears rolling down his cheeks and the bag of laundry clutched hard against his chest. He runs until he accidentally collides with a man jogging by on the sidewalk.

“Hey, watch it!” the man gripes.

Tenko can’t even bring himself to issue an apology. He’s too busy staring down the road where he ran from. 

There’s no one there.

Nothing happens.

The rest of the walk home, he sees nothing and no one. He makes it to the door with no interruptions, without the sense of being watched. He makes it inside in one piece.

And it’s the worst fucking feeling in the world .

Did Shouta do it on purpose? Or did his plans get thwarted by onlookers? It doesn’t matter either way, because the fact of the matter is that Tenko has to wait again. He has to keep sitting on edge, and the tension is almost too much. He curls his legs up to his chest and breathes heavily against his knees as he tries to calm down. He can’t. He’s worked up, running on adrenaline, and fuck he’s hard too.

He’s never felt like this. It’s disgusting, unnerving, indescribably exciting…

He frees his cock and strokes it for the third time today. He’s quick, afraid of spending too long during a masturbation session and getting caught with his fingers in his ass by Shouta.

Masturbating does nothing to calm his nerves. He feels no relief as he sits shaking on the ground, heart still running rampant in his chest with the memory of fleeing from his attacker.

That’s what Shouta is right now, isn’t it? His attacker? His stalker? His greatest threat?

Until right now, Tenko was able to compartmentalize his fear, at least somewhat. Part of him doubted Shouta was really going to go through with it. But now…? After seeing him waiting outside of the laundromat? After feeling the terror of his steps behind him? This is real. Unless Tenko is lucky—or unlucky?—Shouta is going to catch him, and then he’s going to…

I don’t know. I don’t know what he’s going to do?

He starts to cry. 

I can’t. I don’t know if I can do this.

He has half the mind to open his window and scream the safe word into the darkness. He wants to run into Shouta’s arms and be held gently, kissed and promised that everything is okay and he doesn’t need to be afraid. He wants to be pampered and protected, and…

“No!” He pulls his hair in frustration. He needs this. He’ll never be able to feel truly at ease with a hero like Shouta. Not until he faces Shigaraki and clips the frayed edges of his past away. It’s terrifying, but he won’t back down. He can’t.

Besides. If it ends up being too much, I can safeword. He’ll respect that. He promised.

It gives Tenko a little bit of relief. Not much, but enough to make the tears stop flowing.

He’s still keyed up as he tries to stomach some ramen. He doesn’t get very far, ends up throwing out more than half of the container. He paces, looks through the window again and again, shivers and rubs his arms.

He tries to relax with a movie, but can’t sit still. His hands fidget, his fingers twitch, he keeps scratching his neck, his gut clenched and twists, he fights occasional twitches of his cock as the arousal fights the fear he feels.

Eventually, he tries to use video games as a distraction. At least it’s a way to keep his hands busy. But he’s too scared to put in headphones—too afraid he’ll miss some sound that will clue him in to Shouta’s presence.

It takes hours before he’s relaxed enough to try to sleep. Relaxed enough doesn’t equate to being relaxed though, and he’s still shivering as he climbs into bed. He locks his windows first because, goddammit, he can’t help it. If Shouta wants to go through with this, then he’s just going to have to wait until morning, because Tenko is too much of a pussy to handle it tonight.

He falls into a fitful sleep and dreams of shadows with red eyes in dark alleys.

The sound of barking is what wakes him.

He frowns as he sits up in bed. There are no dogs that live around this area, he’s never heard barking at night before. It sounds distressed? Frantic even.

He jumps out of bed and runs to the window, wiping sleep from his eyes. There’s a corgi standing outside the gate, running back and forth and yelping wildly. Tenko can’t tell if it has a collar, but he doesn’t see anyone else around. He can’t just leave it there! What if it’s lost? He needs to make sure it gets back to its people.

He throws on a hoodie and some sweatpants, then runs outside, all thoughts about Shouta forgotten. He can’t stand to see scared dogs, he just can’t.

“Hey, buddy,” he says as he approaches the gate. “Easy, it’s okay!” He opens the gate and crouches down, beckoning for it with his fingers. “Come on, you want a treat?”

The corgi scoots backward, barking even more insistently.

“Aw, come on,” Tenko soothes. “Promise I won’t hurt you.”

The corgi suddenly squares its shoulders and growls at something beyond Tenko.

It’s too late and he knows it.

A trap.

The hand covers his mouth and nose, an arm wraps around him in the immobilizing embrace of a constrictor.

“No,” a voice says darkly in his ear. “But I’m going to hurt you.”

Chapter Text

Tenko is taken so off guard—so disoriented that the only deranged thought he can muster while he’s being dragged away is: What about the dog? He’ll make sure it’s safe, right?

He should have other concerns. Like the scarf binding him tightly, the rough pull of hands on his arms, the slam of his skull against the roof of a car. But, in that moment, his brain short-circuits and he’s suddenly crying because what about the dog?!

It isn’t until the blindfold cuts all light from his eyes and his back collides roughly with the backseat of a vehicle, that everything starts to sink in.

This is it. It’s happening.

Then, the panic.

The hard material of his capture item is tight around Tenko’s mouth. He can’t say the safeword like this! No, wait, he’s tied up but there’s room to move his right hand. He can still nonverbally signal if he wants to. That’s good, right? Shouta’s making sure he’s safe…right?

He hears the slam of car doors, the start of an engine. He keeps waiting for Shouta to say something, but he doesn’t. There’s only miserable silence and the crushing weight of anxiety.

Where are you taking me? What are you going to do to me?

He trembles and whimpers as the minutes pass and his heart pounds. It’s fucked up in every way but he can feel his cock straining against the tight fabric of his sweats, because this is it. He’s finally going to get what he’s wanted for so long. It’s horrifying. It’s exhilarating. Shit, he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel.

There’s no way to measure how long they’re driving. Tenko’s too disoriented and distracted by his own trepidation to give an estimate. One minute, he’s struggling against arms pushing him into a car and the next, the engine is silenced and the car locks unlatch.

He flinches when he hears the back door open. A yelp is muffled by the capture scarf as a hand fists in his hair and yanks him roughly out of the car and onto the ground. Pain shoots down his spine as he feels the rip on his scalp of hair being pulled out by the force.

Then, he’s being half dragged, cuts gathering on his bare feet because he was too stupid to throw on shoes when he ran outside to check on the little dog. There’s the creak of a door, echoing sounds in what must be some kind of room with a high ceiling. He whines in protest as static prickles his face, and he’s suddenly being hoisted into the air by the wrists, Shouta’s capture scarf binding each wrist and ankle.

The blindfold is ripped away and the scarf goes slack around his mouth. The static of Shouta’s quirk hasn’t dissipated, and when Tenko blinks, he can see the gleam of one red eye and the buoyancy of wicked black hair. The veteran might not be able to erase quirks these days, but the side-effects of his quirk remain—frightening reminders of his sheer power.

Tenko takes in his surroundings with a shiver. He’s in a…warehouse? Or some kind of unfinished construction maybe. But where? Did he really drag Tenko to some abandoned warehouse? What if they get caught? He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Not really. He didn’t think Shouta would take it this far. Or did he?

Several lights have been set up around him, an area cleared out on the floor, free of the nails, boards, beams, and rubble on the rest of the floor. There are some boxes to Tenko’s right, and something cold drops into the pit of his stomach when he looks at them. Several objects are carefully lined on the surface. Rope, gloves, knives, a police baton, a fucking taser, a hammer, two-by-four boards, and a coil of barbed wire.

Tenko’s heart stammers uneasily in his chest because…he’s not going to use all of that, is he? No, surely some of it’s there to scare him. What the fuck can he do with boards and a hammer, anyway? Stuff Tenko into a box? Wait…would he do that?

Shouta walks over to the box and picks up the pair of black gloves there, slipping them onto his hands with his back turned toward Tenko. It’s hard to tell from here, but he thinks they might have knuckle guards.

“You should have been more careful,” the man says as his hair goes flat and he turns to face Tenko again, fingers flexing in the gloves. “You let your guard down, Shigaraki.”

Shigaraki.

Tenko trembles. That’s right. He’s not Tenko Shimura tonight. He’s Tomura Shigaraki. No, not even the full man. Just Shigaraki. A fragment of a fragment of a person. A jagged piece of glass stained red from the blood of the innocent. Shattered Shigaraki.

“So…?” he says, drawing upon his default defense mechanism. Calling upon the memory of his sarcastic gibes and wit from the time he was a villain and a leader. “You caught me, Eraser. What are you going to do? Leave me tied up like this until the police get here to take me in?”

Eraser pauses, hands dropping to his sides as he narrows an eye at Shigaraki. “You think I’m going to be merciful. Amusing.”

He strides up to Shigaraki, who stares nervously into the fire pit of his one eye. He wonders, if he looks hard enough, if he’ll see any inkling of Shouta inside. Of concern and affection. No. His eye is cold. Nothing but ash and ember in a deep pit.

“No one’s coming for you, Shigaraki.” He looms in closer, eclipsing Shigaraki in shadow. “No one cares about you. Not the police, not your league friends, no one.”

His words clamp around Shigaraki’s throat like a vise. It’s jarring. Suddenly, the man who’s never spoken anything but encouragement and support, is spitting words from Shigaraki’s deepest fears and insecurities. It hurts. It also feels…liberating.

“What then?” Shigaraki asks dryly. He can feel the quaver of his words as his confidence falters. “What are you going to do, Eraser? What’s a noble hero like you going to do with a worthless piece of trash like me?”

The man leans in closer and Tenko can feel his hot breath on his face, sending pinpricks of excitement down his body.

“I’m not a hero anymore, Shigaraki,” he seethes. A gloved hand raises, leather fingers brushing Shigaraki’s jaw. “ You took that from me.”

Before he can issue a response, Eraser steps back, one arm crosses over his torso and his muscles tense, then he strikes. The back of his hand and the hard plastic of the knuckle guard crash against the side of Shigaraki’s face. He cries out at the brutal rattling of his skull and the distinct sensation of his skin tearing open on his cheekbone from this one hit.

Shigaraki’s eyes water. An old familiar surge of numbing adrenaline courses through his body at the sting of pain. It’s been a long time since anyone hit him like that. A longer time since anyone made him bleed.

“I’m going to make you pay,” Eraser warns. “I’m going to make you wish you were dead.”

“Why not just kill me, then?” Shigaraki asks, dragging raspy breaths into his lungs.

“Kill you?” Eraser’s fingers pinch his chin roughly and his lips twist into a snarl. “You think you deserve to die? No. You deserve so much worse than that. Now shut the fuck up before I carve out your tongue.”

Shigaraki shudders. “Fuck you,” he snarls. “You wouldn’t.”

In a flash, the other man pulls a knife from his belt and slaps the flat of the blade against Shigaraki’s cheek. “Try me,” he challenges, before digging the sharp tip into the corner of Shigaraki’s mouth, slicing skin and making blood trickle to his teeth.

A whimper escapes his lips as the long blade snakes dangerously down his neck to the collar of his shirt. It’s the first time he realizes that he’s not wearing his hoodie anymore. When did the hero remove it? Before throwing him into the car? When he was still in shock?

Fresh pain unfurls where the tip of the blade digs against his collarbone. He hisses as the man cuts the plain t-shirt like tissue paper, using his hands to tear it open and reveal Shigaraki’s bare torso. Cold air licks his naked skin and gives him an impossible sense of vulnerability, as if a thin t-shirt had offered any kind of real protection.

“Look at you,” Eraser spits with vitriol as he draws the tip of the knife lower, dragging it through layers of flesh across Shigaraki’s chest. “Disgusting. A fucking abomination.”

Tears of pain and humiliation well up in Shigaraki’s eyes. I know, he thinks with a choked sob. I’m hideous. He’s nothing but scars and pale skin and bones. He’s broken.

He can feel the slide of blood down his chest and the trickle of it on his abs. He wasn’t expecting knifeplay, though he did tell Shouta that it wasn’t a limit. Now, he’s not so sure. The pain is slicing, the blood makes his skin crawl, and the sight of Eraser Head staring villainously at him with the glint of light on a blade is almost too much.

No. I need this. I deserve this. I can take it.

“What’s wrong?” Eraser drawls darkly. “Hurts?”

Shigaraki nods with a nervous swallow.

“This little thing?” Eraser laughs and throws the knife to the ground. The clatter of metal on concrete is like a thunderclap ringing in Shigaraki’s skull. “Did you forget what real pain feels like, Shigaraki? Spent too long living a cushy civilian life? You forgot what misery feels like?”

A fist slams into Shigaraki’s stomach, making him double over as much as possible in the bindings, sputtering at the explosion of pain. A hand is on his throat, restricting airflow as Eraser growls, “ I didn’t.”

He releases him long enough to grab something from the boxes. Shigaraki’s head is spinning with pain, distracting him from looking to see what torture device he has now. He doesn’t need to see, however. He gets his answer a moment later when something hard slams into the back of his thighs.

The violent thud of a nightstick against his skin gives a much different sensation of pain than the cut of a knife. It echoes in his skin and bones. He cries out, then tries to brace himself for the next strike but it’s too late. The baton blasts against his thighs, then his calves, then crunches down on his shoulders. Hit after hit, with no pause between them, sending a blitz of pain ricocheting through Shigaraki’s body until he’s sobbing.

He can’t support his weight on the bruised legs, and lets his body slouch with the support of the wrist bindings.

“I hate you,” Eraser says next to his ear as his hands suddenly grip the band of Shigaraki’s sweatpants. “I can’t stand to look at you, do you know that?”

Panic rises in his chest. Does he mean that? No… It’s a scene, it’s not real. Yet…the more hits he takes and the darker Eraser’s words get, the more unstable he feels. The more he slips out of reality into somewhere…else.

Suddenly, his pants are being pulled down, sending a jolt of fear through his body.

“Do you have any idea how much better off everyone would be if you’d never been born?” He caresses Shigaraki’s bare ass with the baton. “How many lives wouldn’t have been carelessly lost?” He pulls back and Shigaraki gasps out a startled cry as the baton slams against his ass. “You should have never existed. ”

“Stop!” He cries. “No more! Please!”

Eraser ignores him and strikes again, each impact making Shigaraki tense and squirm against his restraints.

“Stop?” Eraser scoffs. “You think you deserve that?”

No, he weeps. I don’t. I deserve this. All of this.

“I’m sorry!” he chokes. “I’m sorry! Please!”

“It’s too late for apologies.” The wrist bindings go slack and Shigaraki crumples to his knees. He gets no reprieve, however. It’s just as he tries to scramble away when a hand is fisting in his hair again. “And didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?”

Eraser reaches for a rag on the dirty floor, balls it up, and forces it into his mouth. He sobs and gags as the taste of dirt and faint traces of gasoline coat his tongue.

No! I can’t say the safeword! I can’t! I can’t! I—

Then, he’s being bound again. Legs tied together, one wrist tied painfully to a pillar. But one arm is free. One arm…so he can tap out if he needs to. 

Suddenly, Eraser’s hand is between Shigaraki’s thighs, palm pushing against his balls. “I should rip your fucking balls off. Squeeze them until they rupture. Maybe then you’ll understand how much I hate you.”

It’s like the cold steel of a blade slicing through the fog. Suddenly, the world is crystal clear and Tenko’s heart stops.

Loudly, he slaps his hand on the concrete three times.

Hard limit! You promised! No ball torture! You promised !

Instantly, Eraser’s hand pulls away.

Shigaraki huffs a breath into the cloth. A confusing cocktail of fear and relief swirls in his stomach. The thrilling fear of knowing Eraser could have done it if he wanted to—he’s in complete control here. And the relief of knowing that his safeword was respected.

I can take this. I will take this. I need it. All of it.

His fingers curl into a fist as he braces himself for whatever comes next. 

He can hear Eraser moving, hear his uneven footsteps, and then…

“NNNGH!” He tries to scream but the sound is muffled by the cloth.

The blow of pain to his back is agonizing. Far worse than a hit with the baton. He hears a sickening crack and he’s absolutely sure that his spine is broken, that he hears the snapping of bones. He writhes and arches to get away as he sobs but then it happens again, beating him into the concrete with each horrible impact.

There’s another terrible cracking sound, then the clatter of something tossed to the left. He barely registers the sight as part of a cracked wooden board. Did Eraser really hit him hard enough to break a board? Or was it already broken and the blows snapped it?

Doesn’t matter.

It can’t matter, because the only thing he can think about now is the awful throb of pain pulsing in his back and ribs. Then, there are legs straddling his thighs, a grunt from his attacker, and finally, an unbearable pain akin to daggers tearing and puncturing the skin of his back.

Shit! Fuck! Stop!

He screams uselessly into the cloth as the splintered end of the broken board is jabbed into his flesh. He can feel every slice of thin splinters snagging on his skin, feel the drag of the wood as it tears across his upper back. He’s sobbing so hard now that the snot is choking him and it’s getting hard to breathe.

Hurts. Fuck, that hurts.

Stop, I need him to stop, I can’t…

He lifts his hand as the wood sinks in deeper and blood trickles down his side. I can’t…I…

His eyes squint shut. No. I’ve gone through worse. All for One used to tear my body to pieces like paper. I can do this. I have to do this. I deserve this.

His nails dig into the concrete instead.

A sob of relief is snuffed by the cloth as Eraser tosses this board down too. Its jagged edges are stained red with Shigaraki’s blood.

“You deserve this,” Eraser’s voice echoes his thoughts. “Think about all the lives you’ve taken, the families and friends you’ve left to mourn.” He yanks the gag out of Shigaraki’s mouth and he coughs. “You’re a worthless piece of shit.”

I know. So many people. I don’t even know the number. So many.

He tenses as he feels the man’s body weight drop onto his back, then the scrape of hard plastic on the floor as he picks up the baton again. He can feel splinters driving deeper in his back as the hero presses down, and then he’s pulling his hair again, yanking his head back, and Shigaraki starts to hyperventilate.

“N-No! Stop! What are you going to…?! S-Stop!”

“Did you think we were done?” Eraser laughs, and it’s cold and cruel, and Shigaraki can’t help it. He remembers being in Shouta’s bed, remembers holding his prosthetic leg and tracing the curve of his residual limb with his fingers. Remembers that beautiful, godly laugh that boomed from the hero’s chest when he kissed him.

I shouldn’t have been a bratty little bitch right then, he thinks through this delirious state. I should have told you I love you instead .

The reverb of the dark laugh he hears now is nothing like that melody he heard in bed. And it’s so strange. This should terrify him. The juxtaposition of cruel and brutal Eraser Head versus the tender, fatherly Shouta Aizawa should be unsettling, jarring, and awful. Instead, he feels another odd, dissociated sense of relief. Reassurance that takes the edge off the pain. After all, this wicked attacker can’t be his Shouta. It’s a persona—an act. That’s good. He can handle that.

“We’re barely getting started,” Eraser warns. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be too fucked up to even beg. ”

He’s barely made this chilling promise before he’s suddenly shoving gloved fingers into Shigaraki’s mouth. He pries his mouth open, fighting against Shigaraki’s instinct to bite his intrusive fingers off.

“Open up if you don’t want me to break your fucking teeth.”

He cries and obeys, letting his jaw slacken enough for…enough for what?

The answer comes seconds later, when the dense plastic of the baton is being rammed into his mouth.

He gags and sputters, and tries to pull away, but Eraser is still holding him down with his body weight. There’s no escape from the invasive assault of the baton, being thrust deep into his throat. He pounds it with the mock motions of a cock, as if Shigaraki’s being mercilessly face-fucked.

There is no reprieve. Just violent slams of plastic against his protesting throat. He’s gagging, stomach spasming and clenching. He can’t breathe. There’s no end to it, and soon, his reflexes take over.

“NNG ack !” His stomach and throat spasm uncontrollably and he’s suddenly vomiting, hot bile flooding his nostrils and pouring from his mouth. Eraser pulls out the baton while he retches and heaves the remains of the ramen he ate earlier. He realizes with horror that he lost control of more than just these reflexes. The front of his sweatpants are wet now too.

“Disgusting,” Eraser scoffs. “You really are a nasty piece of shit.”

He’s sobbing, gasping between pathetic cries. His body shakes as Eraser moves again, hands pulling Shigaraki’s sweatpants down to his calves.

“STOP!” He screams, as he feels a hand on his ass, spreading his cheeks. “NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

“Giving you what you deserve, you worthless son of a bitch!”

“AUUUGH!” He releases a guttural cry as the baton, still wet with bile and mucus, is brutally forced between his cheeks and rammed inside of him.

It’s worse. It’s so much worse than anything he’s done to him so far. The pain is horrible and throbbing and his insides feel like they're being churned and pounded into nothing but quivering soup. But it’s so much deeper than that. He’s helpless. The violation strikes deeper than nerves, it’s absolutely degrading. He is worthless. He’s nothing. It’s the most humiliated he’s ever been, crying into a puddle of vomit, flaccid cock grinding on concrete, being brutally ass-fucked and not even by a cock, but by a tool.

“St-stop, please!” he screams. “No more! No, fuck, god, please, I’m sorr-sorry-please, don’t!”

“How many times did you hear those same words, Shigaraki?” he asks as he twists the baton inside of him. “How many victims did you kill anyway?”

He shakes, the words making him feel sick again. He’s right.

Memories. Flashes. Little clips like flat panels of a manga flicker through his mind. Like someone turning the pages too fast. Men, women, children, frozen like statues, immortalized on the pages of his mind, the second before they were reduced to dust.

All of them.

I deserve this.

His screams taper into whimpering sobs as the heaviness of this truth coats him. I deserve this.

The baton is ripped from him and thrown across the floor. Then, Eraser’s hand is gripping his hair, the other yanking his arm behind his back.

“Isn’t this familiar?” he spits. “This is how your pet Nomu had me at the USJ, after he twisted my arm until my bones broke.” He pulls Shigaraki’s arm harder, and pain shoots all the way to his spine. “You made me watch while you tried to murder one of my students. Remember?”

He gasps out a frantic, “YES! Fuck, yes, I remember! I’m sorry!”

“You have no idea how much you’ve taken from me, Shigaraki. My eye. My leg. My friends. You turned Shirakumo into a brainless fucking nanny who wiped your sorry little ass while you sucked off All For One’s tit. You threw your tantrums and stole everything from me. ”

His palm slams down, crushing Shigaraki’s head into the concrete.

“Your giant pet killed one of my best friends. Kayama was the reason I became a teacher in the first place, did you know that? No, because you didn’t care about anything but your sorry ass. Selfish, murdering, worthless asshole. ”

Shigaraki’s eyes close and he cries harder. His head is pounding. A haze is encroaching on the sides of his brain. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Eraser…Head…I’m so sorry…”

“You’re going to be,” he seethes. 

The bindings go slack. He pulls Shigaraki’s sweatpants the rest of the way off, then yanks him to his feet by the hair. It’s no use, he can’t stand. His knees wobble and pain ricochets through his body, inside and out. He cries out as Eraser shoves him forward.

He turns to look at the veteran hero, confused. His face is expressionless, ice cold as he issues a dark, unwavering command.

“Run.”

So, he does.

It’s dark away from the lights the man set up, but he doesn’t care. He has no idea where he’s going, where the exit is, what he’ll do when he escapes. There’s just the desperate, feral need to flee. His bare feet scrape and bruise on metal beams and nails. He trips and runs into boxes and pillars, naked body sustaining more pain.

He dares a glance back only once, and instantly wishes he hadn’t. In the pitch darkness behind him, he sees only the gleam of a red orb, the trail of its sway burned on his retinas, the glint of a demon chasing him.

He turns forward and scrambles ahead, searching for a door, a window, anything.

An idea strikes him when he passes a wall and support beams. Yes, he can separate them for good, all he has to do is disintegrate the beams and the wall will collapse behind him!

Desperately, he places a hand against a metal beam, pressing all five fingers against it to activate his decay.

Nothing happens.

SHIT. He forgot. He’s so wrapped up in the scene that for a moment, he forgot that he’s not Shigaraki anymore, that he doesn’t have a quirk anymore.

He turns to face the darkness behind him, but Eraser isn’t there.

“Too slow,” a voice drawls from behind him.

He turns and tries to strike out, but it’s too late. The capture item is already wrapping around his arms and legs and he drops onto his back.

“LET ME GO!” he screams, but Eraser ignores him, dragging his bound body across the floor and back toward the torture room. The splinters in his back sting and prick as he’s pulled along the concrete. The rough ground scrapes his skin raw, and the occasional nail snags and tears as he’s pulled right back to where they started.

“How does it feel to be completely hopeless?” the hero asks. “How does it feel to be the victim for once?”

He undoes the bindings and slams Shigaraki onto his back. Panic makes him lash out, hand instinctively clawing against his attacker’s face. His nails catch on skin as he rakes his hand against Eraser’s cheek, drawing blood. The hero’s eyes widen in a moment of shock, then his lips twist into a snarl.

“Think you can stop me, bitch?” He spits in Shigaraki’s face, and without warning grabs his left hand.

CRACK

“GAHHH!”

In one fell swoop, the atrocious crackling and snap of two fingers. They break so easily. Like the snapping of twigs, the bones as fragile as bird bones.

“You’ll never use these fingers to hurt someone. Never again.” His words are heavy with meaning as he crushes another finger.

Shigaraki’s mind starts to blank. For a second, he thinks he’s going to black out, but then a hand is slapping hard against his cut cheek, shaking him from the daze.

“Do you understand me?” Eraser spits, as he teasingly tugs on a fourth finger. “You will never use your hands to harm someone. Never. ” This finger snaps, leaving only his thumb.

“N-Never,” he blubbers. Something about this feels strange. Like there’s depth that he can’t reach right now. The wavering of a mirage in the desert, far in the distance. He knows there’s a message somewhere under the pain but there’s no hope in unraveling it now. There’s only pain, hopelessness, and humiliation.

He breaks the thumb next. That’s all of them. Every finger on his left hand, uselessly broken and crumpled in different directions.

He reaches for the right hand next and Shigaraki wails, knowing what’s coming. One by one. The slow, tortuous tug on his ring finger, followed by the grotesque pop of disconnecting joints. Then, his remaining pinky. The one that has drummed teasingly on skin, sadistically toying with Shigaraki’s prey before he took their lives.

Eraser lingers here, stroking the small digit almost lovingly with the pinky of his own gloved hand. Then, he leans back and pulls the glove off so they can be skin to skin, so he can feel the big hand against his own, large fingers gripping his pinky before…

SNAP.

Shigaraki’s eyelids flutter. Spiraling darkness swirls in his vision. He’s sinking. The world is turning into black mist. He’s only vaguely aware of Eraser’s fingers moving to his middle finger next.

No, wait… That’s not…

He blinks, forcing himself to stay awake as the man tugs on the finger.

That’s…you can’t!

“FLUFFY!” He cries out. “F-FLUFFY! You can’t…those three fingers, you can’t…” he sobs, whimpering the safeword repeatedly.

Eraser releases him instantly. He sits back on his haunches, still looming over Shigaraki with a dark expression.

He watches in fear as the cool Eraser Head unzips his pants and extracts his limp cock. He strokes it into stiffness, then hikes Shigaraki’s legs up and presses the head against his already abused hole.

Shigaraki stares up at him, watching the way his face swims in his vision. “Don’t,” he whispers.

But now…feeling this man overshadowing him, feeling the brush of his cock against him and knowing that he’s Shigaraki’s punisher, his executioner… It triggers something inside of him, something that thrashes and weeps and moans for him to keep going.

Without any further warning, his cock slams hard inside of Shigaraki, all the way to the base. It hurts, but at least it’s not a baton. No, it's a hot, throbbing cock, and despite the agony he’s experiencing, and the overwhelming fear and hopelessness, he still feels the stir of his own cock at the intrusion.

“This is the only thing you’re good for,” Eraser seethes as he mercilessly slams his cock inside of him again and again. “Nothing but a cocksleeve—a broken, pathetic cum hole. Maybe I’ll keep you here, tied up, and I’ll bring in every hero who wishes you were dead, and we’ll take turns pumping you with cum and breaking your bones until you’re begging to die.”

Shigaraki’s eyes close and he whines. It’s so fucked up, but he can’t help the agonized, aroused moans that are being beaten out of him with every hard thrust. It hurts, everything hurts, but fuck. His dick is hard and leaking on his stomach.

I’ll be your cocksleeve, he thinks with a cry. You can do anything you want to me, Eraser. You deserve to. I deserve to take it.

“Fucking whore ,” he growls, as his hand wraps around Shigaraki’s cock and pulls. “You’re getting off on this? Sick fucking bastard. You think a sack of shit like you deserves to cum?”

“No…” he sobs. “I don’t…deserve…”

“Of course you don’t,” he interrupts, but his hand is yanking anyway, sending lightning bolts of pain and pleasure into Shigaraki’s gut. “You only deserve pain. ”

He folds Shigaraki down on himself and rams into him harder. “Look at me, Shigaraki.”

He forces his eyes open, staring up at the contorted face of his favorite hero.

“That’s right. Look at me while I hurt you.”

He sobs, eyes latched on the man’s face now.

“See me?” he grunts as he twists the head of Shigaraki’s dick in his palm. “Because I see you.”

I see you.

“AHHH!” He throws his head back, cracking his skull on the concrete as a blisteringly painful orgasm shoots through him. He can’t help it. Despite the suffering, the horrific pain, the fog in his mind. Despite the fact that he doesn’t deserve it, he’s cumming anyway.

Eraser bends his body further, directing the spray of his cum onto his own face. Then, the man is pulling out and quickly repositioning himself. He forces Shigaraki’s mouth open and drives his cock into his throat, fucking his face as his balls tighten.

It takes everything in his power not to bite the man’s dick off. But he manages to close his eyes and accept it, as the thick cock pumps cum at the back of his tongue, straight down his throat. He gags against the intrusion but Eraser doesn’t pull away. Not until Shigaraki is retching again, though this time it’s mostly dry heaving and the sputter of cum from his lips.

Eraser stands up, panting for breath. “Piece of shit,” he accuses as he squeezes the base of his cock and starts to piss.

Shigaraki’s eyes and mouth pinch shut. He shudders at the gross sensation of hot piss stinging the cuts on his face, then his chest. Then, he hears the sound of the man’s zipper as he conceals his cock again, and finally, the uneven trudge of his boots walking away.

Shigaraki’s eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright, despite the pain that lashes through his torso.

“FLUFFY!” He screams. Fresh tears run down his face, washing away cum, blood, and piss. “DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE ME, SHOUTA AIZAWA!” He’s choking, gasping for breath between child-like sobs. “Don’t leave me!” he howls. “You’re supposed to be a hero! You can’t, you can’t leave me! I’ll never forgive you! Come back! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please come back.”

The man turns abruptly around, no hesitation in the squeak of his boots twisting on the ground. He’s by his side in an instant, reaching out to touch him, but Shigaraki hisses and recoils from the proffered hand.

“Tenko,” he says as he ignores the feeble protests and tugs him carefully into his arms. “I wasn’t going to leave you. I was just going to clean you up. I’m not leaving, I promise. I’m right here.”

“LIAR!” He screams. “You HATE me! You’re leaving me here to die!”

The veteran’s hand brushes his face, thumb stroking hair away from his stinging eyes. “No, Tenko. I won’t leave you. You have my word.”

“FUCK YOU!” he shouts. “You’re the sick fuck, not me! Raping me and leaving me here for dead?! I hate you!”

“Tenko…” he soothes quietly. “Tenko, look at me, kitten.” His face is gentle, his brow furrowed with concern. “It’s over. I’m not leaving you. I’m right here. You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe.”

He blinks, confused and disoriented. Tenko? The word feels like a distant gonging in his head.

“That’s right,” Shouta murmurs gently. “Come back to me, kitten. Let me take care of you.”

Tenko deflates with a broken whimper, the spell broken. “Shouta…” he rasps. “I’m…sorry.” He reaches for him, sees his mangled fingers, and starts to hiccup on sobs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I don’t hate you. I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby.” He pulls Tenko more fully into his arms. Every touch hurts. His bones, his skin, his insides—there’s not an inch of Tenko’s body that isn’t malfunctioning, screaming in pain. Yet, Shouta’s arms still feel like safety, like home. “Sh…”

He strokes Tenko’s hair and kisses the top of his head. “You’re okay, Tenko. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

Tenko clings to him with his three unbroken fingers, breathing in his scent and crying against his shirt. “I did it,” he chokes. “I took it. Everything I…Everything Shigaraki deserved…I…”

“You did,” he coos lovingly. “You did so well, Tenko. I’m so proud of you.”

You’re proud. I made you proud. I did it. It’s over.

He can’t explain it, but these simple words settle somewhere under his skin, in the place where he used to feel only the scurrying legs of guilt. The itch of past mistakes, the abhorrent scurry of his sins beneath the flesh. Shouta’s words spread here, a salve soothing away the old itch.

He can imagine it. The multi-legged insect of regrets, of wickedness, of evil… He can see it slithering from beneath his skin, creeping to the surface, chased out by sheer physical force. Out, into the open, where the red eye of a blazing sun looks directly at it. He watches as it shrivels, dies under that intense warmth, and turns to ash. From the dust and decay it was born. To dust and decay it ends.

And Tenko is left with only the warmth of the sun.

Chapter Text

Shouta sees the shift. The moment when Tenko starts to drift, when his body accepts that it’s over. He feels the shiver, the slump of muscles, watches as his face droops a little and his eyes glaze over. He’s still awake, but the survival part of his brain has crashed and tumbled out of the path of danger, and the whiplash must be disorienting him.

“Still with me, Tenko?” he asks, stroking white hair.

“‘m here,” comes the mumbled response. 

Good, he’s still responsive and answering my questions, like we talked about.

“Good boy,” he praises. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

Tenko blinks and tries to focus. “Dunno yet,” he says honestly. “Cold.” His eyes dart frantically around the room, taking in the sight of the tools Shouta used on him, the wet pools on the ground, the bloodied plank, the discarded baton. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“I’ll get you out of here, baby,” he promises. “I need to do some quick first aid, okay? I have a first-aid kit, some wipes to get you cleaned up a little, and a nice warm blanket. It’s all right there in that box, I’m going to go grab it.”

“No!” Tenko wails. “No, don’t…don’t go…”

Shouta wants to stop the bleeding on his back. He wants to assess to make sure he didn’t do more damage than he’d intended to. More than anything, he wants to patch Tenko up, reassemble the broken marble, smooth and polish him back into one, beautiful piece. He needs to make sure he’s okay, that he will be okay. He wants to hold him, guide him, and nurture him to health.

But he has to be so careful.

“I’m right here, kitten,” he assures him. He does his best to hold him without aggravating his wounds. He tries to wrap himself around him as much as possible. He doesn’t shy from the pungent scents of vomit and piss as he presses his lips into dirty and untamed white hair. “I won’t leave you. I’m going to take care of you all night, all day tomorrow, as long as you need. I’m here for you.”

“I…need you,” Tenko whispers.

“I’m yours, sweet boy. All yours.”

He lets him sob against him for a few minutes, holds him tightly despite the awkward position and the way it puts even more pressure on his sore residual limb. This night hasn’t been easy on him—all the time spent creeping around Tenko’s building, chasing him outside and earlier through the warehouse, using his body and hips to pin him down and manipulate him… it’s taken its toll, and the prosthetic feels like lead, his encased limb feels too hot, swollen, and raw. His hip joints ache from uneven motion and unusual strain.

But this isn’t about Shouta. His pain is nothing in comparison to the physical and emotional turmoil Tenko is going through. He can easily endure the discomfort of his disability for a few hours if it means helping this young man. He’ll carry him on crutches if he has to.

“Tenko,” he lulls softly, “let me clean you up. Then, I’ll take you home with me. We can get far away from here. I’ll take a hot shower with you, wash your hair, feed you if you’re hungry, or hold you in my bed under the warm blankets. How does that sound?”

“You…You’re not just going to dump me somewhere?” the boy asks. “You’ll take care of me?”

“Always,” he murmurs. “Tenko, I’m not going to abandon or hurt you. The scene is over. I would never leave you alone and wounded.”

Tenko sniffles. “You…don’t hate me?”

“No, baby boy, of course not. I could never hate you.” He tilts Tenko’s face up and kisses his cheek. “Everything I said and did were all parts of the scene. I don’t hate you. I don’t think any of those terrible things about you Tenko.” He brushes his lips with his own. “You’re my precious boy.”

Tenko mewls at this, kisses him weakly, then gives the slightest nod. “I’m…okay,” he says, though the word is forced. “You can clean me up.”

“I’ll be quick,” Shouta promises. “Then, we can go home.”

Tenko nods again, and Shouta hesitantly rises to his feet. He sees the uncertainty on Tenko’s face, the wildness of animal eyes as if he doesn’t fully trust Shouta not to leave.

Shouta’s chest aches at the sight. From where he stands, towering over the young man before him, he has a moment of jarring shock. Tenko looks so small, so battered, slumped awkwardly on the floor with his body weight centered on the side of a thigh because it hurts too much to even sit on his ass. He’s bruised, broken, bloodied. Shouta has a gross and alarming image of a mangled white kitten, fur stained red after a run-in with a wolf.

Tenko, what happened to you?

The thought is disorienting.

I happened to you.

He pushes the thoughts away abruptly. He cannot afford to think like that. His only priority is to take care of the boy who’s relying on him.

In an instant, he’s crouched in front of a box, pulling out its contents. He returns to Tenko immediately, turning a floor floodlight so that it illuminates him more clearly.

“You’re still here,” Tenko says.

“I told you, I’m not leaving you. I promise, Tenko. I’m right here.” He knows he’ll have to repeat these words countless times tonight, and that’s fine by him. He can be a broken record. He can offer assurance until the sun comes up, or until it sets again. He anticipated doing so, and feels no irritation at the thought of it.

His first concern is Tenko’s upper back, which took the most abuse. Shouta was careful to focus most of his attention on the man’s shoulders, carefully avoiding his spine and keeping a wide berth from his lower organs. The last thing he wanted was to do lasting or fatal damage. Make it hurt, but don’t destroy him.

Jagged gashes from the wooden board cover the expanse of his back, some of them still trickling blood. He winces at the sight of a nail lodged in his skin from when Shouta dragged him through the warehouse. The raw scrape of concrete paints the skin anywhere the cuts don’t.

“This is going to hurt a bit, okay? I need to pull some things out of your skin, but it will be fast.”

Tenko shrugs.

“Stay with me, kitten.” He rubs Tenko’s arm softly. “Keep talking to me. I want to know everything that’s going through your pretty head right now.”

Tenko breathes out slowly.

“Tell me if there was anything you liked or anything you hated from that, if you can. I want to know how you’re feeling.” He carefully starts to ease the nail out of Tenko’s waist with one hand, while the other continues to stroke lovingly up and down his arm.

“I’m…” Tenko tries. He tenses and lets out a pained grunt as Shouta removes the nail, then turns his attention to a few chunks of wood stuck in his upper back. “H-Hurts. But I…I’m glad it’s over.”

Shouta’s not sure what he means by this. Is he glad the scene is over, or that his battle with Shigaraki has finally met a bloody end?

“I didn’t like…the baton…” he shudders and starts to cry again.

Shouta pauses what he’s doing to wrap his arms around Tenko from behind. He kisses his neck tenderly and mumbles softly into his ear. “I’m sorry, kitten. I’ll never use it on you again. Thank you for being honest. You’re such a good boy.”

Tenko sniffles and Shouta leans back to continue his work, plucking out the worst of the splinters from the board.

“But I liked…” Tenko tries. He’s still sobbing. “I’m sorry…”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Shouta assures him, knuckles tenderly running up and down his side. “It’s okay if you enjoyed something, Tenko. It doesn’t make you bad. You’re so good. So sweet. So kind. So gentle.” He kisses some of the cuts on his back with each word. “You can talk to me.”

Tenko whimpers. “I liked…I just like when you…when you look at me…and when you’re inside of me. I liked it…I d-don’t care if you were rough, I just…I liked being held down by you.”

It’s so shockingly…sweet. Tenko’s brain isn’t operating in the realm of kink. He’s not thinking about whether he liked being spanked or if the chase was thrilling to him. He’s thinking about the connection. Skin to skin, possession, oneness. He may not have liked a single thing that happened tonight, but…he likes Shouta .

“Good boy,” he says softly as he pulls bandages from his pocket. He needs to clean the wounds out properly and there are two particular spots which need stitches, but he’ll wait until they’re away from here. “I like it too,” he says as he begins to wrap the bandage around Tenko’s back and chest, covering knife wounds too. “I like feeling you, Tenko.”

“Really?” comes the whispering response.

“Really,” he says truthfully. “Remember when you were cockwarming me in my office a few days ago? It was so intimate. You felt so right.”

“You…like me?” Tenko asks.

Shouta finishes wrapping the bandage, then opens a package of wipes and turns Tenko’s face toward him. “I don’t just like you, sweet boy,” he says with an encouraging smile. “You’re precious to me.” He wipes the blood from Tenko’s lip and cheekbone, careful not to apply pressure to the forming bruises. “My special boy.”

Tears roll down his cheeks as he stares at Shouta, eyes flicking back and forth between Shouta’s good eye and…

Oh. That’s right.

He slides the eyepatch off and meets Tenko’s gaze. He’s completely blind in the one eye, but he can see Tenko’s relief and wonder the moment he unveils it.

Tenko lifts his hand as if he intends to trace the scars surrounding the milky eye, but then he winces and looks at his mangled hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll wrap those up next,” Shouta promises as he cleans the bodily fluids from Tenko’s face as much as he can.

“You broke them all,” Tenko whispers. “You…you were going to break the ones you promised not to!” Hurt and betrayal flash in his red eyes. “It was a limit, but you were going to do it anyway!” He’s sobbing again. “Why?!”

“Tenko, look at me.” He drops the wipe and holds his face with both hands. “Sweet boy, I was never going to break all of your fingers. I would never, ever cross one of your limits.”

“But you…” He’s starting to hyperventilate. “You grabbed them! You were going to… And before that, you said you were going to squeeze my balls even though you know I didn’t want that! How can I trust you?!”

Shouta tucks hair behind his ears and smiles gently, hoping to convey his feelings. “I needed to make sure you would safeword if it was too much for you, baby. I had to make sure you were still with me. I was in complete control, I never forgot your limits, I never wanted to or planned to violate them. I needed to make sure you could think clearly.”

Tenko’s eyes widen slightly, his bottom lip continues to warble. “You weren’t going to…?”

“No,” Shouta says firmly. “If you hadn’t used the safeword or signal, I would have stopped and gotten you back into a clear headspace. I told you, I’ll never do something to you without your consent. Tenko, I would never have broken all of your fingers.”

Tenko swallows. “I thought…I’m sorry…”

“I know,” Shouta says, “you don’t have to apologize. I scared you. I’m sorry.”

Tenko sniffles again, then droops his head. “I used the safeword,” he whispers. “I did my best.”

“You did,” Shouta agrees. He pulls the boy against him in a tight hug. “You did, Tenko! You did such a good job, I’m so proud of you. I’m so, so proud of you. You were so brave. Such a smart, good boy. You used it three times. That’s amazing.”

“It’s because you taught me…” Tenko whispers, and his wounded expression has a hint of shyness that makes Shouta’s chest swell. He’s displaying more emotion than just despair and confusion now. “We talked about it a lot before and I…didn’t want to disappoint you. I tried to…I wanted to pay attention to when I was too scared to keep going.”

“Don’t give me the credit, kitten,” he says. “You did that all on your own. I’m so proud. Three times…” he lowers his head and kisses him softly—three long, gentle kisses. “I’m going to reward you later. What if I take you to three of your favorite places? Anywhere you want to go.”

“Like…the café with the pancakes?”

“Anywhere. You deserve it and so much more, Tenko. I’m so proud.”

Tenko lets out a contented sigh. “Can I go as your…” He stops mid sentence and sighs again, but it’s sad now.

“As my partner?” Shouta guesses. “As my date? My boyfriend?”

Tenko tucks his head against Shouta’s chest and shivers. “It’s stupid. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not stupid,” Shouta argues. He cards his fingers through the boy’s hair and kisses the top of his head. “Of course. I never asked you to pretend, Tenko. I’ve never tried to hide you.”

“But I…I’m Shigaraki and you’re Eraser Head. If people knew…”

“Tenko, those are pieces of who we are and who we’ve been, but they’re not who we’re becoming and they’re not going to hold us back. We’ve put them behind us, right? I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. I’m not exactly a people-pleaser.”

“I just thought…you might be ashamed…”

“Not even a little.” Shouta leans back and takes one of Tenko’s hands, carefully binding and splinting the broken fingers. “I care about you, Tenko. So much.”

“I…told Deku about us,” he says suddenly while Shouta tends to his remaining hand. “Kind of.”

Shouta smirks. “That explains his horrified behavior lately. I’ve caught him staring at my crotch a dozen times in class. Once in the locker rooms.”

“I’ll kill him,” Tenko mutters.

“Jealous?” Shouta teases. He smiles at the responding pout this earns.

Good. We’re doing great so far. You’re going to be okay, Tenko.

“Nothing to worry about, kitten,” he says softly as he unfolds the blanket and tosses it over Tenko’s shoulders. “I’m all yours.”

Shouta has been for a long time. It was one of the reasons he stopped hooking up with Hizashi months ago. Well, that, and Oboro’s eventual healing from Kurogiri which drew away most of Hizashi’s attention anyway.

“Look at us,” Hizashi had laughed. “Snatched up by All For One’s Frankenstein monsters.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, you do, Shou, you don’t gotta pretend with me. We’re not fooling each other anymore. So, let’s call it good. I’ll go dance with the corpse, and you can dance with Japan’s biggest mass murderer.”

He pushes back the memory for now. “Are you ready to go home?” Shouta asks.

Tenko responds with a small nod. Shouta stands, helping the younger man to his feet. Tenko grunts in pain and leans heavily against him, legs shaking and knees buckling under his weight.

“I-I can’t…”

Shouta scoops him into his arms, again ignoring the protests of his residual limb. Tenko’s not small, but he’s not huge either, and he’s always been on the lighter side. Shouta can manage to carry him to the car.

The man’s arms wrap around his neck and he nuzzles against Shouta’s chest, breathing in his scent as Shouta hobbles out of the warehouse. He leaves the tools and lights abandoned for now. He can come later to clean up. Tenko is the most important thing right now.

Unlike the car ride here, he places Tenko in the passenger seat and tucks the blanket securely around him. He gets in the driver’s seat and reaches back to grab a lunch box he’d packed for tonight. A small water bottle with a straw, some crackers, and pain killers are inside.

“Do you think you can drink anything?” he asks gently as Tenko slumps against the center console. “I brought pain medicine too, but I don’t want you to take it on an empty stomach, so if you think you can stomach some crackers, I have those too.”

“My stomach…burns,” Tenko complains. “But I’ll try some water.”

“Don’t push yourself,” Shouta says as he pops the straw on the water bottle and holds it up for him. “You’re doing well, Tenko.”

Tenko sips at the straw for a moment, then gives up and hangs his head. “‘m cold,” he complains.

“I’ll turn the heat on for you, just sit tight.”

He cranks the heat up, despite his own flushed temperature and sweating back and stump, then turns his attention to the road. “Can you stay awake for me, Tenko?” He recalls at least once when the back of Tenko’s head cracked against concrete. He’s not showing obvious signs of a concussion, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

“‘ll try…” he responds quietly.

“Good boy,” Shouta praises. He keeps one hand on Tenko’s arm the entire drive, letting him know that he’s still here. He’s still got him.

It’s not a long drive, and Shouta spends almost the entire time going through his plan for the rest of the night. The scene was brutal, but he’s sure he can tend to the vast majority of Tenko’s wounds on his own. What he’s more concerned about is his mental state.

Right now, he’s at least above water. But he’s always been fragile, emotional, self-conscious, and insecure. One wrong move or wrong word and his tame kitten could become a feral stray. And when that happens…

Is he going to hate me for what I did to him?

Shouta’s hand twists on the steering wheel. There’s no time for thoughts like that. Don’t get distracted.

“Shou…” Tenko murmurs. “…dog?”

Shouta frowns. “Dog?”

Tenko lifts his head slightly so his face isn’t muffled by the blanket. “Is the dog okay?”

Shouta’s eyes widen in surprise, followed by a syrupy sweet feeling in his chest that he can’t quite describe. “Of course you’re worried about the dog more than yourself.”

“You left him alone,” Tenko whispers. “I don’t like…when things are left alone.”

Shouta reaches up and ruffles his hair. “Mochi is fine. She’s Oboro’s therapy dog. He let me borrow her but he was nearby, which is why she was barking so much. He had her favorite treat bag on the other side of the fence.”

Now, Tenko’s head lifts completely and he stares at Shouta with wide red eyes. “You told him…what you were doing with me?”

Shouta nods seriously as he keeps his vision on the road, despite the pull of Tenko’s eyes. “I told him and Hizashi, and also asked Recovery Girl to be on standby.”

“But why?!”

“Because I needed to make sure there were people I trusted who could help if things went wrong,” he explained. “I planned everything, but anything can happen, Tenko. Our scene was extremely violent. During our chase, you could have gotten stuck somewhere that I couldn’t reach you, or hurt, or any number of things. You could have lost complete clarity and wanted to be away from me. I needed people who could be there instantly if you needed help. I had to protect you.”

Tenko is quiet for a moment as he digests this information. “You…really planned everything out…to keep me safe?”

“Of course I did,” Shouta says instantly. “Every detail.”

He hears Tenko choke on a sob, then feels his unbroken fingers grip his sleeve. “Thank you…” Tenko cries. “Shouta…”

Thank you?

The words don’t quite register. They sound foreign, amorphous, intangible. Later, he thinks. I’ll think about it later.

He finally parks, closes his eyes, and braces himself for a bit more pain. Tenko’s body is slack as Shouta scoops him out of the passenger seat, again ignoring the protest of his leg.

I’ll carry you until you can stand on your own feet again, Tenko. Always.

He carries the trembling, wounded man inside, and only breathes a sigh of relief after he’s gently deposited him on the bed.

Tenko’s eyes close and he presses his face against the sheets, breathing in deeply. “I like it here,” he whispers. “This is my favorite place.”

Shouta smiles, despite everything. The expression is short-lived, however, as he notices the blood seeping through the bandages on Tenko’s back.

His field training kicks in again, years of treating wounds as a hero in emergency situations.

“Tenko, I need to treat the cuts on your back. I have to do that before I can get you washed up, okay?”

“Is it going to hurt?” Tenko asks.

“I’ll use a topical pain reliever first, so you’ll likely only feel a pinch as I stitch you up.”

Tenko shivers. “Stitches…?”

“Just a couple. Unless you’d like me to call Recovery Girl here to heal you up.”

In all honesty, Shouta wishes Tenko would consent to being patched up by Recovery Girl. He’d give almost anything to see the wounds he inflicted magically fade into non-existence. Then, perhaps, he could pretend that the force of each strike and the tension of his muscles behind every blow—every snarled word and cut of his capture scarf—that it was all just a dream.

But he knows…

“ No,” Tenko whines. “I don’t want anyone else, I just want you. And I don’t want…I need to…” he shivers again.

“I know,” Shouta says, softly brushing his hip bone with his knuckles. “You need the pain.”

He nods. “Just for a little while. I have to know that it’s real, that I did it. I put Shigaraki in his place.”

“Then, you’ll have to let me suture you up. Can you do that, Tenko?”

Tenko nods in confirmation. “I trust you.”

You trust me? After all of that, you still trust me. Good. Thank you.

“I’m going to carry you to the table where the lighting is better. Give me just a moment to lay out some towels and get my kit.”

Tenko’s eyes flash with that same panic from earlier. He doesn’t want to be left alone. Shouta gives him a reassuring smile. “I’ll leave the door open so you can hear me.”

It’s reluctant, but Tenko finally nods.

Shouta moves quickly. Prepping his kitchen table for a makeshift operation. He’s got a suture kit, chemical-free wipes, and syringes he fills with fresh water to flush the wounds. He briskly returns to his bedroom to find Tenko’s eyes fixed on the wall, staring unfocused into space.

“Come here, kitten. I’ve got you.”

He receives no protest as he scoops Tenko back into his arms and takes him to the table. The young man is silent, hardly flinching as Shouta jabs him with a needle near the wound sites to relieve pain. There are two cuts across his shoulders and upper back that go too deep, one from the edge of the board, when Tenko had jerked to get away from the hit, resulting in Shouta misdirecting the blow and hitting him with the edge of the board. The second was intentional. He’d cut deep with the jagged edge of the broken board, anticipating a result like this. Tenko needed more than just surface-level scratches in order to feel as though he’d been thoroughly punished, so Shouta had sparingly chosen a few extreme methods.

“Still with me, kitten?” he asks as he carefully cleans the outside of the cuts with soapy water, using a washcloth and mild soap to clean up the rest of his back as well.

Tenko doesn’t answer, so Shouta moves around the table and crouches down to look levelly at his unfocused eyes. “Tenko,” he whispers as he strokes his cheek. “I need you here with me.”

Tenko blinks groggily. His mouth opens and his lips tremble for a moment. “I’m here,” he says, in hardly more than a breath.

“Good boy.” Shouta kisses his forehead, then returns to his work. He flushes the gashes with water from the syringes, then uses tweezers to pluck out the remaining splinters. He uses a flashlight to make sure he hasn’t missed anything still lodged in Tenko’s skin, then finally preps the needle.

Tenko’s body tenses as Shouta pierces the needle into his skin and threads the wound closed.

“Good job, baby,” Shouta soothes. “Almost done. Then, I’m going to get you all cleaned up in the shower, okay?”

“‘kay,” Tenko murmurs.

“Something wrong, kitten?” Shouta asks, worried by the shift in attitude.

“Just tired…and…I feel…out of body, I guess.”

“That’s normal. Just try your best to stay here with me. I’ll take care of you.”

He finally finishes tying the sutures and leans back to analyze his work. It’s messy, and it will definitely scar if Tenko refuses aid from Recovery Girl within the next few days, but altogether, the damage isn’t excessive. Dark bruises will ache for days, the rash from being dragged across concrete will likely burn for a while, but beyond this… He’ll be okay.

“I’m going to clean up your feet and the cut on your chest next. We’re almost done.”

Again, Tenko is silent as Shouta works. The quiet is nerve wracking, because he has no way of knowing what’s happening in the young man’s mind, and can only hope that he’s experiencing a bit of dissociation after their scene.

“I’ll help you roll over,” Shouta says, then guides Tenko’s body onto his side, not fully onto his wounded back. He cleans up the knife cuts, which thankfully aren’t deep but still need to be kept clean.

“Shouta…?” Tenko’s meek voice calls out. “Is it true…that Kurogiri was your best friend? And that Midnight was the reason you became a teacher?”

Shouta pauses and looks at his face. Tenko is averting his gaze, a bitter frown on his lips. “Both true,” Shouta admits reluctantly.

Tenko bites his lip, expression screwing further into one of regret. “I didn’t know…I’m—”

“It’s also true that I don’t blame you for what happened to them,” Shouta interrupts. “Shirakumo was killed when you were no more than a child. Kayama was killed by Gigantomachia. Both of those events were orchestrated by All for One, not by you.”

“You…don’t blame me?” Tenko repeats. “But earlier…”

Shouta straightens up abruptly and pulls Tenko into his arms once more, hoisting him up to carry him to the bathroom. “I said many horrible things earlier as part of the scene,” he says softly. “Things I don’t believe.”

“But it’s true,” Tenko sniffles. “I was…a selfish, murdering, worthless asshole.”

“No,” Shouta says as he places Tenko down on the toilet seat. “You were a victim, and while the things you did and caused were unforgivable acts, you are not unforgivable, Tenko. I forgave you a long time ago.”

Tenko nods numbly but doesn’t respond to this.

“I need you to know that I didn’t mean anything I said to you during the scene, Tenko. Not a single word.” He says this as he turns on the shower and waits for it to heat up.

“I know,” Tenko says quietly. “I know that…I think.”

“Come here,” Shouta commands, hooking an arm around him to help him to his feet. As expected, Tenko whines and stumbles, unable to stand on his own legs. “Sit here.” He helps ease him onto the shower chair that Shouta uses when he’s not wearing his prosthetic.

While Tenko is adjusting, trying to find a way to sit on the plastic chair that doesn’t hurt his bruised ass, Shouta strips out of his own clothes.

“Wait!” Tenko gasps as Shouta steps into the shower in front of him. “What about your peg leg?! Can you get it wet?”

Shouta chuckles as he pulls the shower curtain closed. “It’s not a peg leg, for one thing. Also, it’s waterproof. It was designed by a hero support agency, the same one that manufactures my capture items.” He leaves out the fact that, waterproof and designed for intensive physical activity or not, he’s still in growingly immense pain from tonight’s events. It’s fine. I’ll worry about me later. “But I appreciate your concern.” He picks up the handheld shower head and makes sure the spray is soft before working up Tenko’s body. “You’re a sweet boy.”

Tenko whimpers at the sensation of the water infiltrating his scrapes and cuts.

“Too hot?”

“No…it’s good.”

Shouta works slowly, rinsing dirt, blood, and other unmentionable bodily fluids down the drain.

“Tilt your head forward, baby,” he commands. “I don’t want to get water in your back wounds.” He did throw some waterproof bandages over the suture areas, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Tenko obeys, letting white hair spill forward between them. Shouta lifts the shower head and begins to work through the mane of wintery white, watching as the dirty water swirls around the drain.

An unbidden sigh of pleasure escapes Shouta’s lips as his fingers run through Tenko’s hair. He’s not sure what does it. The passing thought that Tenko looks like an angel right now? Or the image of a flurry of soft snow drifting onto Shouta’s weathered hands? Whatever it is, he can’t stop the flutter of something escaping his jar of carefully measured emotions.

“Shouta?” Tenko asks, voice almost inaudible over the sound of the water. “I know you didn’t mean it, but… Be honest. Do you think…the war wouldn’t have happened if I was…never born?”

I told him that. I told him the world would have been better if he’d never been brought into it.

“No, I don’t.” He tips Tenko’s chin up and meets his gaze. “All for One would have found someone to use as a pawn and the end result would have been the same.”

“You don’t know that,” Tenko says, eyelashes gathering fresh tears. It’s amazing he can still produce them after all the crying he’s done tonight. “Maybe less people would have died. Maybe you wouldn’t be…you wouldn’t have lost so much…you—”

“Wouldn’t have you. ”

Tenko inhales sharply, his eyes widening and a stray tear slipping down his cheek.

“Listen to me carefully, Tenko Shimura,” he says, pushing white hair back so he can maintain their gaze. “This world is a better place because you’re in it.”

Tenko’s pupils retract and he scoffs. He looks panicked, but also as though he’s in awe, clinging desperately to every word his mentor speaks. “That’s just objectively false, old man,” he says, as more tears fall. “You’re a biased fool.”

“Biased or not, it’s true,” Shouta argues. “As I said before, All for One would have used someone else if you weren’t available. And there’s no telling if that person would have been redeemable, unlike you, Tenko. Moreover…” He drops the shower head and crouches down, then takes both of the man’s hands in his own, rubbing the backs of them with his thumbs and avoiding the broken fingers. “I’ve seen the good you do, Tenko.”

“What good?” Tenko asks, eyes sincerely searching for a response.

“You think no one sees it,” Shouta says fondly, “because you try to hide it. But tell me, Tenko, the money you earn from your part time job and from your video game streaming… What do you use it for?”

Tenko looks away. “Stupid shit,” he says quickly. “More games. Ramen. I bought a dildo a couple weeks ago.”

“Fine, I’ll give you that. Occasionally you buy superfluous things, but you’re not paying rent or other bills right now, so where does the rest of the money go? Into savings?”

Tenko is silent.

“I’ll tell you, since I actually monitor your spending habits.” Shouta brushes his pouting lip with a thumb. “You donate almost every single cent, don’t you? To charities that help people struggling from the aftershocks of the war.”

Tenko’s cheeks turn pink and more silent tears fall.

“And I know who’s been leaving food out for the stray dogs around campus,” Shouta continues. “You had four fifty-pound bags of dog food delivered to your door last week and you don’t own a dog. It’s actually becoming a problem because the bird population is getting out of control. They had to put up nets to stop them from nesting on the buildings.”

Tenko grits his teeth, eyes going wild. “Someone has to feed them! There’s no room at the shelters…”

“Speaking of shelters,” Shouta adds, “you tell me that you sleep in on Sundays because you stay up all night playing games, but you forget that it’s my job to keep tabs on you, Tenko. I’ve seen you sneak out to volunteer at the dinky little animal shelter nearby, since they’re understaffed on Sundays.”

“Shut up,” Tenko grumbles, whole face going pink now. “So, I like dogs and I throw a few dollars at charity. I’m not doing some kind of massive good for the world.”

“You think these actions are small, Tenko, but they do affect the world around you in a positive way. If you can’t accept that, then fine. I’ll speak from my own bias. I’m glad you exist. My life is better because you’re in it.”

Tenko’s head droops. “Bullshit…”

“Tenko…” Shouta leans in and captures his mouth in a kiss.

“S-Stop!” Tenko whines. “I haven’t brushed my teeth, it’s all puke and blood in there.”

Shouta grabs his face and stares seriously at him. “I love how sweet you are. I love how kind you are. I love your bratty side, your sarcasm, and the trust you place in me. I love this blush, I love your shy smiles, I love your mischievous tendency to send me nudes when I’m trying to teach class. I promise you, I am glad you exist, and I would have it no other way.”

“You’re cringey,” Tenko sobs. “W-What happened to stoic and cool Eraser ahead? You’re all soft and lovey dovey now, like…like a mom or something. Got some weird mommy kink?”

Shouta knows that this is Tenko’s way of deflecting praise that he doesn’t think he deserves and is too embarrassed to accept, and that’s fine. The fact that he has energy for sass is a good sign. He’s still bantering with Shouta like normal. As if Shouta didn’t just enact an entire violent rape scene on him tonight.

“Would you like it better if I was cold toward you?” Shouta teases. “If that’s the case—”

“No!” Tenko says quickly. “I didn’t mean…I’m sorry, I…”

“I know,” Shouta chuckles. “I’m teasing. Now, let me wash your hair.”

Tenko swallows, then nods. He dips his head forward again and lets Shouta rinse it with the shower head once more. Then, Shouta reaches for a bottle from the shelf and Tenko groans.

“Don’t use your gross two-in-one dandruff shampoo on me, old man.”

Shouta sighs. “I don’t use dandruff shampoo, Tenko. And don’t worry, I bought you some women’s shampoo and conditioner.” He dangles the bottle in front of Tenko’s face. “I know you.”

Tenko gives another weak scoff. “Apparently not, if you think I wanna smell like lavender honey.”

“It’s sweet,” Shouta shrugs, “and good for long and voluminous hair, so hush.”

Surprisingly, Tenko obeys, falling silent as Shouta works the shampoo through his long locks. Again, he’s shaken by the sheer enjoyment he gets from this task. Fingers foaming with soap as they tease soft strands and massage his scalp… The soft sighs of pleasure Tenko releases. The way his head bobs with the motion of Shouta’s palms. It’s invigorating— beautiful even.

He rinses the soap and sets to work with the conditioner, marveling at how silkily it moves through already soft hair. The conditioner sets while he lathers a sponge and carefully cleans Tenko’s body, moving delicately over cuts and scrapes, never putting too much pressure on the tender bruises that have formed all over his skin.

“How’s the pain?” he asks as he crouches and lifts one of Tenko’s feet and begins to scrub the wounded sole.

“…Bad,” Tenko mutters. “Like I got hit by Star and Stripe at close range. Hurts worse on the inside.”

Shouta’s stomach clenches and his hands fumble for a moment. “I have pain medication for you, but I’ll need you to eat at least a little bit so it doesn’t irritate your stomach lining.”

“I’m okay for now,” Tenko says. “The pain…is…kind of a relief. That’s crazy, right? It feels good to be in pain like this. It’s been a long time.” He lets out a dry laugh. “It’s been since I was Shigaraki.”

He’s taking comfort in the pain. That’s a relief…

Shouta had prepared for the worst. He’d been half convinced that Tenko would completely break. He’d shatter like glass, screaming and inconsolable no matter what Shouta did. His pain would be miserable and he would be too feral to let Shouta help ease it. He had imagined nightmare scenarios where Tenko cowered in the corner away from him, hissing and spitting like an animal—where his red eyes gleamed with absolute betrayal.

Those fears had haunted Shouta to the point that he’d been tempted to call off the scene more than once before tonight. But he knew he had to do this. For Tenko.

It’s a relief…no, a blessing that Tenko doesn’t hate him and wish he was dead. It’s a miracle that Tenko is letting him touch him, allowing his hands to carefully fondle his sensitive balls as he gently washes his skin.

I did nothing to deserve this kind of trust.

He lets the shower head hang as he leans out of the shower and reaches for the sink counter, plucking a toothbrush and toothpaste into his hands. “Don’t worry, it’s a new brush,” he says as he settles back in front of the man. “Open your mouth.”

“I’m not going to let you brush my teeth!” Tenko says in surprise. “I can do it myself!” He lifts his hand, then winces as he remembers his broken fingers.

“Open up for me, kitten.”

Tenko hesitantly obeys and Shouta squeezes toothpaste onto the bristles, wetting them in the spray of the shower before scrubbing Tenko’s teeth. White eyelashes flutter closed and Tenko opens wide to give him access.

“Good boy,” Shouta praises. “So obedient. Such a willing, sweet kitten.”

He doesn’t miss the suppressed moan that rumbles in Tenko’s throat, nor the visible stiffening of his cock between his parted legs. Tenko shudders as the brush strokes his tongue, his cock gives an adorable twitch, and Shouta has to discipline himself not to let the reactions stir up his own bare cock.

This isn’t about you, Shouta, he chastises himself. Take care of your boy.

“Good,” Shouta says. “Now spit.”

Tenko obeys, spitting onto the floor so Shouta can rinse the toothpaste down the drain.

“Feeling a bit more human now?” Shouta asks as he rinses the conditioner from Tenko’s hair.

“No,” Tenko says quietly. “I feel like a spoiled kitten.”

“Excellent,” Shouta smiles as he turns off the water. “That’s exactly what you are.”

He spends the next thirty minutes drying Tenko’s body and hair, wrapping him in blankets, feeding him a few crackers and helping him drink some electrolytes so he can give him the pain medicine, and finally carrying him to the bed again, now fitted with fresh sheets.

“Is there anything else you need?” Shouta asks. “Anything else you’d like me to do for you?”

Tenko shakes his head. His eyes are even sleepier now as the painkiller kicks in.

“How about a massage? I have some bruise cream I could apply.”

Tenko considers this for a moment before finally nodding. “Okay.” He pulls Miss Fluffy-Butt against his face and breathes a sigh as he turns onto his side to let Shouta access the bruises.

“Feels good,” the younger man murmurs as Shouta gently rubs the cream over dark spots, careful to avoid his wounds. His hands are gentle as he rubs the curve of his ass, where the baton beat dark lines into his skin. Carefully over his thighs and hips, kneading hard skin and gliding over old scars. “I like…when you touch me.”

Shouta is pleased to hear this. He’s also acutely aware of how Tenko’s body seems to be in agreement with his words. Ever since the shower, his cock has shifted between states of softness and various levels of stiffness. Now, as Shouta squeezes his thighs and lets his thumbs trace the veins above his hips, Tenko’s erection swells fully.

“Tenko,” he croons as his thumb brushes through the patch of white hair above the base of his cock. “Would you like me to do something about this?”

He asks because he’s not sure what Tenko can handle right now, and doesn’t want to push him or compound any feelings of shame he might have.

Tenko rolls further onto his back and looks down, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “You don’t have to,” he says quickly.

“I asked if you’d like me to.”

Red eyes blow wide and his bottom lip trembles until his tongue soothes it into compliance. “If…If you want to.”

Shouta’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Still not what I asked, kitten.”

Tenko’s hips squirm, speaking for him. “Y-Yeah, fine. I want you to. I… Please?”

“Gladly. Just tell me if you want me to stop.” He nestles down, spreading Tenko’s legs as he settles between them. “Give me the hair tie on my nightstand.”

Tenko reaches over with his bandaged dominant hand, retrieving the item with his undamaged fingers. Shouta takes it from trembling fingers, then stares Tenko in the eye as he scoops up his own raven hair and ties it back. He gets the satisfying response of a twitching cock, which clearly appreciates this action, or maybe the sight of Shouta with his hair pulled back.

His fingers wrap around the base of Tenko’s cock and begin to drag upward. He has the passing thought that he’s glad cock and ball torture is one of the man’s hard limits, because the thought of harming something so gorgeous is almost unbearable. 

He’s brought back to the night when Tenko came to him asking for guided masturbation. He remembers watching him masturbate, eyes fixed on his pretty dribbling cock and even prettier hole. And all the nudes he has saved on his phone right now, images of Tenko hard and dripping with pleasure for him… He likes it. Likes the way it looks and the way it reacts to him.

Even during the scene… Seeing Tenko’s dick stiffening while he fucked him, despite the pain and turmoil he was experiencing… fuck, that was the only reason Shouta was even able to finish. It had been a struggle to get hard when his lover was broken and bruised beneath him, it was almost nauseating to feel pleasure as he violated him. But then, the boy was hard, moaning, and cumming, and it was enough to bring Shouta to that precipice as well.

His fingers lovingly glide up pale skin, tracing the bulge of a vein on the way to the head.

Shouta’s cock is big, sure, but Tenko is impressive enough in his own right. But that’s the contradiction that Shouta so loves about him. The seemingly impossible coexistence of a small and needy boy, with the imposing strength of a man. It’s captivating. Alluring. Mouthwatering.

His lips part and he prepares to take him in, but stops when Tenko’s hand lifts again and Shouta’s name tumbles from his lips. “Shouta, wait!”

He lifts his head in time to feel the brush of fingertips on his cheek, and to see the devastated expression on Tenko’s face, as if he just realized something horrible. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Tenko whimpers. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Shouta, I’m sorry.”

“Tenko…”

“I scratched you,” he continues in a sob. “I panicked. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Shouta had forgotten about the cuts on his own face. He smiles, drags his lips to Tenko’s fingers, and kisses them softly. “I’m fine, I promise. I expected my kitten to scratch a little.”

“No, you don’t understand, I…” he covers his face with his arm and sobs harder. “I didn’t want to hurt you! Fuck, how can you stand to look at me? This is so fucked up… I know what you’re doing! You’ve been taking care of me and saying all this nice shit, but you don’t mean it, you’re just trying to make me feel better because it’s all true, isn’t it? I’m a worthless piece of shit, I’m selfish, I should be dead, and you shouldn’t have to coddle me like a fucking baby, goddammit!”

Shouta is taken aback for a moment, even though he’s already taking action. Tenko’s emotions have been a roller coaster since the scene, but this is what suddenly plunges him into despair? Not the torment he endured at Shouta’s hands, but the thought that he hurt Shouta?

He climbs up and pulls Tenko into his arms again, already crushing him in an embrace. “Sh…” he soothes. “None of that is true, Tenko.”

“It is!” He wails. “I don’t deserve you! All I do is talk shit like a mean little bitch, use you, burden you, and hurt you! I’ll never deserve you! You should have killed me!”

“No, Tenko. You’re perfect. You’re not a burden. And…” he kisses him, refusing to let the boy pull away. “I’m already yours.”

Tenko cries, but then he’s kissing Shouta back, sobbing as his mouth crashes desperately into his, tongue needily invading to dance with his own, teeth clacking on Shouta’s, whines and moans humming between them.

“I don’t mean it,” Tenko mutters against his lips. “When I’m mean to you… I don’t mean it. I’m sorry I made fun of your leg and act like you’re a gross old man, I don’t mean it. ”

“I know, Tenko. I know.”

“No, you DON’T!” he shrieks, making Shouta flinch. He kisses him again, harder this time, pushing down on him and grinding his cock against Shouta’s hip. “You don’t get it, Shouta Aizawa, I…”

His red eyes are wild, pleading as they burn into him. He rolls Shouta onto his back and straddles him, palms pressing against his chest and bandaged fingers snagging on skin. His white hair, fluffy from being blown dry after the shower, looks like an ethereal fog surrounding his face and cascading over his shoulders. He’s a vision. He’s an arctic wolf and Shouta can only stare in wonder as his lips part to bare gleaming teeth, the moment before the words spill.

“I love you.”

Tenko’s panting now. He looks disoriented for a moment, and then his expression shifts into one of absolute resolve.

“I love you, Shouta.”

Tears spill from the marble sculpture’s eyes and splash onto Shouta’s stomach.

“I love you, and I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me. All of it. Especially tonight.”

Shouta huffs out a breath of air. A tremble works through his body, the vibrations of a familiar feeling. Even with seven broken fingers, Tenko Shimura is still able to hold and shake the glass jar of Shouta’s emotions. He’s unsettled. The lid barely containing the flurry of activity unleashed by this confession.

“S-So, you can hate me all you want,” Tenko continues, his cheeks beginning to burn again. “It doesn’t matter because…you’re not getting rid of me, ever.”

Shouta’s heart is beating so loudly and so heavily in his chest that he hardly even hears all of this. Before he can gather composure, he’s moving, shoving Tenko back onto the mattress with little regard for the wounds he so carefully tended to earlier.

Getting rid of you?

He spreads his legs apart and wastes no time with worship or adoration this time. He draws Tenko’s cock into his mouth and sucks, earning a startled gasp of pleasure from his partner.

That’s my line, baby boy.

“S-Shit, fuck, t-take it easy, hero!”

Shouta pays him no heed, only taking him in deeper and humming around his pulsing cock. He wishes he could finger him too, or better yet, make him cum on his cock. But he has the sense to stay away from anything involving Tenko’s ass right now after the abuse he’s suffered tonight. Instead, he doubles his efforts on the blowjob, sloppily drooling and gagging as he lets Tenko’s cock drag along his throat.

“Shouta, I… god, I’m so pathetic, I’m gonna…” Tenko mewls and bucks up into Shouta’s mouth. “Why are you…so stupidly sexy?”

Shouta? Sexy? No. Certainly not in comparison to him.

“S-Stop, I’m c-cumming!”

Shouta holds his thighs down to stop him from crushing them around his head, then takes him in as deeply as he can, tongue milking the orgasm from Tenko’s cock. He tastes the bitterness of thick cum on his tongue and eagerly swallows, throat contracting around the still pumping cockhead.

Still, he refuses to pull away, even after Tenko’s muscles relax and he whimpers in defeat, cock beginning to soften in Shouta’s mouth. He waits, tenderly suckling and massaging the softening cock with his tongue. There’s no real reason to, other than the fact that he’s just not willing to release him yet. He could stay like this all night, feeling Tenko’s cock harden and soften in his mouth again and again like phases of the white, glowing moon.

I’ve never felt like this before.

Shouta had been with many people, in various types of relationships. A few he would have considered serious. But no one… No one had ever shaken him quite like Tenko. No one had threatened to shatter the carefully constructed jar housing his emotions like this. A simple confession. I love you, and Shouta feels the flutter of moths escaping the lid, drawn toward the ever-luring moon.

He finally lifts his head, then climbs back up to hold Tenko in his arms. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Tenko breathes. “Fuck, how are you so good at everything you do?”

“I’m not perfect, Tenko. I just want to make you happy.” He’s surprised by his own admission, but realizes that it’s true. “Can I get you anything else? Can I do anything else for you, kitten?”

“No…just hold me. I want to sleep…in your arms.”

“Of course,” Shouta says warmly, carding his fingers through Tenko’s hair.

He sits up to finally remove his prosthetic and free his aching leg, then switches off the nightstand lamp before pulling Tenko back into his arms and tucking a blanket over them. Tenko curls against him, sighing happily as Shouta wraps an arm around him and presses lingering kisses into his mane of hair.

The night has been long and the memory of the violent scene they enacted is like a fuzzy slideshow in Shouta’s mind, still frames of brutal moments like clips from a horror movie. He doesn’t have the time or energy to dissect them yet. What’s important is that Tenko is okay. He’s in Shouta’s arms, right where he belongs, right where Shouta can keep him safe.

Everything else, including Shouta’s jar of blinking, fluttering, and jumping emotions, can be set aside for now.

His kitten is safe.

Chapter Text

It’s not the pain that wakes him up. It’s the prickle of something scratchy rubbing against his cheek, then the feeling of something feather-light and soft brushing his lips. When Tenko opens his eyes to the warm slatted sunlight from the window, the first thing he sees—the only thing he sees—is Shouta’s smiling face.

His expression is warmer than the late morning sun or the heat of the fuzzy blanket. His eyes are studying Tenko’s face, tracing every detail, a warm ember lit in the dark pupil that seems to spark with emotion. He’s looking at Tenko with wonder or exaltation —in a way no one has ever looked at him before.

“Good morning,” he says quietly, and Tenko realizes his hand is in his hair, palm cupping his face and fingers brushing gently over his skin. “How do you feel, kitten?”

It’s only now that Tenko’s body reminds him…

PAIN.

He didn’t think he could feel worse than he did last night but fuck was he wrong. His body is throbbing, the deep pulse of bruises and aching bones. His head hurts, his throat feels dry, his stomach burns with acid. Shit, none of that compares to what his insides feel like. He’s like churned butter, his ass stings and aches, his guts gurgle with discomfort. And then there’s his fingers. Sharp, splintering pain that shoots up his arms when he even thinks about moving his hands.

“Hurts,” he rasps out. “Real fucking bad.”

Shouta’s face turns serious. “I’ll get you some pain medicine. It would be better if you eat first, but—”

“Fuck that, give me the medicine,” he demands. “I’d take a bleeding ulcer over this pain right about now.”

“Alright, give me a minute.” Shouta sits up and starts to move, but Tenko grabs his arm.

“Wait,” he pouts. “Kiss me first.”

Shouta looks at him and rolls his eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ve been kissing you all morning. That’s not enough for you?”

Tenko’s heart does a gross fluttery thing in his chest. “Y-You have? While I was asleep?”

Shouta’s eye flashes with something that makes heat stir in Tenko’s gut. “You’re very pretty when you sleep, kitten. There’s so much more than kissing that I’d like to do to you.”

Fuck, really? Tenko would have probably creamed himself at that moment if he wasn’t in blistering agony.

Shouta leans over and captures his mouth in a firm but not demanding kiss. More than a peck, definitely, but without the intent of a man who wants to ravish him against the bed right now.

Tenko’s heart is pounding when he finally pulls back and gets up with one of his crutches.

“Need help putting on your leg?”

Shouta freezes then shakes his head. “I’m not wearing it today.”

“Why not? Don’t you wear it every day?”

“Not every day,” he says slowly. “Some days I want a break.”

Tenko looks down at his leg and frowns. “You fucked it up yesterday, didn’t you?”

It takes him too long to answer, so Tenko knows he hit the nail on the head.

“You stupid hero,” he scoffs. “If you planned everything out so perfectly, then why didn’t you think about your own pain?”

Shouta looks over his shoulder at him. “Because it wasn’t about me, Tenko. Besides, a little bit of soreness isn’t going to kill me. It’s nothing compared to what I…” he corrects himself quickly for some reason, “…to what you had to endure.”

Tenko’s not sure why, but the answer doesn’t sit right with him. “Well, don’t do that again. I was the one who was supposed to be punished, remember? I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“You’re very sweet,” Shouta says with a smile.

Tenko blushes and turns his back on him. “I just…love you, okay? So, don’t do anything stupid, you cripple.”

Shouta doesn’t say anything to this, just walks away with his crutch and comes back a couple of minutes later with water and two pills. He strokes Tenko’s thigh while he takes the medicine, then presses a kiss to his hair.

“I’ll make you breakfast. Should I even ask what you want?”

Tenko is still chugging water, suddenly feeling like he’s never had a taste of it in his entire life. He wipes his lips and sends Shouta a pleading look. “Pancakes?”

“That’s what I thought,” Shouta chuckles. “Do you want to stay here or should I help you into the living room so you can watch me cook?”

Tenko blushes, thinking about how domestic it would be to sit there and watch Shouta make him breakfast. But first… “I need to go to the bathroom. And I wanna get dressed. Then…I’ll sit with you.”

“Of course. Can you walk yet or do you need me to carry you?”

Tenko scoffs and slides his legs off the bed, slowly forcing himself to his feet. “You can’t carry me like that, stupid. I’ll walk on my own.” Even as he says this, pain bursts in the soles of his feet, as if he was walking on lava yesterday. Still, it’s manageable if he puts pressure in the right spots.

“Are you sure? You could use one of my crutches if you’d like.”

“I’m fine,” Tenko insists, wobbling a little on his weak legs. He pouts, hesitates, then grumbles… “Fine. One crutch.”

Shouta hands him one and Tenko leans against it with a relieved sigh. “Shout if you need anything. Here are some clothes I got from your house.” He sets a pile of folded clothes on the bed, but Tenko scowls.

“No, you idiot, don’t you know how this trope works?” Tenko rolls his eyes. “You give me one of your baggy shirts to wear and then blush when I walk out of the room in it. God, have you ever watched teen romance?”

“I teach teenagers, Tenko. I try to avoid thinking about them in my private time.”

“Whatever, just give me a shirt already,” Tenko huffs as he grabs a pair of boxers. 

Shouta pulls open a drawer and tosses him a t-shirt, an amused expression on his face. “Will this do?”

It’s just a plain black one because…well because it’s Shouta , so really there’s not a lot of variation. Still, Tenko proudly takes it with him as he stumbles to the bathroom.

It’s the first time he’s been alone since the scene, and even though “alone” translates to “there’s literally only a door between us,” Tenko suddenly feels completely isolated as soon as the door closes behind him. He can’t say whether it’s a good or bad feeling. Immediately, he feels unsteady, his hands feel clammy, and pinpricks of fear spread up his neck. The last time he was alone was before the scene when he was living completely on edge, horrified by the prospect of what was going to happen to him. That same fear and anxiety wrap around his throat now, and for a second, he wonders if last night even happened. Maybe he’s still waiting. Maybe the worst is yet to come. Maybe Tenko is still in danger.

He gulps, puts his hand on the doorknob, and pulls the door open just a sliver. Just enough to see Shouta’s naked back as he pulls on a pair of pants.

He’s still here. I’m still safe.

Alright, so maybe he’s being a pussy, but Tenko decides to leave the door cracked. It’s stupid, but it gives him a sense of security as he sets the clothes on the sink and faces the mirror.

Despite his irrational anxiety, being alone also gives him a chance to self-reflect. He hasn’t been alone with his thoughts or body since last night, and there’s definitely some amount of relief at the freedom of being able to inspect himself, physically and mentally.

His own reflection startles him. It’s been ages since he last saw himself beat up. Sure, it was a common occurrence during the war, not that it mattered with his insane regeneration quirk. That was part of the problem. That was one of the reasons Tenko needed Shouta to punish him. Because back when he was doing the most damage to this world and hurting the most people, he was practically a god—impervious to damage or consequences. But not anymore. Now, the pain lingers, the healing is slow, and he is not some tormented fallen angel. He’s mortal. He’s a normal guy who got the shit beaten out of him, and it feels so…right.

His face is more fucked up than he expected. There’s a scabby cut from the corner of his lips that hurts when he opens his mouth too wide. Another gross slice splits his cheek right on the crest of his cheekbone from when Shouta backhanded him. The impact left a bruise too, still swollen and dark, spreading all the way around his eye. Damn, he looks like this and yet Shouta was staring at him like he’s fucking Adonis this morning?

Still, his face took the least of the damage. Shit, his entire body is a canvas of purple ink blot paintings. Ha, his therapist would probably grimace at that one. Maybe he’d walk into his next session and ask the lady what shapes she sees in the Rorschach patterns on his stomach.

A sick sense of curiosity makes him consider unraveling the bandages around his back so he can see the stitches. He wants to examine every mark. Every cut, scrape, and bruise his hero left on him. Every last detail is proof, not just of Tenko’s strength, but of Shouta’s care for him. It’s precious. It’s all precious.

Alright, maybe the god-awful pain in his innards and stinging asshole aren’t precious. Shit, his stomach lining burns from acid, making him feel like he has the worst heartburn of his life. His lower stomach is cramping horribly. He feels like his guts were put into a blender and the only thing holding them inside of his body is a torn and broken asshole.

“Fuck me,” he groans as he slumps onto the toilet. He really hates that baton.

He’s in the bathroom for so long that eventually, Shouta’s knuckles rap on the door. “Are you okay, Tenko? Do you need anything?”

“No,” Tenko groans. “Just waiting for the painkillers to kick in.”

“Would you like me to wait on the pancakes?”

Tenko smiles at the older man’s fussy nature and rolls his eyes. “No, I’m coming. One minute.”

He forces himself up, grits his teeth through trying to wash his hands with broken fingers, then slips Shouta’s t-shirt over his head. He sighs, disappointed that it doesn’t cloak him like a nightgown and drop all the way to his knees or something. Size diff fantasies are gonna have to live rent-free in his brain instead of reality. Maybe he’ll get Toga to draw some pervy art of it. She’s taken up drawing since her reformation, so why the fuck not?

Even though he was mostly joking about Shouta’s reaction to the t-shirt trope, he still feels a spark of heat and warmth unfurling in his chest when he walks into the kitchen and catches the man’s eye. He scans him up and down, interest written clearly on his face. Tenko puffs his chest proudly. You like that, Shouta Aizawa? I’m all yours.

Shouta pulls out a chair for him and goes back to the stove to flip a pancake. Tenko sits, starting to feel a little more comfortable now. He stares at the man’s back as he cooks, leaning on a crutch while still expertly handling everything in the kitchen. He really is so cool.

For the first time…for the very first time…Tenko looks at his amputated leg, braces for the gut-punch of guilt and the visceral memory of destroying that leg, but…it doesn’t come. Instead, he feels a pang of sadness, and a soft sense of adoration, like he’s looking at a cute dog with a missing paw. For the first time, he’s not terrified of looking for too long. An unearthly sense of acceptance settles on him, and it’s as unsettling as it is liberating.

Is it possible that his brain has already processed last night’s events so quickly? He thought it would take days, or weeks, months to really let the lesson sink in. Yet, as Shouta slides the plate of pancakes in front of him and pours syrup over the cube of melting butter on top, all Tenko feels is peace. Despite the pain, he feels more at ease with himself and in his own skin than he has even once since Deku rescued him.

Shouta sits beside him and starts to cut the pancakes like a parent for a toddler. Tenko’s blush deepens when the man completely shamelessly stabs a fork through three layers of pancake and holds the chunk up to Tenko’s lips.

“Stop, I can eat on my own,” he complains with a pout.

“How? Your fingers are broken.”

Tenko wiggles his three unbroken fingers, although the motion unsettles the broken ones. “There’s a reason I asked for these three, dumbass. I can still hold forks, pens, and a computer mouse.”

“Tenko, please,” Shouta says seriously, and there’s something almost desperate in his eye, something that feels…unsteady. “Let me.”

Tenko clicks his tongue in annoyance but finally opens his mouth obediently. He’s not sure why, but every brush of pancake or metal on his tongue makes goosebumps rise on his arms and a dull ache of pleasure form somewhere in his center. If his insides weren’t so fucked up, he’d have probably popped a full boner by now.

Ew, what’s wrong with me? Do I have some kind of age play kink? Want Daddy to feed me, brush my teeth, put me to bed, rock me and shit?

He shudders because…well maybe he does. Something to address at a later time.

He decides to do the only logical thing and act like a brat to deflect his own arousal.

A moan escapes his lips as he gives the fork an unnecessary suck. He doesn’t stop the syrup that drips down his chin, and squirms a little for added effect.

Shouta wipes his chin with a napkin, which so wasn’t the response he was going for. He moans again with the next bite, louder this time, then looks at Shouta’s face to see if he’s affecting him. The man arches an eyebrow and sits back, placing the fork down.

“Is there something you want, Tenko?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he answers innocently, before dragging his tongue slowly along his bottom lip.

Shouta leans forward and cups his face. “Do you want me to make you cum again?” he boldly inquires.

Tenko feels a twinge in his cock and quickly averts his gaze. “No… Geez, I just wanted to see if I could get you worked up. Stop being all selfless and shit.”

“Are you sure?” Shouta asks. “I don’t mind getting you off.”

Tenko huffs. It’s not that he isn’t enjoying this whole Shouta taking care of him thing, but he hopes that soon he’ll go back to balancing it out with his own desires too. He still remembers the first time they fucked, when Shouta was gentle and supportive emotionally but also insistent on having his own fantasies fulfilled.

“Thanks, but… There’s a lot going on in my body from the stomach down, so I’ll pass.”

Shouta nods, a look of concern flashing on his face. Wordlessly, he continues to feed Tenko until the sugary sweetness is too much and Tenko tells him he’s done.

“Tenko, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” the older man says while Tenko washes down the food with milk. “I’d like to have Recovery Girl come over today to have a look at you.”

Like a porcupine, Tenko bristles immediately. “No!” he snaps. He doesn’t want anyone else near him. And Shouta knows he needs to recover from the pain on his own strength. He needs to.

“Just hear me out, kitten.” Shouta sighs. “I’m not asking you to accept treatment from her. I just want her to take a look at your wounds and make sure they’ll heal properly.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tenko gripes. “I trust you. You did everything right.”

Shouta closes his eyes and breathes out a slow breath. “Not even I can be confident of that, Tenko. Please…for me. Just a check-up.”

Tenko’s about to protest some more, but then he looks into Shouta’s eye again and sees that same unsteadiness. He’s worried about me. Still worried that he went too far.

Tenko sighs. “Fine. But I’m not putting on pants. And I’m going to embarrass you the entire time until she’s so uncomfortable that she leaves.”

Shouta chuckles, a look of relief settling on his features. “I’m sure you will.”

Recovery Girl arrives two hours later, and even though Tenko agreed to let her come, he still recoils at the sound of the knock on the door, slinking into Shouta’s room like a frightened cat going to hide under the bed.

He can hear them talking, hear the sigh on the old woman’s lips and her chastising tone as she asks “Where is he?”

“Tenko,” Shouta calls. “It’s alright, come out here.”

Tenko doesn’t budge, arms folded across his chest as he peeks through the crack in the door to glare at Shouta. The man sighs and pinches his brows together, knowing exactly what Tenko wants.

“Please, come here, kitten. ”

The totally appalled look on the old woman’s face is what makes it worth it.

Tenko timidly creeps from Shouta’s room. He wasn’t brave enough to go pantsless, so he trudges to the living room in his Pac-Man pajama pants reluctantly and sits on the couch.

“My goodness!” the woman gasps. “You look terrible, sonny!”

Tenko scoffs. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? And what kind of nurse says something that tactless? You should lose your license.”

“Tenko,” Shouta says in a low warning tone. “Remember what we talked about.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tenko sighs. “I have to behave or no orgasms for me.” He made this up, of course. It’s just nice to see the old woman’s wrinkles get extra creased.

“Such a charming young lad,” Recovery Girl ruefully remarks. “Go on. Off with your clothes. I need to take a look at your back.”

Tenko gulps nervously and looks at Shouta. The man gives an encouraging nod, so Tenko adjusts and tries to shimmy out of Shouta’s shirt to no avail. He can’t grip the fabric with his broken fingers. Shouta comes to his rescue after seeing him struggle, tugging the shirt the rest of the way off. Tenko sits in silence as the man unties the bandage around his chest and back.

Recovery Girl sighs as she examines the damage to Tenko’s back. “You really went through with it…despite my cautions.”

“He needed it,” Shouta assures her. “I told you we—”

“Don’t blame him, you old hag,” Tenko snaps. “I asked for it, alright? No one wants to hear your passive-aggressive patronizing.”

“As a nurse at my age, I’ve seen every imaginable injury and heard stories you wouldn’t believe,” she counters. “I’m sure you had your reasons and I genuinely hope you process this in a healthy way. But as a nurse, of course, I worry about physical injury to my patients. Particularly self-inflicted ones.” Her hands touch Tenko’s back and he jerks with a whimper, not expecting the sudden brush of skin that isn’t Shouta’s.

“You did well, focusing on areas that would cause minimal damage. But these stitches.” She makes a sound of annoyance. “My word, Shouta, how many years of field experience do you have? This is atrocious. I’ve seen eight-year-olds stitch better felt pillows than this.”

“Hey, you old witch!” Tenko snarls. “He did his best! Why don’t you—”

“Tenko, hush,” Shouta says, resting a hand on his head. “She’s doing her job.” He turns his attention back to the woman. “Does that mean you’ll have to redo them?”

“If your cat puts his claws away,” she sasses. “That’s not all that needs to be done.” She sighs and pokes somewhere low on Tenko’s back, making him hiss in pain. “I take it you didn’t clean out this hole? Something was lodged here.”

“A nail,” Shouta says quietly.

This is news to Tenko. He had a whole-ass nail in his back?

“I can tell you took care with the gashes on his upper back, but you needed to have carefully flushed this wound as well. It’s a small entry point but it’s deep, and as you can see…” she pokes again, “it’s already getting infected.”

“I…didn’t realize—”

“Let me see your hands, young man.”

Tenko hesitantly turns and places his hands in hers. She unwraps his fingers, sending needles of pain shooting up his arms. She examines each deformed digit with a pinched expression. “At the very least, you should let me heal these. They may never heal properly if left like this. You’ll have gnarled fingers for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?”

Tenko doesn’t drop her gaze. “Yes.”

She sighs, then reaches into a kit on the coffee table and properly splints his fingers. “I don’t approve of any of this, you two,” she scolds as she makes Tenko lie down and cleans the sutured wounds on his back. “But…” another sigh, “I am glad that you each took this seriously and made such an effort to be safe. All things considered, the damage is minor. You could have been seriously injured.”

Tenko reaches out and grabs Shouta’s hand with his unbroken fingers, searching for stability as the woman removes Shouta’s makeshift sutures and replaces them with cleaner mastery.

“How long…?” Shouta asks. “How long until he’s healed?”

Recovery Girl hums in thought while she cleans up the infected hole on Tenko’s back. “The stitches will need to be removed in about a week, I’d say. The bruises will last for about two weeks, which should clean up most of the scrapes and cuts too. As for the fingers…” She sighs again. “Six to eight weeks for the fractures to heal, longer for strength to return to the hands. Lingering issues can take months up to a year to heal completely. Are you certain you don’t want them fixed up?”

Tenko squeezes Shouta’s hand tighter. “No.” He doesn’t deserve to have fingers at all, honestly. But, above everything else, the healing of those murderous fingers is the most important part of all of this. Will it hurt? Yes. Will it be an inconvenience and a hassle for weeks on end? Of course. But he doesn’t care. Even if his fingers end up twisted and all wrong in the end, it’s exactly as he’ll want them to be.

“If you say so,” she sighs and stands up. “But you can come to me at any time if you change your mind. Now, Shouta, make sure his sutures stay dry. Here are some antibiotics for the infection, and…” her brows furrow as she looks at Shouta. “I supposed you’ve been giving him illicit painkillers without a prescription?”

Shouta clears his throat uncomfortably and looks away.

“That’s what I thought.” She reaches into the kit and pulls out two bottles. “This is a painkiller and muscle relaxer. He can take one pill every six hours. This is also a painkiller but it’s drowsy and should help him sleep. Make sure he doesn’t take it until at least three hours after one of the others.”

“I don’t need help to sleep,” Tenko bites. He slept fine last night in Shouta’s arms.

“You think that now, but you’ll be changing your tune tonight when the pain really sets in.”

Tenko scowls and pulls the shirt back over his head. It’s easier to put it on than take it off.

“Shouta, can I have a word with you outside?” the old woman asks. She gives Tenko a pointed look. “Alone?”

“If you’re going to talk shit about me, then do it to my face, coward,” Tenko snaps.

“That’s enough.” Shouta leans and presses a kiss on top of Tenko’s head. It shuts him right up for some reason. Maybe it’s because Shouta’s doing nothing to hide their relationship from this woman, which makes it feel like…maybe he was telling the truth last night when he said he never cared about keeping it a secret. “I’ll be right outside the door.”

Tenko huffs and casts Recovery Girl a glare, wishing he could flip her off, but…broken fingers.

He waits anxiously as Shouta steps out. Watching him leave is a lot different than Tenko going into the bathroom alone earlier. Suddenly, he feels the clawing, wild scurry of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. What if Shouta was just waiting for an opportunity to leave? What if he’s been miserable coddling Tenko this whole time? What if he’s telling Recovery Girl how much he can’t stand him?

“No,” Tenko says harshly. He closes his eyes and focuses on the dull throb of his wounds. They’re the reminder of Shouta’s care and devotion. The pain reminds him of the care he took to make sure Tenko was safe at all times. “He loves me.”

Does he, though?

He hasn’t said it. He went on about the things he loves about Tenko but he’s never said that he loves him.

“Ugh, I’m such a fucking girl.” Tenko shoves his face into a couch pillow and groans. Of course, the cool Eraser Head hasn’t made any grand proclamations of love. He’s an action over words guy. Tenko just needs to accept that. After all, Shouta’s actions are screaming it from the rooftops.

Shouta comes inside a few minutes later and gives him an apologetic smile. “She was worried about me. I told her there was no need.”

Tenko smirks. “Yeah, not like you were beaten with a board.”

He means it as a joke, but he sees something dark pass over Shouta’s face, an intangible emotion, too blurry and fleeting for Tenko to grasp. It’s gone so quickly, that he thinks he must have just seen a flicker of Shouta’s annoyance with his poor-taste jokes.

“Are you okay? How do you feel after seeing her?” Shouta asks, changing the subject as he sits on the couch.

“It was annoying but whenever.” Tenko immediately stretches out on his lap. “I didn’t like her guilt-tripping you.”

Shouta’s fingers play with the white strands of his hair. “She was worried. That’s all.”

“She also insinuated that I’m ugly.”

Shouta’s eyebrow arches in amusement. “Oh. When she said you look terrible.”

“Yeah, what a bitch.”

Shouta’s lip twitches. “Well, I happen to think you’re beautiful.”

“Even with a black eye?”

“Black eye?” Shouta’s smirk widens. “Where? All I see is ruby red.”

Tenko’s cheeks catch fire and he shoves his face down hard against Shouta’s thighs. “I just threw up in my mouth,” he complains. “Sentimental old creep.”

They spend the rest of the day inside, mostly watching TV in between Tenko’s naps. He’s exhausted, body struggling to recover from the equivalent of being hit by a car. He goes through weird phases of euphoria, when he’s laughing and snuggling against Shouta, his hero, his savior.. And moments of panic and depression that wraps around his throat and crushes the air from his lungs.

But Shouta is there with him through it all.

The only time he leaves is when Tenko is asleep on his bed, snuggling Miss Fluffy-Butt. He’s roused by the late afternoon sun on his eyelids, and opens them to find Shouta’s shadow from the balcony outside, as he sits out there and smokes a cigarette. If Tenko had more energy, he might put more thought into why the older man feels stressed enough to indulge in such a bad habit, but…well, anyone would be stressed after taking care of another adult so attentively for so long. He decides not to think about it much as he goes back to sleep. Shouta just needs some time to himself.

Recovery Girl was right about sleeping. The second night is unbearable . The sleeping pills and painkillers don’t help. He thrashes, tosses, turns, and cries. He knows he’s keeping Shouta up, and he tries to be quiet, really, but…in the end, he always ends up curled up and clinging to the veteran hero, who never complains—whose arms remain a refuge, and whose lips always seem to find his even in the dark.

At least he can walk without a crutch the next day. His feet are sore but it’s bearable. His insides feel a lot better too. Now, it’s the ache of his muscles, the deep-skin throb of bruises, the pull of stitches, and the splintering pain of his fingers that drag him down. But he’s okay. He’s more than okay. He’s…Tenko. Just Tenko. And it’s all thanks to Shouta.

It’s just after lunch when Tenko issues his first real complaint.

“I’m bored.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sick of being locked up here. You don’t even have video games.”

Shouta looks over at him while he scrubs dishes. He’s wearing his prosthetic again, which makes Tenko feel a lot better about everything.

“Recovery Girl said you needed to rest.”

“I rested,” Tenko groans. “Now, I need to get out of this sad middle-aged man bachelor pad before I start to smell like Old Spice and broken dreams.”

Shouta turns off the sink and looks levelly at him. “That one almost hurt my feelings.”

“Almost? I’ll try harder next time.”

The man chuckles—that warm sound that comes so rarely to him. Tenko wonders if his students have ever heard it, or some of the other pro hero veterans. Shouta is usually so reserved, so gruff and cool. But Tenko gets to see another side of him. In fact, Tenko thinks he’s probably gotten to see more sides of Shouta Aizawa than anyone else at this point, considering the scene they did. He’d be lying if he said this doesn’t make him feel smug.

“Would you like me to take you home?” he suggests.

“No.” Tenko flips his hair back and strikes a sexy pose, one leg propped up on the couch as he bats his eyes. He knows he probably looks fucking ridiculous but that’s kind of funny. He could be the new meme format. “I want you to take me on a date, big boy.”

“A date?” Shouta’s arms cross over his chest.

“You heard me. You take me out, pay for everything, spoil me or whatever.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Shouta asks. “You should be resting and healing.”

“I rested,” Tenko repeats in a whine. “Besides, you promised. Remember? I used the safeword three times,” he holds up his hand and wiggles his only three unbroken fingers, “so you have to take me to three places, wherever I want.”

“And you’ll wear a dress and call me your boyfriend, is that right?” Shouta teases.

Tenko thinks seriously about this. “No dress this time. If I wear a dress, I have to wear heels—and my feet are too fucked up for heels right now. Guess I’ll just wear a hoodie like normal.”

“Ah, that’s your reasoning.”

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” 

Shouta leans back against the counter with a smile. “No. Just tell me where I’m taking you, kitten. A promise is a promise, and you were such a good boy.”

Tenko’s chest swells at the praise. He swallows the happy laugh that almost betrays him, then stands up with a grin.

“Get ready, old man, you’re taking me to the arcade.”

Chapter Text

Tenko feels all warm and fuzzy and shit when Shouta slips an arm around his and walks him through the sliding glass doors of the big building. He can walk just fine on his own now, but the old man’s still treating him like he’s porcelain, and honestly? That’s okay.

He opted not to wear a dress and heels for their date, instead sporting an oversized League of Legends hoodie, some sweatpants, comfy sneakers, and the mask he always wears when he leaves the campus. Shouta’s date fit isn’t much better, but hey, at least he combed his hair.

“Welcome in!” The chipper girl behind the counter greets them. “Are you dining or purchasing tokens?”

“Tokens,” Tenko answers. “Two hundred.”

Shouta fishes for his wallet while Tenko reads the digital display above the girl’s head. A smirk plays on his lips and he leans a little more against Shouta’s side. “Can we get the family discount?”

“If you’re under sixteen and with your father, then definitely!”

“Don’t,” Shouta sighs under his breath, but Tenko is already running his fingers—well, bandages—up his arm and grinning at the employee.

“Well, I am here with my daddy , so…”

It takes a solid three seconds for her to register what he’s implying. Her face goes a delicious shade of cherry red and she starts stuttering over her words. “O-Oh, well, um–that’s, I mean–”

“No receipt,” Shouta interrupts, already putting his wallet back in his pocket. “And you’ll behave.” This is directed toward Tenko, in a gruff and low voice that makes shivers climb up his spine. He holds up the arcade card. “Where to next, kitten?”

Tenko smirks and leads him further inside. He closes his eyes for a moment, appreciating the various tunes and beeps and clatter of the machines, melding with voices and laughter and children squealing. It’s been a long time since he set foot in one of these. Since before the war even began and Kurogiri begrudgingly went with him—after approval from All For One. There’s probably something to be said there about stunted emotional and social development in his formative years, but that’s a task for his therapist.

“We’re starting with fruit ninja,” he says when he opens his eyes. He pulls Shouta’s sleeve with his good fingers, leading him to the big screens. Right before they get there, however, Shouta stops in his tracks.

“What’s wrong?” Tenko asks. “Leg acting up again?”

Shouta shakes his head and frowns deeply. “Tenko…coming here was the wrong idea.”

Tenko tenses, feeling automatically defensive. “What? You don’t want to be seen with me after all? Way to break my heart.”

Shouta sighs. “No, that’s not it.” He gestures around them. “How can you be expected to play these games with only three unbroken fingers?”

Tenko relaxes, a smile playing on his features. “Oh, is that all? Thought you’d figure it out sooner, old man.” He leans in close. “I’m not the one who’s gonna play.”

The look of delayed realization that crosses his face has Tenko doubled over with laughter. “I don’t play games,” has him laughing so hard he starts to cry.

“Oh, you’re playing,” Tenko says once he’s gained enough composure. “And I’m recording the whole thing.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, earning a look of disapproval. “Don’t give me that look. I earned this, don’t you remember?”

Shouta’s expression sobers up, becoming almost too serious for a moment. It takes a moment before he nods. “You’re right. You did earn it. I’ll play your games.”

Tenko grins victoriously. “Swipe the card here. For this one you have to slice the fruit as they cross the screen—oh but not the bombs! And you get combos for slicing multiple fruits with one swipe.”

He coaches the man through a couple of games, then takes a priceless video of him failing spectacularly. 

It’s everything Tenko could have hoped for and more. Shouta is horrible at arcade games, he looks awkward and out of place shooting hoops, absolutely miserable racing on motorcycles, and bored out of his mind rolling skee-ball. Tenko catches countless moments on video, and sets a picture of Shouta flipping him off after being told to play Dance-Dance as his screensaver.

He starts to feel kinda shitty about putting Shouta in this situation after another loss at a zombie shooting booth that leaves Shouta pinching his brows in irritation. “Win me a plush in the claw machine and we can go home,” he says.

Shouta arches an eyebrow. “You’re done already?”

“So what?” Tenko fakes a yawn. “Watching someone play isn’t as fun as I thought. You’d make a shitty streamer.”

“But you’re having fun,” Shouta argues.

“Am not,” Tenko refutes, fully aware that he sounds like a toddler.

“You are.” Shouta steps into his bubble, one dark eye sparkling. “You’ve been laughing this whole time. I can see you smiling under the mask.” He reaches up and ruffles Tenko’s hair. “It’s beautiful.”

Tenko scoffs, grateful for the mask hiding most of his cheeks. “Yeah, well you’re miserable. So, I want to go home.”

Shouta frowns. “I’m not miserable, Tenko.” A soft smile touches his scruffy face. “You’re having fun. You’re happy, and that makes me happy.”

Tenko’s not sure if he believes that. Is Shouta still only thinking about what makes Tenko happy? He does know that he doesn’t have to do that anymore, right? Tenko’s…okay. He’s more than okay. For the first time ever, he’s in public, surrounded by people, and he doesn’t feel out of place. He doesn’t feel like Waldo, the villain hiding in the crowd. He feels like he belongs. He’s just a regular guy, just Tenko Shimura, some random adult loser who likes arcade games, here on a regular date.

It’s the best he’s ever felt.

“Whatever,” Tenko shrugs. “If you’re happy, prove it. Take pictures with me in the photo booth.” He points to the booth against the wall. It’s stupid as hell, but he’s always been envious of the little photo strips in movies showing couples holding hands and smiling like idiots and kissing each other’s cheeks. It’s another regular thing that Tenko never got to experience as Shigaraki. And now that Shigaraki has been slain, Tenko wants to experience it all. He wants to do all the live, laugh, love bullshit he missed out on.

Shouta nods, then lets Tenko lead the way. They pass a group of guys with drinks from the bar who shoot a couple of disgusted looks when Shouta walks with his hand on the small of Tenko’s back.

Damn, you’d think that the world almost being dusted would have cured homophobia. Assholes.

He tugs Shouta behind the curtain, pushes him down onto the little bench and plops down on his lap. Shouta’s arms wrap immediately around him and Tenko pushes buttons on the screen.

“Your mask,” Shouta reminds him. His fingers brush Tenko’s lips as he tugs it down below his chin. His thumb drifts back upward, slowly dragging along his bottom lip in a way that makes the hairs rise on the back of Tenko’s neck. “Much better.”

Tenko turns his head to hide his blush. “Whatever, softie.”

They follow the prompts on the screen after he picks a cheesy heart and sparkles frame. “Smile,” “Funny Face,” “Cheek Kiss.”

“You smile worse than Deku,” Tenko teases with a laugh. “You better not mess up the last picture.”

Shouta’s gaze flicks to the screen prompt and his lip twitches in a smirk. “Not possible,” he says. Instantly, his fingers tangle in Tenko’s hair and he turns his head, forcing him into a kiss. It’s rough and deep and full of tongue and it makes Tenko moan. When he pulls away, Tenko is lightheaded and the booth is finished taking photos. “Ready to go, kitten?”

“No,” Tenko says breathlessly. “You think one more swipe will give me enough time to suck you off?”

“Hm,” Shouta seems to actually consider it. “I’m sure you could make me cum quickly, but…” he glances under the booth curtain. “It looks like there’s a line.”

“So?” Tenko says slyly. “What’s the worst that can happen? We get kicked out?”

“Or arrested for indecent exposure,” Shouta chuckles. “Come on. Don’t you want to see our photos?”

Tenko hops up with a grin. “Yes, I do.” He pushes the curtain open but Shouta tugs him by the hoodie, stopping him.

“Your mask,” he says, nodding toward Tenko’s neck.

Tenko touches the fabric, then shakes his head. “Don’t want it. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of anymore.”

Shouta’s responding smile is soft. He follows Tenko out of the booth and they retrieve the photo strips. The pictures are just as cringey as Tenko anticipated, and he loves it. Especially the bottom photo, which captured them mid-kiss, Tenko’s cheeks painted red and Shouta’s eyes closed, a smile on his lips as his tongue dipped into Tenko’s mouth.

“Here.” He hands Shouta one of the strips. “One for you and one for me. You can keep it in your wallet like a sappy dad or something.”

Shouta does just that, carefully sliding the strip into his wallet with a smile. “Alright. What hell do you have planned for me next?”

Tenko grins, then leads him to the classic arcade cabinets. He falters through Pac-man, embarrasses himself at Street Fighter, gets shown up by a ten year old at Space Invaders… The one time he wins something is when they play air hockey, since Tenko moves like a limp turkey when he tries to hit the puck with his one good hand.

They stop at Crossy Roads and Tenko fully expects another spectacular failure. Ten seconds max before Shouta’s chicken gets hit by a train. But, to his astonishment, seconds turn into minutes, tickets add up on the top of the screen, and Shouta doesn’t get a game over.

“What the hell?” Tenko says as he films the look of concentration on Shouta’s face. “What kind of fluke is this?!”

Shouta doesn’t answer, just continues to push the button making the chicken hop over and past obstacles longer and longer until he finally gets the timing wrong on a log and sinks into a river. His score flashes on the screen and it’s…the week’s high score.

“Shouta! How did you—?! You won five thousand tickets, are you kidding me?! Have you been pretending to suck at games?!”

Shouta’s lips twist a little and he averts his gaze with an uncharacteristic blush. “I…have this one on my phone.”

Tenko laughs so hard he thinks he’s going to piss himself. “Such a fucking boomer!”

Shouta ignores this, looking sufficiently embarrassed. “If you want to play more games, we’ll need to recharge the card.”

Tenko thinks about it. They’ve already done pretty much everything there is besides laser tag, which wouldn’t be fun since Tenko wouldn’t be able to participate and see Shouta slinking around in the dark. Besides…even though he was sure he could handle this outing, his body’s condition is starting to catch up to him. It’s been a few hours since his last helping of painkillers, and his bruises are starting to throb and his feet hurt. Plus, he’s getting tired. Exhaustion has been a constant companion since their scene.

“Nah, I’m ready to leave. You got us over seven-thousand tickets, so we can get something cool from the shop.”

“Are you sure?” Shouta asks. “We could take a break and eat some food. Anything you want, kitten.”

Tenko shakes his head. “I’m too nauseous to eat. Besides, I got everything I wanted from this date.” He dangles his cell phone, showing his new lockscreen. “I’m ready for you to take me home and baby me on your couch.”

Shouta tucks an arm around his waist and nods. “Whatever you need, Tenko.”

They go to the prize counter and look at all the cheap shit that would cost a few dollars at the store—a fraction of the price Shouta paid for a chance to earn tickets. It’s too bad Shouta sucks at games or they might have gotten enough tickets to nab a big prize, like the oversized cheetah plushie or gum ball machine. He’s still wondering exactly how many giant pixie stix they could get with seven thousand tickets when he hears Shouta speak to the cashier.

“That one.”

Tenko’s head jerks upward. “Hey! I thought I got to—” He stops short when he sees what the man’s pointing at. It’s a medium-sized squishable corgi plushie with a heart butt and a pink nose. Tenko gives an approving nod. “Sorry for doubting you, daddy. You’re a good date after all.”

Shouta rolls his eyes and waits for the cashier to retrieve the toy.

“That’ll leave us with five hundred tickets, so pick some good candies,” Tenko says. “I’m gonna go piss.”

Shouta shoots him a concerned look.

“I’m fine, ” Tenko promises. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Shouta looks uncertain but finally nods and turns away to look at the displays again.

Tenk can’t stop smiling as he makes his way to the bathroom. It’s honestly disgusting how happy he is right now. He’s on a fucking arcade date with the Eraser Head. Teen Tenko couldn’t even have afforded wet dreams of a night like tonight. And it’s so much more than that, too. Tenko can finally, fully let himself enjoy it.

Because I’m me. The good parts of me.

His pain reminds him that he can live with himself now. He can accept that…well, maybe not that he deserves Shouta, but at least that it’s okay to let him spoil Tenko like his little sugar baby.

The bathroom’s empty when he walks in, which gives him some time to look at his reflection.

I really do look like absolute shit, he thinks with a smirk. He’s covered in the purple of dark bruises that have spread since he initially got them, and he looks twice as tired as he feels. But…something about him is different now. Softer. Warmer. Happier.

He smiles and heads for the urinals. He’s trying to finagle the waistband of his sweats down when the bathroom door opens and a couple guys walk in. Tenko thinks nothing of it—public bathroom after all. But then…

He lets out a startled cry when someone grabs his hood and yanks. Pain splinters through his body and explodes in his skull when he hits the ground.

“I knew it,” someone snarls before a boot crunches down on his broken hand, forcing a scream from his lungs which is just as quickly stifled by someone’s hand. “It is him.”

His vision sparks and blurs, making it impossible to make sense of what’s happening. When it clears, he finds himself staring up at the face of one of the guys he saw earlier outside of the photo booth. He’s the one standing on his hand, while another is crouched in front of him, silencing Tenko with a palm.

“Shigaraki,” the first one spits with vitriol. “I didn’t want to believe it. How sick would it be for Japan’s biggest mass murderer to be playing in an arcade, acting like one of us?”

“But then you took off your mask,” the second man says. “Bad move for the face of terrorism.”

Tenko grunts as the one standing slams his boot into Tenko’s side, aggravating bruises and making his legs curl up in pain. “From the looks of it, we’re not the first ones to put you in your place.”

“You’d think he’d have learned his lesson after the first guy,” the other laughs, flicking Tenko’s bruised eye.

Tenko wrenches his head to the side and chokes for breath. “You’re wrong,” he hisses. “I’m not…Shigaraki.”

Another kick has him swallowing vomit. “Shut the fuck up! It is you! You think we’re stupid?! Everyone’s seen your ugly fucking mug on TV, we all know what you are and what you did to our home and our families! You should have been publicly executed, not set free to play games around our children. ”

Tenko flails despite the pain ricocheting through his body from both old and new wounds. His stitches are straining, his broken bones are screaming, and the battered tissues of his skin pulse with every frantic heartbeat. “I’m not, ” he protests as the second man secures him more effectively and wraps his hands around his throat. “–was…Shiga…” He coughs and sputters, vision almost going black after another hard kick. Any harder and the man will break his ribs. “‘m not…”

But that’s not true, is it? To Tenko, the monster that was Shigaraki has been put to rest. It received the punishment it deserved, shriveled in the sun, and left only Tenko behind. But to these people…and to countless others in Japan, Shigaraki is alive. He’ll be alive for generations, the effects of his decay seeping so deep into the soil that the water will carry ash until long after the survivors of war have died. He’s alive to them, a crawling bug that they want to squash.

He can’t blame them for that. It’s a miracle no one’s tried to kill him before tonight. And if they succeed…it won’t be anything less than what he deserves.

His body goes limp with defeat, and hands crush his windpipe so he can’t breathe.

The thing is…even though he does deserve to die, and even though he’ll never be able to ease the pain these people feel after the things he’s done. Tenko…doesn’t want to die.

He…likes his life now. He likes going to school with the annoying heroes. He likes breakfasts spent teasing Deku. He likes sitting with the old members of the league and hearing about how they’re doing in recovery. He likes sunlight and video games and dogs and Shouta Aizawa. He loves Shouta Aizawa, and he doesn’t want to stop seeing him. He doesn’t want their new relationship to end here like this. There’s so much they still have to explore, so many things Tenko has to tell him and thank him for. He can’t let it end here.

So, he rolls, using everything in his body to evade his attackers, even though this means ripping his already fucked up hand out from beneath a heavy boot. He grits his teeth through the pain and scrambles to his feet, dodging a punch on the way. Tripping and leaning against the wall, he tries to make it to the bathroom door so he can cry for help, but one of the guys blocks his path by standing in front of the door.

The other lunges, landing a solid hit to Tenko’s jaw. “I’ll kill you, son of a bitch!” he roars. His next attack is thwarted by Tenko kicking upward and pushing him back by the stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Tenko chokes out. He means it. He can hear the remorse in his own voice. He means it. He’s so sorry for the pain he caused. Whether he was a victim too or not. It doesn’t remove the fact that he committed atrocities. “But…I’m not Shigaraki.”

Not anymore.

The guy’s fingers curl into a fist and he reels back to deliver a gut punch. Just before he can strike, the bathroom door swings open. Which, honestly, was pretty much guaranteed to happen in the public restroom of a packed arcade since these morons didn’t lock the door. He counts his blessings that he’s the only one with an actual criminal background here.

He counts an extra ten blessings because the person who walks through the door is exactly who he hoped it would be. Tenko’s the damsel in distress protagonist of a romance novel, of course talk, dark, and handsome would come to his rescue. How does this trope usually work? The romance interest throws a couple punches, scoops the damsel up bridal style, then takes her home and makes sweet love to her for hours? That sounds pretty nice right about now.

Except, that’s not how it goes down.

Shouta moves as silently as a shadow and as absolute as darkness. In seconds, he’s got both men on the ground, one slumped and dazed against a sink, the other on his back with Shouta’s knee on his throat and a knife pressed to his cheek.

Also, unlike his attackers, Shouta did lock the door.

“Are you deaf?” Shouta seethes. “He said he’s not Shigaraki.”

The man stares up at Tenko’s rescuer with terrified eyes. “O-Okay!” he coughs through his crushed windpipe. “‘–rry!”

“What did they do to you, Tenko?” he asks in a voice that sends a cold shiver down Tenko’s spine. That tone is familiar.

“Kicked me a few times,” Tenko answers. “Choked me. And that one fucked up my fingers some more.”

Shouta’s eye flashes fire-red but his expression is frigid. He doesn’t ask any more questions. He doesn’t speak at all. Instead, he hits. And hits. And hits again.

The man sputters out blood. His body twitches and flails, his nose crunches, and still…Shouta keeps punching.

Tenko’s heart beats against his ribs. Icy shivers run up and down his body as he watches Shouta coldly enact justice. His eye is so dark, almost unseeing. He looks… cruel. He looks…like he did during their scene.

“Stop!” The other attacker shouts, flinging himself at Shouta. The veteran hero is faster, though. He turns in a quick arc, slashing with his knife and slicing the man’s palm like tissue paper.

The guy stumbles back and Shouta leaps, slamming him into a bathroom stall by the throat. “See his wounds?” he spits. “ I did that to him. Imagine how much worse I could do to trash like you.”

The guy can’t even answer. His face is turning blue.

Tenko feels sick. He feels itchy . He feels terrified.

“FLUFFY!”

Instantly, Shouta backs away. A flip seems to switch in his head and he looks momentarily disoriented before his gaze centers back on Tenko. He moves decisively, scooping Tenko into his arms and kissing him on the forehead. “I’ve got you, kitten. It’s okay.”

Part of Tenko doesn’t want to be held by him. He’s trembling in his arms as Shouta unlocks the door and carries him out. He doesn’t stop to tell anyone about the beat up men in the bathroom. He heads straight for the car and puts Tenko down in the passenger seat exactly like he did after the scene.

He climbs into the driver’s seat and doesn’t speak as he starts the car.

Tenko pulls the corgi plushie that was on the seat into his chest, clinging to it for comfort.

“What the hell was that?!” he asks, voice shaking. “You were like a rabid animal! Were you gonna kill them?!”

“Of course, not!” Shouta yells, the volume of his voice startling Tenko even more. “I was protecting you!”

“I don’t want your shitty protection if you’re going to stab people and break their noses in bathrooms! You could have grabbed me and left! That wasn’t protection, it was revenge!”

Shouta clenches his jaw so hard that a pulsing vein twitches under the skin. “They hurt you. And you’re already…” he trailed off.

“The difference is that I consented to getting the shit beaten out of me! Those assholes didn’t!” Tenko finds that he can’t look at him. He curls up on the seat and stares out the window instead. “Some hero you were.”

“Tenko…” he heaves a heavy sigh.

“Take me home,” Tenko demands through tears. “ My apartment, not yours.”

He hears Shouta twisting his palms on the steering wheel. “No,” he says in hardly more than a whisper. “Tenko, I need to look at your injuries again. You can’t be alone yet.”

“I’ll just call Kuro—Shirakumo to take care of me. Or Compress, I don’t care. I don’t want to be around you.”

Another sigh meets his ears, shaky this time. “Don’t say that, kitten. Let me take care of you. I need—” He swallows the sentence. “You need me. Let me take you home. Please. ”

Tenko’s not sure. He still feels sick and disenchanted and a little bit afraid of Shouta right now. But there’s something about the way he whispers that word. “Please.” It’s a plea, quivering and weak, like he’s begging him. Like there’s something on the line. Something more than a night spent apart from each other.

“Fine..,” he finally relents. “But only because I need to introduce Mr. Fluffy-Butt to his wife.”

Shouta’s sigh this time is one of relief. “I’m sure she’ll like that.”

“Yeah,” Tenko agrees half heartedly. Something still doesn’t sit right in his stomach. There’s something about Shouta that’s…different. Warped. It tastes like poison and it doesn’t make any sense. He’s Eraser Head. He’s the cool, selfless hero who Tenko has always looked up to. What poisoned him?

Was it…Tenko? When Shouta sucked Shigaraki’s venom from Tenko’s veins, did he take on the poison himself?

No…no that’s too horrible to think about. He refuses to. He shoves his face into the corgi’s fluff and pinches his eyes shut, trying to remember all the good things that happened during their date.

That’s right. We had fun. Shouta was good to me. He’s still Shouta. Everything will be fine.

Chapter Text

Shouta is numb.

He wakes with Tenko in his arms, but feels none of the same warmth when he looks at his sleeping face. He sees nothing but the dark purple bruises covering his skin, darkening a circle around his eye. Has he looked this bad ever since their scene? How was Shouta able to see beyond the sickening indigo hues of his broken skin?

He gets out of bed before the younger man and takes a shower, hoping the water will help clear his head. It does nothing to penetrate the fog in his skull, though. If anything, he feels worse as he scrubs his scabbing knuckles, still raw from punching Tenko’s attackers last night.

Unsettled and unfeeling, he slips onto the balcony and lights a cigarette while Tenko continues to sleep. He replays last night’s events again, trying to find something in the memories. Regret? Vindication? He knows he should feel something, anything, but when he recalls the looks of fear on their faces and on Tenko’s face, he feels nothing.

Tenko finally rouses while Shouta is cooking breakfast. He stumbles out of the bedroom and slouches against Shouta’s back, wrapping his arms around him. Again, Shouta is jarred by the fact that he doesn’t feel comforted by the touch.

But he can’t let Tenko know that.

“How are you feeling, kitten?” he asks, because he always asks. Because he has to ask.

“Shitty,” Tenko answers. Unlike Shouta, he has no inclination to parse his words. “But also good.”

Shouta doesn’t point out the contradiction, just finishes with the eggs, turns to plant a kiss on Tenko’s forehead, then gestures for him to sit down and eat.

Breakfast passes in silence.

It takes everything in his power, and he’s not able to speak up until after he gets Tenko dressed and they’re sitting on the couch together watching some video game streamer that Tenko likes. At long last, after looking at his upturned phone screen for the fifteenth time, he poses his question.

“Tenko…I got a text from Vlad this morning. He’s sick and can’t teach the remedial class he was holding over the break. He asked if I could cover for him this afternoon.”

“So?” Tenko asks flippantly. “What, you want my permission? Go teach your squirts, it’s your job.”

Shouta’s lips pinch in a thin line. “Will you be alright on your own? You could come with me and sit in on the lesson. I’m sure you need it anyway.”

“Don’t wanna,” Tenko says immediately. “I’m sore. Don’t wanna sit my ass on a hard chair for hours. Besides, I’m bored.”

Shouta nods slowly. “What will you do?”

“Go home,” he says with a shrug. “Play a visual novel or point and click game. Haven’t finished Dramatical Murder yet.”

Shouta has no idea what any of that means, but he finds himself continuing to nod anyway. “I’ll have my phone on the whole time. If you need anything—”

“I know, I know. You’ll come to my rescue.” Tenko scoffs. “Just try not to beat the shit out of my mailman if I need you to come over.”

Shouta feels something erupting under the veil of numbness, an explosive feeling that almost knocks the lid off his carefully sealed jar of emotions. No chance though. The lid is screwed on tighter than ever before, whatever is chaotically flapping around inside will sooner suffocate than be let free.

“Should I pick you up when I’m done?”

“Nah,” Tenko says. “If I want to be here, I’ll come by.”

“I want you here,” Shouta says too quickly.

“And I thought I was the needy one,” Tenko laughs. He faces him, a smile on his lips. But they’re dry and chappy and there’s still a scab dragging from the corner of his mouth where Shouta had sliced him with a blade. He finds that he can’t look at him.

“I’m fine,” Shouta insists, “whatever you choose.”

Shouta is numb.

He drones without feeling in front of the mix of students from different classes. Some are here for remedial training, some for extra credit. He doesn’t take any questions, just reads from the text and recites knowledge from lectures he’s done hundreds of times in his years as a teacher.

They’re talking about hero law, which is still in the process of reformation since the war. There are a lot of unknowns, but still facts that remain unchanged in a world of quirks.

“Remember, heroes exist to support civilians, not to enact justice. It was the superiority complex of hero society that was a major factor contributing to the recent war. A hero isn’t someone who uses their quirk for revenge, or for money, or to make judgment calls. We’re here solely to uplift people in need.”

‘Some hero you are.’

It’s completely unbidden. Tenko’s words slice through his thoughts and he finds himself stumbling on the text for a moment.

“A hero who follows his own code of honor isn’t behaving as a hero. It’s not about self-sacrifice, but it is about helping, never hurting others, whether we consider them to be ‘villains’ or not. Remember, the term ‘villain’ isn’t to be used anymore as we enter this new era of hero-work.”

Helping, not hurting.

Some hero I am.

His fingers twitch as he remembers the feeling of a man’s nose crunching under his fist.

“We want people to look up to heroes, not to fear or resent them.”

He remembers the look of terror on Tenko’s face when he screamed the safeword in the arcade bathroom. Safeword? Why did he use the safeword when they weren’t doing a scene? Why didn’t Shouta question this before?

“We aren’t gods, we aren’t judges, and we aren’t executioners.”

But that’s exactly what Shouta was, isn’t it? He was Shigaraki’s judge and executioner. He beat him down. He killed him. The evidence of that is on Tenko’s marred skin and broken bones.

“It’s important to—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Aizawa?”

He looks up from the text and makes eye contact with Uraraka. She looks sheepish, hand trembling slightly in the air. He sighs and straightens up. “What is it?”

“Um…” she looks uncomfortably at some of her peers, who are shuffling awkwardly in their seats as if they all have something to say. “Are you… Are you okay, sir?”

The question takes him by surprise. He narrows his eyes and surveys the faces of the other students, who suddenly refuse to make eye contact. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Well, um, you…” her expression twists with something like sympathy. “Sir…you’re crying.”

He blinks in confusion. Of course he’s not… No, why would he be…? He lifts his hand and brushes his fingers under one of his cheeks, then pulls it back to marvel at the sheen of liquid on his fingertips. He dabs both cheeks again and finds that…she’s right. He’s crying, but he can’t feel the tears on his skin.

“Class is dismissed,” he says abruptly.

The students are quick to flee, even Uraraka, who hesitates for only a moment by his desk. Once the door closes behind her, Shouta slumps down against the wall with a groan and puts his face in his hands.

Crying? But why? Shouta feels nothing. There’s only numbness and…

No.

Oh no.

It’s nothing but a rattle at first. The distant shaking of the jar he holds so closely. Nothing but a tremor. He wasn’t watching it. He wasn’t in control of how many untouched, multiplying, horrible winged creatures were growing in the fragile glass confines. He ignored them, and now…

The jar shatters.

“Oh fuck…” he whimpers.

Oh fuck.

What have I done?

Suddenly he’s spiraling. Disgust, fear, depression, self-loathing all crash down on him like the weight of a waterfall and he’s drowning. He hates himself. Oh fuck, he hates himself.

He looks at his shaking hands and scabbed knuckles. The hands he used to beat down, to batter, to break bones. Wildly, he claws at the backs of them, tearing scabs and leaving deep scratches from his own nails. He wants to rip them off. He wants to shove them in a blender and mangle his fingers the way he mangled Tenko’s.

Fuck, Tenko.

He tortured him. He broke him so completely that he forgot who he was. He beat him, thrashed him, raped him, and he…Shouta liked it, didn’t he? He must have because he came. He got off on brutalizing that poor, fucked-up kid. Tenko can’t have wanted that. Shouta is the one who led him there, he was the one who coerced him into it, groomed him into it. And then had the audacity to pretend he did something good.

A sudden, intrusive thought overtakes him and for a moment, Shouta wants to scream. I should have died. In the war, I should have let him kill me. I shouldn’t be here, I don’t want to be here.

He curls in on himself and clutches his face with his hands. Suicidal ideation isn’t something he’s been plagued with since he was a teen. Yet here he is, brain surfacing with unbidden desires to climb to the top of the school roof or to use his capture weapon in a final act of hanging himself. It would be better for Tenko. He deserves better than Shouta. Shouta should have never touched him.

Immeasurable time passes with him on the floor, experiencing waves of depression so intense that his bones ache. He doesn’t even have the energy to move. Hours seem to pass. The room starts to darken in the setting sunlight, and still Shouta is immobilized by self-hatred so deep that he’s afraid of what he might do when he stands.

It’s not until he feels a vibration in his pocket that he’s able to pull himself reluctantly out of the frozen state. His movements are so sluggish that he drops his phone twice before looking at the screen.

It’s Tenko. Of course, it’s Tenko. It’s always Tenko.

“Where are you? I snuck into your apartment like two hours ago, are you eating someone else’s ass behind my back? She can’t make you feel like I do baby”

“That was a fucking joke ok”

“Unless you really are fucking someone else rn in which case fuck u”

“Jk please don’t fuck someone else I’ll cry”

“Come on old man don’t make me hire a rescue squad. The best I have is Dabi and then I’ll owe him.”

“Shouta”

“I miss you”

Shouta sits up, guilt and concern overwhelming his depression momentarily. Without thinking, he sends a quick response. “On my way.”

He regrets sending it as soon as the message is out. Shouta doesn’t want to go home. Fuck, what is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to say to him? He can’t look at Tenko again, knowing that he…

Confusion makes his head throb. Did Shouta abuse him? They talked about it. Tenko consented. No, it wasn’t fully informed consent, it couldn’t have been. He has to talk to him. He has to apologize. He has to end this.

That’s his plan. He plays a script on repeat in his mind while he drives home.

Tenko, I’m not good for you. What I did to you was cruel. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t forgive me.

Tenko won’t want to hear it. He’ll argue. He’ll scream. He’ll lash out like a feral cat, verbally, maybe physically too. He’ll insist that he asked to be beaten, that he wanted it, that it healed him.

Sick. Shouta made him cherish that violence. He can’t let him think it was okay. He has to protect him from himself.

He’s shaking when he unlocks the apartment door.

“About time,” hisses a familiar voice, ragged and panting. “I can only edge myself so many times, selfish bastard.”

Honestly, he should have expected this. Tenko has a penchant for putting on lewd displays at the most inopportune times. Until now, Shouta was captivated by these performances. He enjoyed being teased by the vixen of a man, and liked the way Tenko was so desperate for him. But now…

He’s on Shouta’s couch, ass raised, bare and dripping with lube. A couch cushion is between his spread thighs and he’s rutting down against it, cock and balls pushed back so the topside of his dick slides down against the side of the cushion.

It’s an invitation. He prepped for this, somehow stretching and lubing his hole despite having so few usable fingers. He’s gaping, too, and Shouta would bet his retirement funds that there’s a slick dildo thrown casually on his bedroom floor right now.

It should make him stir. It should ignite familiar heat in his gut, but instead…

The bruises.

His thighs and ass are lined with them. Long and thick stripes from the brunt force of the baton. The baton that Shouta also raped him with. He can still remember Tenko crying after their scene, admitting that he didn’t like the tool. It was too much. Too far. And Shouta pulled that sick and twisted idea from the depravity of his own mind. He came up with it and he executed it and he made Tenko cry.

Who does that? What kind of villain devises strategies to wound someone he claims to love? Does he love Tenko at all?

“Tenko…” Shouta closes the door behind him and breathes out a slow breath. He feels stiflingly hot in his suit. No, it’s deeper than that. His skin itself feels like a furnace he can’t escape from. “We need to talk.”

Tenko rolls over. His eyes are dark, lashes fluttering seductively. “Unless it’s dirty talk, I don’t want to hear it. Not until I’ve been properly stuffed with daddy’s big dick.”

Shouta shakes his head. He doesn’t even want to look at Tenko’s face or battered knees or weeping cock. “Tenko, I’m not…going to have sex with you.”

As expected, Tenko sneers. “Why not? You still think I’m too fragile? I’m fine now. My ass is perfectly healed and ready, you don’t have to treat me like your porcelain doll anymore.”

“That’s not…” Shouta trails off.

“Then, what is it?” Tenko pulls his knees up to his chest suddenly. “You weren’t really fucking someone else, we’re you?”

Shouta sees the look of betrayal, of terror that crosses his face. Worse, the following look of defeat.

“You could have at least told me you were sick of taking care of me.” He grumbles. “I could have… I wouldn’t have been such a burden.”

“No, kitten, no. ”

Shouta moves on instinct. He joins Tenko on the couch and immediately reaches to pull him into his arms. “I wasn’t with anyone else. I told you. You’re the only I’ve had in a long time. You’re so precious, so special to me. You were never a burden.”

Tenko sinks against him with a weary sigh. “Then…why don’t you want me? Do I disgust you?”

“Of course not,” Shouta says, comfortingly. He sets aside every rampant feeling he was holding when he walked into the apartment, hastily shoving them down into his shabbily glued together glass jar. Tenko needs him. “I want you. You’re perfect.”

“Then show me,” Tenko pleads. He’s kissing Shouta’s cheek, jaw, neck. He’s searching for Shouta’s cock through his pants with a wandering palm. “C’mon, Shouta. We haven’t done it since the scene. I’m ready now. Wanna feel you inside of me again—inside of just Tenko .”

Shouta’s heart is thumping in his ears. “Tenk—Kitten, I…” He needs…Shouta needs Tenko to see him now. He needs him to acknowledge the shattered pieces of glass and amalgamated emotions flying rampant in his chest. For once…maybe Shouta needs to be the one held.

“Shouta,” he whines, tongue dragging up Shouta’s stubble. “Please. I need you.”

Tenko needs him.

That’s all that matters.

“Take whatever you need, baby,” he says. He pushes the younger man back by the shoulders a bit to give him space to unzip his suit. He pushes it down and frees his cock from his boxers. It’s soft, useless to the boy who needs it now.

Tenko doesn’t seem to mind, though. He straddles Shouta and grinds his slick hole down on his cock, rotating his hips and rubbing his balls along his length until Shouta’s body can’t help but react.

He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Tenko’s bruised face and so that he can try to focus on his swelling dick. If he empties his mind enough and focuses solely on meeting Tenko’s needs, then he’ll be okay for now. They can discuss things afterward.

Tenko searches for his lips and Shouta willingly kisses him. He tastes like one of his energy drinks and the thought almost makes Shouta smile. But then…he remembers Tenko’s lips dripping with vomit and blood and cum. Shouta’s cum.

Abruptly, he turns his head.

“What’s wrong? My breath smell bad or something?”

“No,” Shouta says instantly. “You just take my breath away.”

“Whatever,” Tenko sighs through a happy chuckle. He kisses Shouta’s hair, then lifts his hips and struggles to guide Shouta’s cock to his rim, the task made difficult by uncooperative fingers.

Shouta aids him, gripping his cock and holding it steady so Tenko can sink down.

“That’s better,” Tenko moans. He sits all the way down and rocks his hips, clenching tight around Shouta’s cock as he tests the feeling of him inside. “You always feel so good.”

Shouta huffs out a shaky breath and wraps his arms around him. “Do I?” he whispers, then feels ashamed at seeking validation.

“Hell yeah,” Tenko breathes. “Love your cock, Shouta.”

Shouta shudders, clinging to these words like a lifeline. “Tell me more,” he pleads. “Tell me…that I make you feel good. That you need me.”

Tenko moans at the command and begins to bounce, taking his cock in deep with every drop. “You make me feel so good,” Tenko says. “Fuck, I feel so full and happy and safe when your cock’s inside of me.”

Shouta’s body trembles and his cock twitches against hot walls. “Tell me that you need me, kitten,” he begs.

“I need you,” Tenko obliges. “Need your dick and cum like I need air. I know I’m a little bitch to you, but…” He moans as Shouta thrusts up a little, “but I don’t mean it. I love you, Shouta. I love you so much.”

Shouta’s crying again. He hides it by burying his face in Tenko’s silky white hair, but he’s holding onto every word. “Again,” he whispers.

“Sentimental old man,” Tenko laughs. He rides faster, punching little whines and grunts from his own lungs with each impale. “Love you, love your cock, love your stupid boomer energy, love your messy apartment, love how–ah, shit–how you take care of me.”

“I try,” Shouta grunts. “I try to be good for you, Tenko.”

“Well, you succeed,” Tenko praises. “I wouldn’t be me without you.”

Shouta basks in the comfort of these words. Maybe…what I did wasn’t so bad. I’m doing something right, aren’t I? He seems happy. I make him happy.

“Fuck, shit, I missed this,” Tenko moans. He leans back and puts his palms on Shouta’s knees, rocking his hips again and staring down between them so he can watch himself moving on Shouta’s cock and see the way his own twitches and throbs. “Wanna cum on your cock, Shouta.”

“Do it,” Shouta encourages. “Let me see.”

“Fuck! O-Only if you promise to fuck me afterward. I want you to take control again and do whatever you want to me. Overstim me, fuck me into a puddle, whatever. I want you to use me.”

Shouta swallows a lump in his throat. “I… Of course. Whatever you need.”

“S-Shit,” Tenko hisses. He uses his good fingers to reach down and stroke the tip of his cock while he rides. Shouta tries not to look but he can’t help it. He can’t prevent himself from gazing down at his bandaged hand and the splint holding together all the fingers that Shouta broke. He remembers Recovery Girl’s warning that they may never heal properly. They might be gnarled and fucked up for life.

Because of Shouta.

“Gonna cum,” Tenko whines. “Fuck, I’m pathetic, can’t—can’t hold it–ah–ah shit–”

“Go ahead,” Shouta coos. “Good boy.”

“ Shit! ” Tenko throws his head back and clenches down hard, abdomen muscles twitching as his cock expels onto Shouta’s stomach. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit!”

Shouta closes his eyes and tries to indulge in the feeling of his orgasm rippling down along his cock. But the sensation is so muffled, he feels like he could go soft at any second, especially now without the friction.

Tenko sends him a blissed out, loopy smile. “Mm, that’s nice,” he smirks. “Sure beats getting fucked by a baton.”

This is what breaks Shouta’s composure.

In a flash, he’s pushed Tenko off of him and is standing, tucking himself back into his boxers and zipping the suit all the way to his neck.

“Hey, what the hell?!” Tenko barks, eyes wide. Shouta turns his back so he doesn’t have to look at them. He can’t stand the sight of those ruby eyes nestled in dark murk anymore.

“I can’t,” he says, voice strained. “I’m…tired.”

“Bullshit, you’re tired! Wait, where are you going?!”

Shouta ignores him. He can’t stand to be near him, he doesn’t want to see or touch or have anything to do with the child he brutalized. “Shower,” he answers.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Tenko shouts after him. “Why are you being so weird?!”

“I’m not,” Shouta says weakly as he starts down the hall.

“Would you just fucking talk to me?!” Tenko says in a shrill yell.

Shouta bristles and pivots around. “I can’t, ” he retorts. “And even if I did, you wouldn’t listen to me because you’re an entitled, moody brat !”

Tenko’s face pales. The anger drains from it like dripping paint, leaving only a startled ghost behind.

“Fuck, Tenko, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Fuck you,” Tenko whispers, tears already falling to streak his cheeks. “Calling me moody?” He scoffs and turns on him. “You’re an asshole.”

Shouta grimaces. “I… I know.”

“I’m going home,” Tenko says, already scooping clothes off the floor.

“Let me…” Shouta starts to walk toward him to help him put clothes back on, but Tenko practically snarls at the approach.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” he snaps. “You wanna get away from me so bad, then go! I won’t sneak in anymore.”

“Tenko…”

The younger man flips him off, manages to pull up the pants he was wearing, throws on a t-shirt, and heads to the door. Shouta can do nothing but watch as he leaves, slamming the door behind him so hard that the walls shake.

Shouta slouches against the wall with a choked off sob. I fucked up. I’ve been fucking up since the day you asked me to help you masturbate. I should have said no. Fuck. I should have said no.

Chapter Text

“Irritated” doesn’t begin to cover how Tenko’s feeling. He’s annoyed, angry, frustrated, and bitter.

After Shouta acted like a selfish, mean, stupid, lying, hurtful dipshit, Tenko went home and screamed into his pillow and cried himself to sleep. The next day, he numbed his brain with video games and then demanded to spend time with the old league so he could get cross-faded as hell and fall asleep on Touya’s couch. He refused to tell them how he got his bruises and broken bones, and they didn’t pester him about it. The next day, he nursed a hangover, slept most of the day, then gamed with Spinner until he passed out.

Shouta messaged him twice asking to talk, but Tenko ignored him, only responding once with a bird-flipping emoji before turning off his phone.

He’s angry, and he has to be. Because if he lets himself think too much about it, the heartache will set in with a nice side-dish of guilt.

Today, he decides that the best way to eradicate his shitty feelings is to troll Deku for a while.

He knows that it doesn’t matter what the hero is doing, he’ll drop it in a split second if Tenko says he needs him. Damn, it’s such a power trip to have that over his head. And that’s what Tenko needs right now—a power trip.

His plan kind of goes to shit though when he calls the teen.

“Of course!” Deku says, as eager as a puppy. “I can hang out with you as long as you need! I’ll come get you and you can go shopping with the rest of us!”

“Us?” Tenko groans.

“Yeah! Some of us decided to spend the day out! It’ll be great! No one’s seen you around in a couple of weeks!”

Tenko’s about to hang up because the last thing he wants is to be dragged around by a group of peppy teenagers for hours. But then he considers Deku’s words some more. He’s right…it has been a while since he’s seen any of them. A lot has happened in that time. Tenko got the shit beaten out of him in that time, and suddenly he can’t wait to see the looks of revulsion and horror on all their faces when they see his fucked up body. Now, that will be funny, and it’ll definitely improve his mood.

“Fine, I’ll meet you by the South Gate.”

Tenko wants to really make them squirm, so he doesn’t put on a hoodie. Just a white short-sleeved shirt that’ll show off his bruises, and the stitches on his back if you squint hard enough. He puts his hair up in a ponytail, too, to really emphasize those jaw bruises. It’s a shitty ponytail though, barely held up by a scrunchie because, well, broken fingers. Doesn’t matter if it comes undone anyway, he’s just looking for shock value.

Shock value is exactly what he gets when the teenagers turn the corner and see him waiting there. And damn, the flavor is sweet.

“Oh my god. ”

Deku is on him in a second. His eyes are big with concern, he keeps reaching out with flailing hands like he wants to hug Tenko or inspect his wounds but doesn’t want to hurt or piss him off. The floating girl has her hands over her mouth and a look of horror etched on her round face. The dumb blond one says, “Whooooaaahhh,” as he crouches down to marvel at the bandages on one of Tenko’s hands.

“Tenko, what happened to you?!” Deku’s voice is frantic. “We have to go to Recovery Girl right away!”

“Relax, hero,” Tenko says with a scoff. “I’m fucked up but fine. And that old bitch already took a look at me.”

Deku looks skeptical about this.

“Did you get hit by a car?” Dabi’s little brother asks this, and it’s the first time Tenko realizes that Deku’s here with his boyfriend. Well, one of them, at least. Damn, it feels like it’s been years since he sat in that café with the hero and asked for advice about Shouta.

The thought of Shouta makes hurt claw up his throat, which he quickly douses with more anger.

“I got the shit beaten out of me,” he answers dismissively. “Stop looking at me with pitiful puppy dog eyes, Deku, I deserved it.”

That much is true. Despite the fact that they’re fighting right now, Tenko will never ever regret his scene with Shouta. It’s too soon to know just how far-reaching the impact will be, but he knows that he’s changed since that night. He’s come to terms with who he used to be, and accepted the pieces of his past in the person he’s becoming.

He just hopes…that Shouta doesn’t regret it either.

“Hey, if that’s how he feels, I’m not gonna question it,” Kaminari says with a shrug. “Are we hitting the mall or what?”

“I’d like that,” the frog girl says, though she cocks her head at Tenko once. “Are you sure you’re okay to go out like that, Tenko? I don’t want to see you get hurt or wear yourself out.”

Their matching expressions of concern tell him that they’re all thinking the same thing. Ugh, it’s so lame and tooth-rottingly sweet that it makes him feel sick. But…it also makes some of the underlying bitterness lurking in his stomach fade away, too.

“I’ll be fine, as long as Deku helps me try on clothes in the changing rooms.” He says this with a sly look at the little Todoroki, hoping to make him feel threatened. But his face is completely deadpan.

“We’ll help you however we can,” he says seriously.

Tenko groans. The kids aren’t being fun to play with today but oh well. He’ll find a way to ruffle their feathers soon. For now, the distraction of their company is enough.

They shop for a few hours, eat some overpriced mall food, then decide to take a walk along the canal to kill time before seeing a movie. 

Tenko doesn’t want to admit that he is tired and sore. He’s not used to going this long without naps and medication, so discomfort is creeping up on him. He’d tell the little heroes to take him home so he could sleep it off, but…he doesn’t want to be alone. At least with the hum of their voices while they walk ahead of him, laughing and chatting about useless things, he can tune out thoughts of Shouta.

He’s being petty, he knows that. But he’s not ready to sit with what happened. Being rejected sexually was bad enough, but hearing him call Tenko entitled and moody? It hurts more than anything he put Tenko through, and that pain is amplified by the fact that Tenko knows he was right. He is a moody little bitch, and even though he can’t place it, he feels like he’s done something really bad. He fucked up somehow, in a big way, and that’s the reason Shouta finally snapped. And Tenko doesn’t know how to fix it.

I’m supposed to be tuning out thoughts of him, fuck!

“Heyyyyy, so, Tenko?” The blond one spins around and walks backward, hands behind his head and a big smile. “Can I ask you something?”

“Kaminari, please don’t!” Deku says quickly.

“Aw, come on, you guys are just as curious as I am!”

The frog cocks her head at the blond one like she’s had a revelation. “Is this why you wanted to come shopping with us instead of hanging out with Kirishima and Bakugou?” she asks. “You changed your mind when you heard Tenko would be with us. Was it so you could ask him something?”

Curiosity piqued, Tenko smirks. “Go ahead.”

“Kaminari…” Deku groans. His cheeks are a delicious shade of freckle-dusted pink which makes Tenko even more excited to hear the question.

“Are you and Mr. Aizawa fucking?”

The frog and floating girl gasp at the question. Baby Dabi looks confused. Deku looks so embarrassed that he might faint.

Now, this is the kind of reaction Tenko wanted earlier. He smirks, stretches, and yawns as if uninterested. “Where’d you get an idea like that?”

“Pretty sure I heard you moan on his phone once,” he answers instantly.

“But Mr. Aizawa said that was a cat video,” mini-Dabi frowns, brows furrowing further.

Tenko’s smirk widens into a grin. “It was,” he says seriously. “I am his kitten, after all.”

Deku puts his face in his hands. The girls look highly uncomfortable. Even the blond battery, the one who asked, looks like he might regret it now that he has an answer.

“I don’t believe you.”

Dabi’s brother is the one who says this. He’s scrutinizing Tenko with narrowed, dual colored eyes. “I find it more likely that you’re trying to mess with Izuku. That, or you want to tarnish Mr. Aizawa’s reputation, which I don’t like at all.”

Tenko’s smile pulls down into a sneer. He doesn’t like the implication here. That somehow, being with Tenko would smear Shouta’s name. Even if it’s true…he doesn’t need to hear it from anyone else. He already runs this script in his own mind every day.

Also, he’s pissed about being called a liar.

“It’s true,” he spits. “I’m Eraser’s secret little lover boy. Actually,” he steps closer to the younger version of his psychopathic best friend, “I’m his boyfriend. As in, we’re exclusive and it’s serious.”

Todoroki seems even less convinced.

“Shouto, let’s drop it,” Deku says, tugging on his boyfriend’s arm. “It doesn’t affect us either way, does it? Let’s just—”

“No,” Todoroki says. “Izuku, he’s always mocking you and making you uncomfortable on purpose. He looks for ways to toy with people’s feelings, and I don’t want him to do it to you anymore. I don’t want him spreading lies about Mr. Aizawa either.”

“Look at you,” Tenko rolls his eyes, “such a noble fucking knight in shining armor. So, I like to tease your boyfriend a little, it’s not hurting anything but your pride. And I’m not lying about Shouta.”

Kaminari snickers at the use of Shouta’s given name, then takes out his phone to record, despite Uraraka trying to convince him not to.

“You want proof?” It takes him a minute but he manages to fish his phone out. He unlocks it and goes to his message thread with Shouta, showing off a few recent exchanges.

“So, you changed someone’s contact to Mr. Aizawa’s name. That’s not proof of anything, only evidence that you are trying to manipulate others.”

“Shouto, you’re being too mean,” Deku tries, but Tenko and Todoroki are both ignoring him now.

Tenko swipes on his phone and opens the photo app instead. “How’s this for proof, asshole?” He presses play on a video and leans back so all the teens can peer in to watch.

“This is a video of you breaking and entering just to record him in the shower,” Todoroki says distastefully. “You should be behind bars.”

“Keep watching, little shit,” Tenko barks.

“Is…this going to show Mr. Aizawa naked, because I don’t want to see if…” Uraraka murmurs.

“If you think I’d let anyone but me look at his dick then you’re an idiot. Relax, you can’t see anything in this one.”

Only his silhouette is visible through the steam and shower curtain. Tenko creeps forward in the video to watch him wash his hair, which continues for a few seconds before… “ I know you’re out there, Tenko. ” The curtain shifts and Shouta sticks his head out, hair wet and amusement in his eyes. He beckons Tenko seductively with a gesture. “ Don’t just stand there, kitten. I know what you want.”

Tenko closes the video and beams victoriously at Todoroki, who looks a shade paler now.

“Hah!” Kaminari gives a cheer. “I knew it! I was right! I caught that on video too, I’m gonna send it to everyone in class! Take that, Sero, you owe me!”

Todoroki clears his throat. “My apologies.”

“Personally, I don’t find it very surprising,” the frog girl says to everyone else’s shock, including Tenko’s. “It’s always been obvious how much you care about each other.”

Tenko has no idea what kind of signs she’s picked up on over the past year or more, but hearing this makes warmth blossom in his chest and spread across his cheeks.

We do care about each other, he thinks.

“Excuse me, um…Tenko?” Uraraka speaks up. She makes eye contact with him and he’s surprised to see worry on her face, not shock at the news about who her teacher is sleeping with. “If what you’re saying is true and you are close to each other, then…can you tell us if Mr. Aizawa is okay?”

Tenko blinks at her as he puts away his phone. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just…” She twiddles her fingers with a frown. “You don’t have to tell us if it’s personal, I’ve just been worried since he taught class the other day. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Tenko feels something dark churn in his stomach. “What happened? What was he like?”

She shares a look with Asui and sighs. “He was crying. I don’t even think he realized it but he looked…I don’t know…really broken, like he was in pain.”

Tenko mulls over these words. The last time Shouta taught was on the day they had their fight. Does that mean…he was falling apart before he got back to his apartment? Come to think of it, he had looked tired when he walked in, and he mentioned wanting to talk to Tenko about something, but…

I blew him off, didn’t I?

And not just once. Shouta tried a few times to communicate something to Tenko, didn’t he? But Tenko was horny and desperate and didn’t want to have a serious conversation. He wanted to feel loved from the inside as Tenko , wanted to have sex for the first time since their scene and wanted it to mean something. He’d been so wrapped up in his own needs that he… Did he overlook Shouta’s needs in the process?

“I…” Tenko trails off, shackles suddenly weighing down his voice and tugging on his heart. “He’s…” He shakes his head, a tremble working down his spine. “I…might have fucked up with him.”

There’s a beat of silence before… “Do you wanna talk about it?” Deku’s eyes are gentle, his voice kind. And his friends wear similar feelings of concern, even Kaminari and Todoroki.

Before the scene, Tenko would have said ‘no.’ He wouldn’t have wasted his time self-reflecting with a bunch of kids. He hated himself and hated his feelings, why would he willingly dive into them? But everything is different now, and…Tenko thinks maybe it’s okay to get some perspective from a few… acquaintances every once in a while.

“Yeah,” he says through a rasp. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Shouta doesn’t know where else to go.

All he knows is that he has to do something. Because he can’t teach like this, or talk to anyone, or even breathe in the murk of this pain. 

The passage of time doesn’t help. Every hour, every minute he spends without Tenko since their fight only makes him feel worse. This depression…it’s so dark and so heavy that he feels out of body. Sometimes he forgets what he’s doing, whether he’s eaten, what time it is. He’s struck again with the realization that he hasn’t felt like this since Oboro’s death.

Oboro… Kurogiri…

The one who raised Tenko throughout his childhood days as Tomura Shigaraki. One of his two oldest friends. And Hizashi…the one who’s been at Shouta’s side through every dark day since they were teens. He thinks of them and there’s suddenly no question about where he needs to be.

It’s the middle of the night when his knuckles rap on the door to their apartment.

“…Shouta?” Hizashi wipes sleep from his eyes when he opens the door. His hair is a mess and he’s wearing nothing but one of Oboro’s shirts. It reminds Shouta of Tenko wearing one of his own shirts and he can’t help it… He breaks into sobs. “Shit,” Hizashi mumbles groggily, “come inside.”

Hizashi leads him into their living room and turns on the lights. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?”

Shouta slumps down on the floor in front of the coffee table and shakes his head. He hears a door open somewhere down the hall, followed by the sound of a collar shaking and little paws skittering on the wooden floor. A moment later, Mochi runs into the room and launches onto Shouta’s lap with a yip. He licks Shouta’s face, and as cute as it is, it simply brings back memories of the night of the scene and Tenko’s pure heart when he asked if the dog was okay. It wrenches another sob from Shouta’s throat and he instinctively pushes the dog away.

“Zashi?” A familiar deep voice speaks up. “What’s going—is that Shouta?”

Oboro walks into the living room. He’s in black sweatpants, shirtless with his scars on display. His head lolls slightly to the side, causing purple, mist-like hair to brush his shoulder. His eyes, one yellow beneath jagged scars, and one silvery blue, open wide at the sight of Shouta.

“Babe, you shouldn’t be walking around without your neck brace,” Hizashi says, face etched with worry.

“I’m fine,” Oboro says as he joins them in the living too and lifts Mochi into his arms. “What’s going on?”

They both look at Shouta, their faces wavering behind the blur of his tears. “It’s Tenko,” he chokes out. This gets a reaction from Oboro, whose face turns hard as he straightens up immediately.

“What’s wrong with Tomu—Tenko? Does he need help? I’ll—”

“No,” Shouta says after Hizashi holds up a hand to shush Oboro. “No, that’s not… I…” He grits his teeth. “I think I…dropped.”

It takes a moment. Shouta sits in humiliation for several seconds before Hizashi’s eyes light up in understanding. Instantly, he plops down beside Shouta and wraps his arms around him. “Dom drop?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know, I…maybe.”

Oboro joins them, sitting on the couch behind Shouta so he can cradle his head while Hizashi leans against him. Mochi nuzzles against his other side, and for a long time, no one speaks. Finally, Hizashi gives his knee a comforting squeeze. “Wanna tell us what’s on your mind?”

Shouta lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t know…if I can.” For so long he stuffed his feelings down, terrified of opening the jar, too focused on Tenko’s needs to risk exposing his own. He’s so rooted in this behavior that even now, with his closest friends, he doesn’t want to be vulnerable.

“You are safe, Shouta,” Oboro says, rubbing his shoulders. “You cannot be harmed here, nor can you harm. ”

Somehow, just like always, Oboro knows exactly the words to say to get through to him. That’s what he needed to hear. He needs to know that here, in Hizashi and Oboro’s living room, Shouta has no power. He can’t wound, crush, or destroy. If he even tried, his friends would stop him. If one of them should fail, the other two will pick him up. That’s their promise. There’s nothing Shouta could say or do here that his friends would reject, judge, or hate him for. They will be strong in his place, and—at last—Shouta can be weak.

“I hate…what I did to him,” he croaks. “I can’t stand to look at him. It’s…he’s… I’m disgusting.”

“Talk to us, Shou.”

So, he does.

He tells them everything. They already knew about the scene, they’d helped him plan it. But they don’t know about everything that followed. The severity of Tenko’s wounds and his refusal to see Recovery Girl, the arcade date, when he lost it on Tenko’s attackers in the bathroom, their post-sex fight. All of it. He talks, sometimes crying and sometimes numb. And his friends hold him the whole time.

“It’s good that you came to us,” Oboro says gently.

“We should’ve checked in with you after the scene,” Hizashi adds. “I’m sorry, Shou.”

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have talked to you. I couldn’t face myself yet.”

“It’s natural to feel like this, Shouta.” Hizashi squeezes his hand. “Look, a rape scene is heavy shit, and you’d never done anything that extreme. It’d be rough on anyone their first time, let alone with you two and your history.”

“The fact that you feel like this is evidence of your care for Tenko,” Oboro adds. “It is difficult for you to accept that what you did was a labor of love.”

“Love?” Shouta scoffs. His eyes burn from crying and his body feels sore everywhere from muscles that refuse to unwind. “That wasn’t love. I made him agree to those things. I wanted to get my revenge. He was easy to take advantage of.”

To his astonishment, Oboro laughs. Hizashi seems shocked by this reaction, too. He looks up with a pinched expression as if warning his lover to be silent.

“I’m sorry,” Oboro says, still chuckling. “My apologies, I simply… It’s absurd to hear you say that you made Tomura Shigaraki agree to anything.”

Shouta turns to face him, analyzing his face and the sparkle in his blue eye.

“I couldn’t make him take baths, let alone subject himself to pain.” Oboro shakes his head with a smile. “Have you forgotten who he is? The man resisted All For One’s influence through sheer force of stubbornness. He’s tenacious, greedy, insistent on getting the things that he wants, and he will never do something he despises.”

Shouta is silent as these words sink in. Something at the back of his mind tells him there’s truth to this statement, but he can’t seem to grasp the wriggling thought.

“Wasn’t it Tenko who came to you asking for these things? Tell me, did you suggest to him even once that you might want to hurt him? Sexually or otherwise?”

Shouta’s lips pinch tightly. “I was…rough with him the first time we had sex.”

Oboro actually rolls his eyes at this. “People enjoy rough sex, Shouta.”

Shouta feels oddly defensive about this. “It was his first time. Maybe I set him up with expectations of being treated rough. Maybe I…groomed him into it.” He already knows the word is ridiculous before he hears it slide off his tongue. Strange, because when he was in his head about this initially, he took the concept seriously. He can still remember lying on the floor in his classroom thinking about ‘grooming’ Tenko Shimura. 

To his surprise, Oboro’s face turns uncharacteristically dark. The yellow of his bad eye seems to glow brighter. “Grooming?” he repeats slowly. “You think…you groomed him? Knowing his childhood? Knowing what All For One did to him? You would compare what you did to the actual grooming he endured?”

Shouta feels shame heat his cheeks. Hizashi wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Boro, I don’t think that’s helping.”

Oboro’s jaw clenches, the muscle flexing for a moment as he thinks. “No, this is important for him to hear.” His face stays firm, but his hand raises to brush hair behind Shouta’s ear, away from his tear-stained cheek. “In your desire to protect Tenko and in your love for him, you’ve infantilized him. In many ways, he is like a child, it’s true. But he is not actually a child. He’s an adult. A man who has led armies, stood up to the greatest heroes and worst villains alike. He’s strong and his ambitions know no bounds.

“He consented to the scene because he knew it was what he needed to achieve his goals. You provided him with the tools he required to face the past. What you did for Tenko was a kindness. Not what you did to him, but for him.”

Shouta’s heart pounds in his skull. “But the things I did–”

“Were things he consented to. Things he wanted. ”

“But there was no way he could have known the effect they’d have on him!”

“Neither could you!” Oboro sighs. “Neither could you, Shouta. You had no idea what the scene would do to either of you. It’s why you prepared so diligently, and why you had safety cues, and why you practiced thorough aftercare. The two of you, together, did your best to create a safe environment to explore something immense. It was a team effort, and Tenko deserves his due for being a willing participant. Don’t take that from him.”

Shouta closes his eyes, willing off a tremor in his spine. “You think I’m treating him unfairly…that I should respect and trust his decision to engage in the scene with me.”

He opens his eyes and is met with a nod from Oboro. “You are partners. Equal in every right.”

He makes it sound so…simple. So unbelievably easy. And that fills Shouta with an uncomfortable, undeserved sense of…hope.

“Even if that’s true…” He looks at the floor. “Still, I… What if I…” He grinds his teeth so hard that Hizashi has to cup his face to make him stop. “What if I…liked it? Getting revenge on Shigaraki… Hurting Tenko… If I’m not safe for him, then…”

“Shou…” Hizashi sighs, then turns his face to look at him. “You’ve gotta take it easy on yourself, pal.” He gives a soft smile and Shouta finds himself lost in the tenderness of it. Where Oboro was blunt and harsh in his approach to reaching through to him, Hizashi is instead gentle and nurturing. The contrast is soothing. He feels like an overgrown vine being trimmed of extra weight by the sharp blades of Oboro’s tongue and simultaneously watered by Hizashi’s lulling tone. 

“There are dividing lines, right? Same as with Tenko, there are things you liked about the scene and things you didn’t. Liking parts of it doesn’t mean you liked the role you were playing. It doesn’t make you the villain you were pretending to be.” He pauses for a moment to let the words sink in. In the meantime, his eyes—so bright without glasses to shield them—flick back and forth in Shouta’s gaze, studying him with over a decade’s worth of affection. “Have you thought about that? Have you thought about the things you liked and why you liked them?”

No, of course he hasn’t. Thinking for even a second about receiving pleasure from that grotesque act makes him feel nauseous.

“When you dig down, was it the act of hurting him that got you off? Did you stop caring about how much he could take? Or was it having control and knowing that he trusted you with his life? You gotta be honest with yourself, Shou. You gotta think about it.” He presses his forehead against Shouta’s, then leans back with a loving smile. “I think that when you do, you’ll remember that you’re not the kind of guy who wants to see people in pain.”

He lets out a shaky breath as he forces himself to replay the scene in his mind, something he hasn’t allowed himself to do until now. “It was…a rush. When I stalked him and dragged him to the warehouse. I got an adrenaline high. That’s so fucked up, god I—”

“It’s not,” they both interrupt at the same time.

“A power trip will go to anyone’s head, Shou,” Hizashi says. “Feels good to be the one in charge. And it feels good when someone trusts you enough to give you that power.”

Shouta breathes slowly, forcing himself to dig deeper. “During most of the scene, I was…numb. Calculating. I watched him carefully. I tested his mental clarity to make sure he would tap out if he needed to. It felt like teaching a class. I couldn’t let myself feel, so I leaned into my script and followed it through until it was over.” 

He remembers it so clearly. Every cut from his knife was measured, as if he was in combat training. He’d emptied his mind of everything but the determination to follow through, like a soldier trudging headlong through an obstacle course. Every strike to Tenko’s body was observed from somewhere out of his own, as empty as the feeling of unleashing on a mannequin. Yes, that’s exactly how he viewed Tenko through much of the scene—like a programmed robot with responses he’d already accounted for. Tenko may have drifted into an altered state of mind, a subspace where he confused the past and present—but Shouta had likewise altered reality in his own perception, turning their environment into the scene of a scripted movie where he was nothing but the director with no personal feelings involved. Like a director, he focused on getting what he needed from every shot, intently fixed on reaching the end. 

A teacher eager for the last bell to ring. A soldier diligently approaching the finish line. A director impatiently waiting to order the cameras to stop filming. There’s a connecting thread through each of these analogies, and suddenly…another realization strikes him.

“I wanted it to be over.”

From the moment he crossed the threshold into that warehouse, through every millisecond that followed and every act he committed. All Shouta wanted…was for it to be over.

There’s no question now. He never took pleasure in hurting Tenko. He could barely manage to get his dick hard when it was time to fuck him. All he wanted was to complete his mission so he could take his broken and battered lover home.

He begins to choke on sobs.

“Aw, Shouta…” Hizashi pulls him into a hug. Oboro slides off the couch and joins them on the floor, offering his arms, too.

“I didn’t want…to break his fingers. I fucking hated that I was able to turn off a part of myself just to do it. Fuck, I…” He’s shaken, absolutely stunned when the truth spills from his lips. “It was too much. Not for Tenko… It was too much for me. ”

“That’s okay,” Oboro murmurs into his hair. “You did your best. You did everything in your power for him, and perhaps you pushed yourself too far in doing so, but you know that now.”

“Oboro’s right,” Hizashi hums. “And you don’t have to do it again, Shou. You’re allowed to have limits, too.”

He shivers between the two of them, feeling small and helpless. Until now, he didn’t want to admit that he’s been hurting this entire time. That all along there’s been something inside of him crying out, desperate to tell Tenko that their scene took a toll on him. To tell him that he could never do it again. He tried to appear so strong when in reality, he wanted to show Tenko his weakness and be accepted in spite of it.

“You’ll need to talk to him,” Oboro says. “He’s not equipped for sympathizing with the emotions of others. He likely has no idea how hard you’ve taken this.”

“Not tonight though,” Hizashi says. “Tonight, you’re staying with us.”

Shouta nods weakly. He’s in no state to be alone right now, and the soothing touches from his friends are the only thing grounding him.

He still doesn’t have a full grasp on his own emotions. There are so many things to unpack about the scene, his feelings toward Tenko and toward himself, the reality of his own needs and limitations… The jar of his feelings remains shattered, but the fluttering emotions don’t feel as countless and untouchable as they did before. Thanks to Oboro and Hizashi, he thinks that maybe…just maybe…he can pick up each unruly, winged creature one-by-one, cradle them in his hand, give them the attention and acknowledgment they require, then set them free. And when he does talk to Tenko again…it will be without the safety of a glass jar, with his heart on full display.

Chapter Text

Two days later, he receives a text from Tenko. Shouta hadn’t tried to contact him after his night spent with Oboro and Hizashi. He wanted Tenko to reach out to him, knowing that conversation would only be productive if the man was willing to listen. That, and Shouta needed those days to himself anyway, to sort through the lingering feelings after the worst of his drop had passed.

“I’m ready to talk. Can we meet up tomorrow at the park?”

Shouta agrees, they set a time, and he spends the rest of the day with a ball of anxiety in his gut. Admittedly, he’s doing much better since his talk with Oboro and Hizashi. He’s no longer entertaining suicidal ideations, and he’s escaped most of the self-loathing he retained after their scene. Oboro’s words constantly repeat each time he begins to wallow in guilt. The scene was brutal on both of them, but it was something they agreed to equally, and Tenko is an adult who should be respected as such. An adult who, he hopes, will also have the maturity to talk about things.

It’s just after noon when they meet in front of the gate of the campus park. The sun is bright, birds chirp merrily in the trees, and the air is comfortably warm.

Shouta’s stomach clenches and his heart gives a pathetic stutter when he sees the head of white hair on the man leaning against a street lamp, waiting for him. It’s not like Tenko to be early, and Shouta had hoped to compose himself and maybe make a snide comment about Tenko showing up late to ease into conversation. There’s no chance of that now, though.

Briefly after seeing him, Shouta comes to an abrupt stop—absolutely stricken.

Tenko is…

Beautiful.

He’s not wearing a dress, but the way the long tails of his blood-red coat brush his bare thighs above black boots give the illusion of one. His long, snowy hair isn’t the usual raggedy mess of tangles, it’s been brushed and all flyaways tamed, then braided and perched over his shoulder with a black ribbon tied to the end of it. It’s hard to tell from the place where Shouta is frozen, but he thinks he might be wearing eyeliner or mascara, too, serving to accentuate the ruby red of his eyes.

Color dusts Tenko’s cheeks when he sees Shouta standing there, and it looks like he can’t decide whether to scoff with embarrassment or preen under Shouta’s gaze.

“Don’t just stand there gawking like I’m a platinum achievement,” he finally groans. “Come walk with me.”

Shouta snaps out of his reverence and joins him at the archway. “Tenko, you look…”

“Like a Devil May Cry character? Yeah, Spinner already told me, just shut up about it.”

Shouta has no idea what that means but he shakes his head. “Gorgeous.”

Tenko’s cheeks burn brighter and he swiftly turns his back on him, tossing the braid over his shoulder. “Let’s go. We’re gonna do really cliché duck feeding shit by the pond, so keep up.”

“Tenko, wait!” He goes to reach for him but thinks better of it, falling into stride beside him instead. “I didn’t know you meant this to be a date. I was hoping we could go somewhere private to talk.”

It feels wrong to him. So wrong to pretend everything is fine between them when there are so many things left unspoken. He can’t allow Tenko to duck away from confrontation this time.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

The question comes out of nowhere. It’s sharp and dead serious. Tenko’s stare is slicing as he meets Shouta’s gaze, not displaying an ounce of insecurity. It’s as unexpected and as striking as his appearance. Shouta suddenly understands exactly how Re-Destro must have felt every time he looked at his elected king.

“No,” Shouta says. He knows there’s more nuance there than the one word answer allows for. They’ve never fully defined their relationship, so breaking it has no explicit lines either. He has no idea how their conversation will go and whether it will result in a chasm that can’t be crossed. Yet, when Tenko poses the question in that commanding tone, there’s no room for nuance. And the simple answer is, no, Shouta didn’t come here today hoping to end things between them.

“I’m not breaking up with you either,” Tenko says. “So, since that’s established, can we please spend some time together and decompress before this horrible fucking conversation?”

Shouta’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a sharp breath. So, Tenko is dreading it as much as Shouta is. He’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

Finally, he nods his assent. “I think I’d like that.”

They walk along the path in silence, listening only to the birds and their feet crunching leaves every so often. They pass people jogging and walking their dogs or chatting with friends while sipping coffee. Shouta expects them to stop at a free bench near the lake to feed ducks, but Tenko keeps walking, doing an entire loop around the lake. It takes him over ten minutes, but eventually, Tenko reaches up and loops his arm through Shouta’s. He doesn’t say anything, or look at him. He’s silent and shaking slightly, as if he expects Shouta to reject him.

He doesn’t.

They finish their lap and finally find a bench under the shade of a tree near the water. Tenko waits for Shouta to sit, then joins him, leaning against his arm as they gaze at the softly rippling surface.

It’s odd. Though the threat of their impending talk looms over them, Shouta can’t help but sink into the serenity of the setting. There’s an undeniable sense of contentment blanketing them, a secureness that pervades all the challenges and complications of their relationship. When he looks down at their reflections on the water, black and white, yin and yang, meshed together with their edges blurred and overlapping by the waves…he thinks that this is how things were always meant to be. He thinks…that Tenko looks perfect on his arm. And when that thought nestles in the warmth of his chest, it becomes hard to resent or regret anything that led him to this point. If he hadn’t helped Tenko masturbate the day he broke into Shouta’s apartment, then…Shouta wouldn’t have this now. This nameless, complex, intricate thing he shares with Tenko.

Or…perhaps not nameless.

“Remember when those guys beat me up in the bathroom?” Tenko asks suddenly, his voice like a rock being dropped onto the glassy surface of the water.

“Yes,” Shouta says, “I was there.”

“It was a rhetorical question, dumbass, just shut up and listen.” His words are mean but his voice is uncharacteristically soft and lilting, almost a melody.

Shouta keeps quiet as he continues.

“I think…after something like that happened, any sane person probably would start wearing masks out in public again,” Tenko continues. “Can’t get the shit beaten out of you for being a mass murderer if you don’t look like one, right?”

Shouta waits, wondering what he’s getting at. Tenko isn’t wearing a mask. His face, scars, lips are all on display.

“I won’t pretend I don’t wanna piss myself when a stranger looks at me weird in public and I think they recognize me,” he continues. “And honestly, I have a feeling I’ll take a few more beatings in my lifetime, whether I’m careful or not.

“But the thing is, Eraser…” He leans back and reaches inside of a deep coat pocket, pulling out a ziploc baggie of cracker crumbs. He opens it, then speckles the crumbs on the ground, drawing the attention of some nearby ducks. “I’m cool with that. Because you know what? Nothing they do to me or think about me… I’m like the tumblr fungus, you know? They can’t kill me in a way that matters.”

Shouta struggles to make sense of his words under obscure references he doesn’t understand.

“You already killed me in the only way that could ever matter.”

“Tenko…” Shouta sighs, feeling unsettled now. He opens his mouth to talk but Tenko continues.

“What I’m saying is…thank you. Not just for the scene. Thank you for teaching me how to just… exist like everyone else. I have friends now, and things I like, and I do everything that everyone else does. I masturbate and do volunteer work and hang out with friends, and I’ve got a boyfriend who I do domestic shit with because I…really love him.”

His cheeks burn rose red as he holds his hand down for a duck to scoop crackers off his palm.

“I have a good life now. I’m…happy. I’ll still be atoning for shit as long as I live, and probably be in therapy for twice that long, but…I like the way things are right now. You’ve made me happy, Shouta.” He looks at him with a sheepish, childlike expression. “I wanna make you happy, too.”

Shouta hadn’t planned about having their intimate discussion outdoors in a public space, but… Hearing Tenko pour out his heart and express the innocent adoration he feels for Shouta is too much. It’s so much, and he knows he’s crying again by the startled expression on Tenko’s face.

“Tenko…I’m…” He tries to control his breathing. He rehearsed this, he can maintain his cool. “I might not be what you need in a relationship. I may not be able to meet your needs, I mean. It’s important that you understand that.”

Tenko’s brows furrow. He ignores the squawking of the ducks and stares levelly at Shouta, lips a thin line.

“I have always tried to be there for you,” he continues, hearing the quaver of his own voice. “As your mentor, as your guide, as your more experienced lover, as your dom, as your…favorite hero.”

Tenko’s eyes widen.

“I’ve treated you as a child I needed to protect. And like a parent, I sacrificed my own needs to put yours first, and it…” He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly. “It hurt me. Badly.”

“Shou–”

“Let me finish,” Shouta says. “I need to say this.”

Tenko bites his lip and nods. He looks uncomfortable, scared, and guilty, too. Shouta hates the way those expressions eclipse the contentment they were both feeling before, but this has to be done.

“The scene was too much for me.” It’s easier to say these words now, after already dredging them up from the bottom of his heart with Oboro and Hizashi. “It crossed limits I can never cross again. I couldn’t handle it and I…failed to tell you afterward that what I needed was reassurance. I needed space to not be relied on, to be acknowledged for my sacrifice, and comforted through my own disgust with myself. I bottled those feelings and needs inside of me, and when they broke free, I snapped at you and called you moody and entitled. For that, I’m so sorry.”

He wants to take Tenko’s hands, but he’s afraid to touch them or even look at them. Afraid that he’ll lose his composure when he sees the bandaged digits and remembers the crunch of the small bones in his fingers.

“I’m glad that the scene was good for you. I’m happy that it gave you the freedom you needed to overcome your past. Because of that, I don’t regret any of it. I do want what’s best for you, Tenko. I always will, but…”

The tears welling up in Tenko’s eyes fill him with shame.

“I can’t do something like that again. I won’t. If that’s something you need to keep yourself in check and keep Shigaraki at bay, then… I can’t be the one to give that to you.”

Simultaneously, Shouta feels like his heart is breaking and like the world’s heaviest weight is being lifted off his chest. He’s breathing heavily, as if his lungs had been weighed down by sand for weeks and he’s finally breathing again. “I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I’m sorry, and…” The next words sit perched on his tongue. He’s never said them before. Even during aftercare, when he listed out all the things he loved about Tenko. Even then, he hadn’t been able to dig within himself, to acknowledge any of his own feelings. He suppressed any heavy emotion that could inhibit his ability to provide for the young man beside him. 

The feelings he kept in his fragile jar weren’t all negative, filthy little creatures. Some were beautiful, pure white and glowing like Tenko. Some feelings were so lovely that Shouta was afraid of their beauty. Feelings like hope, joy, and love. He kept them sealed with the dark emotions, robbing them of their light, of the soft fluttering of their wings on his skin. But that jar has been shaken and shattered, and he can see it all now. He can feel it all. Like a gift, he cups his hands around one, gentle-winged butterfly of light, and holds it out to the man beside him.

The words slip from his mouth, true and unwavering. Words he wishes he’d said earlier, wishes he’d reflected on and allowed to escape the jar of his heart.

“I love you, Tenko.”

Neither of them speak for a long time. The ducks grow bored waiting for more crumbs and wade back into the water. Birds hop around at their feet before taking flight. Occasionally, people pass behind them on the trail, caught up in their own lives, not privy to the scene unfolding on this park bench.

Shouta’s afraid to look at him, so he watches his reflection instead. It’s through the rippling water that he sees Tenko move, a hand reaching up to cup Shouta’s face. He turns his head, forcing him to meet his glossy red eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Tenko whispers. He cups Shouta’s face in both hands. He’s grimacing, lashes wet with tears but eyes shining brightly. “I was such a dick. I knew something was going on with you but I didn’t bother to ask. I liked your attention and I thought you could handle yourself. I thought you were an impervious, invincible hero. I was selfish as fuck and didn’t think of you as a regular man with feelings and needs, too.”

“It’s not your–”

“No, it’s not,” Tenko agrees firmly. “It’s not my fault that you weren’t open about your feelings, but it’s not your fault that I was only worried about myself and trampled your feelings in the process. We both fucked up. And…neither of us did.”

Tenko gives a half-laugh, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on Shouta’s cheeks. “You really can be a dumbass, though. For a fucking teacher.” His eyes roll and he puts on a trembling smile. “Did you really think I want regular beatings? What, like six month rape check-ins? Time to get my bones broken, Shouta! Calendar it in?”

Shouta’s cheeks heat.

“It’s like you still don’t get it. You gave me everything I needed, and I don’t need you to repeat it. I mean, it’ll be boring as shit if we start only having vanilla-ass sex, but I’d take it. If it means I get to keep having this domestic, happy little sim dream life with you, then fine, fuck me in missionary while I read the Bible, I don’t care.”

Shouta’s chest swells with feeling and he lets out a shuddering breath.

“Just talk to me next time,” Tenko continues. “You can tell me if I’m being an inconsiderate bitch, and I might throw a fit, but I’ll figure it out and come back with my tail between my legs, you know I will. So, stop talking like this is a funeral. Neither of us wants to break up, right?”

“Tenko…” Shouta’s lip quivers. Tenko responds by touching it with his fingers, rubbing his other hand gently through Shouta’s hair.

It hits him.

He somehow missed it before. He was so caught up in the anxiety of their conversation that he hadn’t realized…

He grabs Tenko’s hands abruptly, turning them over with his own to look at them, eyes wide. “Tenko…your fingers.”

“I had the old lady heal them up,” Tenko says, flexing them in his hands. “Well…not the pinkies. I hope that’s an okay compromise.”

“But I… I thought…”

“Turns out that not having fingers is a pain.” He gives a noncommittal shrug. “And sure, they symbolize something important, but I don’t need all fucked up fingers to remind me of that. Especially when they remind you of something that hurt to do.”

Shouta’s chest swells so much that it aches. His heart feels close to bursting, and he doesn’t know how to direct his energy other than by lifting Tenko onto his lap in one motion, grabbing his face in his hands, and kissing him.

It’s just like that first night, when he held Tenko on his lap and told him to touch him with all of his fingers. 

It starts rough and wild, each of them pouring love, forgiveness, and acceptance into the other’s eager mouth. Then, the kisses slow. Tenko runs his fingers lovingly through Shouta’s hair. Their tongues dance slowly, explorative and gentle. Each motion is an act of worship and they can’t seem to stop. Each time they part, they look in each other’s eyes, the depth of their feelings reflect back and they’re dragged under again.

“Mm…” Tenko breathes against his lips, and Shouta can’t help but remember the fateful day he snuck into his apartment, asking for help. Their first kiss and the way Tenko trembled in his arms, afraid of himself and afraid to trust Shouta. So much has changed since then. 

“Hey, uh…” Tenko looks at him with a blush emphasized by his makeup. “You don’t really wanna have vanilla sex now, do you?”

Shouta laughs and kisses him again. “No, kitten. There’s plenty I still want to do with you.”

“Thank god,” Tenko groans. “Because I still like when you dom me and when you’re rough. But…we can keep communicating and I’ll try to be less selfish.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Oh, there’s one more thing.” Tenko leans back, his expression sheepish. “All of your student…might know that we’re fucking now.”

Shouta sighs. “What did you do, Tenko?”

“I…well that stupid mini-Dabi was pushing my buttons and he didn’t believe me when I said we were dating, so I showed him and a few others a video and–”

“You what ?”

“Nothing with nudity! I just wanted to prove it! And I…needed someone to talk to about all the shit happening between us, so…”

Shouta relaxes and lets out a soft sigh. “You went to others for help and advice?”

“Yeah…” He looks down with a grimace. “Sorry, I–”

“Tenko, I’m so proud of you.”

The other man’s head jerks up and his eyes go wide.

“Months ago you would have never imagined seeking others out to help you. But ever since you came to me that evening…you’ve evolved so much. I’m so deeply proud of you.”

Tenko’s lips twitch in an adorable, pleased smile. “Yeah, well…I guess you’re good for me, hero.”

“I think we’re good for each other,” Shouta says gruffly before pulling him in for another heated kiss. This continues for a while before Tenko squirms on his lap and pulls back, lips red from Shouta’s crushing mouth and needy teeth.

“If you’re gonna keep tongue-fucking my face then we should probably go somewhere private,” he says. “Or, if you don’t wanna have sex yet, then…” He tugs and twirls his white braid. “We can take it easy and finish our date. Maybe get some food?”

Shouta’s face softens and he joins Tenko in stroking the perfectly groomed hair. “I’d like that. We can finish our date and then I can take you somewhere private. I owe you, after all.”

“You do?”

“Mhm.” Shouta presses a kiss to his nose. “You still want me to make love to you properly, as Tenko. I ruined it when you came to me before.”

“That’s true.” Tenko grins. “You were an asshole.”

“Yes, well…I’m sure I can make amends for that.”

Tenko nods, then rises to his feet and pulls Shouta up with him. They stand there for a while, gazing into each other’s eyes as birdsong and leaves swirl around them.

“Thank you,” Tenko whispers. “You’ve taught me so much, and you saw me when no one else did.”

“Thank you ,” Shouta counters, “for trusting me and shaking the walls I built up around my heart.”

Taught, Trusted. Seen, Shaken.

Together, they had become everything they ever needed.