Chapter Text
All Might finds him in the middle of a night shift.
The man has found Yuuga, or ordered him to meet him somewhere, at least once a week since the convention. He has fucked him hard, every time. He has begun kissing him after, as if Yuuga is… a consenting partner. As if he is enjoying their encounters.
He is becoming somewhat used to it. It is… It is becoming a new routine. One very close to the routine he once kept with his Uncle… With AFO.
The horrible, sickening familiarity of it has caused his old nightmares to flare back into his life again, leaving him exhausted more often than not. He keeps waking on a half-swallowed scream, still looking up at his Uncle’s scar ravaged face, or his younger more handsome features twisted in pleasure, hovering over him. Sometimes, the features of half remembered strangers twist in pleasure, in disgust, in rage. The phantom, memorised pain of every rape he has endured lingering, making it impossible to return to sleep.
At least, with All Might, he is not loaned out to other men.
AFO had enjoyed doing that. Sometimes he had simply sent Yuuga to a location, telling him that he wished him to bring back information, or to collect and deliver a package. It was the truth often enough, that Yuuga could never anticipate. He had gone, as always, belly roiling with nerves, and often found men waiting for him instead. There had always been nothing he could do.
He would return, eventually, covered in bruises, covered in fluids outside and in, and his Uncle would praise him and force him to recount exactly what had happened, in excruciating detail. The man would masturbate as he stumbled through the retelling, pull him close and add to the mess.
Sometimes Uncle would lead him into a room, allowing Yuuga to assume that he was simply to endure another round of his whims, only to hand him over to henchmen, or business partners, or simply men who were paying him for the experience. He would sit and watch as Yuuga was raped, often violently, and then rape him himself right after, simply because he could.
This… This is preferable.
At least… At least he is not ten, twelve, fourteen, fifteen years old anymore.
He can endure this.
This is the first time All Might has found him on one of his shifts, though. He had no idea the man even knew his route and it is a whole new level of terrifying to learn that he does.
One moment he is making his way across the rooftops, watching the streets below in the way Aizawa-san begrudgingly praises him for, that Mic and Tensei tease them both about because he has clearly picked the skill up from his mentor - and the next he has been grabbed right out of the air, mid leap between rooftops, a thick arm clamped around his middle, a hand over his mouth stifling his terrified screech.
All Might lands in a refuse strewn alley, many streets away from his route, and Yuuga stops struggling, goes limp, suddenly aware of what has happened. What is about to happen.
“It really is great to have some of my old strength back,” the man comments as he straightens. He lifts Yuuga up and shoves his back up against a wall with an echoing clang from his armour. Yuuga squeaks, breath catching in his throat, as the back of his head connects with the rough brick.
“Hello, boy. I’m here for my dues.”
All Might simply tears the seat of his undersuit and his underwear, rather than try to undress him, and pushes his hips between Yuuga’s legs a second later. There is a brief moment as the man reaches between them, and then the man’s cock pokes at him, slides through his folds, catches at his hole. Yuuga cannot stop the distressed noise he makes. He has not been prepared and there is no lube.
With a single great thrust, All Might shoves into him and it is all that Yuuga can do to not scream. He buries his face in the man’s chest, clenching his teeth, gripping the fabric of the man’s shirt so hard he can feel his nails bending. It is bad. It is as bad as the first time. He felt himself tear, knows that when this is over, he will be bleeding.
“Hn, there we go,” the man mutters into his hair, “Just what I needed.”
He gives Yuuga no more time to adjust. He starts thrusting, short, sharp, hard thrusts, pistoning straight up into Yuuga’s body, huge hands clamped around his thighs. His back hits the wall with every thrust, the metal of his armour clanging, echoing, until All Might grunts and steps away from it.
Yuuga holds on for dear life, silently reciting the mantra he has developed, over and over in his mind as he is held up in powerful arms and fucked mercilessly.
You are a good doll. You are his good doll.
This is what you deserve. It is what you are for.
You are a good doll. You are his good doll.
This is what you deserve. It is what you are for.
“Hn,” All Might grunts again and his rhythm begins to falter.
Yuuga holds back his pained cries, locks them tight behind his teeth, forcing it all away.
I am his good doll.
All Might grunts and slams up at the same time he tugs Yuuga down, impaling him deeper than ever before. Yuuga muffles his scream into the man’s chest, and a second later All Might comes, cock throbbing and pulsing as he spills load after load into him.
It feels as if he has truly broken something deep inside him, pain radiating out through his belly, through his hips, like lightning, electricity, shooting through his system, lighting up every nerve. There is nothing he can do. He can’t move, held the way he is, no purchase, no leverage. He simply must endure this.
Yuuga holds on tight as the man spills and spills into him with a long low groan. He tugs Yuuga down suddenly harder and Yuuga wails, muffled into his chest.
All Might shudders through his orgasm, hips twitching with every load pulsed into him, and then, the very second that he is done, he simply pulls Yuuga off his dick and drops him.
Yuuga yelps, landing awkwardly, winded, and curls up. He is in so much more pain than he ever thought he could endure, gasping for breath between half-aborted sobs.
“Damn, I needed that.”
The sound of the fly zipping up is loud in the quiet alley.
“I - I am glad - that I can - be of service, monsieur…” Yuuga manages, looking up through his hair at the man. All Might smirks, his blue eyes flashing that familiar red again.
“You’re doing your job well so far, boy.”
The hint of satisfaction that he is doing well, that All Might is pleased with him, makes him feel abruptly sick. Utterly disgusted with himself.
All Might crouches then and leaps.
Yuuga, once more alone, covers his face and quietly cries out the pain and humiliation.
You are a good doll. You are his good doll.
This is what you deserve. It is what you are for.
You are a good doll. You are his good doll.
This is what you deserve. It is what you are for.
He manages to get to his feet.
He must get home.
He cannot be seen.
He cannot be discovered.
*
Yuuga makes it home on shaky limbs, somehow without being seen. It takes all his training to manage, every ounce of willpower and strength he has remaining.
He slides, ungainly, through the window he leaves unlocked for late shifts and falls immediately to his knees with a choked off sob.
He is unable to move for long minutes, fists pressed to the floor, working hard trying to regain enough composure to force himself up. He stumbles, leans against the sil, leaves a trail of grime and fluids that he will have to clean later. The sight of it, the thought of cleaning it, makes him gag.
He fumbles for his pocket, pulls his phone out and sends a message to the Agency to let them know that he has had to end his shift early. That done, he strips. Everything is disgusting, covered in dirt and refuse. The undersuit is ruined, beyond repair. He will have to order another, use his spare in the meantime. He shoves it impulsively into the trash, stuffing it in with an almost guttural noise of disgust, and then heads haltingly, on unsteady legs, for the bathroom.
Semen and blood coat his groin, his inner thighs, trickle down his legs. He was right. This time, All Might has torn him somewhere inside. The sight of the blood that confirms it just makes him feel sick, makes his limbs tremble, his fingers turn ice cold.
At least, now, he has ensured that he cannot be made pregnant by the man. After the convention, as soon as he was healed enough, he made sure of it. A contraceptive implant. He has always had issues with his reproductive system, so it was unlikely anyway, but he needed the reassurance. All Might can fill him up as much as he likes, as often as he likes, but it will not take. He has made certain of this.
That changes nothing about his current predicament, though.
He swipes shaking fingers through the trickle of pink on his inner thigh. He swallows the lump in his throat.
He cannot go to a doctor. Not for this. Not for anything All Might does to him. He must deal with it alone. Unless he can find a back alley doctor. He… would have to seek out old haunts, for that…
He sighs, disgusted with himself.
He climbs into the shower. The second the water hits his skin he can no longer hold it together, can no longer contain all the hurts, the emotions, and he bursts into heaving, wracking sobs, sliding to the floor of the shower.
This is… this is his life now.
You are a good doll. You are his perfect doll. His perfect cocksleeve.
I am his perfect doll.
I am his perfect doll.
I am his perfect doll.
*
Izuku throws a small get together. Just their closer friends. The whole of classes A and B are still in touch, of course, everyone checking in on one another whenever they can, catching up over coffees, brunches, dinners, gravitating toward one another at Networking events. They went through so much together, at such a formative age, that of course they keep tabs on each other, even six years after graduating.
But there are still those little cliques of closer friends who get together more often. And Yuuga is included in the group that Izuku pulls together when he can.
Yuuga is, despite his problems, despite his urge to isolate himself, a gregarious person. He always has loved being around his friends. Even when he was forced to inform on them and deliberately secluding himself away from them as a result, not feeling worthy, believing himself the worst scum on the planet, his friends energised him. Of course, he did not allow himself to think of them as friends, then. Self preservation was paramount.
Since Izuku started setting up these dinners, he has done his best to go. Even on his worst days. If he can, if he is in the area and not otherwise engaged, he has always attended.
He has missed some recently, however. Yagi’s fault.
“Yuuga! It’s so good to see you!” Izuku hesitates, and then pulls him into a hug, and Yuuga’s skin may crawl at the touch, but he hugs him back tightly. It has been three days since All Might found him mid-shift, and he still hurts. He needs the friendly, positive touch to remind him that he is still worthy of it.
“I am sorry that I have missed the last two dinners,” he apologises as Izuku pulls back, grinning at him.
“You don’t need to apologise for that! We understand,” Izuku tells him, “We missed you, but we knew you’d come back when you were ready. Come on, everyone’s here.”
Yuuga lets him take his blazer to hang away and tucks his shoes into the last empty cubbyhole, “Everyone?”
“Yeah, even Hitoshi made it this time, and you know what he’s like.”
He does. Hitoshi is just like Aizawa, a workaholic with a chaotic sleep schedule. Hardly surprising, considering he was mentored, fostered, and then adopted, he had no chance of developing normal sleep habits. “We will have to ensure that he does not fall asleep,” he says with a light laugh, “Sometimes he is more like our mentor than-”
Yuuga hesitates. He has followed Izuku without thought, into the front room. His gaze falls immediately on a large poster of All Might, larger than life, directly opposite the door. He has never really noticed it before, lost as it is amongst the rest of Izuku’s decor. The Hero grins down at the room, and Yuuga’s stomach turns.
It has been long enough since last visiting Izuku’s home, that he had almost forgotten how enamoured he is with All Might.
“Yuuga?”
Yuuga shakes himself, pulling his cheerful mask firmly into place, “Sorry. I was saying that Hitoshi is very like Aizawa-san.”
How had he forgotten? How had it escaped him, that Izuku’s home is a shrine to All Might?
“Yuuga!”
He startles, and turns as half a dozen voices greet him enthusiastically, energetically. Tenya, Ochako, Tsuyu, Shouto, and yes even Hitoshi, sitting around the dining table and smiling up at him. Ochako gets up and he is quickly enveloped in another embrace, her strong arms feeling terribly secure.
“It’s good to see you again, Yuuga,” she says into his hair, “Are you well?”
He’d last seen her and Tenya in person that day he opened the letter from Yagi. He had spent two nights on their sofa, unable to explain why he needed them, and so grateful for their easy acceptance.
“I am well,” he promises, and then steps back, skin crawling again, when she lets go of him. He smiles at his friends. “Now, I wish for everyone to update me on what I have missed.”
He sits beside Hitoshi and they share a familiar nod as Tenya immediately sets into a story about his family agency and the interns' escapades as they tried to deal with the unexpected crash of Mt Lady into the building. Complete with expansive gestures, of course. Yuuga smiles, charmed as always, even as Ochako rolls her eyes and Shouto leans as much out of the way as he clearly thinks it is polite to do so.
That story blends into updates from a thoroughly chagrined Shouto about his father and the budding relationship he’s building with Hawks. Thence to all of his friends complaining about Katsuki’s continuing obliviousness and Eijirou’s increasingly unsubtle attempts to get him to realise he’s in love with him. That has been going on for years, and Yuuga has little hope there will be a change before Eijirou reaches the end of his patience and either kisses Katsuki, or gives up.
“Aizawa and Mic say hi,” Hitoshi murmurs under cover of Izuku calling out the usual cheerful insults about his pseudo-brother from the kitchen. “And Eri demands that you come and listen to her play, because she doesn’t trust Aizawa, Mic, or me to tell her the truth.”
Yuuga laughs lightly. Eri has been learning cello, and recently she joined a string quartet made up of young musicians like herself. “Of course. Her family are all too biassed. It is to be expected. Tell her that I will come to her next rehearsal, I promise that I shall give her my unbiased feedback.”
Hitoshi gives him a look he cannot quite parse. “Family. Right.” He hesitates, “Yuuga, you know-”
“Foods up!”
Izuku comes out of the kitchen with far too many trays of food balanced in his hands, on his arms, each one laden down with dozens of dishes and plates. His impeccable balance and strength being put to interesting use, as always.
Everyone jumps up to help, and it is not long before all the dishes are arranged around the table. It’s a good spread, which is not at all surprising given that Izuku is a good cook, there are plenty of options for everyone, including vegetarian dishes for himself. The only problem is that the dining set is made up of various official branded items.
Every bowl, every plate, every glass, even the chopsticks and serving spoons, are branded with the grinning features of the man who has now raped him a dozen times.
Yuuga tries his best, he tries so hard, to ignore the grinning face stamped on everything as he eats. But he realises, slowly, that he is surrounded by All Might. Posters, postcards, ribbon banners, decorative items, figures and dolls. He is on every surface. The grin and the eyes are everywhere.
It never bothered him before, it was simply Izuku’s way. But now…
His skin crawls and he begins to lose track of the conversation.
“Oh, hey! Yuuga.”
He glances up to find that Izuku is smiling at him.
“Yagi-san mentioned he keeps bumping into you,” his friend says brightly, handing a dish of pickled vegetables to Tsuyu. The young woman murmurs a thanks and after taking some, passes the dish on with a hum.
“Yagi-san spends a lot of time with you, Izuku-kun,” she says, carefully turning her plate as if examining the food.
“Heh, yeah, we’re still close.”
Yuuga swallows the bite of rice that has turned to ash in his mouth, his skin going cold, clammy. He feels sick, suddenly, his mind whirring over all the things Yagi-san could have said to Izuku. He has the sudden thought that perhaps Yagi has met up with Izuku right after fucking Yuuga, after using him and hurting him, leaving him in pain and tears, meeting up with Izuku as if everything is perfectly normal.
Izuku turns back to him, completely unaware of Yuuga’s turmoil, “He said it’s been really good to catch up with you from time to time! He mentioned those mentorship rumours-”
No. No, he cannot-
Yuuga’s dish and chopsticks clatter to the table as he darts from the room.
“Yuuga!”
He can hear the chaos he has caused. Chairs scraping, confused voices calling for him. But he does not stop. He had to get away.
All Might grins at him from every wall.
He slams the bathroom door closed, squeezes into the space beside the tub and tries and tries and tries not to cry. Balled fists press into his skull. Fists so tight he can feel his nails digging into his palms.
He rocks and he rocks and he rocks.
His belly roils. He might throw up.
Even in here, he can feel those eyes on his skin.
He curls tighter. Trying to escape them.
He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe.
He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have come here.
He knew that Izuku would have All Might everywhere. He knew that.
Why did he come.
His lungs won’t fill.
There’s no oxygen.
There’s no oxygen in the room.
His lungs are burning.
He feels as if he is choking, throat closing, vision smearing, going foggy.
Lights flicker at the edges of his sight. His fingers are freezing.
His head fills with cotton, ears thumping with his pulse-
“Yuuga!”
He doesn’t react, too far gone, but his vision clears slightly.
He tries to breathe. Tries to breathe.
Scarred hands grasp his own. Gently pull them away from his head.
He doesn’t fight it.
“Oh, Yuuga.”
Scarred fingers rub his own, warming them.
He chokes on a breath, rubs his face into his knees.
He still can’t breathe.
His head is still ringing, filled with cotton.
“Maybe we pushed too soon. I’m so sorry, Yuuga.”
Sucking in a breath, he shakes his head frantically, squeezes Izuku’s fingers. It is not their fault. He is simply useless.
He is a useless, broken thing.
He flinches as his hand is pressed to a broad, solid chest.
There is a steady beat beneath his palm.
“Focus on me, on my heart,” Izuku implores him, “Focus on my breathing. Try to match me, ok?”
It is hard. It is hard. But he nods and tries.
He takes a shaky breath as Izuku does, exhales just as shakily as Izuku does. Does it again. And then again.
His breathing begins to calm. His vision begins to clear. His frantic thoughts begin to calm.
He looks up.
Izuku is watching him with such obvious concern. He does not deserve it. Has never deserved it.
Yuuga bursts into tears.
“Je suis vraiment desolè, je suis desolè, je suis tellement stupide…”
Arms wrap around him and he loses all track of time.
There are soft, masculine but familiar, cherished voices.
He is lifted, exchanged to someone else.
He feels… safe.
When he returns, slowly, to awareness, he is cradled within strong arms, resting against a broad chest. Soft music is playing on the radio, and … Aizawa and Tensei are talking quietly to one another as Aizawa drives.
They came to get him.
Someone - Hitoshi, or Tenya perhaps - must have called them.
And they came to collect him and take him home.
He doesn’t let himself panic.
He doesn’t move.
He drifts away again.