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Shouta woke to the sound of the front door slamming shut. His eyes flicked to the glowing, red numbers of the alarm clock on his nightstand, confirming the time as twenty-after two in the morning. Around the time Hizashi usually got home from his segment at the radio station. He shut his eyes, listening for the usual sounds of Hizashi moving around before heading to his own bedroom in their shared apartment. The same sounds he had become familiar with over the years, three nights a week.
He shifted under his blankets, rolling onto his stomach and stretching his arms up under the pillow, his eyes drifting shut. Before he’s able to succumb to sleep again, he’s jolted by the sound of Hizashi opening his bedroom door, instead of the one across the hall. Hizashi never sought him out after a shift at the radio station, and worry that something had happened sank into his stomach.
“‘Zashi?” He mumbled, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His room was still pitch dark, the hallway light wasn’t even on to spill into the room. Streetlight filtered in dimly from his window, outlining where the blond stood on the threshold, hand still on the door handle and lightly swaying on his feet. “You okay?”
Hizashi didn’t answer, and Shouta’s worry climbed. Maybe something happened at work? Was he injured? Did he need help? Shouta wearily watched from his position on his side as Hizashi stumbled forward, climbing onto the bed next to him. His face was oddly blank, and Shouta recalled months ago—after USJ, when they both kept having nightmares—that Hizashi had climbed into his bed once or twice, just needing to be close. Maybe he needed something similar now.
“What’s wrong?” Shouta’s voice was still heavy with sleep. He brought up a hand to rub at his eyes, only for his wrist to be caught by Hizashi’s startlingly cold hand. He didn’t even have time to react before his arm was yanked toward the headboard, something rigid clamping around his wrist. He jerked up, only to be met with resistance, and looked above his head where a police-grade capture handcuff had secured his left wrist to one of the headboard bars. Any hero without a type of capture support weapon carried them, so he didn’t wonder where Hizashi had gotten it, but he was very concerned about why the hell Hizashi had used it on him.
He yanked his wrist while scrambling up into a sitting position on the bed. The cuff was unyielding, and he barely was able to slip out from under the blanket before Hizashi’s weight pinned him down, sitting on top of his hips. Shouta shoved hard at Hizashi’s chest, and the blond barely flinched, his face still impassive and empty.
A quirk? It had to be; Hizashi was acting possessed. But what type of quirk? Shouta activated erasure, hoping that would wipe it away, but it did nothing. He used his one free arm to try and wrestle his friend away, but in this position, Hizashi had the upper hand and was able to pin the free limb against the bed in a bruising grip. Shouta gritted his teeth, gasping, and the arm that was stretched above him ached at the strain when he struggled.
“Hizashi, what happened?” Shouta snapped. If there was any way to get through to his friend, to snap him out of whatever command he was under. “Knock it off!”
Hizashi’s hand pressed over his mouth, silencing him, and he did the first thing that he could think of and bit down, hard. Hizashi tried to jerk back, but Shouta dug his teeth in and felt a splatter of blood against his tongue, using his other hand to try and wrestle with Hizashi’s only free one. The struggle was short and eventually, Hizashi was able to rip his freely bleeding hand away and grabbed Shouta’s jaw to try and control his head.
He tried to buck Hizashi off, but the blond predicted the movement and raised his hips so he couldn’t. Hizashi pressed down on Shouta’s hips with both hands, stilling his movement, and sat on his hips again, grinding down against him. Shouta was suddenly horrifically aware that Hizashi was hard, and he could feel it through his loose boxers and Hizashi’s jeans. Hizashi reached for the hem of his own shirt and whipped it over his head, tossing it to the side.
“What the fuck?” Shouta said, his frustration turning to disbelief and then fear. An aphrodisiac quirk? No, not quite, this felt too different. Hizashi wasn’t himself at all, his eyes looked distant, like he wasn’t even there. This wasn’t just him being horny either, this felt… threatening. “H-hey, ‘Zashi, wake up! You need to go to a hospital or something.”
Hizashi didn’t give any indication that he’d heard Shouta, instead, he sat up and started to manhandle Shouta, pushing him onto his side, then onto his stomach. Shouta tried to resist, but his cuffed arm twisted painfully, whiting his vision out with pain, and by the time his head was clear he was already on his stomach. He pushed himself up, chest rising from the bed, to look at Hizashi. The blond had made quick work yanking off his jeans and discarding them. Shouta flushed, feeling heat crawl up his neck and face.
He’d be a liar to say he hadn’t had fantasies involving his long-term crush like this, but when he met Hizashi’s eyes, the heat he’d felt turned cold with the reminder that this wasn’t like Hizashi, something was wrong. Hizashi came forward again, and Shouta reached back, pressing his palm against Hizashi's chest to try and keep him away. How far was this going to go? Hizashi didn’t seem violent right now, mostly just non-existent, but when Shouta had resisted earlier, Hizashi hadn’t hesitated in becoming more aggressive.
“Just—stop, okay?” Shouta panted. “Neither of us wants it like this.”
Hizashi shoved the hand off his chest, and was on Shouta again, pressing him down into the pillows. Shouta grunted as he was slammed down, and turned his head so he could breathe. He was hit with the realization that if Hizashi used his quirk, he could kill Shouta at this proximity, but the blond hadn’t even said a word yet.
The hand on the back of his neck kept his head down and cheek plastered to the mattress, his free hand flailing uselessly to try and find something, grasping stupidly at the pillow next to him, then flying back to dig nails into the first skin he reached. The harsh grip on his hipbone yanked him up and back until his ass was flush with Hizashi’s crotch, and Shouta’s face went red, feeling the hardness settle between his cheeks. This can’t be happening. It was like some horrifying nightmare, his deepest most secret fantasies about the best friend he’d been in love with for over a decade coming to life in the most fucked up way possible.
Hizashi was grinding against him, and Shouta thought that maybe if this was all he needed to get off, then it might not be so bad and if he could just control his breathing, and calm down, it would be over soon. Shouta inhaled through his nose, trying to quell his rapid heartbeat, and ignore the throbbing in his shoulder from the arm raised above his head and cuffed to the headboard. Just as he thought he was about to be in control of his emotions again, long fingers slid into his waistband.
There was another burst of movement, a frantic struggle, Shouta gasping as he tried to flip himself, and Hizashi’s throat making a low possessive noise while he used his weight to try and keep Shouta pinned. A pause, their positions were the same, while Shouta tried to catch his breath again. He turned his head to look over his shoulder and saw Hizashi fumbling with his underwear, reigniting the panic in Shouta’s chest. He looked around quickly, trying to recall if he still had lube in his bedroom because this was happening whether he wanted it to or not.
In the next moment, they’re both naked and Shouta felt so tense he knew how bad it was going to hurt. He made the attempt to reach toward his nightstand, praying to a god he didn’t believe in that there was lube buried in there somewhere. His hand found the drawer handle and he yanked it open hard enough that the drawer flew out, crashing to the floor.
“Fuck,” He gripped the edge of the bed, the feeling of Hizashi’s bare length rubbing against him making him feel nauseous. He was able to yank himself to the edge of the bed to look over, reaching his arm down, stretching, to root around in the various items in the drawer, feeling more and more distraught by the second. Shouta didn’t think Hizashi would wait, or properly prep him, and he couldn’t find any lubrication.
Eventually giving up, the strain on his shoulders from trying to reach burning down his back, he dejectedly fell back onto his chest and scrunched his eyes shut, trying to relax his body. He needed to calm down or this would be so much worse. There’s pressure, suddenly, and his eyes shot open as he tried to pull forward and away from it but the hand planted between his shoulder blades was heavy and moved up to grab his neck again. Hizashi’s other hand was still gripping his hip, pulling him back and up onto his knees.
“Hey! Stop, stop!” The alarm made his voice crack. Horror rose around him, reality setting in.
Calm down. He needed to calm down. It’s Hizashi, it’s just Hizashi. Somehow that made this worse. Hizashi was being too quiet and rough, his movement stiff and purposeful. Nothing like the person Shouta loved.
There was nothing he could do but try to keep still, try to relax his muscles as Hizashi pushed forward, his cock breaching Shouta completely dry. Nausea rolled in his stomach, his teeth gritted and his cuffed hand white-knuckled one of the bars on the headboard while the other curled in the sheets. It hurt. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he gasped, feeling inch after inch of dry drag until Hizashi’s hips finally pressed against him, bottomed out in one long movement. A sob of disbelief bubbled out of him, and he pressed his forehead into the bed, body trembling.
He tried to breathe, the burn of the stretch making it hard to focus, each minor movement causing pain to rocket up his spine. He felt stuffed full, stretched to the brink. There was no time for him to adjust before Hizashi pulled back, much faster than he should have, then slammed forward and Shouta yelped, feeling something inside him tear.
The minor relief he felt from wetness easing the dry drag of Hizashi’s cock was outweighed by the realization that he must be bleeding. The stretching burn turned sharper and he sobbed, his body being rocked unforgivingly into the bed.
“Hah—Hizashi! Please, fuck, stop ‘Zashi! You-you’re hu-hurting me—” Shouta’s voice was high with alarm. He reached back with his free hand, slapping against the blond’s hip, trying to push back and slow him down, but Hizashi barely reacted, just leaning forward to press more weight against Shouta, forcing himself deeper. Shouta gagged, tried to widen his legs, angled his hips back, pressed his knees into the mattress, anything to make room inside himself, to lessen the burn, to feel less full.
Each unforgiving thrust punched the air out of him, not helped by the hand holding his neck down, making it harder to catch his breath. He could barely move with the way Hizashi was holding him, forcing weight onto the hands pinning him, leaning over his body, and settling between his thighs so they spread enough that they were starting to ache. His useless hand that was reaching back to push at Hizashi’s hip, trying to get him to slow down, to stop slamming into him so harshly, was doing nothing and he eventually just let it drop to clutch at the sheets again.
He grit his teeth, willing it to be over. How was it that he could dissociate at the most inopportune moments—during meetings, while teaching, driving—but now that he needed to, it wouldn’t happen?
He could hear himself making noise; punched-out gasps and whines. Above him, Hizashi was nearly silent with only heavy breathing and the slap of skin between them.
“Ah—Hizashi, please…” Stop. Please stop. If he would just slow the fuck down, or ease up even a little to make it more bearable. Shouta was distracted enough with trying to make his body more comfortable that a particularly rough thrust caught him off guard, jerking his body forward.
“Nng fuck!” He shouted, his body screaming at the movement. He sobbed again, feeling very small and very powerless. The tears that ran down his cheeks felt jarring and embarrassing, and he squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in the pillow.
Hizashi’s hand slammed onto the mattress next to him, the angle adjusting painfully, and Shouta grabbed his forearm frantically, trying for leverage, but he was too weak to pull himself forward at all. Instead, he dug his fingers into the skin and felt it break beneath his blunt nails. Hizashi didn’t falter. Shouta held onto the arm as his body rocked with movement. He had been in plenty of horribly painful situations in the past, but he’d never felt pain like this, and never from Hizashi. It’s not Hizashi, he tried to tell himself, it’s a quirk.
His head spun, the edges of his vision blackening slightly, and then dread filled him as he realized he was about to pass out. It was almost a little relieving because if he passed out he wouldn’t have to feel this anymore, but then again if he passed out who knew what else could happen? Would Hizashi stop when he came? Was there more to the quirk after this? Shouta couldn’t think straight. The pain was so bad. It’s too much, he couldn’t—
He’s unconscious well before Hizashi ever finishes.
His bedroom door quietly clicking shut woke him. His eyes shot open, hands swinging up in front of himself defensively. He didn’t remember falling asleep—or more accurately passing out—but he remembered everything else vividly. Looking at his hands, he realized he wasn’t cuffed to the headboard any longer, but judging by the way his back and shoulders felt, he had been for most of the night. He was also alone.
A hurricane of emotions seemed to take him over for a moment as the events of the night flooded his mind, and he scrunched his eyes shut willing the images and feelings to go away. Never thinking about it again would be too soon. He didn’t know how to feel. His body hurt, badly. Aching all over, but there were pinpoints that were worse than others.
Early morning light spilled through his curtains, lighting up the room in a way that was much too cheerful for the way his chest felt full of something icky and unpleasant. He felt—gross. Stained? Definitely used. Which didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t like it was… some random person, or something right? It was just…
Shouta swallowed around the stone growing in his throat and took a deep breath. He was fine. It was over. It sucked while it had happened, but it was all okay now because he never had to think about it again. Just a bad quirk accident. There was a word for what had happened to him, his treacherous mind supplied, but he banished it as fast as it had appeared. This didn’t count, it wasn’t like that. Because he was fine, and he’d always wanted Hizashi that way anyway, right?
Shouta needed to find Hizashi and make sure he was okay, but he knew he needed to focus on himself first, and he desperately needed to shower. He could feel stickiness between his thighs and didn’t really want to know if it was blood or semen, so he didn’t look down as he threw the blankets off his bare body and swung his legs to the floor. Wincing as he sat up, he pulled himself to his feet and his knees buckled immediately, legs shaking and pain shooting up his spine. He caught himself on the nightstand before he could hit the floor. Embarrassment flooded him, along with the worry that he might be more injured than he thought.
He’d always rather take care of himself at home than go to a hospital, but he had no idea if this warranted a more serious reaction or not. He didn’t want to go to the hospital and he wanted even less to have to explain what had happened to anyone.
Shouta wondered if Hizashi would remember and secretly hoped the man didn’t. He shakily made his way to the bathroom door, glad he had his own bathroom. Would he tell Hizashi what had happened if the blond didn’t remember? Hizashi would be devastated and blame himself. Shouta knew, very logically, that it wasn’t Hizashi's fault—and he didn’t feel any type of way when thinking about his best friend. Right? It basically wasn’t even Hizashi that had done it, it was whatever fucked up quirk he’d been possessed by.
Stepping into the bathroom and flicking on the light and fan, Shouta weighed the options. Best case scenario was that Hizashi didn’t remember, then Shotua could take this to the fucking grave. Or was that irresponsible of him? Hizashi was a victim here too, maybe Shouta had to tell him?
He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. He turned on the shower, then stepped away to let the steam fill the bathroom, the heat sinking into his aching body. His shoulder throbbed minutely, but he’d had worse. The worst was the feeling between his legs. He felt stretched yet tense, bruised, and oddly empty.
Shouta glanced into the large mirror above the sink and grimaced. There would be no way he could convince Hizashi that nothing had happened, he looked awful.
He always looked tired, but now he looked truly exhausted, the usual eyebags traded for deeper, darker smudges under his bloodshot eyes. A nasty bruise was peeking around each side of his neck, and he was sure it looked worse under his hair at his nape from how he’d been held by the neck for so long. His left wrist, the one that had been cuffed to the bed and he’d been yanking at, was swollen and deeply bruised in a thick ring. Left shoulder was sore, and when he rolled it, he winced at the pain that shot down his arm. It wasn’t dislocated at least. There was blood caked under his nails and dried against the side of his mouth from where he’d bitten and drawn blood from Hizashi’s hand.
There wasn’t much else visible damage, at least. It could be worse and was mostly all stuff he could cover with a long-sleeved shirt.
The bigger problem was going to be searching for damage between his legs. He wanted to get it over as quickly as possible, so he turned from the mirror and climbed into the scalding water without another thought. The hot water felt amazing, just bordering on too hot, but he liked how it washed away the aches, and for a moment was the only thing he could feel.
After some time of just enjoying the heat, he turned to face away from the showerhead and made the mistake of looking down in time to see rust-tinted water run down his legs and onto the floor of the white tub. He jerked his head back up and swallowed against the thick feeling in his throat. Just get it over with.
Shouta reached back, tentative fingers searching for… what? Something to feel wrong? He’s not entirely sure what it would feel like if something was actually terribly wrong. He’s torn, he knew he must be, he had felt it and seen the blood. Shouta figured he just had to feel for how bad the tearing was. He winced, hissing as his finger brushed over his entrance, having to use his other hand to brace against the wall so his knees didn’t buckle again. He could feel a sort of scabbed-over rip in his skin, not nearly as bad as he’d worried but there was no way all the blood he’d seen wash down the drain came from such a tiny tear. There must be internal damage as well, but frankly, he’s done with this—he pulled his hands away, turning back toward the spray of water.
If he found more blood he’d go see a doctor, he decided. He felt sick and didn’t particularly want to know how bad it might be. He made quick work of washing himself and was out of the shower with a towel around his hips in the next few minutes, his thighs starting to ache from standing. Great, so standing for too long would hurt? He didn’t even want to think about whether he’d be able to sit down properly.
He dried off and found loose, soft clothing to wear, beyond grateful that it was Saturday and he had nowhere to be. He didn’t think he’d be able to walk out of the house today. Just walking around his room ached, each limping step reminding him of the pain in his core.
There was blood on his sheets.
He swiftly yanked the blankets and sheets off the bed, dumping them on the floor. He’d put them in the wash later, he just wanted to find Hizashi for now and make sure that awful fucking quirk wasn’t still active. At least now he was awake, upright, and knew what to expect if it was.
Shouta stepped out of his room and into the hall, his heart rate picking up just slightly.
“Knock it off,” he mumbled to himself. There was nothing to be worried about. He woke up uncuffed, which in itself was a good sign. He also woke up to the sound of his bedroom door closing, which was a good indication that Hizashi wasn’t under the influence of the quirk anymore. Whether he remembered what had happened or not was the biggest question.
Right across the hall from his room is Hizashi’s, the door was cracked open, but he didn’t hear any noise from the other side. He reached out and tentatively pushed the door, peeking into the unlit room. He didn’t see Hizashi, but his eyes jumped to Hizashi’s bathroom door, shut with light spilling out from underneath. He could faintly hear the shower running.
Heart in his throat, he made his way across the room and to the door. Before raising his fist to knock, his ears latch onto the sounds of deep sobbing through the spray of the shower. His stomach lurched at the noise; he hadn’t heard Hizashi cry like that in years. It sounded guttural, gut-wrenching. It sounded painful.
His hand fell to the doorknob and he called out, “‘Zashi?”
The sobbing hitched but didn’t stop, and Shouta called his name again. He wondered if Hizashi had been in the shower since he’d left Shouta’s room. He pressed his ear to the door and knocked again. This time the shower turned off and he heard Hizashi fumbling around, still sniffling and gasping for breath. He must remember. Shouta’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.
“Are you okay?” Shouta asked.
“Go away,” Hizashi mumbled through his sobs.
“No, we—we need to talk,” Shouta said. “Are you hurt?”
The sobbing got louder, followed by a thud.
“Come out here, please?” Shouta needed to see him. He needed to see his Hizashi, now. To wipe the slate clean, to make sure Hizashi was physically okay, to get past this thing immediately so he never had to think about it again. “Please, ‘Zashi?”
The sobs quieted down, there was more shuffling, and the doorknob twisted. Shouta stepped back from the door just as it opened.
His eyes landed on Hizashi, and his heart stuttered, his stomach turning anxiously and suddenly feeling unsettled. Oh. He hadn’t expected to have a reaction to seeing the other man. Heat and unease washed over his body, followed by shame. It hadn’t been Hizashi, really. There was no need to be scared. That was stupid.
He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, damp at the top where his long hair was hanging, soaked from the shower. Hizashi’s right arm was cut up from Shouta’s fingernails, and there was a deeply red gash on his palm from the bite. Defensive wounds, his mind supplied unhelpfully. He’d been crying for a while, his eyes puffy and red.
“Are you okay?” Shouta asked again.
“Are you?” Hizashi gasped, more tears rolling down his face.
“I know it was a quirk,” Shouta said as they danced around the topic. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not. I hurt you!”
“It wasn’t you,” Shouta argued. It couldn’t be. It was whatever horrible fucking quirk he’d been infected with. “I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I should be the one comforting you,” Hizashi sobbed.
“I’m okay, though.”
Hizashi scoffed wetly, “Shouta. You’re not.” He grabbed Shouta’s wrist, and Shouta flinched back, ache traveling up the bruise to his shoulder. Hizashi dropped it, his point made.
“But, it’s—it’s fine,” Shouta stuttered, his facade finally cracking. It was fine. They’re both… okay. They had to be. This couldn’t be the thing that ruined them, not when neither of them had been in control. He had to be fine.
“Why didn’t you stop me?! You should’ve fucking broken my arm or something, I know you could have!” Hizashi snapped.
Shouta fumbled for words, which he hadn’t done since he was a teenager, “I-It wasn’t worth hurting you that much. I knew it would end if I just—”
“Shouta, I fucking raped you. I woke up with your blood on my dick.”
Shouta winced at the blunt wording, the same word he’d been trying to avoid in his head. He felt his skin flush unpleasantly. He said, “You didn’t rape me. We had sex because of a quirk.”
Hizashi let loose a disbelieving laugh. “What happened was not sex, Shouta!”
“I—”
Hizashi raised the arm with the bite mark and the scratches, “This shouldn’t have happened if it was just sex. You shouldn’t have had to fight back.”
“But it wasn’t your fault!” Shouta finally shouted back. He felt his eyes water. “You wouldn’t have done that to me, so—so you can’t blame yourself, because I don’t blame you! We’re both victims here!”
Shouta’s voice quivered and he raised a hand to grasp at his hair. Hizashi would never hurt him. It wasn’t Hizashi. It was—it was whoever hit Hizashi with a quirk. A stranger. No, wrong, that’s so much worse. Because he couldn’t deal with that. But he also couldn’t blame Hizashi, or think it was actually him because it wasn’t.
“Shouta.”
He looked up, and Hizashi's eyes were downcast.
“Are you—hurt?” He put emphasis on the word, his voice very flat and very soft. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
Shouta was shaking his head before Hizashi finished talking, knowing what he was really asking, “No. No, I’m fine.”
Hizashi’s jaw clenched, but he kept his eyes on the floor between their feet, “You—there was blood. A lot of blood. Did you check?”
Shouta felt his neck and cheeks flush, and he hurried, “Yes, I checked. It’s fine. It’s not that bad.”
“Okay,” Hizashi whispered, but when he looked up he didn’t look like he really believed Shouta. Green eyes searched Shouta’s face, dropped to his swollen wrist, then looked at his own marks.
“How do we move past this?” Shouta asked.
Hizashi shook his head, “I—I don’t know. I feel horrible. Like a criminal.”
“You’re not.”
“I know, but—”
Shouta stepped forward and took Hizashi's hands in his, then held them together in the space between their chests. Hizashi’s skin was warm from the shower. He could feel the scabbing bite mark on the side of Hizashi’s palm.
“We’re okay,” Shouta insisted. “Right?”
Hizashi hesitated but then nodded, his face crumpling.
“We’ll figure it out, then,” Shouta said, dragging Hizashi forward into a hug. “Everything will be okay.”