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“Boyfriend giving you trouble?” Hizashi asks as he drapes himself over Shōta’s desktop like the decorative headache he’s always been.
“Watch your mouth,” Shōta’s red pen slashes mercilessly across the essay in front of him.
“Oh ho ho, so tense. Maybe,” Hizashi drawls out as he squirms further forward across Shōta’s desk, “it’s the opposite problem instead? Let me guess, you haven’t seen him in a bit, right? That’s what’s got your scarf in a knot, isn’t it?”
Shōta refuses to give Hizashi the reaction he knows he’s looking for.
“Aw, don’t be such a sourpuss, Shō,” Hizashi says. “Your lover boy will be back in no time.”
“Don’t curse me like that,” Shōta shoots back, one hand moving to bat uselessly at Hizashi’s obnoxious hair. “And Dekiru is not my anything, except my never-ending headache.”
“And yet you knew exactly who I was talking about,” Hizashi says smugly.
Shōta scrawls another violent slash of red ink across the page and deliberately ignores Hizashi.
“Did I hear someone say never-ending head?” Nemuri pops up on Shōta’s other side like the scantily clad demon she’s always been.
“It’s like you’re in heat,” Shōta brings an arm up to block Nemuri’s attempt to swat him upside the head.
“Please,” Nemuri scoffs as she props a hip against his desk, “the world should be so lucky. I’d be even more irresistible than I already am.”
“Oversexed nightmare woman,” Shōta grumbles, flipping to the next essay in his pile.
“Let’s be real here,” Hizashi chimes in, “if anyone in this room besides Vlad is putting out a desperate mating call, we all know it’s Shō-”
Shōta turns his chair just enough that he can kick out a leg and sweep Hizashi’s ankles out from under him.
Hizashi squawks in outrage when the hit disrupts his balanced lean and sends him sliding off of Shōta’s desktop and toward the staff room floor.
“Aw, poor Shō-Shō,” Nemuri coos as she leans forward toward Shōta, arms crossed beneath her breasts so that they’re practically being presented to him.
Shōta knows that there’s a not insignificant portion of the population that finds such a move provocative and irresistible. Especially when it’s Nemuri doing it. But he’s never been one of that particular crowd. The only thing about Nemuri’s breasts that has ever fascinated Shōta is how she can stand to jump around so much without any real support.
Personally, when forced against his will, normally by Nemuri herself, to think about her breasts at all, Shōta just tends to see them as a threat.
Although to be fair, Shōta also has the advantage of having known Nemuri since he was fifteen and having sat through her lecture about “tit”-tical maneuvers on multiple occasions.
So he knows that she’s a threat.
All of her.
From head to pointy heeled toe.
“What’s got your tail in such a twist, darling?” Nemuri purrs as she invades his space even more. “Missing your little boy toy?”
“That’s what I said!” Hizashi chooses then to pop up off the floor and back into the conversation. “He always gets so grumpy nowadays whenever Dekiru goes ghost for a while.”
“The pining would be cuter if he weren’t so gloomy and violent about it,” Nemuri agrees.
“I could always get more violent,” Shōta offers/warns.
“Save that for your better half,” Hizashi says, eyebrows wiggling in Shōta’s direction over the top of his glasses. “He’ll appreciate it more than we would.”
“Are we talking about Eraser’s little boyfriend again?” Vlad sneers as he chooses that moment to lumber past Shōta’s desk, no doubt on his way toward the kitchenette for another protein smoothie or whatever it is he swills down in an attempt to keep his gym rat frame intact. “Not that I understand what he sees in you, but there’s no accounting for taste, I guess.”
“Which is why you should tell your mom to stop calling me,” Shōta cuts back without bothering to look at Vlad. “It’s time for her to accept that it’s just never going to happen.”
He does, however, raise both his hands to accept the high fives that Hizashi and Nemuri automatically hold out to him.
“Besides,” Shōta continues, ignoring Vlad’s hen-like squawking in the background, “do I need to remind any of you that Dekiru is a villain?”
“Yeah,” Hizashi drawls the word out obnoxiously, but thankfully at an acceptable volume. “But like, only legally.”
Shōta stops.
Slowly turns his head enough to stare at Hizashi.
Tries to convey a sense of “and we’re heroes, you stupid fuck” with only his eyes and general aura.
“Fuck you,” Hizashi grumbles, “you know exactly what I meant.”
To be fair to Hizashi, which is something Shōta routinely tries to avoid, it’s not like he’s wrong.
Because yes, Shōta is correct that Dekiru is technically, legally a villain, but the spirit of Hizashi’s statement is also right because he’s just …
Not a very good one.
While Dekiru has racked up an ungodly amount of property damage to his name, he has never actually hurt anyone as far as Shōta knows.
Shōta’s pretty sure that Dekiru hasn’t had a single heist, operation, or attempted attack actually succeed since the moment he’d ping-ponged onto the scene and directly into Shōta’s life.
Which might be attributed to the fact that none of Dekiru’s so-called ‘devious plots’ ever seem to go right. His machines and support gear, all cobbled together from what Shōta suspects might be actual garbage, never seem to function for long or even correctly either.
“Remember that thing with the bubbles?” Nemuri asks.
Shōta immediately groans.
Shōta absolutely remembers the thing with the bubbles and actively wishes he did not.
To this day, Shōta’s not sure what, exactly, Dekiru’s true goal had been before the bubble machines had all mass-malfunctioned like the vast majority of Dekiru’s machines tend to do.
What he does know is that Endeavour had been a nightmare and a half to deal with for a solid month after that, and the cleanup had been a pain in everyone’s ass.
Like most incidents Dekiru tends to be involved in.
From the bubble machine incident with Endeavor, and honestly a lot of Dekiru’s mishaps do tend to cause an exorbitant amount of problems for the flame hero, all the way to whatever it was that Dekiru had done that had caused a small portion of one of Musutafu’s residential blocks to collapse into a sinkhole. Thankfully, the area had been evacuated the day before due to a massive gas leak, but the point still stands.
Plus, it had uncovered an entire underground compound that had had Sir Nighteye foaming at the mouth.
The only reason Shōta knows Dekiru was involved is that he’d been spotted fleeing the scene, tattered villain costume on and a comically oversized and bulging sack slung over one shoulder.
Hell, there’s even the fact that Dekiru had somehow managed to infiltrate UA, set some kind of elaborate trap system inside the USJ, presumably to catch Shōta himself, only to get caught by Thirteen midway through setting up an impressively complex glitter trap by the control room.
In the end, Dekiru had managed to get away, escape being his one real skill as far as Shōta is aware, and possibly quirk-related, although Shōta’s never been able to pin that down where Dekiru is concerned either. Still, all he’d actually managed to accomplish was to get Shōta’s new homeroom and Vlad’s unfortunate brats' first field trips canceled and pushed back to after the Sports Festival.
Granted, Nedzu had also shut the entire school down for three days for a complete, and admittedly overdue, system and security overhaul.
It had also caused Dekiru’s villain ranking to be bumped up an entire ranking from D to C.
But considering the fact that Shōta has faced off against more competent and threatening middle school students than Dekiru, and that Dekiru’s D-rank on the villain scales had been granted solely by property damage and the amount of irritation he causes Endeavor on the regular, he’s willing to chalk that up to an accidental side effect of Dekiru somehow getting lucky enough to worm his way onto the campus at all.
“Honestly, it’d be kind of sad and pathetic how often and how far his plans go off the rails if it wasn’t for how violently adorable he is,” Hizashi chimes in.
Which, objectively, also isn’t wrong.
Because, nuisance he may be, but Dekiru is also all flailing limbs, thick white curls, and big, shining, kitten-like green eyes above his mask that Shōta knows he’s seen somewhere before.
He also has a habit of shouting encouragement and fighting or quirk-related tips to the various heroes who try to apprehend him.
He’s like a Saturday morning cartoon villain come to life, all outlandish, over-the-top plans, and generally harmless annoyance made manifest.
If faced with Dekiru being pitted against a particularly aggressive pigeon, Shōta’s money would be on Dekiru folding like a wet paper bag and the pigeon somehow stealing the man’s wallet.
Dekiru is, in a word, a disaster.
Shōta spends most of their time torn between wanting to high kick him into the sun and biting him. For reasons.
“That and how obvious his crush on Shōta is,” Nemuri adds because she’s a terrible person.
“Lies and slander,” Shōta replies instantly.
“Truth and nothing but,” Nemuri counters. “He’s been dogging your every step for what? Two years now? He might heckle other heroes, but you’re the one he always comes back to. That’s dedication.”
Shōta can’t actually argue with that either. It has been two long, complicated, absurd years, and yet Dekiru always pops up to harass Shōta at least three times a week. Rain or shine, sleet or snow, Dekiru always shows up without fail no matter where Shōta is.
Pestering Shōta with questions, leading Shōta on chases that inevitably cause him to stumble across some other crime in progress, and then tossing canned coffees, snacks, and the occasional homemade bento at him before hauling ass again. Surprisingly good bento at that, once Shōta had had the seventh or so one tested and decided that no it was not an elaborate ruse to poison him.
The villain, property damage and Endeavour heckling aside, Shōta probably wouldn’t even call him that if it wasn’t for the business cards Dekiru had made up, has become a load-bearing part of Shōta’s long-suffering routine at this point.
Except for in the situations where he randomly disappears and stays gone with no explanation.
Like now.
Which Shōta absolutely does not feel any particular sort of way about.
No matter what the public health violations that make up his social circles have to say about it.
Or how he finds himself missing the oddly captivating and interesting conversations Dekiru normally brings with him whenever their paths cross.
“And let’s not forget that date night he set up for you two a few months back,” Hizashi says, cutting into Shōta’s train of thought.
“I chased him for six blocks and when I finally caught him he cried all over me,” Shōta clarifies. “Fifteen minutes of sobbing isn’t typically romantic.”
“A romantic moonlit stroll and then a moment of touching emotional connection?” Nemuri cuts in. “Sounds pretty date-like to me. Plus, we both know you think his crying is adorable.”
Shōta shoots a rude gesture in her direction.
“Exactly!” Hizashi points at Shōta dramatically. “He cried all over you, but you let him! That’s practically a declaration from you. Best friends for over a decade and the last time I teared up with you in the same room you jumped out the nearest window.”
“You were crying over something stupid, like your hair gel being discontinued,” Shōta feels the need to point out.
“Oh, and Dekiru’s breakdown was so much more serious?” Hizashi asks.
Shōta hesitates.
Hizashi stomps one booted foot and makes a demanding noise, because Shōta is apparently surrounded by literal toddlers.
“It was something about unicorns,” Shōta finally admits. “How they’re too precious.”
Hizashi makes a ‘see what I mean?’ sort of gesture with his arms in Shōta’s direction.
Shōta’s going to sneak into his apartment while he’s sleeping one night soon and loom over his bed again.
See how Hizashi likes it when he starts having paralysis demon nightmares again.
Actually, just to be an even bigger asshole, he might recruit Dekiru to come along with him.
“Still,” Nemuri continues, sounding just a hair more serious than before, “it’s been at least a week since you came in complaining about him. It’s not like him to be gone this long, is it?”
Shōta can’t help the way he grimaces just a bit in response because no, no it’s not like Dekiru to be gone like this without at least giving Shōta some kind of unasked-for heads up.
“Has the green bean not seen him either?” Hizashi asks.
Ah.
That.
The other piece to this entire situation that Shōta could really do without having to think about.
Because somehow, for some reason, Dekiru is … fond of Shōta’s other regularly scheduled problem.
Midoriya Izuku.
The kid who used to do his level best to avoid making eye contact with Shōta unless absolutely forced to, who had been as skittish as a rabbit and twice as easy to startle, but who now routinely gives Shōta ‘I’m watching you’ eyes.
Shōta can trace Midoriya’s shift in demeanor to the very second he’d been out on patrol and discovered Midoriya on his apartment building’s roof at three in the morning, eating ice cream.
With Dekiru.
But given that the boy’s quirk use also smoothed out practically overnight, and the fact that he’d made an absolutely smashing debut at the Sports Festival, not only snagging first place but also coming out the other side with both Todoroki and Shinsō from 1-C basically surgically attached to his sides, Shōta’s been willing to overlook things.
Midoriya had even chosen the hero name Deku.
And even with whatever it is between him and Bakugō and the nicknames they have for each other, Shōta’s not naive enough to believe it’s not at least a small nod to Dekiru as well.
There’s some kind of connection between the two that Shōta hasn’t been able to figure out yet, even though Midoriya swears, and all of his records agree, that he doesn’t have any family besides his mother.
No older brothers, no cousins, or uncles. There’s not even a father in the picture from what Shōta’s been able to find.
“I’m sure he’ll turn up soon,” Nemuri reaches out and pats Shōta on the shoulder.
Shōta does his best to shake off the uneasy feelings that have been crowding him.
Dekiru will be fine, he always is.
Shōta has other things to worry about right now besides his regular annoyance not being where he’s supposed to be.
He’s sure that once he gets through today, Dekiru will pop up like a weed sometime during his late patrol.
Which is, of course, the exact moment that UA’s new and improved alarm system begins to blare.
“Attention,” Nedzu’s automated voice rings out across the intercom system as the emergency guide-lights across the school flare to life, “incursion inbound, multiple targets confirmed. Lockdown initiated, all classes report to designated fallback locations and all heroes report for duty.”
In the next breath, Shōta is running, falling into line behind Hizashi’s left shoulder while Nemuri takes his right.
Nothing else matters now but this.
~~~
Shōta takes a precious second to wipe the blood from his forehead, thankful for the way that his improved goggle design has kept his eyes even more protected than before.
In the distance, Shōta hears the rattling call of one of Mic’s short-range, precision screams, the kind he uses on crowded battlefields where friendly fire absolutely cannot be risked.
He smells the faint but thankfully diluted sweet scent of Midnight’s attacks, undoubtedly strategically spread from the concentrated forms she keeps in her fan and whip to keep from impacting allies as well.
Ahead of him, Cementoss heaves up another wall, calling on the existing structures as well as the cement stores Nedzu has seeded throughout the campus, in an attempt to not only corral the tide of villains who have managed to punch through UA’s gate but also buy the heroes behind him a second or two to breathe.
But …
It’s not enough.
Even with Nedzu running tactical and having called in the campus bots to help as well as Powerloader unleashing the few functional faux-villain bots from the entrance exam and the Sports Festival to act as cannon fodder, they’re slowly being overrun.
These people, these things, are unlike any villains Shōta has ever fought before. Not even during that entire dust-up in Naruhata he’d been involved in a few years back.
They all look similar, large, muscled bodies with thick purple-black skin.
But the worst part is the way that their brains are exposed.
Shōta’s never seen anything or anyone like them.
Has never fought anyone who, even hopped up on Trigger, simply refuses to go down and stay down like this.
Not even Erasure seems to give any of them pause, despite the variety of quirks Shōta sees some of them spitting out and using freely.
It’s like they’re not even human.
If backup from outside the school doesn’t arrive soon, then Shōta knows that Nedzu isn’t going to have any other choice but to activate the third-year hero students.
Which, a year out from officially taking the field as full-fledged heroes or not, isn’t something Shōta really wants to do.
Especially not here and now against enemies who do not hesitate to go for the kill.
All in all, it’s one hell of a time for All Might to be missing from the field.
“Eraserhead,” Nedzu’s voice is suddenly in Shōta’s ear, coming in clear and steady across the comm.
“Here,” Shōta acknowledges.
“I have identified the head of this particular snake just now entering through our gates,” Nedzu practically purrs, an icy sort of territorial rage underlining his chipper tone. “Do go and cut it off for me.”
Shōta doesn’t bother to answer, already weaving around, over, and under obstacles as he heads toward the gate, Nedzu rattling off identifying factors in his ear as he moves.
Shōta spots him after only a few minutes.
Five foot nine, a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet if that, greasy blue hair, and severed hands decorating his face and body.
Also surprisingly nimble and quick, if the way he dodges Ectoplasms clones is anything to go by.
“Ah,” Nedzu’s sudden change of tone has Shōta pulling up short and ducking behind a large chunk of debris.
Shōta sees it then, the way that the villain leads with his hands, fingers splayed and grasping, aiming more for a hold than a real hit.
The chunk of concrete the villain manages to lay a hand on disintegrates.
“Do ensure that this one does not touch you, Eraserhead.” Nedzu orders. “Neutralize him if at all possible.
Shōta shifts his weight and pulls his combat knife from the sheath at his waist.
Going directly for the maiming option isn’t generally how Shōta operates most days, but needs must.
If this asshole wanted to keep all ten of his fingers, then he should have found something else productive to do with his day.
“You know,” a voice says directly into Shōta’s other ear, “maybe you should let me handle this one.”
Shōta spins, his capture weapon lashing out on instinct, only to stop halfway through the motion.
Because there, floating just off the ground behind him, is Dekiru.
It’s the first sign of actual quirk use Shōta can remember ever seeing from Dekiru, and it throws Shōta off for a split second despite the seriousness of the situation. Flight of all things hadn’t even been on the list of possible quirks Shōta had been considering.
“Hi Eraser,” Dekiru gives Shōta a little finger wave, “did you miss me? Sorry I disappeared like that. I was busy getting you a gift. Well, not just you, but also mostly for you.”
“Dekiru,” Shōta feels ice trace down his spine as something that he refuses to admit feels like betrayal begins to creep up over him. “You … tell me you aren’t-”
“Hey, hey, no!” Dekiru waves his arms frantically in front of him, white curls bouncing and eyes wide above the mask that covers the lower half of his face. “I would never! I might be a villain, but I have standards.”
Shōta’s brain reengages and he remembers who, exactly, he’s talking to.
He’s seen this man, this villain, cry actual tears over cute kittens and expensive puddings on multiple occasions.
Of course he’s not in league with whoever or whatever this invasion is about.
His timing is just ridiculously, typically, terrible.
“You can’t be here,” Shōta hisses, reaching up to tug Dekiru down by the collar of his cliché ninja-like outfit. He presses Dekiru up against the concrete, caging him against it with his body as he turns his attention back toward the actual threat. “This isn’t a game, Dekiru. These are real villains, and they’re not here to play around like you. Fellow villain or not, the moment they realize you’re not on their side, they’ll kill you just as quick as they’ll kill me.”
“Are you worried about me?” Dekiru says, just a bit breathless.
Shōta risks a glance down, unable to help the way those eyes capture him yet again.
“You should go,” Shōta manages to say after a too-long pause. “Get back off campus and find somewhere to lay low until this passes. You can get back to annoying me later, when it’s safe.”
There’s a pause.
Another too-long beat of silence in the middle of such a vicious battlefield.
“I care about you too, Shōta,” Dekiru says, voice soft and serious in a way that Shōta’s never heard before, the use of his first name grabbing something inside of him and squeezing. “So much.”
Dekiru pushes himself up onto his tiptoes, crowding further into Shōta’s space.
Despite the hand still fisted in his collar, Shōta doesn’t think to stop him.
Instead, Shōta’s traitorous heart skips a beat.
Even through the fabric of his mask, Dekiru’s lips are warm when he presses them against Shōta’s.
“You should know that I’m not going anywhere,” Dekiru whispers against Shōta’s mouth. “And that I’ll never let him hurt you.”
Dekiru is gone in the next second, slipping out of Shōta’s hold with a grace and ease he’s never shown before to float above him, just out of reach of Shōta’s capture scarf.
“My my,” Nedzu’s voice rings in Shōta’s ear, obviously having heard the entire exchange. “It seems as if a new player has entered the game. How fascinating.”
“Oi!” Dekiru’s shout is somehow loud enough to be heard over the din of the various battles. “Tomura, you stupid crusty fuck, stop throwing a tantrum!”
There’s a beat.
“You!” The hand villain, or Tomura apparently, abruptly disengages from Ectoplasm's clones and turns his attention toward Dekiru’s hovering form. “You killed Sensei! You stole my warp gate! You’ve ruined everything, you spawn camping fucking hack! You cheated! You have to have cheated!”
“Shut up with the gamer talk, you NEET,” Dekiru taunts, arms crossed as he floats in the sky. “Not my fault you suck at this and didn’t take my advice. So, get good, bitch.”
“I’m going to kill you!” Tomura screeches, one arm raised toward the sky. “Nomu! Forget the heroes, just kill Dekiru!”
As one, every single villain on the battlefield stops and turns toward Dekiru’s hovering form, instantly reinforcing Shōta’s earlier thought of there being something inhuman at work here.
Shōta’s heart drops.
His mind clicks into overdrive.
He has to do something, anything.
Dekiru is in danger and Shōta can’t just stand here and watch him die.
He refuses.
Not again.
Shōta can’t lose someone else he …
“Yeah,” Dekiru sighs. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
And then …
He ignites.
It’s the only word Shōta can think of that does it justice.
A crackling halo of gold lightning blossoms into being around Dekiru as the air almost fractures from the sheer amount of power he’s suddenly putting out into the world.
Then, from Dekiru’s spine, a wave of golden tendrils sprouts, whipping and waving through the air like they’re dancing in a wind only Dekiru can feel.
Shōta hears the snap of Tomura’s elbows dislocating before his eyes catch up with the way that Dekiru has covered the distance between them, blinking into Tomura’s space and neutralizing him in an instant.
Tomura shrieks, an animal noise of rage and terror, and goes down hard.
The Nomu surge toward Dekiru’s new position.
The tendrils meet them as they come.
Dekiru doesn’t bother to turn toward them, too busy slapping a pair of bulky cuffs on Tomura and then some kind of collar that causes the man’s rage-filled screams to go instantly quiet, even as he continues to thrash against the restraints despite his injuries.
“Ah,” Dekiru speaks up then, turning to make eye contact with Shōta across the distance, “just to be clear, the Nomu aren’t really human anymore so technically this doesn’t count as murder, okay?”
“Please do proceed, Dekiru,” Nedzu’s voice pipes up from the one still intact speaker near the gate.
“Gotcha!” Dekiru shoots a thumbs-up in the main building’s general direction.
The golden tendrils shift then, no longer just restraining the Nomu. Now the ends seem to sharpen, the rounded edges going edged and spearlike.
They drive through the Nomu’s exposed brains with a surgical sort of precision, dropping them one after another with quick and brutal efficiency.
They don’t get back up.
One after another, Dekiru neutralizes the villains that all of UA’s staff have been unable to put down.
All without moving from where he’s still standing with one foot resting on Tomura’s back.
“If you don’t marry that man,” Hizashi says as he comes up beside Shōta, eyes wide and face bloodied, “I sure as fuck will.”
“Back off,” Shōta has enough presence of mind to say as he watches another branch of Dekiru’s golden tentacles send half a dozen villains soaring through the air before spearing them through the brains without him even glancing in their direction. It speaks to a kind of control and situational awareness that makes Shōta feel a little bit hot around the collar. “I’m going to kill him, but after that we both know I called dibs years ago.”
Because technically, legally a villain or not, Shōta knows a good thing when he sees one.