I trust you too
Okay so… I'm quite overwhelmed right now, in all honesty I didn't think this story would be so successful. I am so grateful to all of you! I'm sorry I can't actually keep an update schedule but I work a 12h/day job and my writing time (and free time in general) is very limited – but I shall do my best to follow through with his plot.
I read a WONDERFUL fic recently (see link below) and due to that I have decided – MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD! – that at least two people will die by the end of this. Oh, and this chapter is also kind of disturbing... y'all have been warned.
Fic: Call-Me-Deku by AnimeFanGirl2223
Izuku has never ridden a motorbike before, not even as a passenger.
However, now he's researched it online and memorized the starting steps and a few other useful tips and tricks - after all, he does have a brilliant mind, if nothing else. The idea arose when Himiko jokingly suggested stealing a pizza delivery scooter for a double advantage, but when it actually comes to it, the boy happens to stumble onto something much better. It's a shiny black Kawasaki Versys – X, owned by some big-muscle dumbass who thinks leaving the key in the ignition as he dismounts and walks into a nearby store is a good idea.
Izuku nearly facepalms at the sight, shaking his head with a sigh.
Yep, he was right about it. It's far from being a philosophy - more an issue of balance an average bike rider can overcome relatively easy - especially while high on G.A.F. His hands grip the handlebars steadily as he straddles the smooth black leather seat in one fluid motion and he turns the forgotten key in the ignition, a smirk widening on his face as he does so. The dumbass has taken the helmet with him for some unknown reason, but fuck it.
Fuck all the rules of this fucking world.
The engine roars to life, wild and unrestrained, sending a pleasant shudder down the teen's spine, prompting him to kick the bike into gear. What follows is an incredible feeling of freedom and exhilaration as the wind rushes through his hair and around his face and he speeds up, heedless of the stares of the passers-by, ensuing car honking and the street security cameras which are sure to catch him. It doesn't matter though, they'll get rid of it fast enough. As much as he'd like to keep it, Izuku is just too young to be allowed to ride such a beast alone and the blonde isn't game for it either.
Speaking of, Himiko is waiting in a back alley, smoking a joint and scrolling lazily on her phone. She only offers a small smile to her little protégée at the sight of his 'spoils of war', jumping down from the pile of crates and walking over with a hand on her hip.
"What? That guy from the warehouse said we can bring him anything as long as it's in good shape and he'll pay up," the student points.
"You need a license to ride an engine like this, smartass," Himiko deadpans, crossing her arms.
"Really?" Izuku feigns innocence, the corners of his mouth twitching.
"Really." The blonde shakes her head, plucking the designer shades from her hair and pushing them up on the boy's nose. "Your face showed up in the news, you smol villain, you. Now let's get rid of the license plate."
As it turns out, the ever practical Himiko does have a way of 'upping their game' when it comes to business – which has become necessary - but as that too is costly it's kind of a vicious circle. However, the blonde decides that the cash they now get on the motorbike qualifies for that sort of investment. Because – she explains – that half-assed stunt might have worked with the liquor store guy, since herself and someone with Izuku's childish and utterly harmless appearance are easily underestimated by salesmen and security agents, but since they're not planning on actually using the gun if shit hits the fan (which can very well happen one day), they need some other means to make an impact. Gunning someone down in the open is (sadly) not an option.
"What can I say, this shit doesn't exactly turn you into All Might, but fuck, you don't need to flatten half the city for a couple of bucks," the blonde states, leading the way down some worn steps, towards the entrance of a shady basement-level bar.
The inside is dark save for the red and yellow lights embedded in the wall behind the counter and since it's not even lunch time the place is empty too except for the bartender and a lone guy hunched over with his back to the door.
"These guys call themselves The League of Villains and they want to take over the world or some other comic book-inspired crap," Himiko explains in a hushed tone. "They had a mystery guy at the top who was both mentor and sponsor and he was super-powerful and shit, but he was busted a short while ago so now they're in dire need of funds… Anyway, the skinny one at the bar is Shigaraki, our supplier. The other one, the bartender, is Kurogiri. "
The bartender's head is like a yellow-eyed column of purplish-dark smoke and the hands diligently wiping shot glasses seem to be made of the same material, but while he certainly is striking, his appearance is nowhere near as horrible as that of the more human-looking person hunched in front of him, nursing a whiskey glass. While he's wearing just a simple blue tee and worn black jeans, the outfit is sinisterly 'accessorized' with several grey, severed hands which grip the man's arms, neck and face. The worst thing is that those hands really look like they'd been originally attached to a body.
"What the fuck is wrong with him?" Izuku wonders, stomach cringing at the sight.
"Dunno, I'm his client not his therapist," the blonde answers. "Maybe he likes hands or something."
"Like… a hand kink?"
"Maybe he just likes to be groped…"
For some reason, Izuku can't take his eyes off the young, grey-haired villain, and remains rooted in place as Himiko walks up to the bar to talk to him. The man turns around, his face mostly concealed by the large hand gripping it tightly, his only seeing eye instantly focusing on the boy. Then the villain slips off his chair and saunters closer with slow, feline movements.
"I must increase the price because I've got some complaints, you see. Apparently, the product is not only ineffective for people with strong quirks, but it appears to even inhibit their quirk, the only happy customers were those with weak or useless quirks, like yours. That substantially diminishes the market for it, as I'm sure you understand," Shigaraki says, advancing until he stands right in front of the boy, towering over his smaller frame. "Now the question is, what is your quirk?"
"I… I-I don't have one," the teen stutters, already numb with horror even before the other reaches out and presses a thin, clammy hand onto the side of his neck.
"Ah! Is that so?!" Shigaraki steps behind him smoothly, bringing his other hand to the boy's neck as well and using one thumb to tilt his head to the side slightly. "I have a disintegrating quirk myself. See, everything I touch just… unravels and it is particularly gruesome when it comes to flesh," he chuckles softly. "But do tell me, what else is so perfectly wrong with you?"
His body presses into Izuku teasingly, pulling him closer, but absolutely nothing compares to the feeling of those corpse-like hands. With each passing second Izuku feels like they're melting into his own skin, becoming one with his flesh, such that he'll never be free of them. Even if they're not applying as much as the slightest pressure, he's suffocating, paralyzed with fear, heart pounding madly in his chest.
Maybe his time to kick the bucket has finally come.
"Consent, Shigaraki, consent," Himiko warns from the bar, wiggling her index finger.
"Oh, I know he wants it…" the villain replies playfully. Still, those horrible hands finally leave the boy's neck, one resting lightly onto his shoulder while the index finger of the other twists around one of Izuku's curly strands.
"You know what, this has become a sad cliché," the blonde states, perching on a stool and motioning to the bartender. "You go to a bar and first thing you know some creep who looks like he's been pulled out of a rat's ass walks up to you and says 'I know you want me'… Seriously, for fuck's sake!"
"I know, right? And they're not even offering to buy you a drink," Kurogiri adds amused, filling up a shot glass for her.
"Fuck you both for ganging up on me," Shigaraki mutters, leading the teen to a seat. "Sorry kid, I was only messing with you but you're just too cute," he adds with a barely visible grin of cracked lips. "Here, have a drink and relax a little."
The villain then walks behind the counter and pulls out a small metallic case, flicking the lid up. Inside, set neatly in Styrofoam bedding are six doses of iridescent liquid, slightly larger than the G.A.F vials, but similarly equipped.
"That's the latest formula, developed by the Master before… well," Shigaraki explains, briefly reaching up to caress the dead hand gripping his face lightly with his fingertips. "We already know it works for you, Himiko, but for our little quirkless friend here it should fucking work wonders. Just as easy to use as before, minimal discomfort…"
Izuku can't really follow the rest of the conversation, the vodka shot he's downed with a shaky hand violently burning all the way into the pit of his stomach and making him choke while it does nothing for that horrible feeling which still lingers on his skin like a ghostly touch. Since G.A.F usually renders him reassuringly insensitive to most things, this is all the scarier now.
The dreadful sensation – and it has now moved past mere fear into a far deeper-seated terror and almost like a premonition that something really, really bad is going to happen to him – haunts Izuku into the small hours of the morning, waking him up with a start. He's panting, drenched in a cold sweat and his own hands now clutching at his neck as he trembles, staring wide-eyed into the empty darkness of the bedroom. He must have screamed too, because behind him Himiko stirs with a groan, eventually sitting up as well.
"Hey…" she whispers softly, reaching out to stroke the nape of his neck.
Izuku leans back into her touch, grateful for the comfort of her warm fingers, but he still can't stop shaking. "I-I thought he was going to kill me," he breathes out mindlessly. But what he really means is 'I think he's going to kill me'. Not the grey-haired villain per say, but those dead hands, there's something with them, someone else's will who controls everything, maybe the Master Shigaraki was speaking of and he's in those hands which keep the young man prisoner, make him into a puppet.
Or maybe he's just going mad.
"Ugh, fuck Shigaraki and his gay shit!" the blonde grumbles with a deep sigh, pulling him back down into the tangled sheets. "I'm sorry, Izuku," she adds, stroking his hair gently. "I won't let anyone touch you ever again. I won't let anything bad happen to you."
The teen sniffs quietly, trying to relax. "I just… I wish I could forget how I felt when-…"
"Shhhh… I'll make you forget. You trust me, don't you?"
He nods lightly, eyes closing as Himiko's hand trails lightly from the side of his face down his neck and collarbone, then further down his bare torso, warm against his cooling skin, ever so soothing.
"Keep your eyes closed," the blonde whispers, fabric swishing next to his ear. He knows she's pulled out the knife from under her pillow, but it's fine, it's-
A loud gasp is forced past the teen's lips when that teasing hand now slips determinedly past the waistband of his sweatpants, closing around him, such that he doesn't even feel the sharp blade pressing into the skin of his chest. It only starts to sting when Himiko eventually replaces it with her tongue and begins to work her mouth on the wound, but the rest feels so good it very soon drowns anything else. There's something beyond skill in that touch on his hot, hardened, wanton body, it's possession, it's love.
The blonde's grin hovers above him as Izuku comes down from his high and opens his eyes, the knife twirled playfully between her fingers as she's leaning forward on her elbows.
"Now wasn't that a little one sided?" Himiko asks, claiming his lips briefly as he's still panting a bit. "Your turn," she says, pointing the handle of the knife at him.
"W-What…?"
"It's okay, I trust you too."