Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 10:05am

"Objection! The prosecution is leading the witness."

"Your Honor, is it considered leading to ask if there was any suspicious activity in the area?" Dan retorts. "The witness saw the defendant in the area, it's within my right to ask whether or not the defendant conducted themselves in a manner aligning with the claims of the defense."

"You asked if my client looks like the type to carry a gun," you tersely reply.

"Prosecutor, please keep your questions relatively unbiased," the judge sighs. "Proceed."

The whole trial is a joke. The prosecutor, Dan, is one of your classmates from law school—though how he managed to pass the bar, you have no clue. He's terrible at cross, he knows nothing about procedure. The only reason he got the degree is because he comes from money.

You remind him about that every time you're in the courtroom together.

"In the case of Lido v. Shizuoka, what did the jury find?"

"The jury found the defendant, Aoi Lido, not guilty, on the charge of attempted battery," the foreman says.

You look at your client with a smirk, nod, and then smile kindly at the twelve citizens who gave up their time to help an innocent man go free. The judge agrees with the jury's assessment, bangs her gavel, and court is dismissed.

"That went quickly," your paralegal, Hana, says. "New record?"

"Must be," you shrug.

"Congratulations, Y/N," Dan says, coming to you from the other side of the room. "Another criminal, free to roam the streets."

"If he's a criminal, prove it," you say. "Oh wait! You already tried, and failed."

"How do you sleep at night?" he tsks.

"Melatonin works wonders. You should try it some time," you say. "Alright, Lido, let's go."

You grab your purse and sling it over your shoulder, and head to the doors. Hana and your client scurry after, ready to be out of the courthouse. It's always so stuffy, never with enough windows. The building smells like dust and smoke.

Breaking through the front doors, you inhale a deep breath of clean air and smile. The sun warms your skin through the fabric of your suit, and you feel the power circling through your veins. It's like a high, winning a case. You never get over the feeling, not only having helped someone, but having checked the systems at large.

You hold them accountable.

They fucking hate you for it.

"Thank you, Ms. L/N," Lido says, circling the steps to face you. "Thank you so much."

"It's what I do, kid," you smile. "Keep my card on file, but don't go looking for trouble."

It's what you say to most of your clients, though you're positive they won't. They were never looking for trouble in the first place. Kids and teens who ran away from home, and don't know where to turn, where to get their next meal, how to make a quick buck. Older men and women who return from fighting overseas, only to be met with homelessness and addiction. People with mental health issues that you can only begin to sympathize with, all of whom are stereotyped and targeted by pro-heroes.

Yes, those heroes who have their faces plastered on the covers of magazines, the ones who do interviews and go to hospitals to visit sick children.

Those heroes. The ones who pretend to care about the people of Japan, but don't.

The ride back to your office with Hana is easy, as it always is. Your wins aren't rare, and the further you continue your career as a villain defense attorney, the better you get.

Villains come to you from every corner of Japan, seeking representation. As you gain clients, you increase your pro-bono work, which brings in more clients. It would be easy to get overwhelmed, to start forgetting the laws you'd studied in college, but your quirk keeps everything intact.

Photographic memory. You remember everything. Anything you read, write, see, hear, smell, touch, or taste, it all gets stored somewhere in your brain for later.

So, yeah. You're a damn good attorney. It only took you three years to start your own firm (brag). Of course you'd hired other lawyers to work in your office, covering other sections of law, but you love what you do, so you enjoy taking on most villain defense cases yourself.

"Just drop off the files, you can head out," you tell Hana as the two of you head into the office.

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" she asks.

"No, it's okay, thank you."

She nods, and you hold the door open for her. While she goes, you collect the mail and then head to your own space. While most of the attorneys you work with prefer going home, or to a bar, right after they win a case, you like to get the paperwork over with. Sending documents to anyone and everyone, making calls, contacting whoever about whatever. The grunt work.

Hana calls out her goodbye as she makes her way home for the rest of the day. You tear open the envelopes containing bills and coupons and junk. None of it matters much, but you go through it anyway.

How many minutes or hours pass, you aren't sure. Typing away, scribbling down notes, you don't pay attention to the time. All you know is the sun is setting, soft orange light leaking in through your sheer curtains.

A knock on your door makes your head snap up.

"Hi, sorry," the man starts. "I don't mean to bother, um... Are you busy? I can come back."

"Who are you and what do you want?" you ask, tired.

He shifts his weight between his legs. "I'm looking for a villain defense lawyer," he says.

"Well, you've come to the right place," you sigh, leaning back in your chair. You motion to the one across from your desk. "Sit. What are you being charged with?"

Once the man is in the chair, he says, "I'm not the one being charged. It's for murder."

"Murder?" you repeat, brow lifting. "Are they your family?"

"No."

"Friend?"

"No."

"How do you know the defendant? What'd you say your name is?"

"I didn't," he says. "Midoriya. Izuku Midoriya."

"Alright, Midoriya, how do you know the defendant? What's their name?" you ask.

His jaw clenches and he frowns, as if he's deciding whether or not he should tell you. Whatever Midoriya's deal is, it's certainly piqued your interest.

"The man's name is Yuto Sato," he says. "I know him because... because I arrested him."

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 6:34pm

"What do you mean you arrested him? Are you a cop?" you ask, voice getting defensive.

"No, I'm not a cop!" Midoriya says quickly. "I'm a hero."

"That's worse!" you shout, standing up from the desk. "What are you doing here, are you trying to ruin my reputation? Get the fuck out!"

"Please, you have to help him," he says, standing as well. The action makes you glare at him more, because he's so tall it forces you to look up at him. Whether or not he does it to make you feel small, you don't know, but you'd expect just as much from a pro.

"Why are you so concerned with a man you got charged with murder?"

"It's complicated."

"Like hell it is," you snap. "Tell me, or get out."

He sighs, but nods. "Okay," he says, "I arrested him because those were my orders from the HPSC. But... once I looked into his case more, I realized there were too many inconsistencies to be coincidental."

"So now you want to help him," you say flatly.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because no one innocent should go to prison," he says.

"That's the first time I've heard a pro say that," you scoff. Ignoring the confused look on his face, you continue, "Who are you?"

"I told you, I—"

"No, not you. Hero you."

"Oh," he says. "I... I'm Deku."

So that's how you know his face. It's hard to tell, sometimes, because you remember so many faces. Too many faces, honestly. So, sometimes it’s tricky to place a person; especially when said person wears a disguise most of the time.

Either way, it makes you frown.

"You expect me to believe the #1 hero of Japan, and the darling of the HPSC, wants to help set a murderer free?"

"He's not a murderer," Midoriya snaps. It takes you aback. "Aren't you the one who's supposed to champion innocent until proven guilty? Look, I'm here because I heard you were the best. If you're not gonna help, just say it."

The outburst is not only unexpected, but genuine. The way his cheeks flush pink, the way his brows crease and his lips tug into a frown... You know human behavior. You know lying.

And Midoriya’s not lying.

"Fine," you sigh. "Here, I have paperwork you'll need to fill out on Sato's behalf. If you don't know it off the top of your head, it should be readily available in his arrest record. Get it back to me by tomorrow, and I'll schedule visitation at the prison."

"We can go see him?'

"I can go see him. The right to an attorney and all. You, though, will not be allowed to step within ten feet of the prison while I'm there."

"But you'll help?"

"I need to talk to Sato, review his case, see if it's within my right as legal counsel, but... yes, I should be able to help."

Midoriya—Deku—grins at your agreement. When you hold the paper out to him, he takes it quickly and scans it.

"Okay," he nods. "I'll be back with this tomorrow. Thank you. Thank you so much."

You give him a small smile as he leaves. When you hear the doors of the building close, you let out a sigh and rub your eyes with your fists.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 9:52am

”Hey, Y/N? Some guy is here, saying he has forms and such for you,” Hana says, knocking on your doorframe.

”Tall? Green hair, green eyes?”

She nods.

You sit up in your chair. “Let him in.”

Less than a minute later, Midoriya is walking into your office with a manila folder in hand. He sits in the chair across from yours without invite, and he slides the file over to you.

”What’s this?” you ask.

”The form you had me fill out, plus a few other documents I thought might help build your case,” he says.

You carefully open the folder and take out the thin stack of papers, shuffling through them. As soon as your eyes sweep over the first inconsistency, you see what Midoriya means. Sato is being accused of a string of murders, all committed with his quirk. However, two of the five murders he's being accused of, there is photographic proof of him being in a different place. At one scene, they discovered DNA evidence under the fingernails of the victim that was inconclusive when compared against Sato’s.

"And they don't suspect him of having a partner?" you ask.

"No, whoever's doing this is acting alone," he says.

"This is great, really great. Undeniable proof," you say, nodding. "How did you get it out of evidence?"

"What do you mean?"

"Surely, it must've been difficult to have its removal approved. Does your boss really like you or something?" you chuckle.

"I mean, not necessarily. I just took it," he shrugs.

Your head snaps up and you look at him with wide eyes. "What?"

"What?"

"You just took it? Like... without approval?"

"Yeah? So?"

You drop the folder and bring your hands up to your face, attempting to hide the frustration that swells up in your chest. There's no way he doesn't know court proceedings. There's no way he doesn't know how to gather evidence.

Does he really want to save this man?

"If you're not bullshitting me," you start, "then this is a huge mistake."

"What? What do you mean?" he asks, confusion lacing his voice.

"Without approval from the Commissioner, you're not allowed to just hand evidence to a defense attorney."

"So?"

"So, everything you just handed me, save the form I gave you, is now inadmissible in court."

Midoriya's face pales. "What?"

"It's illegal for me to have these without the approval of the Commissioner, before officially becoming Sato's legal counsel. Evidence illegally obtained is inadmissible in court."

"You're joking," he tries.

"I wish," you shrug. "So, Deku, tell me... Do you really care about saving a supposed murderer's life?"

"Yes," he quickly says.

"Alright," you nod. "Then you need to help me figure out how to replace this. Because you just threw out the best evidence we had.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 1:35pm

Midoriya walks into Todoroki's agency with a foggy mind. He spent all morning trying to figure out how to undo the giant fuck-up he caused. How could he not have known it's illegal to bring a defense attorney privileged information...?

That's the excuse he's going with, anyway. When his bosses ask where the files are, or how you'd gotten your hands on them, Midoriya plans on shrugging and saying 'oops.'

"Midoriya? What are you doing here?" Shoto's voice rings throughout the office space.

"I need your help," he says lightly, B-lining to the man's suite. Todoroki follows with a brow raised in question.

The two men sit down on either side of the wooden desk, and Midoriya runs a stressed hand through his hair.

"How much do you know about the legal system?" he asks.

"That's vague. What part of it?"

"Legal proceedings, trials, defense attorneys. Anything."

"I know a fair amount," Todoroki shrugs. "Why?"

"I..." his voice trails, and he clears the lump that's suddenly formed in his throat. "I fucked up. Big time."

"Oh? What happened?"

"The HPSC was following this man, Sato, building a case against him for the murders of five people. They asked me to assist in the arrest, and I agreed without looking into it. Afterward, though, I did, and... and I think he's innocent."

"If he's innocent, it'll be proven. There'll be evidence to support his claim."

"That's the problem," Midoriya groans. "That's my fuck up, I... I went to a defense attorney to see if she'd take on his case. She agreed, so I took her evidence I thought might help, and—"

"Now it's inadmissible," Todoroki finishes for him. He nods. "So... What exactly do you need to know?"

"Anything. Everything. I can't do something like this again. I need to know how I can help."

The corner of Shoto's mouth ticks up in a thoughtful smirk. "You’ve always been one to take on a challenge, haven’t you, Midoriya?”

Izuku shoots him a sheepish smile, bigger than anything he’s been able to muster over the past 24 hours.

”You know me,” he says lightly.

”I do,” Todoroki responds. Standing from his chair, he walks over to his bookshelf and scans the titles quickly. Once he finds what he’s looking for, he pulls the book and walks it back to the desk.

”What’s that?”

”A law textbook. Nowhere better to start than right in the middle of things,” Todoroki says, sitting back in his chair and flipping the cover open. “Now… How much do you know about what happens after we arrest the villains?”

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 2:13pm

You pick at a piece of lint on your skirt as the line rings. You fiddle with the hem, where a thread is coming loose, and wait for the answer. Sato's arraignment has been postponed, thankfully, so there's time for you to be there when he's given his initial bond post. You just need to become his attorney, first.

Finally, on the fifth ring, the line connects.

"Shizuoka Correctional Facility."

"Hi, this is attorney Y/N L/N, and I was hoping to schedule a meeting with a potential client of mine, last name Sato."

"Visitation hours are Monday through Friday, ten to three," the man on the phone says.

"Can you put me down for tomorrow at noon?" you ask, and the man huffs.

After giving him your information for approval, you hang up and roll your eyes. Prison guards are always so fucking rude.

"You get a new case?" Hana asks, peaking into your office. You beckon her in and nod as she sits across from you. "Is it the man from earlier?"

"Sorta," you sigh. "Murder case. Looks like they're going for the death penalty."

"That'll be rough. Definitely a media frenzy. Do you think you'll finally get talked about on a true crime podcast?"

"I fucking hope not."

Hana pouts. "You're no fun."

You give her a sarcastic smile.

"What do you need me to do?" she asks.

"Can you start looking into these cases," you say, grabbing a stack of folders. "It's brutal, so don't push yourself. If you need a break, take one."

"I'll be fine," she says, grabbing them.

"Look for inconsistencies. Two of the five murders, he was out of Shizuoka, but we'll need more than that to convince a jury to release him."

"On it, boss," Hana salutes. Then, she heads out to her desk.

It'd been your dream to be a lawyer, ever since you'd found out what law school was. A profession dedicated to helping people? Plus the pay, and the fact that your quirk makes the job nearly a hundred times easier. So, you set your sights on law and didn't look back.

At first you considered constitutional law, fighting court cases to establish the true rights of every citizen of Japan. Then, there was marriage law; you could help victims of domestic abuse, you could help those who were underprivileged in the eyes of family court. And then you'd discovered being a district attorney, a prosecutor. Sending those who commit heinous crimes to prison, getting justice for those who the legal system often failed.

But when you started law school, you were given access to cases. Real court cases, and all of the documents that had been submitted as evidence.

With photographic memory, you remembered everything. Every law, every statute, every sentence, every loophole. You saw it all, you absorbed it all. That's when the awareness settled in.

Because you found the inconsistencies like no one else. And you called them out.

"Wait, if the defense wasn't given an opportunity for cross, isn't it grounds for a mistrial?" you'd asked one night during criminal law.

"Yes, but the attorney didn't motion for a mistrial until the next day. It wasn't within the timeframe," your professor replied.

"But that's not fair, they were taking testimony from eight people that session. It was already too much to—"

"That's being a lawyer, Ms. L/N," he said. "It's sink or swim, out there. If an attorney cannot keep up with proceedings, they should give up their license."

"But precedent is set in Kan vs. Chiba, they allowed—"

"Ms. L/N, exceptions are made when there is reason for them to be made."

Which you might've understood, but it was the lawyer's first case at his own firm. Leniency is granted to others all the time for less, so why couldn't the judge have given him sway then? Why couldn’t the defense attorney be given the same exceptions as the prosecution?

Because the whole system is corrupt. You discovered it soon after that conversaion occured. More criminal cases, more inconsistencies, more unfairness. More bias, speculation, and underhanded deals between officials. None of the evidence mattered, if the prosecutor was attractive or charming.

And who were the defense attorneys? Slovenly con-artists who liked to make a quick buck sending teens and addicts to the slammer.

So, you changed your consentration. You started to advocate for the villains and criminals the way your friends advocated for the victims. What they could never grasp is how you saw the bad guys as the victims. As those who had been failed by the system.

But you saw it all.

The orphanages; the group homes; the abuse; the drugs; the easy money; the fun; the lack of routine; the lack of home; the lack of safety, and love, and care.

You saw how the system would manipulate its rules to send more underprivileged peoples to jail under the guise of public safety. When in reality, all they wanted was free labor and tax cuts. They wanted to avoid building cost-effective living. They wanted to avoid taking any responsibility for the role they played in turning victims into villains.

Izuku Midoriya, Deku, whoever he is. He came to you and asked for help. He asked for you to save a man from death row.

How can you refuse?

Chapter Text

Thursday, 10:02am

He's running late.

Midoriya meant to get to your office at 10:00 on the dot, but traffic was horrible, and now he's running late.

The light in your office is on. He can see it as he walks through the parking lot, heading to the glass-panelled double-doors. You're here, which is good. He hoped you wouldn't be gone to see Sato yet, so it's his lucky day.

When he pulls open the door, the receptionist looks up and smiles at him.

"Hi, can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm here to see Y/N L/N. She's helping me with a case," he says. Then he points in the direction of your office. "Can I?"

"She's prepping for an interview right n—"

"Oh! For Sato?"

Before the receptionist can answer, Midoriya heads for the back room. The woman calls after him, but he figures it's better to ask for forgiveness. Oops.

"You're going to see Sato? When? Can I come?"

Your head snaps up, and you look at him with wide eyes. It takes you a second to register what he's asked. "Yes, at noon. No, you can't. I already told you—"

"What if I promise to stay in the car?"

"I'm not keeping the meter running—"

"I'll drive."

Your lips press into a line and you sit back in your chair, crossing your arms.

"What are you doing here?" you ask. "You're a hero. You're the number one hero at that... Again, are you trying to ruin my reputation?"

"Of course not. I'm trying to help," he says. "Isn't it good? Y'know, being seen together. Working together."

"No, not at all." Your voice is flat, and it makes him frown. "If I'm seen working with you, my clients are going to think I'm setting them up. If the HPSC sees you working with me, they're going to make a stink about me corrupting you or some shit."

"They won't—"

"Yes, Midoriya, they will," you say. "When's the last time you saw a pro-hero work with a villain defense attorney? Because the last case in the history of Japan was Blackstreak, and that was over two decades ago."

"Who's Blackstreak?" he asks.

"Exactly."

"Okay, but I want to help. It's my fault for not reviewing the case first."

The guilt has been eating him alive. It was never supposed to be complicated like this. When he'd defeated All For One, when he'd defeated Shigaraki, it was all supposed to get easier. He's the top hero in Japan.

So why is it that he feels more used now than ever before?

He'd nearly given his life for his country. He’d given everything for the people he loves.

In return, they manipulated and lied to him.

”Please,” he says. “Let me fix this.”

You sigh, leaning forward to prop your elbows up on your desk. He sits down in the chair across from you and watches as you consider his plea.

”Did you do what I asked? Did you look into other avenues of securing the evidence?” you finally say.

”Kinda… I saw a friend of mine. He knows a bit about law. I had him walk me through the whole process, so I don’t screw up again,” Midoriya says.

”That’s good at least.”

He nods. “I’ll get the information for the video companies to you, so you can get that bit, if nothing else.”

”I need to figure out how to get the DNA evidence submitted by the DA, or find a way to get it myself. While I go visit Sato, you look into it. Remember, though, you aren’t a paralegal, you aren’t a lawyer, and you aren’t a cop. Restrictions apply. Do not lose anymore evidence for me, or Sato’s chances go out the window,” you say.

”I won’t. And I will. I mean, I will look into the DNA, I won’t lose the evidence.”

”I knew what you meant,” you say with a small smile. Midoriya feels his cheeks heat up a bit, nervous by your presence.

You. He knew about you long before stepping into your office.

The top villain defense attorney in Japan. Hated by the Commission, pro-heroes, law enforcement, prosecutors, and citizens alike.

He never got the appeal. Kacchan said you were hot, but that was all. Kirishima tried to look for the silver lining. Kaminari, Ochaco, and most of the others chose to bite their tongues.

Because why the hell would you spend your life getting the bad guys off death row? Why the hell did you care if a murderer got a fair trial? They were bad, and the heroes were good. The world was black and white. You were in the wrong.

And then he arrested Sato.

An innocent man is being charged with murder, and Midoriya had been a factor in his sentence. Izuku aided in putting a man’s life in the balance.

Saving him in time is his only goal, now.

The best way to complete his goal? By finding you. By recruiting you, asking for your help. If anyone could get a man out of prison on one of the highest charges in Japan, it’s you.

”Would you really wait in the car?” you ask, breaking him from his thoughts.

”Yes,” he says shyly.

”You really feel responsible for him, don’t you?”

”I do.”

You sigh again, though this time without frustration. If he’s right, he thinks you may be relenting.

”Okay,” you say. “You can’t talk to Sato, and you can’t be an official part of the defense. But… How would you feel being called as a witness?”

”A witness?”

”Yes. You saw the inconsistencies firsthand. If I call you as a witness, you’ll be able to testify regarding the evidence you saw.”

”Okay, I can do that. No problem.”

“You’ll also be cross examined by the prosecution, so I’d have to prep you for it. They won’t be kind.”

”That’s okay. I can handle it,” he says.

“Everything will be called into question. There’s a high chance your approval rating will go down. Blackstreak was forced to retire early… You’ll be putting a lot at risk by testifying.”

”It’s worth it,” he says firmly.

Your brows raise in surprise, and an easy smile crosses your face.

”Midoriya, you may be the first hero I can actually respect,” you say.

And some feeling that's a lot like pride swells in his chest, though for what reason, he doesn’t know.

Chapter Text

Thursday, 11:54am

You let Midoriya drive you to the prison. If you couldn’t place him without his costume on, surely others won’t be able to. Besides, a free ride is a free ride. You have your own car, but… whatever.

”Here,” you say, turning to him. He puts the car in park and turns to you. “This is the number for a friend of mine. While I’m talking to Sato, call him and tell him I need to meet with him. Tomorrow, Monday, or his soonest available time.”

”Who is it?”

”His name’s Sen Lito. He works a lot of faulty evidence cases, so he may be able to give us a few pointers. Take notes.”

”Will do,” he nods, taking the post-it note from you.

Situating your bag over your shoulder, you leave the car and make for the entrance of the prison. Shizuoka Correctional Facility. Reserved for the so-called worst of the worst.

The doors are heavy and lined with steel. A metal detector arches up overhead, ready for you to step through. A prison guard sits on a stool, reading a magazine. When he registers the clicking of your heels, his head lifts from the page.

”Morning,” he says, closing the magazine and standing. “I’ll need your ID, and to search your purse.”

”Of course,” you say. Digging through your bag, you get your ID from your wallet before passing him the items.

”Step through,” he motions. You cross under the metal detector as he looks through your belongings. “You have an appointment?”

”I should, I called yesterday.”

”Which prisoner?”

”Yuto Sato,” you say.

The guard’s lips press into a line, but he doesn’t say anything else. Finally, he hands you your purse.

”Stop by the window, an escort will take you back.” Promptly, he sits back down and starts to read the magazine again. You try your best not to roll your eyes.

You’re asked to store your belongings in a locker, but you’re allowed to take a notepad and pen back with you. A guard leads you through the winding cement halls, and you grimace at the heat and the stench. Summer may be coming to an end, but it’s still hot, and they don’t rush to crank the air conditioning. No wonder everything smells like BO.

”He’ll be in shortly,” the guard says, opening the door to a room. You nod and enter, sitting down at the metal table in the center.

Minutes later, he’s brought in.

A skinny, pale man with purple hair and a dejected look on his face.

The guard cuffs Sato to the metal table, makes sure the room is secure, and then leaves. Privacy is finally granted.

”Yuto Sato,” you say. “You’ve won the attention of a very important man.”

”Who are you?”

”I’m Y/N L/N. Villain defense attorney.”

”I’m not a villain.”

”I know,” you say. “It’s my job to tell the world you aren’t what they say.”

”So, who got you to come? My parents? My friends?” he scoffs. “None of them have reached out since my arrest, so that’d be a fucking shock.”

You give him a sad smile.

”Someone who cares,” you say. “Now, we’ll only have an hour to talk, so let’s rip off the bandage and get it over with, yeah? Let’s start easy—“

”I never agreed to your help.”

”Are you telling me to leave?” you ask. “I have no qualms proving my credentials, if that’s what you’re concerned with. I may be a bit young compared to some of my colleagues, but my track record is impressive.”

Sato clenches his jaw. You wait for him to gather himself. It’s always overwhelming, getting arrested.

”No. I’m not telling you to leave, it’s just… It was presumptive.”

At this, you laugh a bit. Then nod. “You’re right,” you say. “Would you please allow me the honor of representing you in court, Mr. Sato?”

He gives you a flat look.

”Not the time for humor, either. Got it,” you say, nodding. “In all seriousness, I need answers. Answers only you can give me. I assume you’ve never been arrested before.”

”No, I haven’t.”

”So, I’ll have to walk you through the process as well.”

The next hour is spent goading answers out of Sato. Where he was, who he saw, what he did, how he got where, why he left Shizuoka, and why he was here in the first place. Does he want to plead guilty, not guilty, or no contest? Is there anyone who might want to frame him? What does he do for work? What was his childhood like? Anything and everything.

"So, you'll be pleading 'not guilty,'" you confirm, and he nods. You scribble the answer down onto your notepad, and continue. ”Tell me honestly, and I don’t mean to offend. I have to know,” you say, voice low. “Did you kill them?”

”No,” he sighs. “No I didn’t kill them. Any of them. I… I don’t think I’ve ever even seen these women before.”

And it hits you.

Why it hadn’t been your first thought, you don’t know.

But you realize if Sato didn’t murder these women… someone else did. Someone else who is still out there, planning their next attack, using Sato’s arrest in their favor.

”I’ll come back Monday or Tuesday,” you tell Sato as the guard comes back into the room to get him. “Remember what I said.”

He nods.

Don’t say shit to anyone.

Back out where the sun seeps into your skin, you B-line to Midoriya’s car.

”Hey, I called—“

”Not now,” you interrupt. “I have a new job for you.”

”Okay, what?”

”You need to find the real killer.”

Chapter Text

Thursday, 1:03pm

”I need to find the real killer?” Midoriya repeats, and you nod.

”You can’t help in most aspects of this case, but the one thing you’re able to do that I can’t, is build a case against someone else,” you say. “If you can find the real murderer and build a case against them, I can use your documents as evidence. The charge wouldn’t immediately be dropped, but a strong enough case could sway a jury into thinking there’s reasonable doubt.”

He thinks about what you’re asking. It’s more than helping you with the case, now. Looking into other avenues behind the back of the HPSC is one thing, but… he’d also be forced to come clean to his friends. Friends who he’ll have to rely on if he wants to build an even somewhat decent defense.

Ochaco could survey the streets. Kaminari could access surveillance systems. Kacchan could help him with interrogations. Each of his friends has a valuable skill that makes them an asset to this case.

But would he be able to convince them to help? The only one of his friends with a neutrality to villain defense attorneys is Todoroki, but even his influence can only get him so far.

”I’ll try, but I might need your help,” he finally says.

”Help build a case against someone else? That’s like, the complete opposite of what I do,” you say, shaking your head. “I prove people innocent. Not guilty.”

”But…”

Midoriya cuts himself off, unable to say the words. Unable to voice his own insecurities.

But what if he’s wrong again?

What if he builds a case against the wrong guy, and the whole cycle restarts? What if he has another innocent arrested because he’s too blinded by the guilt he feels at Sato’s imprisonment?

”Building a theoretical case against someone else isn’t enough to put them on death row,” you say lightly, pulling him from his thoughts. “It serves as doubt. If the jury is able to doubt the prosecution’s claims that Sato is guilty, then it’s a win. If the HPSC wants to arrest the other guy off of your hypothetical case, I’ll review it.”

”You will?”

”It’s my job, Midoriya,” you chuckle. “Now, I need to get back to my office. There’s work to do.”

So, he takes you back to your office, drops you at the front, and watches as you go inside. Every movement is confident, self-assured. You’re the best, and you know you’re the best.

He felt that way for a time. Once, nearly a decade ago now. When he’d first gotten to #1, when he’d first opened his own agency. Before the HPSC sank their claws in him. Before bureaucracy changed him for the worse.

Midoriya feels like a fucking pawn.

Because he’s had his eyes open for two or three days, and already he understands you more than he ever has. He understands the qualms you have with the legal system, and the problems heroes create when they try to fix things without forethought. Only days ago, he’d listened to the others scoff and sneer at the way you got some kid off of his battery charges. Now, he gets it. For the first time, he sees in a way that is truly unbiased.

His world is grey.

Black and white, good and bad, light and dark, it all blurred together into a messy fog of grey. Like the sky before a storm, it’s uneven blotches of colorless meaninglessness.

Who is good, in this world?

Midoriya thought he was good. He thought he did what was the best for Japan. He thought what he did was enough to create a balance in the universe.

Midoriya thought his friends were good. Risking their lives to secure justice for victims. Giving their all for the same people he did. Same with his former teachers, mentors, allies, and partners.

Now he’s terrified.

If he looks into other cases, the ones him and his closest companions have worked on, how many faults will he find? How many inconsistencies, and loopholes, and exceptions made for those with a better image?

And if he looks into them, and begins asking questions… who will brush his concerns under the rug? Who will suggest he keeps turning a blind eye to these cases he once called justice? Who will suggest he stop looking into the predatory practices he’d known nothing about?

Midoriya drives to the one person he knows will have his back. Whether or not she agrees with him, she’ll listen.

Ochaco and him may have their differences of opinion, but she’s been there for him since UA. Surely, this won’t be different.

When he pulls up to her agency, he quickly runs inside to where her office is. None of the other staff pay him much mind, used to him running in and out of the building at different times. They don’t stop to tell him she’s gone, so he knows she's in.

”Izuku, what are you doing here?” Ochaco asks, looking up from whatever paperwork she’s filling out as soon as he steps into the room.

Midoriya shuts her door behind him and sits at one of her chairs. He runs a nervous hand through his hair.

”I need your help,” he says, voice strained with fear. Because no matter his opinion of Uraraka, you don’t know someone until you know them. All of them, all of their opinions and beliefs and ideals.

”Okay…” her voice trails as she sits back in her chair.

”Is this… No one’s listening, right?”

”Of course not,” she says lightly. “Are you alright?”

”No,” he says honestly. “I think… I stumbled into something messy. And not great. With the HPSC.”

”What’s that?”

”I think they’re trying to frame an innocent man for murder.”

She’s taken aback by this. “What? why would they do that?”

”I don’t know, I’m still figuring shit out.” His use of shit also takes her aback. “They used me, Ochaco… They used me to arrest him, and I fucking fell for it. Have you ever looked into the cases the HPSC assigns you? Because I haven’t. I don’t know why I even felt compelled to look into this one, but… what if there are others? What if we’ve been arresting innocents this whole time?”

”Izuku,” she whispers. “I believe you, but… you sound a little paranoid. I doubt the HPSC is lying to us on such a wide scale.”

”Have you looked? Because I’m scared to.”

”No, I haven’t. Maybe we should together,” she suggests. “Let’s figure this out once and for all, y’know? Put your suspicions to rest.”

”And if I’m right?” he asks expectantly. Hoping she’s come up with some well-rounded plan in thirty seconds.

Ochaco’s lips press into a flat line. “If you’re right, then we have bigger fish to fry,” she says. “How’d you even get onto this?”

”Like I said, I looked into the guy’s case and spotted too many inconsistencies.”

”And that alone prompted you to start second guessing everything the HPSC’s ever done?”

”Well… Not exactly.”

Her brow quirks up as she waits for him to answer. Where is his paranoia stemming from?

”I went to see a defense attorney.”

”You didn’t…”

”I did,” he sighs. “I didn’t know where else to go!”

”So you took your suspicions that should go to HR, to a villain defense attorney? Do you know the smear campaign the HPSC could go through if anyone found out? Not only will the public second-guess everything heroes do, but they’ll also think you’re sympathizing with villains—“

”They’re not villains,” he says quickly. “Not all of them.”

”Izuku do you hear yourself? Three days ago you agreed with Bakugo when he said not enough villains receive the death penalty.”

”I’ve since gained nuance.”

”Nuance?” she says skeptically. “Which attorney did you even go to?”

Midoriya doesn’t respond.

”Izuku…” she presses.

He sighs. “I went to Y/N L/N.”

Ochaco closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.

”You went to the top villain defense attorney in Japan, and told her that the HPSC used you to arrest an innocent man?”

”Not in so many words,” he lies.

”Did you steal evidence for her, too?” she bites.

He doesn’t respond.

”You—!” Ochaco cuts herself off with a frustrated groan, leans forward onto her desk and lets out a string of fake sobs.

”It’s not like it’s admissible, anymore,” he grumbles.

”Yeah, I figured. So, what? You came to me thinking you could ask me to help you… do what, exactly?”

”Mostly to share my suspicions,” he says shyly. “But… I also need your help building a case.”

”A case? Against the HPSC?”

”No,” he shakes his head. “Against the real killer.”

”Who’s the real killer?”

”That’s why I need your help,” he smiles guiltily. “I’m not really sure.”

Chapter Text

Friday, 2:19pm

You’re sitting in your office when they arrive.

On his own, you couldn’t place Deku. But standing next to another hero? It’s obvious.

”Is this the third or fourth time I’m asking if you want to ruin my reputation?” you scowl. “What’s Uravity doing here?”

”You know I’m right here, right?” she asks. “I can answer for myself.”

”Then answer,” you say.

”I’m here because Midoriya somehow got it into his mind that you know more truths about the HPSC than we do,” she says. “And I think he’s wrong.”

”Most of you heroes would,” you sigh. “So, what? You’re here to make sure I don’t corrupt him any more?”

”Basically.”

At least she’s honest.

“Fine. Come in, sit down, we’ll make this quick,” you say.

Midoriya lets Uravity take the chair while Hana brings in a second. He thanks her before sitting down next to the hero woman.

”What’s your name?” you ask her.

”Ochaco Uraraka,” she says.

”Okay, Uraraka. How much has Midoriya told you?”

”Pretty much everything.”

You nod. So, no secrets. Got it.

Turning to him, you give Midoriya the updates you’ve gathered in the last 24 hours.

”So, I called Lito back because he couldn’t meet. He said it's sure the evidence is inadmissible on my end. The only way it'll be submitted at this point is if the prosecution enters it, but since it negates the case they built, it's highly unlikely. My paralegal, Hana, is looking for other avenues to obtain the information, but again, it's not likely she'll find anything of use," you tell him. "The best chance we have is if you're able to pin it on someone else."

Uraraka scoffs. "I thought you wanted the real killer? Leave it to a villain defense attorney to pin a crime on someone else."

"The Hero Commission did it first," you point out. "What's so different when I do it?"

"Ochaco, stop," Midoriya whispers. "I came to her. Not the other way around."

"I'm not offended," you interject. "We all have our interpretations and biases. None of us are immune to the rose-tinted glasses of our world."

"It doesn't make you mad when your profession is called into question?" she asks, not believing you.

"I get death threats on the daily," you chuckle. "Debating the validity of my occupation is not the most offensive thing to happen to me."

"You get death threats?" Midoriya asks, sticking to the wrong part of your sentence.

"It's neither here nor there."

"So, you don't feel any guilt pinning a crime on a different innocent? You only care when they pay you for your services?" Uraraka asks.

You shrug. "Sato's case is pro-bono. 50% of the cases I take on are. Only white collar detainees I expect an upfront payment from. And, no, I don't feel guilty. Like I explained to Midoriya, it's only to serve as doubt. It'd be great if you got the right guy, this time, but anyone will do."

"It'd be great if we what—?"

"She didn't mean it like that," Midoriya tries.

"Actually, I did," you say.

Because, truly, if the heroes did their jobs right in the first place, this wouldn't be an issue.

But, the pros are human and fallible. You're only able to avoid the mistakes you do because of your memory. Their quirks don't bar them from misinterpreting information, or misreading, or skipping over a crucial word, or not knowing a key phrase.

They don't make the heroes go to law school.

"She's impossible," Uraraka says, shaking her head.

You shrug once more. "Maybe, but my re-offending rate is better than every attorney in this country. Do you know why? Because my clients are innocent, and your lawyers cannot prove otherwise. I don't do this to release violent criminals back into the world. I do this because the HPSC doesn't know the difference between the abuser and the abused. It's why they fail so many victims, not arresting their perpetrators because those are the ones who have bright futures. And while 90% of attorneys in the country fight for the prosecution's idea of a victim, who fights for those the prosecution set up to fail? Those born in a system that pipelines them straight to prison?"

Your words hit Uraraka somewhere personal.

You memorized her speech, during Shigaraki's war on UA.

Who saves the heroes? she cried to every citizen of Japan. Who fights for those who fight for you?

"Who fights for those who have never had someone in their corner? Not even the law."

Loopholes upon loopholes upon loopholes. All to keep a class of people readily available for them to chew up and spit back out.

You don't fight for frat boys who date-rape people. You don't fight for CEOs who make millions by withholding wages from their workers.

You fight for those who have been accused of stereotypical crimes. Robbery, assault and battery, murder, drug use or sales. Most of which were never committed by your client. As decided by the jury, at least.

So, Uraraka relents.

”We need to find the actual murderer, then. Not just pin it on someone else,” she sighs. “If Sato’s innocent, someone else is guilty.”

”That’s what I asked Midoriya for help with. He’s very stubborn, you know.”

”Trust me, I do.”

”I’m right here,” he says.

”Yes, we know,” you say. “So, do you have anything for me? Or did you just want to introduce me to your friend?”

Midoriya’s face flushes.

“He was humoring me,” Uraraka says. “I wanted to come interrogate you a bit. You know, make sure you’re not running to the media with… accusations.”

”I’ve known about the HPSC’s corruption for a long time. I don’t need to run to the media, I just beat them in court.”

She bites back whatever snarky comment she’s about to say, and it makes you smile a bit. While you think Uraraka’s a bit misguided, or perhaps a bit naive, you respect her for standing up for what she believes in, and yet giving you the decency to have an open mind.

”Look, I don’t mean to be down your throat about the ways of the HPSC, but my whole job is holding them accountable, and making sure they do their jobs right. So, don’t take it personally.”

”It’s hard not to,” she says.

”Then I guess you know how it feels,” you say. You don’t mean it in a bitter way, or to throw it in her face. It’s just the truth of the matter.

”I have to see a couple more people,” Midoriya awkwardly cuts in, “but I think I’ll be able to find you something by the end of next week.”

”The sooner the better,” you say. “Since Sato’s officially accepted me as his counsel, we go to court on Thursday for the first round of jury selection. It’ll probably take the next seven to ten days. His arraignment was this morning, so his bond's been set, along with the date of the trial. It starts in six weeks.”

”So, we have a month and a half to build a hypothetical case, framing someone for the murders you and Deku think Sato is innocent of?”

”I know he’s innocent,” Midoriya states.

”Yes,” you simply say. “Again, it doesn’t have to be real. It should be, but that’s not my problem. My problem is creating a story the jury finds more realistic than the prosecution’s.”

”What will you be doing in the meantime?” Uraraka asks.

”Building a case of my own. Interviewing and prepping my client. Getting his story straight.”

”And once we build a case, then what? We just hand it to you, and it’s accepted? What’s the difference between that and just handing you the evidence like Izuku did? It’s all be inadmissible.”

”No,” you shake your head. “Two reasons: First, Midoriya knows what he’s doing this time. Second…”

”What?” she presses.

”There’s a loophole.”

”A loophole?”

”It’s not illegal to obtain evidence as a citizen of Japan. If a citizen finds evidence, they can give it to whoever, whenever, without going through any red tape.”

”So?”

”So,” you start, “Deku and Uravity aren’t building me a case. Midoriya and Uraraka are.”

Chapter Text

Friday, 3:00pm

It's silent in the car.

Midoriya taps his thumbs nervously against the steering wheel, waiting for Ochaco's commentary. It takes ten minutes for her to speak.

"I still don't trust her," she says.

"That's fair," he says. "But... you'll help, right?"

"Of course I'll help," she sighs. "If you're right, and Sato really is innocent, we should do what we can to get this sorted. But you know we'll need to ask the others for help, too, right?"

"Yeah, I figured."

"Do you think Bakugo would?"

"No," he says honestly. "But he'd help if Kirishima helps. Who will only help if Kaminari helps, who will only help if Jiro helps..."

"I'll talk to her," Ochaco says. "It'd be good to have someone with recon skills on our side. She can keep an ear out for any whispers. Shinso might be good, too, considering he's a vigilante."

"Yeah, but I haven't heard from him in years. He's deep underground."

"So, what, we'd have to ask Aizawa about it?"

"Probably," Midoriya shrugs. "Which is a whole other problem, considering his ties to the Commission."

"He was a vigilante first," Ochaco points out. "His loyalty might be a facade."

"So what do we do? You talk to Jiro, and then... what? What am I supposed to do?"

Ochaco gives him a look that makes him groan. Yeah, he knows what he needs to do. He just doesn’t particularly want to do it. Midoriya figured maybe he could push it off, but of course not. There isn’t time.

So, he drops Ochaco off at her agency with the agreement of meeting on Monday. She’ll be talking to Jiro this weekend, the first of many dominoes that will have to fall if they want to succeed.

Meanwhile, Midoriya takes off in the direction of Bakugo’s agency.

He won’t agree with what they’re doing, but the seed needs to be planted. Blindsiding Kacchan is a recipe for disaster. So, even though Midoriya knows the blond will refuse to help this time, it’s what’ll guarantee his agreement later on.

Kacchan has a one-track mind. As long as Midoriya's actions align with Kacchan's opinions, he'll join.

"Is Dynamight in?" he asks the secretary as he enters.

The young man clicks something on his computer, checking Bakugo's calendar most likely, and then nods.

"He's available. Do you want me to alert him you're here?"

"No, it's okay," Midoriya says, taking off in the direction of Kacchan's office.

Employees hustle about the agency, carrying stacks of files and papers. Some are in their hero costumes, others aren't. None stop to greet Midoriya, though he doesn't expect them to. In fact, he's more than fine with them leaving him alone.

He knocks on the doorframe, causing Bakugo's head to snap up from something he's writing.

"What, Deku?" he snaps.

"I need your help."

"With what?" Kacchan groans, placing the paper in a folder and sticking it into his file cabinet. "Aren't you supposed to be #1? Standards are going way down."

"It's not that," Midoriya says nervously, closing the door. Bakugo raises a brow and watches him curiously as he sits in one of the chairs in front of his desk. "We prove villains are guilty, right?"

Kacchan doesn't respond, staring at him blankly.

"What if... What if we had to prove one was innocent?"

"You've been watching too many courtroom dramas."

Midoriya shakes his head. "I'm serious."

"If we had to prove a villain's innocence, we'd be defense attorneys."

Izuku lets out a loud groan, finding Bakugo more impossible than usual.

"As heroes, where would we start?"

Kacchan crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, looking at Midoriya suspiciously. A tense silence falls over them as the blond's eyes narrow.

"Why?" he finally asks.

"Why what?" Midoriya plays dumb.

"Why do you want to know? This isn't hypothetical, obviously. So... fuck is it? Why do you want to know about getting villains out of prison?"

Izuku chews at the inside of his cheek. He swallows the lump growing in his throat, the one making his mouth extremely dry. "Because... what if I messed up? What if I disagree with the HPSC's case? What if there's an innocent man, waiting for trial, waiting to be sent to death?"

"Is there? Or is this a fucking exercise the Commission wants us to do?" Kacchan asks. "Am I supposed to say you should blindly follow them, as our bosses? This isn't being fucking recorded, is it?"

"No," Midoriya says quickly. "Not recorded, not an exercise... and no, not a hypothetical."

He stands from the chair and starts nervously pacing the office space. The blond watches him with a scowl.

"I... I arrested a man for murder. But I think he's innocent."

"So?" Bakugo grunts. "If he's innocent, it'll be proven."

Is this not verbatim the conversation he had with Todoroki? He'd said something along those lines, too. As if it isn't their responsibility to make sure they have the right man for the crime. As if being held in a jail cell awaiting trial doesn't mean shit, because he'll eventually get out.

Midoriya's face contorts, all of the frustration, guilt, and anger he's felt over the past three days coming to the surface, being directed right at his best friend.

"So, what? We arrest innocent people now and say fuck all when it's our mistake to undo? Because it's not a part of the job description, or something?"

"Of course not, idiot, but it's not our job. Red tape prevents heroes from crossing sides. Too much shit would come out, and it'd be a whole thing."

"Okay, so, because reforming the system is too much work, we just accept what happens?"

"Why the fuck are you talking to me like this? Are you accusing me of arresting innocent people?" Kacchan asks, voice rising, standing from his own chair.

"Have you?" Midoriya shoots.

"Like hell I have!"

"I didn't think I did either!" he snaps back. "When's the last time the HPSC told you to arrest a villain, and you walked through the case as if it were your own? Because I was fucking naive about it. I trusted them."

"It's not naive to trust the Commission," Kacchan sighs. "But, you're right. I don't look closely at the cases they give me."

"If you did... what do you think you'd find?"

Midoriya's voice is so small, now. Again, he's terrified. What will he find, the deeper he goes? Is Kacchan not the man he'd once thought he was? Are any of his friends? Ochaco agreed to help, but doubt clouds her every move.

His trust depletes by the second.

"I don't know," Bakugo says honestly. "But then what? We go to the HPSC to complain about the HPSC, nothing happens, and things stay the same. Except, after an accusation like this, they'd blacklist us from the industry. And then... what? What help can you be, benched on the sidelines?"

"So we don't go to the HPSC."

"What do you mean?"

"What if... What if we didn't go to them."

"And build a case going against them behind their backs? What'd you even do with it?"

Midoriya swallows the persistent lump that continues to choke him.

"Take it to a defense attorney," he says nervously.

Kacchan blinks once. And then again.

And then he starts to laugh.

"Yeah, that's fucking rich. I thought you said this was serious."

But when Midoriya doesn't say anything else, the realization dawns on Bakugo. He is being serious.

"No."

"Kacchan, please—"

"Who?" he asks. "Wait, don't fucking tell me. You went to the chick, right? What's her name again? Y/N L/N?"

No response is needed.

"So you go to this L/N woman, and then what? Give her proof of the Commission being corrupt? That's a fucking get-out-of-jail-free card if I've ever heard one. Every case that's been won over the past two fucking decades will be called into question."

"Maybe they should be," he shrugs. "If innocent people have gone to prison—"

"If innocent people have gone to prison, then the system failed them in more ways than one. It's not your fault, nor your responsibility."

"Heroes should be held accountable for the parts they play. I'm willing to take on the risks."

"Are you?" Kacchan asks pointedly.

"I have to be."

Because you get death threats, doing what you do. And if you can take those with a grain of salt, he can get through this. He can lift his weight, carry the burden of proof on his back for as long as he needs to. Midoriya will give up his title, his status, his clients, his loyalty, all of it. He will give it all up, making sure Sato's given a truly fair trial.

Innocent until proven guilty.

A mindset barely anybody takes on, anymore. Nowadays, it's guilty until proven innocent. Between social media and general corruption, the title of 'villain' is attached to anyone accused of a crime, no matter how big or small.

"Well," Kacchan starts suddenly, "it'll be much easier to become #1, if you're out of the way. So, don't let me stop you."

"Thanks," Midoriya says flatly.

"Just... Don't be fucking stupid about it. Right? Play the system. Don't play alongside it."

"I need help—"

"Not from me you fucking don't," Bakugo grunts, sitting back in his chair. "Good luck with everything, but keep me out of it."

Izuku purses his lips and nods, the reaction expected. Because until Kirishima and Kaminari join, the risk is bigger than the reward.

"Thanks, Kacchan." This time, when he says it, it's sincere. He turns to leave the man's office.

"Stop fucking calling me that," he grumbles from behind. "We're not 14."

Midoriya doesn't bother responding, heading back out to his car. He gives a slight wave to the secretary as he leaves the agency, climbing into the driver’s seat. The inside of the car’s been warmed, sitting out in the sun, and the feeling causes his muscles to relax.

For a reason he isn't sure, he takes the long way home. Driving around helps to clear his mind, but he's so tired, he sort of just wants to be in his bed. So, when he takes a left turn, rather than a right, it surprises him a bit. Because, where is he going, if not for home?

It isn't until he sees the building that he understands his own subconscious actions.

The light in your office is still on. A fading amber glow, like that of a single lamp, illuminating the small room you use. The sun has started to set, the sky painted a dusty blue. Midoriya pulls into the parking lot, now so familiar with the area. Besides a single car he thinks might be yours, the lot is empty.

He parks, gets out of the car, and walks up to the double-doors without thought. It isn't until his hand wraps around the metal bar to pull the door open, that he hesitates. Why is he here? What is he doing? He doesn't have any new information for you, so he'd just be a bother. You probably don't event want to see him. He's persistent in his efforts, but do you find them annoying? Should he just go home?

Before the overthinking freezes him completely, he tugs at the door, opening it.

"Y/N?" he calls lightly, hoping that he doesn't startle you.

There's a bit of shuffling in your office, and he waits for you to push your door open further. When you finally do, still in the same skirt and blazer as earlier, you look at him with furrowed brows.

"Midoriya? What are you doing here again? It's late," you say.

"I know, I just... I couldn't go home."

What he means, he's not sure, but he couldn't. It feels wrong, to go to his comfortable apartment, sleeping on his comfortable bed in his linen pajamas, while Sato's in a cell.

Midoriya swears a smile tugs at your lips, though it's such a small reaction he doesn't have time to confirm whether or not he's imagining things.

"I get it," you say. "Come in. I'm working on jury selection and interview prep."

He nods and takes large strides toward you. Toward your office, he means.

His footfalls are soft, stepping on the soft carpet. You step back and hold the door further open for him. Closing in on the light, he can see you a bit better. Barefoot, hair pulled messily out of your face, looking about half as put together as he's seen you before.

"Should I start planning on seeing you multiple times a day?" you chuckle.

"No, I don't mean to bother."

"You're not," you say, shrugging.

Papers are laid out, scattered across the floor. A mug of pens sits on the corner of your rug, within reach. You move to sit back in the center of the room, one of the few spots not littered with files and documents, aiding you in the fuck-up he caused.

"Sorry, I take up more space when I'm alone," you say sheepishly, grabbing at some of the sheets. He watches as you stack and paperclip them together.

"No need to apologize. I do some of my best work on the floor," he jokes, moving to sit next to you, careful not to crush any of the papers. "How can I help?"

"Uh..." you think, eyes flitting between each of the papers. When he looks at them, the words blend together and jumble in his mind. So, maybe he can't be much help. "We can start working on your interview prep, if you want?"

"A bit soon, isn't it?"

"Sure, but there's not much else you can help with," you shrug.

"You said jury selection and prep for Sato's cross."

"Are you familiar?"

"I'm a quick learner," he tries. "Tell me what you're looking for, what questions you need to come up with. I'll do it."

You stare at him for a moment before nodding.

"Okay," you relent. "For jury selection, we start with voir dire. It's a time for attorneys and judges to ask potential jurors questions and eliminate them from the jury based on potential biases that can be seen as a conflict of interest. So, go through these files—" you hand him a thick stack of papers "—and look for biases. Highlight them."

You pass him a neon-yellow highlighter.

"Anything that can be interpreted as a bias?"

"Anything," you nod. "If a juror has a history with villains, they're out. If a juror has a son with purple hair, they're in. Find people who will ensure a win for us. They're the ones I'll fight for, and the ones the prosecution will fight against."

"Got it," he says.

As you work on interview questions, scribbling on your legal pad, he combs through those who've been sequestered for the first round of jury selection. Men and women who have more room for bias than he'd ever imagined. He picks them apart, highlighting each area that can be seen as a bias, using a black pen to write his reasoning for it. Because for whatever reason, he's scared that you'll look at one of his highlighted answers and think he's a total dumbass.

Neither of you speak, no matter how much he wants to. The room is filled with the gentle scraping of pen on paper, the rustling of pages being stacked, the gentle mumbling coming from your throat. He's sure you're unaware of the noises you elicit, and he can't help it when he finds himself turning to watch you.

Your brows are furrowed, gentle creases lining your face. You bite your lip, frown, sigh in frustration, and sit straight.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

You rub your eyes with your fists. "Yeah. Just... tired."

"Wanna call it for the night?" he asks.

"Can't," you mutter. "I'll be behind. Feel free to dip whenever, though. Don't let me stop you from leaving."

Midoriya shakes his head. "Like I said, I can't go home. Not yet."

You nod and close your eyes, sucking in a deep breath.

"Here," he starts, "let me help. Maybe I'll think of useful questions."

You shrug and hand him your legal pad, questions written out in cursive that takes him a moment to read.

"What about his alibi for the two murders he was out of Shizuoka for?" he asks.

"I'm getting answers to questions directly involved with the case together on Monday," you say. "Right now, I'm worried about building character. The prosecution will do everything they can to call his past into question, and like all of my clients, it's not pretty."

"What are character-building questions?"

"If he's ever done volunteer work. If he's an otherwise law-abiding citizen. If he fosters puppies, helps walk old people across the street, goes to church on Sundays," you list. "Stuff that makes Sato seem human."

"He is human?"

"The justice system tends to forget."

"How do you do this?" he asks bluntly. "It's depressing."

"It is," you agree. "But... When you win? It feels like a fucking win."

"Do..." The words catch in his throat, but he needs to ask. He has to know. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

"Yeah, if you're asking me that, you're definitely not," you chuckle, looking back down at one of the papers.

"I'm serious. If the HPSC is really as corrupt as you say... and I work for them..."

Your smile falls, and your attention leaves the page.

"Midoriya," you sigh, "I see 100% of the failures of the justice department. You see 100% of the wins. Like I told Ochaco, all humans have bias. But it doesn't mean that 100% of the wins are corrupt, and it doesn't mean 100% of the failures are intentional. If you do your job to the best of your ability, if you take your honesty and empathy into your hero-work, then you are not a bad person. I assume Deku's #1 for a reason."

At that, he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"When I go into court, I frame the HPSC as low as they frame my client. It's not fair, but it's the job. A lot of embellishing, and a lot of hyperbole. Do I see the corruption of the HPSC? Yes. But I also watch defense attorneys get truly atrocious people out of their charges. In the legal system, no profession is beyond corruption."

"It shouldn't be this way."

"No, but it is," you say flatly. "We roll with the punches."

So, Midoriya stays in the office with you until midnight, going through your questions, building the jury pool. Todoroki's information helps prevent him from asking you stupid questions, though there are still times where he breaks the silence to search for clarification.

All the while, he thinks of what you said. What the system is like, and your job. His job.

You've only confirmed what he has already known. The world is not black and white. Everything is good, and everything is bad, and at the end of the day, no one really wins. He is one of many pawns, as are you, as are the victims and villains and the common people. So long as the systems at large win.

Now when he looks at you, he understands the appeal.

Face hardened by reality, but still beautiful. He can admit it, now. You are beautiful. Tired, with dark circles under your eyes, with those creases permanently sunken into your skin. But still, so pretty. As your eyes skim the papers in front of you, a single strand of hair falling in front of your eyes, he fights the urge to reach out and touch you.

Intelligent. Blunt. Vicious. Exciting.

Someone with a moral code that rivals his own.

Unexpected.

You are so, very unexpected. Not the woman from the HPSC's briefings over their biggest threats. Not the woman he used to watch on tv with the others, judging your victories as if they were a personal loss to him.

And even then, you were the one to absolve him of his guilt. When he felt guilty for his judgements, presumptions, and biases. When he felt guilty for his prejudices. You'd been the one to say all of those fancy things about corruption and bias and intention. You didn't try to make him feel worse for his assessment of your job. You didn't try to fight Ochaco, or push her straight into this awkward grey space the two of you take up.

You are nothing he thought you were.

It only pulls him to stay on this side of the law.

Chapter Text

Monday, 2:27pm

Your stomach growls loudly as you review the interview tapes from your meeting with Sato. He gave you two solid alibis, but “home alone” doesn’t typically cut it for most members of a jury.

So, you took the information of people he considers enemies—or at least not allies—and you called the local surveillance companies to get footage within a five mile radius of his house and the murder sights.

”Sorry, I’m early,” Midoriya’s voice rings out.

”You say it like you have an appointment,” you sigh, looking up at him. He carries a bag and wears a sheepish smile. When you motion for him to sit across from you, he does without hesitation. “What are you doing here?”

”I brought lunch,” he says, placing the bag on your desk. “Thought you might be busy. If you already ate, though, that’s fine.”

Your stomach grumbling answers for you. He smiles, and you start to laugh a bit.

”Good guess,” you say, leaning to grab the bag. “What’d you get?”

When he names your go-to order from your favorite restaurant, you glare at him.

”Are you stalking me? Knowing when I’ll be hungry, and knowing my favorite meal? Either you’re a very good guesser, or you’re a freak.”

”I’m an incredible guesser,” he says. “Deductive reasoning, you know? What’s the closest restaurant in your office, and when I mention you to the cashier, do they know you.”

”How many poor cashiers did you mention me to?” you ask, taking out the first to-go container.

”One,” he smiles. “Like I said, I’m an incredible guesser. And apparently, you know what you like.”

”What does that mean?”

”It means I mentioned you and didn’t have to say anything else. She said ‘the usual’ and nodded in fear.”

”In fear?” you ask, eyebrows shooting up. The amused smile refuses to fall from your face.

”You have quite the reputation,” he says.

Your mouth waters when you open up the container and the scent of the food fills the room.

”Thank you,” you say. “How much was it?”

”Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “My treat.”

”No, you don’t have t—“

”You’re taking Sato’s case pro-bono, right?”

”Yes,” you say.

”Then I do have to,” he says. “You’re doing me a favor.”

”I’m doing Sato a favor,” you point out.

”Because I asked,” he argues. “Just take the free food and say thank you.”

You laugh once more and thank him, accepting the meal gratefully. For a moment, while you eat, you let your mind fall from the impending trial.

”I realized last night,” he starts, “you’ve never tried any of my cases.”

You shrug. “I tend to focus my time on heroes who don’t have clean arrest records.”

”It might be good to expand your scope. Not all of my arrests are clean, apparently.” Midoriya's words are clipped and bitter, and it makes a frown tug at your lips.

”If I had the manpower to, I might, but… it’s complicated.”

”Complicated how?”

”Legal jargon and red tape,” you sigh. None of which would make sense to him. He asks the same questions you were asking in law school, so you keep your answers as simplistic as you can.

”Are there any loopholes?” he asks, making you smile a bit.

”There always are.”

”Anything I can help with?”

”You are a very persistent man,” you say, shaking your head. “No, not really. It’s also about how thin I’m willing to spread myself.”

”Do you see anyone about it? Not to pry, or whatever, but… You’ve been doing this for seven, eight years now. It must be hard on your mental,” he says.

”I do, and it is, but like I said. Wins are wins.”

”That implies losses are losses.”

”Well, I suppose it’s good I don’t have many of those,” you wink.

Ignoring the look of pity that flashes through Midoriya’s eyes, you continue to eat. The conversation shifts to something easier, and for a while you forget why he’s here.

Wait… Why is he here?

”You really came all this way, just to bring me lunch?”

”I mean, I don’t live far,” he says bashfully, a small blush settling over his cheeks. From the contrast of his green hair and eyes, the red tint is prominent. “But yeah.”

”Is everything okay?” you ask. “Is there… something else going on?”

Because before today, you would've bet your entire life savings that a pro-hero and a defense attorney could never, ever be acquaintances. Like, literally ever. Much less friends. Much less someone who would buy you lunch. So, again, why is he here?

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You lawyers and human behavior.”

”So, there is?”

”It’s been hard, going to work and seeing everyone, knowing what I know now. I’ve been feeling sort of paranoid, I think.”

“Do you see anyone for your mental health?” you ask, figuring if he can be intrusive, you can too.

”I used to, but not anymore.”

”Maybe you should go again,” you shrug. “It’d be helpful. At least while you’re figuring things out.”

”Yeah…” he says, voice trailing.

”Midoriya, if you can’t go home, and you can barely see your friends, maybe it’s time to take a step back. Let me work on this for a week, let Uraraka work on your other case on her own. Take a breath. Rest.”

”I can’t,” he sighs.

”You can, and you may need to. It’s okay to take a break. This whole situation does not rest on you. The HPSC gave the order, and now it is time for me and my team to step in and do our jobs. The burden of this case is not something for you to carry alone.” You pause for a moment, thinking. His green hair is messy, his eyes dull and dark. Midoriya's clearly exhausted, clearly taking on the brunt of the emotional labor of this case. Standing from your desk, you turn to your bookshelf and search for one of the titles you have. “Do you know the story of Atlas?”

”No,” he says softly.

When you find the thin book of Greek Mythology, you pull it out and hand it to him. He takes it, looks at the title, gently flips through the pages.

”Read it,” you say. “The weight of the world does not rest on your shoulders. You do not need to lift the sky alone.”

Midoriya subconsciously drags a finger down the smooth cover. He stares at the book, but looks so faraway.

”I know,” he finally says. “But it’s so hard not to make it personal.”

”You feel used, and maybe you have been. I’m not the one who can make that call,” you say. “There’s going to be emotions that come from that. But don’t let resentment for what happened taint everything you’ve done for Japan.”

”How can I stand up on stage, give interviews, and call myself a hero when I feel less like one every day?” he asks.

”When a hero stops feeling like a hero,” you start, “it means they’ve reached enlightenment.”

”Funny,” he deadpans.

”I’m not joking. Do you know how it feels to be accused of failing murder victims? Of failing your country because you fight against heroes? The first attorney I ever worked for said something similar to me,” you say. Thinking back to him, your memories are fond. “He said, when a villain attorney trusts the words of a criminal over the words of a cop, it means they’ve reached enlightenment… I think the sentiment stands, don’t you?”

”I don’t think that’s the case.”

”It’s not something to take literally. Again, it’s the sentiment,” you clarify. “It means you’ve stopped blindly following the system. You’re open to critiquing it, and demanding change.”

Midoriya sits with your words for a moment, and you watch as he processes. It’s a lot to handle. He’s coming to terms with what you’ve known for a decade, in less than a week.

”If you’re overwhelmed, take a step back,” you try again.

He shakes his head. “I won’t be able to do that.”

”I figured as much.”

Persistent. Very persistent.

”Then, tell me how to help you,” you say. “How can I help make this easier on you? I can be less blunt about things. Sugarcoating is a specialty of mine.”

At this, he looks up at you and grins. You notice how it doesn't reach those glinting green eyes of his.

”Nah, no sugarcoating. Let me be more hands-on. Once I get a few more of my friends on board to help with everything, I can come here more often. I know I’m not a lawyer or anything, but I’ll do what I can.”

He’s incredulous to you. Midoriya’s coping mechanism is being helpful.

”More often? You’ve been here every day,” you laugh.

”I’ll take time from the agency, I have enough vacation saved. I can run errands, or spy on people, or do whatever.”

Shaking your head, you stare at him in awe. All you can think to say is, “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Monday, 6:00pm

Ochaco opens the door before he can even knock.

”Come on,” she says quietly, motioning for him to step inside.

He follows her into the sitting room, heart beating in his throat. The text she’d sent had been ominous at best.

Jiro and Kaminari sit on the couch, tension filling the room. When they hear the approaching footfalls of him and Ochaco, they sit up a bit straighter.

Ochaco: We need to talk. Now.

She sits in the open chair, and Midoriya stays standing, unable to stop moving. He shifts his weight between his legs, wipes his hands on his jeans, waits for someone to break the horrible silence. It's thick. Much too thick. Hard to breathe, and heavy. The exact scenario he was originally trying to avoid.

”I want to hear it from you,” Kaminari finally speaks. When has he ever sounded so serious before?

Izuku clears his throat and nods.

“Yeah, okay… I… I think the HPSC used me to arrest an innocent man. And I want to do something about it,” he says.

”You want us to help you frame someone for murder,” Jiro says, expression unreadable.

”I want you to help me find the real killer.”

”Behind the Commission’s back,” Kaminari snaps, standing from the couch so he’s at eye-level. “They already arrested the guy. You’re asking us to risk our jobs on a hunch.”

”I’m asking you, as a friend, to help me free someone I’ve wrongfully arrested.”

For a moment, the room stills.

Friendship. Accountability. Everything seems to circle the drain, washing away in this moment. Who will stand with him, and who will stand in his way?

Then Denki sighs and sits back next to Jiro. Her gaze sticks to her lap, unable to look Izuku in the eye.

”If you don’t want to help, I get it,” he says. “A week ago, I wouldn’t have, either. But… things changed for me. So, I’m doing this regardless. All I need is a bit of help.”

”Midoriya,” Kaminari says lightly. “Of course I’ll help you, bro. Ever since UA, I’ve followed your lead, it’s just…”

”We’re concerned,” Jiro says what her husband can’t. “From what Ochaco’s said, you seem… out of it. We want to make sure you’re in the right mind, deciding to do this. If you’re clear headed, we’ll help. But if this is some sort of episode, we need to help you.”

”I’m not out of it,” he bites. “I'm not having an episode, thank you so much. Of course I’m fucking paranoid. How could I not be? They lied to me.”

”That’s not what I meant—“

”No, but it’s what you’re all thinking, right? That I misread something in the file, went to a lawyer, and now she’s corrupting me or some shit? That I'm blowing this out of proportion, even after the HPSC—”

”Midoriya,” Ochaco snaps, “nobody’s thinking that. We aren’t your enemy. We’re on your side.”

”We just want to make sure you know what you’re doing, and you know what you’re asking us to do,” Kaminari says. “That’s all.”

Izuku runs a shaky hand through his hair, his chest tightening. For once, he wishes he was Kacchan. He wish he could explode.

How embarrassing, and pathetic. To snap at his friends in such a way. At least they're kind enough to stay sitting, to keep listening to him. Watching him closely, brows knitted in concern.

”I’m sorry,” he says. “I… I’m sorry. I know you’re on my side.”

”This really has you shaken up, doesn’t it?” Jiro asks, voice laced with sympathy. Or maybe pity.

He nods.

”So, tell us what you need,” Kaminari says, sitting forward on the couch.

”Preferably, I need your help finding the real killer, like I said,” he says. “But… anyone will do. As long as we have something that’s convincing enough to cause doubt in Sato’s case.”

”Okay, that shouldn’t be too hard,” Jiro says.

”Thing is… we can’t do it as heroes. We have to act as us, citizens of Japan. Without the aid of our agencies, or the police, or the HPSC.”

”That sounds a little harder,” she mutters.

“I’m gonna be split, between the case and helping Y/N—“

”Who’s Y/N?” Kaminari asks.

”Y/N L/N,” Ochaco answers for him.

”As in the defense attorney?”

”The one and only.”

”Dude,” Kaminari laughs. “Are you trying to get fired?”

”I didn’t know what else to do!” Izuku defends himself. “She’s a good lawyer.”

”Yeah, I’m sure she is,” the blond giggles.

”Shut up, Denki,” Jiro grumbles. “So, you’re helping her? With what?”

”On Friday I helped with jury selection and interview prep. Today I brought her lunch and—“

”You brought her lunch?” Kaminari cackles. “This guy. Taking sleeping with the enemy to a whole new level.”

”I’m not sleeping with her, and she isn’t the enemy!”

”Ignore him, the electrocution has stunted the development of his frontal lobe,” Jiro sighs.

“Uh, no one else is going to question the fact that Deku’s playing errand boy for Japan’s top defense attorney?”

Midoriya takes Jiro’s advice to ignore him.

”Just, help me build a case,” he says. “I also need Kirishima and Bakugo’s help. Kacchan said no, but I think he’ll change his mind.”

”Leave him and Red up to me,” Kaminari says.

”You’ll have to catch me up, but I can start working with Ochaco on our case,” Jiro nods.

”Do you have connects to any vigilante groups? Shinso might be useful, too.”

”Yeah, sure. I can find him.”

And so the first part of the plan is set.

Everyone agreed to their respective roles, as Midoriya hoped they would. As he needed them to, really. Because same as it’s always been, without his friends, he’s helpless. Without their aid and support, he’d never be able to help you.

“There’s more,” he says nervously. “It wouldn’t mean anything for you guys, but… I’ve agreed to be called as a witness to testify against the prosecution.”

”Midoriya—“

”I’ve accepted that I’ll be forced into early retirement,” he says, cutting Jiro off. “I don’t expect Deku to survive the trial.”

”Come on, man, you don’t have to do all of that,” Kaminari insists. “It’ll be enough, finding the right guy.”

”But if we don’t, it’s the easiest way to ensure Sato gets out.”

”We will. We have to, now. No way in hell I’m letting you give Bakugo #1 that easy.”

For the first time tonight, the tension leaves Izuku's shoulders, and he smiles. Because if his rivalry with Kacchan is enough to spur his friends on, then maybe it’ll be enough to keep him going. Ironically, for the first time since graduation, the competition means something to him, again.

”So, tell us what you know. Who’s Sato? Why do you believe in his innocence? How were you used? Spare no details,” Jiro says.

His eyes flicker to Ochaco, and she nods, so he does. He tells them everything, even what he remembers of his time with you. What’s relevant, anyway. He doesn’t mention his mental health, or yours, or the fact you’re in therapy and he isn’t. He doesn’t mention the story of Atlas, or that you told him to take a break.

He notices how he sounds more coherent, and less paranoid than before. Not mentioning his fears, his anxieties, his theories, or his ramblings, he’s able to tell them why he thinks the HPSC might need to be changed.

”I agree,” Jiro nods. “There are small things I’ve noticed, but never thought much about. If this is how loopholes and exceptions are being exploited, something should happen.”

“Let’s work to build this case quickly,” Ochaco says. “I still don’t think the best way to implement change will be airing out the HPSC in court during a public trial. The Commission will get defensive, the public won’t know who to trust, and heroes will be back where we were during the war.”

”It’ll hold them accountable, though,” he says.

”But at what cost? Villains will take advantage of the situation and use it to manipulate the media, just like they did when we were 14. We need to think about this from all sides.”

Izuku bites back his words. Because she’s right, and he’s just angry. Hating how there’s no perfect solution.

”Okay, so we figure something out,” he nods. “Come to my place this time next Monday. We can take some time to think on things. Is that okay?”

”It should be,” Kaminari says. The women nod.

Suddenly, his need for air increases tenfold, and Ochaco’s house is much too small. He gives them all a sad excuse of a goodbye and leaves before they say anything else.

Stepping out into the warm night, he sucks in a shaky breath.

He doesn’t want to go home.

Despite having seen you earlier, and having worked with you for nearly four hours, he wants to return. He’s restless, unable to shut down.

But… he shouldn’t go back. Not tonight, when you most likely have better things to do. He’s worried he’ll start bothering you, and then you’ll stop letting him come around.

So, he drives to the park.

The sun is set, and the park is empty. No children play on the swing set, no wind blows through the trees.

Getting out of his car, he walks over and sits on one of the swings, rocking back and forth lightly. The chain creaks above him, years of rust withering away at the metal.

He’s come here to think since childhood, and now is no different. Midoriya could go see his mom, around the corner, but honestly, he just needs the time to be alone.

As the world swallows him whole, he wants to be alone.

Maybe not entirely. He wouldn’t mind if you were here, so he can bounce his insecurities off of you, and you can remind him that it isn’t his fault. That it can't be, when it's so systemic.

But it's not your job. It's something for a therapist to do, if he ever bothers to schedule an appointment.

You gave him Greek Mythology.

So, he stands from the swing, goes back to his car, and grabs it. Dusk isn’t the best of lighting, but it’s enough. Back at his seat, rocking back and forth, he opens and reads the story of Atlas. The Titan cursed with the burden of holding up the sky, the heavens.

By the time he finishes the short story, a tear is rolling down his cheek. Eyes blurry, sniffling, he sits back and wipes his face off with the back of his hands.

You don't have to hold the sky alone.

It was never supposed to be the responsibility of mortal men to bear a weight so large.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 9:15am

Today, when Midoriya walks into your office, you barely spare him a glance.

”I got you a coffee,” you mutter, pointing in the general direction of one of your side tables.

”How did you know…?”

”I’m an incredible guesser,” you smile. Finally, you pull your head up to look at him. He wears a grey hoodie and jeans, despite the fact it’s warm outside. His dark circles are worse than they’ve been, and he just seems… tired. You frown. “Are you alright?”

”Arriving to a free, surprise coffee? I’m great,” he grins, walking over to where the paper cup sits. He grabs it and sips it gratefully.

”You’re dressed for November in September,” you say.

”Your office is cold,” he responds, sitting in his usual chair.

”One of these days I’m gonna be in a meeting, and you won’t be able to just stop by.”

”I was thinking about that,” he starts. “We’ll also be working together. I think I should get your number.”

”It’s painted on the front door.”

”Your cell,” he clarifies. “Does Hana call you on the office line?”

”I write Hana’s paychecks,” you say pointedly. “But fine. Sure.”

You go to grab a sticky note, but Midoriya just hands you his phone instead. Shooting him a look, you take the cell and quickly enter your number.

”Work related only,” you say.

”Sure thing,” he says, but you don’t believe him in the slightest.

Still, you don’t fight against it. Why? You don’t know. But you don’t.

”So, what are you doing here today?” you ask.

”Came to give you updates before I go to the agency,” he says. “Ochaco and I got two of our other friends to help. We’re working on getting three others.”

”Any of them your friend who knows about the legal field?”

”No.”

”Fix that,” you say.

He nods and immediately moves to text someone. Maybe the friend, perhaps Uraraka. Either way, you smile and look back down to whatever paper you’d been working on minutes ago. Now, though, you can’t seem to find your place which is weird because you never forget your place. You can’t. That’s like… the point.

”What are you working on?” Midoriya asks, and it seems to jog your memory.

Annoying.

”Jury selection starts Thursday, and there are a few things I have to submit to the judge. Plus, the DA offered a plea deal, which I have to formally reject. I'll finally be able to post his bail, though, which will make Sato feel a bit better.”

”But, what if his bail is expensive?”

“Not to brag,” you start, “but I can handle it.”

”You’re going to post his bail?”

”Well, not me personally. My firm will. Since Sato’s family cut contact after his arrest, he won’t have the means. I’ve already prepared for it.”

Midoriya turns a sick shade of green, and for a second you think he’s gonna pass out in your office or something. What a headline that would be.

JAPAN'S #1 HERO UNCONSCIOUS IN FIRM OF Y/N L/N!

”Midoriya, are you—“

”His family cut contact with him?” he interrupts.

Your jaw hangs slack and your eyes widen a bit.

”It’s going to be okay,” you try. “He’ll get out of this, and he’ll be okay. Midoriya, it’s not your fault. It’s okay.”

He takes another sip of coffee, leg starting to bounce. You watch him nervously.

“I didn’t know that you weren’t aware. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said—“

”No, I need to know. It’s important I know.”

”Why don’t you step out for a second? Get some fresh air,” you suggest.

He nods, standing, setting his cup and keys down on your desk. Without another word, he turns and leaves.

As soon as the front door shuts, you grab your phone and type in the number. You hold it to your ear as it rings, waiting impatiently for the answer.

”Uravity Agency, how can I help you?”

”Hi, is Uravity in, at the moment? This is attorney Y/N L/N, there’s an important matter I need to discuss with her. Can you put me through?”

”Um… of course. One moment.”

You’re put on hold. As music plays through the speaker, you keep your eye on the door, making sure Midoriya doesn’t come in and overhear.

“L/N, you can’t just call—“

”I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important,” you interject. “Midoriya’s here, right now. I’m really worried about him. Is he sleeping? I don’t know your relationship, but—“

”We’re just friends, so I’m not sure. What’s going on?”

”I mentioned Sato’s family situation, which is pretty bleak, at the moment, and I thought he was gonna puke.”

”Yeah, he can’t take his mind off this thing. It’s eating him alive,” she sighs. “I’m tied up in meetings all day, but I’ll see if he can come over tonight or something.”

”I can keep my eye on him until then,” you say. “I just don’t want him doing something drastic.”

”Too late for that. He announced to everyone that he’s going to be testifying against the HPSC and retire Deku.”

Oh… So… Well, that may be your fault.

”If he’s a zombie, I’m not putting him on the stand. I’ll figure out a new plan B. Deku’s not retiring any time soon.”

”I appreciate that,” she says honestly.

”Sorry for bothering, Uraraka. Thanks for your time. I won’t call again.”

”No,” she sighs. “Sorry, that was bitchy. I guess this whole thing has us all on edge. You didn’t deserve that. I appreciate you telling me about Midoriya. It means a lot that you care.”

”It’s hard not to, when he’s who he is,” you admit. She hums in agreement, and you figure it’s just the way he’s always been. “We’ll talk soon.”

”Sounds good,” she says.

When Midoriya walks back in, he looks much better. You give him a small smile that he returns.

”Sorry,” he says.

You shake your head as he sits. “No, don’t be. It’s okay to take a moment.”

”I read the story you gave me, last night,” he says. “I think… I think I need your help.”

”With what?”

”Sorting out how I feel. I don’t need to talk it out or anything, but… help me understand. How do you do it? How do you compartmentalize? How do you leave it all here, and not take it home with you?”

”You want me to tell you what I do…?” you repeat, unsure. Tell him how you cope? It’s not like it’s super private, but still…

How do you cope?

If you really flex your quirk, you can close your eyes and picture your life from day one, without a single detail left out. Every conversation, every feeling, every look, all of it is somewhere in your mind.

So, leaving it at the office has never been an option. You can’t.

”I believe in my clients,” you say lightly.

When you think about the tragedies that have led up to their meeting you, when their cases start to seem more and more impossible to win, you remind yourself that they are innocent. They are innocent, and they will soon step out into the light, and they will never have to worry about sleeping in a prison cell again.

Because when you believe in your clients’ innocence, you can picture a better life for them. Ones where they go on to achieve their dreams. Get high-paying jobs, or start families, or make huge groups of friends. It’s never that easy, but it helps to think of it that way.

”I create an image of a future I hope they’ll be able to achieve.”

And, if you’re being honest with him,

”When I’m at home, I also drink a lot of wine.”

This makes him laugh. The sound makes the hollow of your chest feel warm, where the media says your heart should be. But then it thuds, and you’re reminded you do have one. Man, even the rumors have started to convince you. That it’s missing, or made of ice.

And maybe it is, but for a moment, the cold exterior around it thaws and a softness for this man in front of you settles in.

Because you’re fond of his sensitive strength. One where he wears his heart on his sleeve, but doesn’t shy away from reality. It’s endearing. He’s just so… genuine. Not someone who fakes what he feels, or tries to hide.

”When’s the last time you took a break?” you ask.

He shrugs.

”Yeah, I can’t remember either,” you say, picking up the document and putting it into its respective folder. It’s not wholly true, of course, you do remember the last time you took a break. But, for Midoriya’s sake, you stand from your desk. “Let’s go.”

”Go where?” he asks, standing as well.

“Away. Out of the city. Somewhere we can breathe.”

He follows you quickly, coffee and keys in hand though you’re going to drive this time. You call out to Hana that you’ll be back before lunch, and hold the door open for Midoriya.

In your car, you roll the windows down and turn the music up, and try to drown out his thoughts for him.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. The silence is broken by the rushing of air and pounding of the songs, yet everything still feels heavy.

You fight the urge to reach out and grab his hand. To lean over and rest yours on his knee, or thigh, or something.

”Have you talked to Ochaco today?” you ask, clearing your throat.

”No, I haven’t,” he says.

”Maybe you should do something with her. Or another one of your friends. It could help.”

He shrugs.

Sighing, you throw on your blinker and pull over, parking your car along the curb.

”What’s going on?” you ask, turning to him. “Not that it’s a problem, but why are you here, Midoriya?”

”I already said—“

”You’re not here to help me. You came to sit and chat. Which is fine, but… tell me the truth,” you say. “You don’t see your friends half as much as you see me, from what it sounds like.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but you don’t push any further. You don’t need him snapping in your passenger seat.

”Stop sitting in the hurt because you’re comfortable with it.” Your voice comes out hushed. It’s something else your boss had said to you. “You can be okay. Choose to.”

“Choose? Like I’d choose to feel like this.” Midoriya’s voice is quiet and bitter.

You shrug. “Really? Why not go out with your friends? Why come to my office every day? You love hero work. You know it’ll make you feel better to be at your agency.”

He doesn’t answer.

”Have you called a therapist yet? Gotten an appointment scheduled? Gone to see your own family?”

”No.”

”Why not?”

”Because you’ve been making me feel better,” he says so quietly you almost miss it. His cheeks heat, and he can’t look at you, gaze planted on his lap. “I like getting to see you.”

His confession causes you to blush, too.

”I know I should do all that other stuff, but… I just want to separate myself from it right now, you know?”

”Coming to me is better?” you chuckle, raising a brow.

”You’re the only person who hasn’t second guessed my suspicions. You say it how it is. And right now, I really need that. Even if it’s hard, it’s refreshing.”

This makes you frown.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “It sounds pretty isolating, being in a position like that. But, you know your friends love you, right? It’s not hard to see. Ochaco was damn near ready to bite my head off.”

”I know they do,” he says. “But you know how it is. The friend of my enemy is not my friend.”

”Do you think they might feel that way, too?” you ask. “You’re helping me, after all.”

”Maybe,” he says, brows furrowing.

”Midoriya…” you sigh, voice trailing. The only thing to do is tell him. “I’m not letting you testify, anymore.”

”What?” he asks, head whirling.

”I’m not going to call you as a witness. This case is too much for yo—“

”No, it’s not.”

”Yes, it is. You cannot—“

”Please—“

”You cannot get on the stand if you’re one of the walking dead. It’s too much, and I’m calling it. Nothing you say will change my mind,” you say, voice growing stern. He stops arguing and listens with wide eyes. “I’m not letting you give yourself for this case. You’re spiraling out of control.”

“Spiraling?” he snaps. “I’m not spiraling. I’m fine.”

”How many hours of sleep did you get this past week?”

His lips press into a line.

”I’m not spiraling.”

”How many, Midoriya?”

”Twelve.”

”A night?” you ask, eyes wide. That’s way too much for men—he might be in a depressive episode.

”No,” he grumbles.

And it hits you.

”You’ve slept two hours a night for the past week? Are you serious?”

What the fuck are you supposed to do?

Because this is bad, but you’re not his friend. He’s just some guy who came into your office and asked for your help. Just some guy who you sort of enjoy spending time with. Just some guy who bought you lunch, and who you bought coffee for…

Okay, so, maybe you’re friendly. But what? What are you supposed to do? Call his mommy? Stay the night at his place, out on the couch, like you’re some at-home nurse? Recommend he takes melatonin and doesn’t kill himself?

”I’m fine,” he repeats.

You don’t believe him in the fucking slightest.

Admitting it is weird, but you care about Midoriya. A lot more than you’d expected to when he first came to your office and asked for your help. So, you care about him, and the two of you are friendly, and what?

You’ve watched every movie there is, and each one that comes to mind tells you to take him home with you.

But that’s a line you cannot cross.

If you do, then… what?

That’s always the question, isn’t it. What? What, what, what, what, what?

Billions of images come before you without meaning, and everything starts to get to be a bit much, and you have to tear your eyes way from Midoriya’s face and look back out to the street. You’d driven to the pier along the eastern coast.

Birds soar overhead, a gentle wind rustling the leaves of all of the foliage. People walk about, families, friends, couples, some who have their dogs with them. Bikers, skateboarders, children with balloons and sweets and smiles bigger than anything you can muster at the moment.

”I’m worried about you.”

”Don’t be,” he says.

”But I am. So, what do I do? Tell me.”

The top villain defense attorney in Japan, and you still can’t properly comfort someone. But, he’s asked you for help. You need him to lead you, this time.

When you turn, he’s already looking at you.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 10:23am

Izuku's already looking at you, when you finally turn back to him.

“You…” his voice trails as he searches for an answer.

How can he say being with you is enough in a way that won’t make you kick him out of the car? Because being with you is enough. When you two don’t talk about the case, or even when you do, he doesn’t feel as shit. He just likes hearing your voice, and the smart things you say, and the way your expression changes from hot to cold in less than a second. He likes the way you bought coffee for him this morning, not even sure if he’d be there or not. He likes how you tried to write your number on a sticky note.

In fact, Izuku likes a lot about you. Even if you’re a bit commanding, he likes how decisive you are. You know what you want.

”Can we go on a walk?” he asks, eyes flickering out to the pier.

Yours follow, and your shoulders relax and you nod.

”Of course we can,” you say, turning the keys in the ignition, climbing out.

He follows you, waiting for you on the sidewalk. When you get to the curb, he holds out a hand and you take it, using it to steady yourself as you step up onto the concrete. He frowns a bit when you drop it, but wipes it away quickly.

You may think it’s warm out, but the breeze is nice, and in the shade it’s relatively cool. Neither of you speak, walking from the pavement to the wooden dock.

The breeze picks up the sea, misting you and him as you cross further above the water. You suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He does the same. It helps to relax the tightness in his chest, helps to ease a bit of his leftover anxiety.

At the end of the pier, you stop and look out at the horizon. For a moment, he follows your gaze, but he can’t help it when his eyes flicker down to you, next to him. When you look up at him, he doesn’t turn away.

”If mortal men could do the work of gods, there would be no reason to worship them,” you say.

“No, there wouldn’t be,” he agrees.

”Take a week. Work with your friends on your case, and in your free time, do something for you,” you say. “I’ll call you with major updates.”

He swallows the lump in his throat, but finally nods.

”Okay,” he says.

You smile and look back out at the water. He can’t stop watching you. So out of place, wearing business clothes amidst a crowd in sundresses and swimsuits, but still so vibrant.

Maybe it’s the way your face lights up when you smile, or the fact that the sun peaks through the clouds and hits your skin in a way that makes you seem to glow.

He forces himself to look away.

One week. He can do that. For himself, and for you. Because he doesn’t want you to worry about him. If you aren’t worried about the trial, then why should he be?

That’s what he’s telling himself, anyway.

But, really, he doesn’t want you worrying about him. You have enough on your plate as it is. So, if you think him taking a week off will help him—which, in turn, will make you feel better—then okay. He can take a week off.

”Do you like the beach?” you ask suddenly.

”I do,” he says. “You?”

”No,” you smile. “I don’t like the sand. But… I like right here. Looking out at the ocean. Breathing in the salty air. Feeling the mist on my face.”

”Sand is a mess,” he chuckles, nodding. “Do you wanna go back?”

You shrug. “No.”

The answer surprises him a bit. But you turn to him over your shoulder and smile, and his own grows bigger.

So, the two of you stand next to each other, looking out at the water for something that feels like forever. Absorbing the last bits of time with you he can, before walking away for a week.

Quitting has never been a part of Izuku's vocabulary. He just doesn’t do it. But… absence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever.

Some corny justification like that.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 6:21am

It's stupid, how much you think of Midoriya.

During his absence, you can't seem to take him off your mind. Even during the final resolution conference with the DA, he consumed nearly each and every thought. You think of the hours spent together, the information you've learned in such little time. How much he's been forced to learn.

You promised to call him with updates, but you haven't fulfilled your end of the bargain. Some of it's how busy you are. The first round of jury selection is halfway through, and you lost some key players. The prosecution did, too, though. So, you can't complain much.

But... You also can't bring yourself to do it. To hit the call button, and become someone who's available for him.

Every time your thumb hovers over his contact, your heart crawls up into your throat and you sit frozen at your desk, or at your kitchen counter with a glass of wine.

You miss him, a lot more than you'd ever care to admit. His self-deprecating determination is worrisome, but also charming. The way he'd throw everything away for a mistake he played so little part in. It's charming, but... it pulls you to protect him.

If it was anyone else, any other hero, you wouldn't give a shit about their mental health. You'd put them on the stand regardless, and have them detail every flaw they've caught in the HPSC. You'd get your client off in less than a week. It would be so easy, ending things this way.

And Midoriya complied.

So, why don't you just end it? Nip it at the bud. Call Deku as a witness, stir the pot, ruin his life...

Yes. That's why.

Because it's Midoriya's life you'd ruin. Not just anyone. Not just some hero. Him.

Your doorbell ringing makes you sit straight. You sit at your kitchen table with the daily crossword and a cup of coffee, and you aren't expecting any visitors.

So, you stand hesitantly and make your way to your front door. Still in your pajamas, long pants and a tank top, hair pulled into something messy you slept in. As you make it to your foyer, you can see the outline of his body.

You pull the door open quickly.

"I know addresses are public record, but—"

"I couldn't wait until Tuesday," Midoriya interrupts. He looks down at you, eyes flickering to take in your appearance, and a small smile graces his lips. "Good morning."

"Come in," you sigh, stepping aside. "Do you want coffee?"

"Please."

You nod, locking the door behind him, then lead him to the kitchen. Once there, you grab a mug from a cabinet and pour in some of the drip.

"How do you usually take it? I guessed last time."

"I'm not picky," he says, sitting down at your kitchen table. So, you make it for him the way you take it.

You walk it over to him, at the table, and sit back down.

"You couldn't wait two more days?" you ask. "Did something happen?"

He shakes his head. "No, things are going well on my end, actually. It's not about the case, to be honest."

You sip your coffee to clear the lump from your throat. Why is he here, then? If not for updates on the trial, what?

"I'm glad," you say. "You look better."

"I've been sleeping again. It's helped. And, I've been seeing my friends more often. Outside of the context of this whole thing," he says.

You nod, smile a bit, take another sip of coffee. The question hangs unasked in the air. He knows you're wondering what he's doing here, at your house. Why he looked up your address in the first place.

Not that you exactly mind, but...

"What can I do for you, Midoriya?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "Just wanted to see you."

Your lips part in shock, an unsubtle blush creeping up over your face that makes him smile. Almost robotically, you shut your mouth and nod.

"Okay."

It's the only thing you can think to say. He wanted to see you? That's it? So, he just... came over? Like it's that easy?

You suppose it is really that easy.

"You do the crossword?" he asks, nodding at the newspaper in front of you.

It takes you a moment to process his question and respond. "I do."

"Every morning?"

"Every morning."

"Well, let's see..." his voice trails as he reaches over and grabs the newspaper. You let him, watching him curiously. "Four down: 90s actress known for her roles in Friends and Scream."

"Three letters?" you ask, and he nods. "Cox."

Midoriya checks the answers at the back of the paper. "Good job," he smiles. "Okay, next is... Eight across..."

He continues reading out the different hints, quizzing you on the answers to the daily puzzle. Although you're able to answer them all, it's with a bit more difficulty than usual. Not as automatic. You blame it on the fact that the green-haired man is a distraction. His presence leaves your mind and body buzzing.

You tell yourself you don't like it.

"Correct again," he says, now fully grinning. "Are these even challenging for you?"

"Some are. But, this one has recycled questions."

"Oh, yeah, you have photographic memory, right?"

You nod. It isn't something you've talked about with him, before. Nor has he discussed his ambiguous 'strength quirk,' but yours is decisively less secretive. It's part of your marketing strategy, after all.

"Sounds convenient," he says, sitting back in the chair. He grabs his mug and brings it to his face, and you take in his appearance. Messy hair, significantly less prominent dark circles, joggers, a t-shirt. Everything about him is so casual.

"It is," you say.

"What's your favorite memory?" he asks.

"My favorite? Out of every second of my life, you want me to narrow it to one?" you chuckle, starting to think back a bit.

"Fair enough... What's your most recent favorite memory?"

It comes to mind too quickly. Way too quickly.

The image of him, standing next to you on the pier, droplets of mist landing on his face. Staring out at the sea. Asking him to pull back. Helping him hold the sky, for a bit.

"Winning my last case," you lie, clearing your throat.

Midoriya doesn't believe you. You can see it on his face.

But he doesn't press for more. He doesn't ask you to expose yourself so completely to him.

"That's a good one," he nods.

"What's yours?" you ask.

He thinks about it for a bit, drinking more of his coffee. As he does, you stand and move back to the pot.

"Are you gonna want another cup?"

"Sure," he says.

You measure out the water and grounds, pressing the brew button.

"I think my favorite memory has to be the UA school festival, my first year," he says.

"Oh, yeah! Your class did the concert, right?" you ask over your shoulder.

He grins, a faraway look in his eye. "Yeah, we did."

As the coffee starts to drip into the pot, you turn and move back to the table.

"I watched the recording. It looked like a lot of fun," you say.

"It was great. It was mainly for the other classes, but we got clearance to bring a guest. She mattered to me more than anyone."

"Who's that?"

"Her name's Eri. She was the one Overhaul used to make the quirk-cancelling injections. She was seven, at the time, and didn't know how to smile," he frowns, the memory hurting like it just happened. "So, we asked if she could come to the festival... It helped her remember how to be happy again."

"That is a nice memory," you smile. "I can see why it'd be a favorite of yours. What happened to her?"

"Eri? She healed. She learned how to control her quirk," he says. "Actually, she's in the U.S. now, about to finish up college..." Midoriya shakes his head. "Time flies."

"That it does," you agree. 

Pushing thirty, and feeling the same way you have since you were nineteen, twenty. It's so weird, looking in the mirror and expecting to see the same face you'd gotten through undergrad with. Before law school bent you over and screwed you repeatedly. Before opening your own firm, and the hard lines of stress and frustration left permanent marks on your skin.

"Do you ever..." you start, voice trailing as you think. Midoriya watches you with an easy smile. "Do you ever think it goes by too fast?"

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I still feel like a teenager," you chuckle. "Like, when do I wake up and have it figured out? Isn't that adulthood? Suddenly, things fall into place and life starts getting easier. When does my brain catch up to my body?"

"I think it's another lie we're fed," he says. "I think it's to prevent us from exercising free will."

"Like what?" you ask, gaze reaching his.

Midoriya sets his coffee down on the table, fully turning to face you, arms resting on his knees.

"Like the fake red tape that prevents you from calling."

"It's not fake," you try, but your voice comes out so weak it makes him grin. "There are boundaries."

"Boundaries that I'm more than willing to ignore, if you are."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm tired of pretending that you aren't the only thing keeping me sane these days."

You force yourself to look away from him, down at the placemats you've used since moving in. They aren't interesting, but you pretend they are because his confession is too much for a conversation before the sun has risen.

"I'm sick of the whole, hero-lawyer wall you keep putting up."

"Midoriya—"

"I'm over second-guessing my feelings because of who might say what."

"You're only attached because of the case—"

"That's a bullshit excuse."

"But your career—"

"Another excuse," he says, shrugging. "I know I like how I feel when I'm with you. I know I like to listen to you talk, and that when I leave, I'd rather turn around and go right back to your office. I know I like how you look, right now, and I want to see it more often. And I know you feel the same. You might be the expert in human-behavior, but I know my way around an interrogation room."

"And when the trial ends, and the excitement fades, and my hours at the office keep me away from you, then what?" you ask, unable to help yourself. It's your job, arguing the other side. "Because this isn't normal, for me. Normal is twelve-hour work days. Normal is not having the time to text, or not wanting to see you because I see too many fucking people in a day."

"You'd rather give it up, than try to make it work?" he asks.

"You'd rather give everything up, than not?" you softly respond. "Because even if you don't testify, if anyone finds out Deku is with the top villain defense attorney, the public will freak and the HPSC will push you out. Everything comes crashing down. Then what? You're at home all day every day, and I'm taking long hours at the office? Or, say you can continue hero work. What if you're called to testify against me? Or for me? It's a conflict of interest."

"Fake red tape," he repeats.

"I'm not even sure how I feel," you say honestly. Because, sure, there's a lot you like about Midoriya. But... you've known him for two weeks. Less than. "You have to understand, when I started law school, I accepted not getting married or having kids. I accepted the fact that it wouldn't be fair for me to drag someone into this... The thought of being alone doesn't scare me. The thought of hurting you, does."

"I came to you, first," he says. "You're not dragging me into anything I haven't already signed up for."

"It'd be hard. It'd be work. Our friends wouldn't understand."

"That's not my problem."

"Can I think about it?" you ask, sighing.

"Of course," he nods. "But if you thought I was persistent before..."

"Yeah, I figured," you deadpan. It makes him grin, and a wave exhaustion crashes through you. Why does the ball have to be in your court?

It's not a good idea.

He's sort of right, about the fake red tape. Most of it consists of hypotheticals you continue to come up with, but it doesn't actually break any rules or laws. Defense attorneys aren't barred from sleeping with heroes. It's just frowned upon.

It's frowned upon, and carries the weight of a million different social consequences.

Because there aren't rules or laws. There's no precedent for it. Blackstreak only aided an attorney, didn't date the guy.

But social contracts are social contracts.

So, there are consequences nonetheless. Your clientele would go down. His caseload would, too. Paychecks would deplete, and what would be left? You, him, and the remnants of a life before the other changed everything.

He's willing to accept the aftermath, but are you? Is Midoriya worth everything you've dedicated your life to?

How he's decided you're worth it, you don't know. He looks better, but... you still don't trust he's fully stable. Voicing your concerns, at the moment, is a recipe for disaster, so you don't. Instead you try to figure out why he's doing this, why he's pushing to cross a boundary you aren't sure you even want to uphold anymore. 

Chapter Text

Monday, 5:55pm

Even as Midoriya readies his apartment for the others, he can't stop thinking about you.

They're getting here at six, to discuss everything. You'll arrive by seven to introduce yourself. To tell them what to do, because none of them have a clue where to start. It'd been Ochaco's idea, to have you come talk to them. He was more than happy to take up the offer.

Kacchan's the first to arrive, of course. He doesn't bother knocking, letting himself into the space.

"I'm grabbing a water," he grunts, moving to the kitchen.

Midoriya nods to himself as someone raps on the door. He moves, opening it to everyone else.

"We called Bakugo to hold the door for us," Kirishima says loudly, pointedly, to the man in the kitchen.

"You were too slow," Bakugo grunts, coming back into the sitting room.

The others file in, greeting him softly as they do. All of them carry bags and backpacks filled with notebooks, their personal devices, and anything else they might need. Ochaco, Kaminari, Jiro, Todoroki, and Shinso.

"Long time, no see," Midoriya says.

"Good to see you," Shinso nods. "Odd circumstances, though."

"I know. Sorry 'bout that."

The vigilante shrugs and makes his way further into the living room.

The first hour is spent catching Kirishima, Shinso, and Kacchan up. After Midoriya runs through everything he can remember, the group divides and conquers. Jiro and Shinso look into underground villains and anything that comes with. Kaminari and Ochaco work on reviewing surveillance from the night of the murders, searching for something to lead them in a new direction. Todoroki, Bakugo, and Midoriya work on reviewing the evidence he didn't have thrown out.

By the time you arrive, they still have next to nothing.

He's quick to get the door, after you knock. The others set down their stuff and sit up, stretching out a bit.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," you say lightly, looking up at him.

Midoriya steps aside, letting you in. As soon as you step through, your eyes land on the group of heroes already staring at you.

Kacchan's arms cross over his chest. Kaminari's gaze flickers between you and Midoriya. The others seem hesitant, save for Ochaco.

"Hey L/N," she calls.

"Hi," you say again. "Hi, everyone. It's nice to meet you all."

If you're nervous, Midoriya can't tell. You make for the sitting room, slipping your bag off your shoulder. Setting it on the ground, you grab a stack of files from your purse, passing them to the others one by one.

"What's this?" Ochaco asks, flipping it open.

"Potential suspects," you say. "People who may have a reason to frame Sato. It'll give you a place to start, at least."

"How'd you get this stuff?" Kacchan grunts, flipping through the papers.

"Does it matter?" you ask, quickly bending down to grab something else. Before the others can respond, you're passing out more documents. "These are my typed-up interview notes. You lot might interpret something in a way I don't."

"And that's a good thing?" Kaminari asks skeptically.

"Of course," you nod.

"Oh, so you don't want us blindly agreeing with you?" Kacchan scoffs.

Your expression hardens, jaw clenching, eyes flickering to Midoriya for the briefest of seconds.

"No," you say. "I don't. Review the information. Pick it apart. Build your case."

"Will do," Ochaco breaks in. "Thanks for this."

You give her a small smile and nod. "Alright, I'll get out of your hair. Have a good night."

Grabbing your purse, you move to the door. Midoriya's quick to follow, brows furrowed and extremely confused as you throw it open and step back out into the hallway.

"Where are you going?" he asks, closing the door behind him.

"I can't do this," you sigh, turning around to look at him.

He frowns. "They'll come around to it."

"It?"

"Us."

"Us?"

"Working together," he says. "Or, if you've thought about it..."

You shoot him a look and shake your head.

"You like book and movie comparisons," he says suddenly. "This is just like that one, right? Pride and Prejudice. None of her friends liked the guy, either, and they made it work."

"Are you comparing me to Mr. Darcy?" you ask, and he can't tell if you're offended or amused. "This is not a Jane Austen novel, Midoriya. It's not the same."

"Why not? I'm finding it strikingly similar."

"Are you leaving out the part where they only end up together because Mr. Darcy does something worthy of gaining the Bennets' respect?"

"You're getting an innocent man off death row," he points. "That's pretty worthy of respect."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "What am I doing here?" you mutter to yourself.

"What are you doing here?" He decides it's a very good question. "If you're not thinking about it, why'd you come?"

Shoulders slumping, the fight seems to leave you.

"If you really want me to stop, if you really want space to think about it, to convince yourself not to do this, then fine. I can leave you alone," he says.

"No. Don't do that," you say, rolling your eyes.

"Then what do you want me to do?" he asks lightly. "If I have to wait, I'll wait. I just need to know I'm not alone in this."

He steps to close the distance between your bodies, resting his hands on your shoulders, where his thumbs are able to drag against the soft skin of your neck. It doesn't escape him, how you lean into his touch.

"You're not alone," you admit. "But... I don't know what to do."

"We give so much for others," he says softly. "Why can't we be selfish, for once? Why can't we do what feels good?"

"Because we chose selfless occupations," you say, smiling sadly.

"To hell with them."

"Midoriya—"

"I'm serious."

Because he's never felt this way before. It isn't Sato, or the case, or the trial. It's not because he's in some manic-depressive episode. The way he feels when he's with you is what he assumes others feel, being with the person they know is going to be it for them. Like when his mom told him she knew she'd marry his dad, the night they met. Like when movies talk about love at first sight. Like when his friends debate whether soulmates are real or not.

"I want to do something for me, for once," he says, hands moving slowly down your arms. "No matter the consequences. No matter the outcome."

Maybe he doesn't care if he retires early, now. Maybe he's done being a hero. Why shouldn't he be? He's done it for long enough. He could run his agency the way Nighteye did, keeping in the background for the most part.

"But I care about the consequences," you say, looking down at the ground, though when his hands grasp yours, you don't pull away. "Don't throw away your career for me. It's not a favor I can return."

"I'm not asking you to," he says quickly. "It can be casual."

"Casual?"

"If that'd make you feel better about it. Low stakes. It doesn't have to be... public."

Why the fuck is he offering this? Midoriya doesn't do casual. He can't. What can he say? He enjoys exclusivity. But, like he felt when he was 15 and dating for the first time, he'd take scraps if that's what you're willing to give him.

"Casual," you repeat, biting your lip.

"I want to see you." Among other things. "Let's try, at least."

You consider his proposition. He watches you anxiously.

"Alright," you finally say, nodding. "Fuck it."

"I'll bring you dinner, tomorrow. To your place. What time will you be home?" Midoriya asks before you can change your mind.

"Six," you say, pulling away from him. "I have to go. I'll see you then."

He watches as you leave, waiting until you turn out of sight before heading back into his apartment, having forgot about the others inside.

"Everything okay?" Ochaco asks, breaking him from his internal celebration.

"Yeah," he smiles, nodding. "Yeah, everything's great."

"Alright, Lizzie Bennet, back to work," Kacchan grunts.

Midoriya's face heats. "How—"

"Those three had their ears glued to the door," Jiro says, pointing at the blond, Kirishima, and Kaminari. "Tell me you didn't forget how nosy they are."

He did, but it doesn't matter. Really, he can't bring himself to care. Kacchan can tease all he wants, but it doesn't affect him. Nothing could, right now.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 8:02am

Midoriya: Good morning!

You grab your phone and read the text three times.

You: Good morning texts aren't very casual, are they?

Midoriya: Don't care :P

Midoriya: I'm excited to see you tonight. What are you in the mood for?

You: Not sure. You?

Midoriya: I'll figure it out.

Midoriya: Not gonna say you're excited, too?

You: I'm excited to see you, too.

Midoriya: Thank you :)

You sigh and toss your phone back onto your desk. A knock on your doorframe makes you groan and look up.

"What?" you ask Hana lightly, not trying to catch an attitude with her.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, just... personal stuff," you say. She raises a brow, but before she can say anything, you continue. "Do you have something for me?"

"Mhm," she nods, stepping further into your office. "I got the footage from the murder on West 5th. It doesn't look like Sato, but it's unclear who it is. Definitely enough to cast doubt, if there's someone we can cross reference the image with."

"Has any other DNA evidence been submitted by the prosecution?" you ask, because it was the most valuable piece of evidence Midoriya got thrown out.

"No," Hana frowns. "I'll keep trying to reach the lab."

"Okay," you nod.

"So... Personal stuff?"

"Leave," you point.

She pouts. "Come on! I've been begging you to get a life for the past three years, you can't just not tell me when you finally do."

You blink. Her eyes narrow.

"Hana—"

"It's that guy, isn't it? The one who keeps coming around."

"Leave my office."

"So it is!" she gasps. "I thought he was dating little miss bob, but this is much more interesting."

"There's nothing interesting about it."

"That's where we disagree," she says, sitting in the chair without invite. "Didn't you say he's a hero?"

"So?"

"So, you're dating a pro-hero."

"We're not dating."

"But it's something?"

"It's..." your voice trails as you search for the word. "Casual."

"Ah," Hana nods knowingly. "Casual with a glorified cop... wow."

"Tell me about it," you grumble, because yeah. That's how it fucking is.

"I assume he's not a grade-A dickhead, then."

"No, he's not."

"You know how messy this can get for you, right?"

"Obviously."

"So, he's worth it?"

You dramatically hold your arms out and shrug, lips pressed into a line.

"Think I know?"

Hana chuckles. "I suppose not. But you're doing it anyway, so I also think you have a faint idea of what the answer might be."

"This conversation makes me want to throw up, honestly," you say. "Because no, I don't. I have no clue what I'm doing, or why I even agreed to it in the first place. Maybe he's worth it, but it'll be too late by the time I find out, right?"

"You're only looking at the negatives. Think of how many people will call you two a power-couple."

"Thank you, Hana."

"Seriously. Before, you going against the HPSC was a shot in the dark. But if you're dating a hero, you'll have someone on the inside who can demand the same changes you do."

"I'm not doing this to use him," you say. "I'm not using this as some secret tactic to weasel into the Commission."

Hana groans. "I'm not suggesting that. I'm saying, if there's change you think your hero can help you implement, do it. Tell him to help you."

"And I'm saying that if he helps me, he'll lose his job."

"Oh, shit," she says. "You must really care about him."

"Fuck do you mean by that?" you ask, leaning back in your chair, crossing your arms.

"When have you ever worried about a hero keeping their job?"

"When has a hero ever cared about what we do?"

"Touché," Hana sighs. "Still. It's different. You're different... defensive."

"Are you forgetting I'm a defense attorney?"

"Defensive about him," she clarifies. "If he was just some guy, I doubt you'd waste the breath."

"Hana?"

"Yeah?"

"Leave."

"Fine," she says, standing straight from the chair. "Just remember... You're not the one with the most to lose. So, chill out a bit."

But that's why you can't chill at all. Because Midoriya's putting all of his eggs in one you-shaped basket, and the pressure is high.

Once Hana leaves, you’re able to think a bit more clearly. Sort out the details in your mind, though even then it’s tricky. Because you have some type of feeling for Midoriya, and maybe Hana’s right about you only looking at the negatives, but you only look at the negatives because there are so many.

Trying to decide the weight of your relationship is really fucking hard when even a first date is high-stakes. Midoriya said casual, not public, and so he’s bringing dinner to your house tonight, but is that even a relationship you’d want to have? One where you treat each other like strangers in public? At least while he’s Deku.

Fuck.

Why does it have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t he have just been another defense attorney, or something? But no. Of course you had to go and start liking a hero.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 6:00pm

Midoriya can’t wipe away his smile as he knocks on your door. It's that giddy feeling, one indicating something new and exciting. Whether or not you feel the same way, you'd agreed to see him. Outside of your office. For now, it's enough to satisfy the pang of longing he feels when he doesn't drive to see you.

"Hey," you smile, opening the door. "Come in."

So, he does.

"How was work?" he asks as you lead him to the kitchen.

"Good," you say. "The next round of jury selection starts tomorrow. It should be the final one."

"How's it looking?"

"Good," you repeat. "Everything's gone well for Sato so far."

Midoriya lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and nods to himself. That is good.

But, now's not the time to talk about the case. He told you he'd pull back, and he has, for the most part. It's hard not asking you for ten billion updates a day, but he manages for the most part.

"The trial date is set. Three weeks from now."

"Noted," he says.

"Any questions?" you ask, turning to him.

"Not tonight," he says, shaking his head.

You smile, nod, and take your spot at the table. He follows, setting the to-go bag up between you.

"So, what would you like to talk about?" you ask, reaching to pass out the food. When you realize you'll need plates and utensils, Midoriya stands.

"I'll get it," he says, so you point him to the right cupboard. "Tell me about yourself. I know you're a kickass defense attorney, but what else?"

"There's a lot to know," you chuckle. He grabs the plates and forks, heading back to the table. "Where should I start?"

"What do you do for fun?"

"Watch movies," you say quickly. "Reading, too. I like doing the crossword, and playing Sudoku."

"What's your favorite movie?"

"There are too many to pick a single favorite," you say, shaking your head.

"Top three?"

"Hm..." your voice trails a bit, and you think for a moment. "Okay."

"Ready?"

"Yes. In no particular order, Big Fish, Legally Blonde, and V for Vendetta."

"Last two are expected, but Big Fish? I've never heard of it," he says.

"We should watch it," you say. "It's a wonderful movie, really."

"Okay," he nods.

"What about you? Top three movies."

This time, it's his turn to think. Sorting through everything he's seen, what he can watch a million times on repeat.

"Alright... Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, and Coraline."

"See, you had a theme and then went and threw a wrench in it with Coraline," you chuckle.

"What? I love that movie."

"It's a good movie," you smile. "Isn't Attack of the Clones, like, super not liked by the fanbase?"

"I don't get into the fanbase stuff because they'll just insult my taste," he says, poking his nose up in the air slightly. "Besides, they'd be wrong. It's before Anakin's corruption, and when he still has a strong sense of justice. Plus... I like him and Padmé's relationship."

"Oh, so you're a romantic?"

"You couldn't tell?" he asks.

"No, I guess it's a bit obvious," you say, glancing at all the food on the table. "So, what does casual mean to you?"

"I'm so glad you asked," he smiles, sitting up in his seat. "Casual, to me, means that you're allowed to kick me out without feeling guilty. It means I won't force you to go to events with me, or introduce you to heroes on the fly, or make you meet my mom."

"Okay, so what do we do together?"

"I have a couple ideas."

You shoot him a look, but he can only grin.

"Fine. I'll keep bringing you food, and you invite me into your home. Maybe we have a sleepover?"

"A sleepover?"

"Yeah, it's like when you ask someone to spend the n—"

"I know what a sleepover is, Midoriya," you say. "You want to spend the night?"

"Is that not casual enough for you?" he asks, only half-joking.

"No, it's fine. I just didn't think... at least so soon."

"Oh," he says, pulling away a bit. "We don't have to..."

At that, you start to laugh.

"It's not like that," you say. "I only meant that this is the first time we're really talking to each other outside of my office."

"I came over Sunday," he points out. "And, when I do go to the office, we don't always talk about the case."

"You don't feel like we're strangers, still?" you ask lightly.

"Which is why I'm here, yeah?"

"I don't know," you sigh. "I'm sorry. I haven't done this sort of thing in over a decade."

"You don't have to apologize," he shrugs. "Honestly? It's kind of an ego boost."

"Don't make me send you home," you grumble, turning to take a bite of the food.

Midoriya grins. "It is. You haven't dated anyone in over ten years, yet here I am."

"Yet here you are," you sigh. "You sure do know how to weasel your way into places, don't you?"

"It's a specialty of mine."

When he thinks about it, that's true. Getting All Might's quirk, getting into UA, managing to go face-to-face with some of the worst villains in Japan's history. None of it would've happened if he'd minded his business. If he hadn't been stubborn, if he hadn't been (somewhat) confident.

"Can I ask a question?"

"Sure," he says.

"There's no way this could ever be low stakes... How did you decide it's worth it?" you ask.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're ready to give up your career, Midoriya. You're ready to throw everything away, and I just... I don't understand."

Honestly? It's not something he's thought about. How did he decide pursuing this is worth the consequences? He didn't. But, like he'd always emulated from Kacchan, Midoriya decided to go get something he wanted.

He met you. He wants you. That's enough reason.

"When you know, you know," he shrugs. "That's what my mom says, at least. I figured it's what this is."

"What what is?"

"My feelings. The reason it's worth it."

"So, you're saying it's because you just know it's worth it?" you ask, voice laced with disbelief.

He smiles. "I told you, I'm an incredible guesser."

"You're betting your whole life on me."

"That's a little much."

"The consequences will make it seem even worse."

He groans, letting his head fall back, and a mixture of comfort in your presence and annoyance at your words forces his own up quickly.

"Shut up about the consequences already. I'm here, so obviously you've decided it's worth it, too," he says.

You 'tch' at him telling you to shut up, crossing your arms over your chest and frowning. But, your frown isn't directed at what he said. You seem a bit sad, if anything.

"I'm still confused," you admit. "Because... yeah. I like having you around. But every other part of me is screaming not to do this."

"Then let me help you figure it out," he says, standing. He holds a hand out to you, and you hesitantly grab it. Once his grip is tight on yours, he pulls you up off the chair and into him.

"Midoriya—"

"Izuku," he says. "Stop with the formalities."

You swallow and nod, but don't say anything else. Your body rests flush against his. He raises a hand, placing it gently on the side of your neck. From the angle, he's able to run his thumb across the line of your jaw. The soft, smooth skin is warm beneath his touch.

"Does it feel good?" he asks softly.

You tear your gaze away from his. Letting out a huff, you say, "Yes."

"See? Then it can't be that bad."

"That's the same excuse people use for addiction," you point out.

"And if I say I'm addicted to you...?"

"Ew," you cringe, shoving him away. He laughs, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back to him.

"Come on, let me be corny."

"Disgusting," you grunt, but he can still see how the corners of your lips lift up.

"If you let me spend the night, I won't bother you during the day," he says.

"Oh, what, like it's your daily fix or something?" you quip back, making him raise a brow.

"It's exactly like that," he grins, and you groan once more. This teasing is fun for him, watching you squirm under corny compliments and one-liners. "So, let me spend the night and help you figure out what exactly it is you need sorted."

You suck in a deep breath, then release it.

"Sure," you say. "You can spend the night."

"And?"

You give him a flat look that makes him laugh. But, he wants to hear you say it. He wants to make you squirm.

"And help me figure out my feelings," you sigh.

"There we go."

"Dickhead," you scoff. "So. How do you plan on helping me figure this out?"

He rolls his eyes up to look at your ceiling and hums as he thinks. How does he plan on helping you? He really just wanted you to ask him to stay the night, he didn't think much past that.

"Like I said, I have a couple ideas," he finally says.

”Yeah? What’s that?”

”You could let me kiss you.”

A blush rises over your cheeks, and it makes him grin once more.

”Okay,” you say softly.

So, standing in your dining room, cupping your face in one hand and settling the other on your waist, he kisses you.

Slowly, gently, and like he means it. His heart pounds hard against his ribcage, catching in his throat, but the feeling of your lips on his is too good to pull away. He needs to breathe, but he doesn’t mind the slight burning of his lungs. Not right now, while you’re sinking further into his touch, moving your hands to grip his shirt.

Excitement runs through his veins. Maybe it’s because you’re supposed to be the enemy, and here he is, kissing you. Maybe it’s because he has attained the unattainable. Maybe it’s just how he feels being around you. The effect you have on him.

Finally, you pull away and he can breathe again, but still he frowns.

”I… That was nice,” you say.

”That was nice?” he repeats, eyebrows shooting up.

”It was good,” you try again. “Sorry, I just need a minute.”

”Is everything okay? Was it too much?”

”No. I’m okay, it’s just… overwhelming, I suppose.”

”Overwhelming?”

”Being with you. I lost control of my quirk, I couldn’t think.”

”Maybe that’s a good thing,” he shrugs.

”Maybe,” you say. “But it could also be bad. I like being in control.”

”Then by all means, take control.”

You let out a noise of frustration. “Being in control of my quirk. When I can’t think, it makes me freak out.”

”But it also makes you freak out when you overthink,” he says. “So, I think you’re just prone to freaking out.”

”That’s nice, Izuku, really.”

The sound of his name rolling off your tongue makes him want to kiss you again. But, he waits. Respects that you need time to think things through because you always have to think things through.

”Stop thinking. Maybe it’s scary, but it’s the only way you’ll let go,” he says.

”Let go of what?”

”Whatever’s keeping you from kissing me again.”

So, maybe he’ll only give you so much time to think. Because if you were one of his friends, he’d snap at you about overthinking and tell you to get over it. He’s impatient, what can he say? But… he doesn’t want to rush you. Because rushing you might mean the end of this.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 7:04pm

What’s preventing you from kissing him again is the glaring red flag telling you that this still isn’t a good idea.

No matter how nice it felt, or how warm his touch is, or how much you really do want to kiss him again… there’s still a pit in the bottom of your stomach telling you to send him home.

”Stop thinking,” Izuku repeats, and your face flushes.

”Can we watch a movie?” you ask. You just need a minute to… to get it together, or something.

”Sure,” he says. “We can watch a movie.”

So, you awkwardly shove the leftover food into the fridge and take him upstairs to your room. Yes, your movies are in your room. Which, in hindsight, might not be the best place to be going with Midoriya at the moment, because he’s wearing away at your resistance.

Stepping into your bedroom, he looks around. You watch him closely as he walks to your wall of DVDs and begins reading the labels.

”How many do you have?” he asks.

”370.”

”That’s a lot of movies. Have you seen them all?”

”It’s not that many, and yes, I have,” you say.

"Wait, if you have photographic memory, isn't it boring to rewatch a movie if you remember everything that's going to happen?"

"I remember them, but it's not the same as actually watching.”

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you eye him as he combs through the hundreds of options, a small smile tugging at his lips.

”Do you burn them after you watch them?” he asks over his shoulder.

”If I like it, yes.”

”Have you ever watched a movie you wish you could forget?”

You frown. “Human Cen—“

”I already know,” he says, turning with a grin. “Why’d you watch it in the first place?”

”One of my friends wanted to, and I didn’t know what it was gonna be,” you shrug.

Midoriya leaves the DVDs and moves over to your bookshelf, skimming the titles. Again, you watch his every move, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. He’s paying very close attention to your belongings.

”Pride and Prejudice,” he smirks. “I knew you were a romantic.”

”It’s a classic,” you try.

”Sure,” he says, not believing you.

Frowning, you cross your arms and work to fight the defenses raising high around you. A wall creeps up over your heart, a nervous flush settles over your skin. Is he scrutinizing you, or is he just curious?

”It’s not even her best book,” you say. “I prefer Persuasion.”

”Never heard of it. What’s it about?” he asks, turning to look to you.

“A woman breaks off her engagement because of peer pressure, then decides she wants him back.”

”You find that romantic?”

”It’s satire,” you say. “So, not really.”

Midoriya frowns. “The greatest romance author of the 19th century and your favorite book of hers is a satire?”

”Yeah, 19th century romances aren’t my thing,” you chuckle.

”What is your thing?”

”Law.”

“Law? That’s your job.”

”It’s also my thing.”

”Your favorite genre of books are law textbooks?” he asks.

“No, it’s just… I don’t know,” you groan, flopping back on your bed. Midoriya finally sits, though just on the edge. “I remember everything, so it’s hard to pick favorites.”

”Normally you’re so decisive,” he chuckles.

”I know, right? But… romances don’t really… they don’t really do anything for me. I always find flaws in the love interests that turn me off the whole idea of them, or there’s a stupid miscommunication that pisses me off. I’m sure there are good ones out there, but… eh.”

”Eh?”

”Don’t feel like searching for them. Besides, up until now, it would’ve just made me sad.”

”Sad?”

”Never mind that,” you say, waving it away. Because why the fuck did you say that? “They just didn’t resonate.”

Midoriya smiles and moves to lay next to you. Heads on your pillows, the two of you look at each other, only inches away.

”You said up until now,” he says. “So, you might like them more now because…”

Groaning, you roll onto your side, back to the tall man. Without even looking at him, you know Midoriya is facing you. Turned onto his side, staring at you, waiting for you to roll back over and reveal your face.

”Because maybe,” you start, “when you do things I’d normally find cringy… I actually kind of enjoy it.”

”What do you mean?” he asks lightly, so you flip onto your back and look up at him, propped up on his fist.

”In romance books, shows, movies… I think the grandiose gestures are corny, and cheap, and never very impressive. But when you say something corny, I… I don’t think I mind it so much,” you admit.

”Oh, so like if I did a flash mob proposal, that’d—“

”Eugh!” you grimace, horror evident on your face. “First of all, flash mob? Second of all, proposal?”

”It’s a hypothetical, if you’d be so kind as to indulge me.”

”Your hypothetical ends in a tragic murder-suicide, next.”

”Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re intense.”

”I find PDA highly embarrassing. That sounds like a humiliation ritual.”

”What about holding hands?”

”Okay, that’s fine,” you roll your eyes. “I mean the whole… piggyback rides, making out in a corner, dry humping on the dance floor.”

”Oh, so you don’t want me dry humping you. Noted.”

”You’re a fucking freak.”

”I find your language to be crass.”

”Midoriya—“

”Izuku,” he corrects.

”Sorry, force of habit,” you say. “Izuku…”

”Yes?”

But the question dies in your throat, and you talk yourself out of uttering the words. Asking him to kiss you again? No. He can ask, if he wants to do it. You will not ask for handouts from the man who’s currently lying on your bed.

”What movie should we watch?” you say instead.

Izuku lays his head back on your pillow and stares up at the ceiling. "Big Fish?"

"Sure," you nod, standing and going to grab it from your collection. As soon as your fingers connect with the smooth plastic, though, you frown, rethinking. It's not that the movie's particularly romantic or salacious by any means, but...

"Everything okay?" he asks, sitting up on his elbows.

"Yeah," you say over your shoulder. "Debating whether or not I feel like crying in front of you."

Your honesty takes him by surprise. In fact, it takes you by surprise. Because you will cry, no matter how many times you've watched the damn thing. Even when you know what's going to happen next, tears still burn your eyes and wet your cheeks. It's not a state you particularly want him to see you in.

"We can watch something else," he says, shrugging.

"No, it's okay," you decide, walking over to the DVD player, sliding the disc inside. After turning everything on, you climb back onto your bed and settle down next to Izuku.

As soon as you do, though, you know this is not a movie that will be paid attention to. Not tonight. Not when you can feel his eyes on your face. Not when you glance at him, and find him smiling at you. Eyes flickering to your lips, then back up.

You suck in a heavy breath before huffing it back out.

"Everything okay?" he repeats.

"You're making me nervous," you admit.

"I'm making you nervous?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"By staring at me like that," you say, chewing at the inside of your lips.

"Like what?" he grins, teasing you now. It causes you to groan and hide your face in your hands. "No, like what? Tell me so I can stop."

"Like you wanna kiss me again," you mumble into your palms, hoping he's unable to hear you clearly.

But, of course, he does.

"Well, I do want to kiss you again," he says. "Can I?"

"No, because now I'm flustered."

"You're always flustered around me, though."

"I am not!" you challenge, whipping your head to glare at him.

"Don't worry, I think it's endearing," he says.

Your jaw drops a bit. Don't worry? You were never worried! It's endearing? But... but... but you... you're not... Nuh uh!

"See?" he says, reaching out to suck a strand of hair behind your ear. "So, can I kiss you now?"

Words seem to turn to glue in your throat, stuck and unmoving. The flush coating your body is evident, Izuku taking a fucking wrecking ball to every last wall you've started putting up since his arrival. Frankly, it's giving you a headache how many boundaries are being pushed. Still, though, you can't bring yourself to say no and actually mean it.

You really can't bring yourself to say yes, either.

"I won't do anything until you say yes," he says softly, continuing to brush away imaginary flyaways.

So respectful. So, fucking respectful. It almost makes you mad, because again, why does the ball have to be in your court? Why draw a line after ignoring all the others?

"I want you to mean it."

Well, that answers your unspoken question. So, you pose another: What the fuck is Izuku doing to you?

"Yes," you say lightly, cheeks heating once more. "I want you to kiss me."

He does so at once, without hesitation, without a single ounce of doubt. Midoriya leans over, gently grasping your jaw in one of his large hands, and brings your face to his.

This time, you tell yourself to calm down when your thoughts begin to stall. When the memories you have stored away stay stored away, and all you can really think about is what it feels like to have his lips pressed up against your own. Soft, warm, and so good. Like... really fucking good.

Suddenly you're leaning into it, pushing yourself up as leverage. Izuku sinks further into your pillows as a hungry dominance overtakes you. His hands push under the hem of your shirt, resting gently on your waist, waiting for you to take the lead, to show him how far you want him to take this.

It's a deep kiss, the kind that sends a shockwave down your spine. The kind that causes a heat to burn in the lower part of your abdomen, gently spreading throughout your body. Like a small fire being stoked by a soft breath.

You move to straddle Izuku's waist, hands gripping desperately at the front of his shirt. His wander your body slowly, overly cautious. As though with one wrong placement of his fingers, you'll pull away. He touches you like you're made of glass, or porcelain. That you are someone who can be cracked and broken.

You kiss Izuku tenderly, every unasked question, every doubt, every judgment clouding your mind coming out in the heat of your mouth on his. At some point, his hands stop moving and he focuses on keeping his movements in time with yours.

It isn't until you notice it's getting increasingly difficult to breathe, that you pull away.

His eyes flutter open, and you nearly gasp at how glassy they are. Lips red and bruising, a small smile tugging at them. Hair messier than usual. A light flush plastered over his cheeks.

"Now you are officially a conflict of interest," you say lightly.

"To hell with it."

Chapter Text

Friday, 9:15pm

With the second round of jury selection halfway through, Midoriya felt comfortable enough asking you to come over for the weekend. He hasn't seen you since Tuesday night when he slept over, having to head back to his own apartment after watching you go through your morning routine. He spent those days without you, with his friends. Building a new case, hunting down leads, interviewing people on the streets—all outside of costume, all off the clock.

They were getting somewhere. Where, exactly, he still isn't sure, but there was some new red flag Shinso was going to check out and review with the others during their scheduled Monday night meeting.

Tonight, though, you're coming over. Bringing your stuff to spend the weekend. At his apartment.

48 hours of uninterrupted time with you.

The thought makes him grin, as he finishes up cleaning.

He's quick to open the door, when you arrive. "Hi," he says, just like the first time you'd come.

"Hi," you reply easily.

"Come in." Midoriya steps aside, holding the door open for you. You nod and cross the threshold a bit hesitantly.

Convincing you to spend the whole weekend was another battle in and of itself. One he won, of course. You'd made some comment about him always getting his way, and it made him grin until his cheeks ached.

"There's a bit of work I have to get done, but the rest of the time I'm here, I should be free. Unless there's an emergency."

"I understand," he says, shutting and locking the door behind you. "There's some food in the fridge, if you get hungry."

"I told you, I already ate. Thank you, though."

"Well, I figured you might get hungry again," he shrugs.

You turn to him, cheeks pink and pretty. "That's very thoughtful of you."

He clucks his tongue, shaking his head.

"Always so formal."

"I'm not trying to be," you mumble, turning away from him and stepping further into the apartment.

"I know," he says, halting his raillery. "Here, let me take that. I'll put it in the room."

Before you can say yes or no, he grabs your bag from you and heads to his bedroom. You stay frozen in the sitting room. It's so hard for him not to push your buttons, when you continue having reactions like that. Speechless, blushing, and just a tad bit confused. It's almost like you've never had someone help you outside of work.

Maybe you haven't. Izuku realizes this, as he drops the duffle at the foot of his bed.

Maybe you've never had someone to rely on for menial tasks. Buying you lunch and dinner, carrying your bag, doing chores, watching your favorite movies with you. It's been over a decade, you said, since your last anything. Midoriya's sure there's something more to it than law school.

When he steps back into the sitting room, you're already positioned on the couch, working on some documents. While you're focused, too busy to notice his return, he regards you with admiration. Your neck is craned down to the documents, brows knitted tightly together as you work on whatever it is you're doing. Your feet are tucked up under you, and you lean against one of the back cushions. Maybe it's a bit more than admiration, what he feels.

"Whatcha working on?" he finally asks, grabbing your attention. Rounding the couch, he sits next to you and tries to read your notes. Again, they're in cursive.

"More trial prep," you sigh. "Have your friends found anything of use?"

"We might have something, but don't get your hopes up," he says, mood souring ever so slightly.

"Literally anything will get my hopes up, at this point."

"Is there anything you'd like me to do?" As he asks, he brings a hand up to your hair, pushing away strands he pretends have fallen in front of your face. He just wants an excuse to touch you, really. And you lean into it, so he doesn't pull away.

"No," you start, "there's nothing to do, really. Just... more hypotheticals."

"And loopholes, and exceptions."

"Exactly."

"How about you put it away for tonight and finish it on Sunday? It'll give you a clearer mind, resting a bit." It's the same advice you gave him, though you're nowhere near as frazzled as he'd been.

For a minute, he thinks you’re going to argue with him. Tell him you should get it done tonight.

”Okay,” you relent, nodding. “That’s a good idea.”

Whether you realize it’d be hypocritical not to, or if you genuinely think it’s a good idea, he’s not sure. Either way, you stack the papers into a neat pile, paperclip them together, and slide them back into your purse. Because, of course, you have two separate bags for everything.

”Where’s your room? I think I’m gonna change,” you say, standing up off the couch. He points to the door at the end of the hall, and you nod.

As you go to take off the black dress, Midoriya watches you move. The way the material hugs your body, and your hips swish gently from side to side.

He tears his eyes away from you and swallows. It’s almost embarrassing how his mouth waters. How he has to adjust himself accordingly. Just from watching you walk away.

Fuck. 

Midoriya doesn’t need to spend this weekend with you to know he’s a goner. Truly, if he’s reminding himself, you’ve had him under your thumb for a minute.

When you finally come back out, in your pajamas, he’s already put the tv on. You’ve removed your makeup as well, and plop back down next to him. It feels so normal to have you here, with him.

”Anything you’d specifically like to watch?” he asks.

”No, not really. Something light, maybe.”

”I can work with that.”

He clicks the buttons on the remote until the movie’s pulled up. When you see it, you let out a light laugh.

”When Harry Met Sally?” 

“My favorite of rom-coms,” he nods. “Plus, I know you like it. It’s one of your DVDs. Thought you found romance cringe?”

”It is, most of the time. Nora Ephron movies don’t count.”

”Why’s that?”

”Because the declaration of love at the end isn’t phony. The whole movie is spent building their relationship and dynamic, so by the time Harry confesses, it makes sense for him to do so.”

”So, others are rushed?”

”Not rushed, just… out of place, or character.”

He doesn’t bother pointing out the fact that that’s the point. The cheesy romances show an unrealistic side of love because it’s all fiction, at the end of the day. And when reality becomes too much, we turn to fiction to make up for those missing parts of ourselves.

Instead, he plays the movie. Still trying to understand your logical, inexperienced version of what love and romance and relationships are.

You asked him to help you figure it out, the same way he asked you to help figure it out. So, he’s trying. Before he can properly figure out the best way to approach you, he has to put some feelers out. Test the waters.

Like beckoning a feral cat. He worries one wrong look, word, or movement will send you into attack-mode.

Shifting his body, he moves closer to you, draping an arm over your shoulders. He can see your eyes flicker to him for the quickest of seconds, and then you settle. Leaning into him, allowing him the simple touch.

Midoriya trails his fingers up and down your arm, causing you to subconsciously nuzzle against his chest. The action causes his breath to hitch. He resists the urge to carry you to his room right now, resuming what he started the other night at your house.

You laugh at something said, and he pretends he’s paying attention, but he’s not. His mind fills with thoughts of you. How you’re here, letting him closer to you, taking time away from the trial he involved you in.

Without thinking, he leans down and kisses you. It takes you by surprise, but you’re quick to catch up. He smiles against your mouth as your hand moves to grip the front of his shirt, as you did the other night at your house. As if the action stabilizes you, keeps you grounded.

You pull away to speak, so he kisses down your cheeks, and jawline, and neck.

”We’re never going to finish a movie, at this rate,” you say.

”Is that a problem?” he murmurs before pressing a wet kiss into the skin under your jaw.

”No,” you lightly respond. “When I close my eyes I can keep playing it.”

Midoriya pulls back, an incredulous smile on his face.

”Are you watching the movie via memory while I’m kissing you?”

”No!” you say quickly, sitting up straighter. “Of course not.”

But the flush settling over your face tells him otherwise. In a bit of teasing retaliation, he moves quickly to scoop you up in his arms, walking you to his bedroom.

”Where are we going?” you ask.

”Somewhere with less distraction,” he says. You don't fight him on it, so he takes it as an okay. For now, at least.

In his room, he sets you gently on his bed. You watch him as he moves back to the door, shutting it softly.

Midoriya turns back to you, and in one fell swoop, he pulls his shirt up over his head. If you weren’t so transfixed by the sight, you might snap at him to put it back on. A smug smile crosses his face as yours flushes.

”What do you want?” he asks.

You suck in a steadying breath. He waits for you.

Unsure of your own wants, feelings, and actions, you hesitantly push yourself further onto his bed. His grin falls, replaced by awestruck anticipation. Moving onto your knees, you grip the hem of your shirt, pulling it off so slowly Midoriya almost cracks a tooth from how hard he’s clenching his jaw.

Once it’s off, you let it fall to the floor.

Chests bared to each other, the air in the room grows thicker. So heavy, it almost chokes him.

He can’t help staring at you. Your beautiful, smooth skin, and your perfect breasts. You stare back at him, watching soundlessly. Chest rising and falling heavily with each breath you pull in.

”What do you want?” he repeats, voice hoarse. The saliva in his mouth thickens, and he can feel himself grow hard beneath his sweats.

”I want you to lead, this time,” you say so softly he almost misses it.

But he doesn’t.

So, fingers pulling at the drawstring of his sweats, he closes the distance between himself and the bed.

Climbing onto the mattress, he meets you where you are. On his knees, towering above you as you look up at him through your pretty lashes. Wrapping one hand around the back of your neck, he pulls you to him, reconnecting his mouth to yours.

The touch is familiar to you, expected, so you lean into it without hesitation. With his free hand, he places yours on his chest, allowing you to feel him. Then, he reaches out to touch you. It starts with a delicate placement on your waist that makes your breath hitch. He smiles into the kiss, at your reaction.

With a bit more confidence, Midoriya drags his fingers slowly from your waist up to your ribcage. Moving slow, not wanting to push you too far too fast, his thumb brushes against the side of your breast. You shudder beneath him, but don’t tell him to stop. So, he continues.

He pushes his hand up to the swell of your breast, before fully cupping it.

You pull away from the kiss a bit, and he stills.

”Is this okay?” he asks.

”Yes,” you say. “Just a bit out of breath.”

”Do you need a minute?”

”No, I’m okay. Keep going.”

So, he does. Thumb moving to brush over your nipple, feeling as it hardens beneath his touch. The reaction your body has to his wandering hands makes him smile.

Foreheads pressed to one another in a position he would not describe as casual, Midoriya works at you slowly. Listening to the way your breathing deepens, falls quicker from you, he knows he’s doing well.

”Lay down?” he mutters, and you nod. Positioning yourself accordingly, Izuku moves on top of you. Looking down at you, taking in the sight for another second. “Can I use my mouth?”

Your face flushes and your lips part, but you quickly close them before nodding.

”Say it.”

”Izuku—“

”Say it.”

You squirm under him, and it makes him smile.

”Yes,” you say.

”Yes, what?”

Your lips press into an unamused line, but he notices your breaths coming quicker than before. He sees how affected you are, by his words.

”Yes, you can… use your mouth.”

It’s obviously hard for you to say, but the effect it has on him is instant. The way he feels his own heartbeat come quicker, the way he suddenly has the urge to palm himself over his sweats.

But, he keeps it together. Maintains his control. He needs it, as he lowers himself on top of you, taking the hardened bud into his mouth.

Grazing your nipple with his teeth makes you gasp, hips lightly bucking up beneath him. He pulls his head up from your chest and grins.

”You like that?”

Your jaw clenches, and he can see you fighting off the scowl attempting to spread over your face.

”Yes,” you mumble.

”What was that?”

”Yes, I like it,” you say, exasperated.

He gives you a nod of approval before lowering his head down once more. Your reactions go from hesitant to explicit as you grow comfortable under his weight.

His tongue swirls over your nipple before gently starting to suck on the sensitive bud. Your hips buck once more, and a new want moves through him. He wants to touch you, see how wet you are.

”Izuku,” you choke out. “More please.”

He pulls away from your breast with a wet pop, looking up at you. Catching your gaze, he locks his eyes on yours as he moves a hand down to your hip, the front of your pelvis. Trailing his fingers closer to the inside of your thigh, he asks,

”Here?”

You give him a hasty nod.

Moving quickly, Midoriya sits up and pulls the pajama pants from your legs, leaving you in nothing but your pretty, black, lacy panties. He has to close his eyes for a moment to steel himself.

After regaining a semblance of composure, he lowers himself back down and reconnects his fingers to the inside of your thigh.

”Spread ‘em for me,” he softly commands. Hesitantly, you do, giving him the access he needs to continue.

He does tease you a bit, of course, running his hands everywhere except for where you really want him to go. It makes you frown in frustration, brows furrowing tightly as you watch.

”Izuku…” you whine softly.

”Yes, Y/N?”

”Please, do something.”

He can sense the frustration building behind your words, and takes it as a sign to cease pushing. You can only handle so much.

So, he drags his fingers down over your clothed cunt and lets out a groan of his own. You’re so wet, he can feel it through the lace. So warm, ready and needy for him. At the pressure of his fingers, your hips buck again, grinding up against them. It forces a moan from you, a sound he’s never heard before.

He grits his teeth once more, your pretty little noises nearly enough to make him cum in his sweats. But, he holds on, focusing on you, needing to get you to your finish.

Placing more pressure on your clit, he begins moving his fingers in slow circles. You gasp and moan, starting to rotate your hips alongside his actions. At this, he places his other hand on your hip to keep them both held down.

”Let me take care of you,” he says.

Your face burns, and you wordlessly nod.

Midoriya doesn’t make any other demands of you. When your eyes screw shut, he doesn’t tell you to open them. When you do what you can to grind against his fingers, he doesn’t tell you to stop.

Instead, he watches. Every expression that flashes across your face, he watches intently. When do you feel the best? When does he make you feel good?

Subconsciously, you place your hands up on his shoulders before slowly pulling them down his back. The sting of your nails sinking into his skin makes him bite his lip, sucking in a harsh breath at the sudden pain.

But the pain feels so fucking good that he ends up whimpering.

It’s a small noise, but one you cling to. At the sound, you throw your head back and start to let out a series of short breaths.

”I-I’m close,” you stutter.

Is that it? He just needs to… be vocal? Obviously his fingers on your clit are doing something to you, but the single, involuntary sound has you in a new state. One that makes you buck up into his hand with much more vigor.

He doesn’t have it in him to stop you, even if he wanted to. The sight beneath him is unlike anything he’s ever seen, the uptick in desperation in your voice as you chase your high.

You seem to stop caring, any sort of hesitation or shyness leaving you completely. Shamelessly, you use Midoriya’s fingers to finish. He hasn’t even breached the lacy fabric, and you’re already melting for him.

”Izuku, fuck,” you manage to pant, nails digging into his back once more. He maintains his pace, finding rhythm with yours, until finally it happens.

The muscles in your abdomen tense, and your hips still but he doesn’t. Through a broken moan of his name and breaths and curses, you cum.

He can’t take his eyes off of you, the saliva pooling deliciously in his mouth. As he helps ride out your high, he swallows thickly, ignoring the strain in his own pants.

Coming down, you settle back into his sheets, chest heaving with every breath. He pulls away from you, though not completely, placing a kiss on your dewy forehead.

”How was that?” he asks lightly.

Still a bit out of it, you nod. “Good,” you pant. “Very good.”

”Good,” he smiles, kissing you again.

Unexpectedly, you place your hand over his hardened cock. The pressure elicits a moan from his throat, and he drops his head to rest against yours.

Foreheads touching, he tries prying open his heavy lids to watch you, but they flutter shut as you start to move your hand. At first you palm him through his sweats, but quickly, diligently, your fingers slip through his waistband and you grab him fully.

A hissing breath leaves his mouth as you begin working him near the tip, hands soft and warm around him. Pumping his cock in your delicate grip, he feels himself starting to lose control. When his hips jerk, thrusting into your grasp, a broken whine leaves him. Desperate. Pathetic.

Your movements grow quicker in response. A small moan leaves your lips, and he’s finally able to open his eyes.

Brows furrowed, lips parted, you stare up at him with glossy eyes. The look on your face causes his cock to twitch in your hand, a breath huffing forth from his nose as he tries to hold on.

”Is this okay?” you ask him suddenly, lightly, voice nothing more than a whisper.

His eyes screw shut and he gives you a hasty nod.

”Yes baby,” he pants. “Perfect… You’re perfect.”

Your movements only falter for a second, taking in the pet name, and then you move faster than before. Twisting your hand, taking his full length in your grasp. He can’t help grinding his hips against your movements, practically fucking your hand.

”I’m close,” he tells you, low by your ear.

”Where—“

”Don’t care.”

Because cumming in his pants is the least of his concerns, at the moment. He’d rather it be your body, your mouth, somewhere else, but, now isn’t the time to ask for such things. He can wait for another day. It doesn’t matter, so long as he can keep your hands on him.

Slurred words tumble forth from his lips as he cums, and you slow your movements so he doesn’t grow too sensitive. Once he’s finished shaking, back and arms trembling as he holds himself up, you still your movements and slip your hand from beneath his pants.

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts, get his bearings. Then, he climbs off of you, going and grabbing his shirt from where it landed on the floor. You watch his movements closely from the bed.

“Here. You can wear this,” he says.

”I brought my own clothes,” you say, closing your eyes, voice still a bit faraway.

”Yeah, but I wanna see you in mine. Is that a problem?”

You peak an eye back open, trying to decide whether or not he’s being serious. When you see the smile on his face, your own grows.

”No, not a problem,” you say, sitting up and grabbing it from him.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 8:03am

You wake up in Midoriya’s arms, and you don’t bother fighting off the smile you wear.

”Good morning,” he mutters, eyes still closed.

”Good morning,” you respond.

"Wanna join me for a morning shower?"

The question makes you laugh a bit. “I think I’m gonna make coffee first. Want some?”

He opens one of his lids to look at you and smiles, nodding. “Please.”

”Okay." Then, no longer holding yourself back, you lean up and press a gentle peck onto his lips that he lazily returns.

Still wearing his large shirt and your underwear, you climb from his bed and pad out to the kitchen. Mornings are always so quiet. It gives you enough time to think through last night.

Izuku, and his hands, and his mouth. The words he whispered in your ear, the heavy-lidded look of affection on his face.

The smile creeps across your face unchecked.

In fact, you’re in such a good mood, you begin to hum as you circle the kitchen looking for his coffee grounds.

You hear the shower turn on in the bathroom, and your smile grows. Why? You don’t know. But it does.

Putting water and the grounds into the coffee pot, you press the brew button. Leaning against the counter, you bite your lip and try to fight off whatever pathetic, lovelorn look is attempting to spread across your face. Because you're still wearing his shirt, and it still smells like him. Because you're standing in his kitchen at 8 in the morning, making coffee for you and him. Because this whole casual thing might not be so bad, after all.

A noise catches your attention.

The lock on the door is turned, and it’s pushed open.

You freeze.

A woman stands in the doorway.

She sees you and also freezes.

”Oh! I…” her voice trails off.

”Can… can I help you?” you ask, eyes wide.

Neither of you are able to speak, staring at each other while the coffee brews.

Midoriya’s voice cuts through the silence.

”You sure you’re not gonna join me?” he asks, stepping from the short hallway into the open area of the sitting room. All he’s wearing is a towel around his waist.

”Zuku?” the woman asks lightly, grabbing his attention.

His head whips around, and his hands quickly move to cover his torso.

”Mom?” he asks, and it almost makes your knees buckle. “What are you doing here?”

”You didn’t answer my calls, I thought something might’ve happened,” she says. Then, her eyes flicker over to where you stand. In nothing but her son’s shirt and your fucking panties. “I didn’t realize you’d have a guest.”

Midoriya’s face turns bright red.

”It’s okay,” the woman says quickly. “You’re an adult.”

”Mom,” he groans.

”Hi, I’m Izuku’s mom,” she says, smiling at you, waving a bit. “What’s your name?”

Midoriya turns over his shoulder to look at you with wide eyes and a sorry expression. You swallow your embarrassment the best you can.

”I’m Y/N,” you say.

”It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. So, how’d the two of you meet?”

”Mom!”

”What? I’m not allowed to ask your girlfriend questions?”

”She’s not—“

”Oh, I’m not—“

Then the two of you stop and look at each other once more, faces fucking burning. Because what are you doing?! Clarifying to his mother that you’re not dating him, only coming over and sleeping his bed and letting him do what he wants to your body.

Yeah, you’re a fucking idiot for that one.

”It’s new,” Midoriya says, and you let him. Because that sounds much better than the other explanations you’d managed to come up with in five seconds.

”Oh!” his mom chirps. “Well then, I’ll get out of your hair. Sorry for barging in.” That, she directs at you. Then, turning back to her son, she glares. “Answer when I call and I won’t have to.”

”Yeah, sorry,” he says quickly, moving to usher his mom from the apartment.

Just before he can close the door, though, she whirls back around.

”You should come over for dinner, soon,” she grins. Your lips part to tell her no, to say you’re busy and you can’t and that this isn’t the sort of relationship where you really want to dine with her, but…

She reminds you of your mom.

”I’d love to,” you say, smiling a bit.

Midoriya turns to you, brows furrowed.

”Great! Have Zuku text me to plan,” she says. “Alright, I’m leaving now. Bye! Love you! Call me!”

The door shuts and he presses his back against it, head tilted up to the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut.

”I’m so sorry,” he says.

”It’s okay,” you say.

”You didn’t have to say yes to dinner.”

”I know.”

”She loves putting people on the spot. It’s how she gets what she wants.”

”Yeah, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” you say, shooting him a look. “So much for casual.”

”Shit,” he hisses, rubbing his face.

The shower is still running in the bathroom, and he seems to realize as you do. Picking himself up off the door, he walks back to the bathroom.

As he does, you can’t help admiring his body. How chiseled his back is, and how good it looks with the red lines of your scratches running down them.

Fuck.

Those are not subtle.

How his mom could still look either of you in the eye, you have no fucking clue. Not a single one.

The water is shut off, and Midoriya returns, towel still draped dangerously around his waist. You can still feel your face burning as you pour the coffee into mugs.

”Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, just…” you pause, clearing your throat. “Still a little humiliated at the fact that your mom has seen my underwear.”

”Again, I am so sorry. We’re close, we talk every day. So, when we don’t, she worries. I didn’t even think—“

”It’s okay,” you repeat. “Really.”

”Oh,” he says, a bit surprised. “So… how do you feel? Having met my mom.”

You shrug. How do you feel? A little overwhelmed maybe, but again, that single minute was enough to bring back memories from your childhood. Memories of your own mother absolutely humiliating you, though not intentionally.

”Good,” you shrug.

”Yeah?”

Midoriya’s voice is hesitant, like he’s talking to a skittish deer. Like he’s terrified you’re about to bolt out the door and never return.

Maybe you would’ve, a week ago.

”I think dinner with your mom sounds nice.”

”So, are you past this whole casual thing?” he asks.

”No,” you say quickly, ignoring his frown. “No, I’m still not ready for something big. Meeting your parents is one thing, but making it a routine?”

”No, just my mom,” he corrects. “My dad’s out of the country, right now.”

”Oh. Well, either way, I don’t want to make a habit of blowing your mom off because I’m busy, and us staying casual ensures that there aren’t any hard feelings about it. Right?”

”No, she’ll definitely have lingering resentment,” he says dryly, joking. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

You groan, throwing your head back dramatically.

”Why is it always what I want? What do you want?”

”Honestly? I want more. I want commitment. Neither of which you’re ready to do.”

Your lips press into a line.

Suddenly, your thoughts are scrambling again, blinking like a bulb about to blackout. Papers being messily shuffled around on the floor.

Midoriya must sense your confusion and frustration, because he finally crosses to you in the kitchen. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into him. You rest your head on his chest and sigh.

”Why can’t this be easy for me?” you nearly whisper.

”I don’t know,” he says. “But it’s okay, because it’s easy for me. You’re much lighter than the sky, so I don’t mind carrying you for a while.”

You want to ask more about his dad, and you want to talk more about what exactly this is. But what you want, and what you do, are two very different things. Because your lips part, but the words refuse to flow forth, and so your cheek stays pressed up against his hard chest, and you breathe in the lingering smell of you on him, and you try to think through everything yourself.

”You asked me to help,” he says softly, a reminder.

”I did,” you mutter against his skin.

”So, let me help. Talk to me. Whatcha thinking?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Where’s your dad?”

”Overseas. He moves around a lot, but right now he’s in Mexico.”

”Do you talk to him often?”

”More now than I used to,” he says. Open and honest, as he’s always been. “It’s hard without him.”

”Is that why you’re so close with your mom?” you ask.

”Mhm,” he hums, leaning down and kissing the top of your head. You almost flinch and pull away from him, but remind yourself that this is something you think you want.

You’re like, 97% certain of it.

”I think I want this,” you whisper suddenly, the confession flowing through you before you can think to stop yourself. It causes Izuku to still. “But I feel so lost.”

”I know,” he says, planting another kiss in your hair. “You started this with your defenses raised. It’ll take time.”

”Are you willing to give that time up?”

”You say it like it’s a wasted effort,” he chuckles. You smile at the reverberation of it through his chest. “Do you trust me?”

”It’s been three weeks.”

”That’s not what I asked.”

You sigh. “Yes, I trust you.”

”Then trust me when I say I’m willing to do what it takes to be with you. You want me to lead? I’ll lead. You tell me to slow down? I’ll slow down.”

”Lead me. Please. I’ve never…” your words trail. He already knows. There’s no need in repeating it. “I’ll tell you if I can’t keep up.”

”Okay,” he says.

You don’t think keeping up with Izuku will be the issue. It’ll be the guilt of asking him to slow down.

Chapter Text

One Month Later

Monday, 6:15am

Week One, Sato v. Shizuoka

”You’re sure there’s no way I can go in?” he asks, parked in front of the courthouse.

”Yes, I’m sure,” you say, ruffling through your bag.

”Because I can sit in the back. I’ll wear a disguise.”

Stilling, you glare at him.

”Okay, not in the mood. Got it,” he says.

”It’s not that,” you sigh, looking back down at your bag. “I left my legal pad at your place.”

”I’ll go get it.”

”No, I’ll be f—“

”You’re not changing my mind,” he says. “Where do you think you left it?”

”Think?” you ask, raising a brow. Of course. You remember exactly where you put it. “Kitchen counter. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

”Of course not. Now go, don’t be late the first day.”

You give him a grateful smile, leaning over the center console and giving him a quick peck on the lips.

”Text Hana when you get back with it,” you say, opening the door and exiting the car.

”Good luck!” he calls right as you slam the door. Giving him a quick wave, you turn, smooth out your skirt, and then strut up the courthouse steps.

He bites back a smile, shifting gear and taking off back in the direction of his apartment.

You mentioned him having some effect on your memory, but he hadn’t realized you’d forget your notes because of him. Sure, maybe he could’ve been a bit less distracting this morning. But what can he say? You look really fucking good in a pencil skirt.

It’s the least he can do, then, going to retrieve your notes from his place. After all, he won’t be the reason for any more hiccups in Sato’s trial.

Today’s the first day. Midoriya and his friends are so close to the real murderer he can almost taste it. So far they’ve given you suspects you could twist into something convincing, but white lies and hyperbole might not be enough.

So, they continue their search.

Shinso and Jiro overheard something in the underground scene, regarding a man selling women’s body parts. Vile and gruesome, but nonetheless someone they needed to look into.

Kacchan, Kirishima, and Todoroki managed to trail a man via surveillance footage from a crime scene to a train station, but lost him after he got on. They’ve been searching for him ever since.

Ochaco and Kaminari interviewed locals about suspicious behavior, disguising themselves are surveyors from the HPSC. Those who lived around the crime scenes reported seeing a van with plates matching those at the other scenes, some going so far as to describe the driver. Gray hair, something that may be mistaken as purple.

Regardless, each of his friends had spent more than enough time chasing down leads for him, and they continue to do so. Until the trial is done, whatever the verdict may be.

Meanwhile, Midoriya’s been focused on you. How can he help you? Bringing coffee and lunch to your office, helping you with questions for cross examination, testing you by offering sentiments the prosecution will surely use against you. A laundry list of other things, not including time with you at home.

After you put away your notes at night, he spends his time trying to help break down your walls. The barriers you place around your heart and mind are thick—there are still times you shy away from his touch, or become flustered by sweet words. You still grimace if he uses a pet name, and it’s hard for you to accept what he gives you.

Still, you accept it. You don’t tell him to stop, and you know if you did he’d cease everything immediately.

So, he continues to push your buttons and your boundaries, seeing just how corny—your word, not his—he can get before you turn away from him completely. At the end of the day, Midoriya’s a romantic. He wants you to return his affections, and accept his without issue. But that isn’t you. You’re more difficult than that. A challenge. Quick to embarrass, when it comes to matters of the heart.

He thinks it’s sweet.

You’re confused about how you feel half the time.

Do you like his flirtations or not? (You do.)

Midoriya pulls up to his complex and runs inside to grab your legal pad. It’s on the kitchen counter, exactly where you said it would be.

The drive back to the courthouse is quick, traffic easing up a bit, and when he pulls up out front he shoots a quick text to Hana, then a second to Ochaco.

IM: You busy?

Ochaco: No. Review the case?

IM: Be there soon.

They keep their messages vague, and inconspicuous. Just in case. Even though they’re on their personal phones, you told them to be overly paranoid of the devices being mirrored.

”It’s a common clause in hero contracts, though they bury it in between a bunch of other shit,” you said one Monday night at his apartment. “They don’t necessarily mirror every pro’s phone, but there’s a chance you’ve consented to it. In that case, it’s best to stick to vague texts and phone calls.”

”Wait, they actually do that?” Kirishima asked, frown marking his face with unfamiliar lines.

You gave him a sorry smile. “It’s very common. I can refer you all to a friend of mine, she does contract law. She’d be able to review them for you, tell you what all the jargon means.”

”What difference would it make, at this point?” Jiro sighed. “So, Shinso’s probably the safest when it comes to communicating with you about the case.”

“If you find anything I should know about ASAP, it’s best he reaches out,” you nodded.

After you’d left, the others turned to him with varying expressions. Some gave him knowing smiles, Kacchan scowled, Todoroki and Shinso only stared.

”What?” he asked.

”Nothing,” Ochaco shrugged. “She’s just growing on me.”

“Yeah, I like her a lot more now that I know she isn’t one of those villain groupies,” Kirishima chuckled.

”She’s hot. You hitting?” Kacchan asked, the only one with the audacity to be so blunt.

Midoriya only glared.

“So, you are?”

”Bakugo, could you be a little more dignified?” Ochaco sighed, shaking her head.

”Dignified?” the blond repeated.

”Midoriya doesn’t have to kiss and tell,” Jiro said, though she bit back her own grin.

”What’d I say? Sleeping with the enemy,” Kaminari offered with a grin.

”Okay, but let’s think about this from another perspective,” Shinso suddenly interjected, catching everyone’s attention. “Do we really think she would be into someone like Midoriya?”

”That’s rude,” Izuku huffed.

”But a great point,” Todoroki smirked.

”You guys are so mean,” Ochaco said, frowning.

“We’re only giving him shit, Uraraka, don’t get all emotional on us,” Kacchan grunted.

”Wait,” Jiro said, halting the conversation. “Now I’m lost. Midoriya, are you and Y/N a thing?”

”Obviously,” Kirishima said, grinning. “But Deku’s a gentleman. Like you said, he doesn’t need to kiss and tell.”

”Because when you’re actually getting some, you don’t have to overcompensate,” Ochaco said pointedly. Then, bringing a fist up to her mouth, she fakes a cough. “Bakugo.”

”Oh, fuck off! I do not overcompensate, dick.”

”Really? Because I can name the last ten times you’ve brought up—“

”Bullshit.”

”Stop derailing the conversation!” Kaminari snapped, looking over at the two with a scowl. Then, he turned back to Midoriya. “So? Are you?”

As always, he told them the truth.

”Yeah. It’s something.”

”Called it,” the yellow-haired man said.

Kacchan gave him a curt nod of approval. The others said a few nice words, but he didn’t give them much room for questions. Because both of you were still figuring out what exactly it was.

Luckily, none of them pried.

”Thanks for bringing this, you’re a lifesaver,” Hana says, leaning through the window to grab the pad.

”I still don’t know why she brings it, with her memory and all,” he chuckles, shaking his head a bit.

A confused look pulls the paralegal’s brows together.

”She hasn’t told you?”

This makes Midoriya stop short.

”Tell me what?” he asks.

Hana flounders for a moment, mouth opening and closing as she tries to figure out what to say.

”I mean, it’s public information, so I guess it’s not some huge thing… The courthouses are built to cancel quirks. How there are bands and such people can wear, the same technology is built into the walls,” she explains. “It’s to keep defendants from acting out, mostly.”

”But it means she has normal memory, when she testifies,” he realizes.

”Mhm,” Hana confirms.

Holy shit.

So, you manage to do all of that… without a quirk? All of the laws, the loopholes, everything…

”So, she writes down everything relevant to the case during the weeks leading up to the trial. That way, she knows exactly what’s important, and where she can jog her memory from. Don’t get me wrong, she still has a way better memory than the average person, even without her quirk. But… yep. Basically, she goes in just like the rest of us.”

No wonder you’ve been so attached to the damn legal pad. No wonder you’d been snippy when he tried to pull it from your hands to get you to rest for the night, a couple days ago.

”Thanks again, Midoriya,” she smiles, stepping back from his car.

”Yeah, no problem,” he says, returning the look.

Then, he takes off in the direction of Ochaco’s agency to see about their case. The one that’s supposed to make this easier for you.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 9:53am

Week Two, Sato v. Shizuoka

You estimated the trial taking five weeks, one per victim. So far, the assessment has been accurate. Last week, at the start of the trial, the prosecution called their witnesses and specialists who were involved in the investigation of the first murder.

Sato sat quietly, patiently, next to you. Having to ignore how his hands and feet were chained, you listened to each and every testimony, scribbling down notes as quickly as you could to keep up. Hana aided in the effort, much to your relief.

Then, you crossed the witnesses. You made them doubt their own stories, made them embed misinformation that you called out as such. Mistakes, flaws, switches. Anything that didn’t add up, or match the statement they’d submitted, you called into question.

This week is no different. Covering the second victim this time, one of the two Sato was out of Shizuoka for.

Exhaustion causes your eyes to burn. It’s been difficult, going from your leisurely time with Izuku to working fifteen hour days. You’re so used to staying up late with him, waking up with your hand wrapped in his. He’s not a huge cuddler, you've noticed—not that you mind, but it was surprising to learn—so instead he opts for simply holding your hand.

The touch is enough for you. Anything else might be suffocating.

Maybe he knows this. He’s getting increasingly good at reading your body language and facial expressions, pulling away even before you realize it’s too much. So, it’s not far-fetched to assume he’d know you don’t particularly want him smothering you at night.

Whatever feelings fester in your chest are foreign to you, and really starting to piss you off. You haven’t been this insecure since high school, this anxious since your law program. You haven’t felt so lost or confused about your own emotions since you were 13 and trying to decide if you had a bigger crush on Eraser Head or All Might.

Izuku’s been trying his best to get you out of your romantic shell. You’d feel worse for the man if it wasn’t working.

Due to the stress of the trial, he hasn’t pushed you to have sex, and for that you are grateful. Because doing that while doing this would only add to the anxiety. For you, at least. You’re sure Midoriya would relax a whole lot more, the man a walking ball of tension and nerves.

Which is incredibly not helpful, currently.

On the mornings he spends the night at your house, he offers words of encouragement, though they come out a little too stiff. A little too fearful. As if he’s anticipating your failure.

Which, again, is not fucking helpful.

But, you grant him grace. Despite his mental health no longer actively deteriorating before your eyes, he still holds a lot of guilt from Sato’s arrest.

”Do you think I should see him? Apologize?” Izuku asked the other morning.

”Absolutely not,” you said. “Help from behind the scenes. I’ll put in a good word after the trial ends and he’s freed.”

Because your client has had absolutely nothing nice to say, regarding the HPSC and Deku. You don’t tell Izuku this, of course. He’d only act out before thinking and dig an even bigger grave for the three of you to lie in, should the trial go south.

Recess is called at noon, so you and Hana go back to the holding area to eat lunch with Sato. Well, Hana does. You never eat during the trial—it doesn’t sit well. Big breakfasts and dinners get you through the week instead.

”How’re you feeling?” you ask.

”Better,” Sato admits. “I thought you were great in there. Poked holes in every story.”

You offer a small, tired smile.

”Yeah, she’s a badass,” Hana grins, praising you.

”Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you say. “There are still three more days this week, and another three weeks of the trial. Your counts—“

”Yeah, I know. They’re separate, or whatever.”

”Or whatever?” you repeat flatly. “So you don’t know.”

”I do,” he argues. “They can find me guilty on any number of them. It’s not all guilty or all not guilty.”

You nod. Good. These are things he needs to keep in mind. You’re not pessimistic about your work, your ability in the courtroom, but it’s best to remain as neutral and realistic as you can. Just in case.

“Okay, I’m going to step out to make a couple calls. Find me if anything happens,” you say, standing.

Brushing off your slacks, you make your way out of holding and back into the pedestrian section of the courthouse. It isn’t too much longer before you’re outside, back on the steps you’d stood upon the morning before Izuku came into your life.

You pull out your phone and see you have three missed calls from Shinso. Quickly redialing the number, you move down the steps, closer to the street. Car horns, screeching tires, and roaring engines will drown out the conversation.

”Hey L/N,” the tired voice answers.

”What’s the update?”

”Hold on… Here.”

”Y/N?”

It’s Midoriya.

”I don’t have long,” you say. “Updates?”

”Major,” he says. “We fucking did it.”

”Did it?” you ask, brows pinching together.

”All of the leads we got, they were good. We know who the real murderer is.”

Time slows. You nearly drop your phone, relief flooding through your veins. But, you maintain your composure for the time being. There is still work to be done.

”Okay,” you start, voice level and calm. “Here’s what I need you to do…”

Walking back into the courtroom, you B-line for Hana and Sato.

”We have news,” you whisper, leaning in closely. “I’ll have new evidence tomorrow, rock fucking solid. I’ll enter it, the prosecution will review, and then we’re golden.”

”What is it?” Sato asks, voice raising a bit alongside his hope.

You shush him quickly.

”A hypothetical.”

”A what?” His smile falls.

”For now, at least,” you say. “It’ll be enough to cause reasonable doubt, that’s for damn sure.”

”Will it?”

”Yes,” you sigh. “Because I have the real killer.”

”What!?”

Your eyes widen and you shush Sato again.

”Can you trust me?” you ask him, voice low.

”I’d fucking hope,” he retorts.

”Then trust me. Know that I’m getting you out of this.”

It’s the closest thing to a promise you can make. Because Izuku did it. Him and his friends, they carried through on their word. They trusted Midoriya, and he was fucking right.

The extra cameras in the courtroom no longer make you sweat. The fact you’re being televised, live, it barely registers in your mind as you continue prodding the witnesses, doubting the specialists and experts.

You wonder if Izuku’s watching, if any of them are. He never said if he would or not, and you didn’t pry for an answer. Knowing him, you assume he is. But the thought clouds your mind, and you quickly wipe it away before your memory gets any hazier.

Sure, there are areas in your life you could be a bit more well-rounded in. Relationships and romance, specifically.

But moving across the carpeted room, from the jury box to the witness stand, you feel the most capable. Powerful, even. Because this is where you can show citizens of Japan why exactly you’re #1. Maybe not in their eyes, but to other lawyers? They fear you, or want to be you.

”Objection, Your Honor! The defense is badgering the witness,” the prosecution calls.

”The witness has redacted three different portions of his testimony,” you say, turning to face the judge. “I simply want to know the true intention behind the lies.”

”Objection!” the DA groans out. “Your Honor?”

The judge sighs, tired of the antics lawyers are known to get into.

”Ms. L/N, please refrain from referring to witness testimony as a lie,” he grumbles. “However, her line of questioning is apt. Overruled.”

”Thank you,” you say, exasperated.

Yeah, so maybe there’s a bit of merit to the whole “heart made of ice” accusation. Why wouldn’t there be? You’re a fucking shark.

You make grown men weep on the stand.

You do what you gotta do.

Hours pass. Your throat, your ankles, your back, everything is sore and aching. Talking so much makes your mouth dry. The LED lights make your eyes hurt more than they already are.

”Alright, court is adjourned,” the judge announces, banging his gavel.

Finally.

”Hana, can you get everything back to the office? I need to go to get this evidence.”

”Of course,” she says, nodding.

You stay until Sato is escorted out by another of your employees who’s in charge of getting him safely to and from his house, telling him you’ll see him in the morning. As soon as the heavy metal door is shut, though, you book it out of the courthouse.

Running down the steps, you hold out an arm to flag down a cab rolling past. Climbing quickly into the back, you toss $60 onto the console.

”Floor it,” you say after giving him the address.

Izuku opens the door and you immediately feel the tension leave your body. Unable to help yourself, a mixture of exhaustion and excitement sweeping over you, you throw yourself into his arms.

He’s surprised, stumbling back a bit, but quickly wraps his own around your waist.

”Hi,” you murmur into his neck.

”Hi,” he says, the smile evident in his voice. “Everything okay?”

”Mhm,” you nod. “Just missed you.”

”Yeah?” he chuckles, gripping you tighter. “I missed you, too.”

You allow yourself to indulge for only a second more before letting go. Smiling up at him, you step into his apartment.

Seven pairs of eyes are glued to you. You stop and look around at them all. Face burning, you realize they did, in fact, witness your whole display of affection.

”Hey Y/N,” Ochaco smiles, breaking the awkward tension you feel in your chest. When you look at her, really look, you spot the dark circles of her hollowed eyes.

As your eyes sweep around the circle, you realize all of them are looking a bit worse for wear. The consequence of working long hours, that’s for sure. You know that once you remove your makeup, you’ll look even worse. Like a zombie, or something.

Moving to stand behind you, Izuku rests his chin on the top of your head.

”Wanna tell her what we found?” he asks the others.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 2:14pm

Week Three, Sato v. Shizuoka

“She’s gonna be fine, Midoriya. Chill, bro,” Kaminari says, sitting next to him on the couch.

”She said she’s moving to bring up the new evidence today,” Izuku responds, leg bouncing nervously. “After recess.”

”Well, it’s after recess,” Kacchan grunts. “Can I go? Why do I need to watch this?”

”Moral support,” Ochaco tries.

”Go then,” Midoriya mutters, not caring where the blond goes.

He doesn’t, though. Instead, he lets out a ‘tch’ and turns back to face the tv.

”We are the ones who built the case,” Todoroki points out. “It’d be a mistake if we don’t see how it’s picked apart.”

”Yeah, we can learn from this!” Kirishima cheers from the kitchen, eating something messy over the sink. “Maybe if you were more willing to learn, you’d be #1 by now.”

”Oh, fuck off—“

”Guys, hush! Y/N’s up,” Jiro says, leaning forward as if it’ll help her see the tv any better. But… Midoriya does, too.

”Your Honor, I’d like to request the jury use this time to review the new, crucial evidence I have gathered in my client’s defense,” you say. More legal jargon flows forth from your lips, but Izuku doesn’t understand what it means. It sounds like gibberish.

”The hell does that mean?” Kacchan grunts, voicing Midoriya’s thoughts.

”Basically, she’s saying that the evidence we gave her may lead to a future arrest,” Todoroki explains in plain terms. “It’s prepping her to later dismiss the case. If the evidence does more than cause doubt, and our guy is arrested, it’ll be quicker than blindsiding the judge.”

Sure. Whatever.

So long as it’s not immediately thrown out or dismissed.

Todoroki keeps interpreting, when you use words beyond their knowledge. About fifteen minutes into watching, though, Midoriya starts tuning everything out. His friends, the tv. His focus is solely on you, working your way from the defense table to the jury box, talking very passionately about something.

You look really good today. Very pretty. Black slacks, a black shirt that flatters you very nicely.

“I still wanna know how Deku ended up with a mean girl,” Kacchan says suddenly.

”A mean girl?” Izuku repeats slowly, confused.

His friend points at the television with raised brows.

”Have you not been paying attention? She’s made three people cry today.”

”It’s her job. She’s not mean,” he defends.

”I’m not saying it’s some character flaw. I wanna know how you’re able to get through a day with her without crying. You don’t have the thickest skin, Deku.”

“Uh, I don’t know, maybe because she’s not mean.”

”Huh…”

”What?”

”Nothing,” Kacchan shrugs, turning back to the tv.

”No, what?”

”You said she does this all without her quirk, right?” Ochaco asks, interjecting in whatever tension Bakugo’s created. “That’s impressive. I don’t think I could ever be a lawyer.”

”Right? It seems so diffic—“

”Kacchan, what’d you mean?” Izuku presses, cutting Kaminari off.

The blond throws his head back and groans.

”You’re dating the top defense attorney in Japan, who is known for being brutal in the courtroom… and she’s not mean to you at all? Like… ever?”

”No, because she’s not mean. How many times do I have to fucking say—“

”It’s not a character flaw! Fucking obviously! Look who you’re talking to,” he says, exasperated. “She is mean. She’s just not mean to you.”

”So?”

”So, how does that happen?”

Izuku’s honestly at a loss for words, because he doesn’t know. Thinking back to the days where him and a few of the others would gather to watch your public trials, he did think you were abrasive. And, you weren’t afraid to be cold to Ochaco when you first met her. So… how did it happen?

”She’s not mean. Just a little icy,” Uraraka offers. “Once you get to know her, she’s not half bad to be around.”

He could fucking scream, thanking her for the backup. Not that it’s the highest praise of you—which he doesn’t love, but understands, as they adjust to the new barriers being crossed—but he’s happy at least one other person can confirm that you aren’t mean.

Even if you do make people cry on the stand. You’re not mean. It’s your job.

Well…

It’s how you succeed at your job.

Chapter Text

Thursday, 11:24pm

Week Four, Sato v. Shizuoka

Izuku gets to your place at the same time you do. Pulling into the driveway, parking, and stepping from your car, you wait for him to follow.

”The Commission agreed to the arrest,” he says as soon as he can. “Sometime next week.”

You grin.

”That’s great.”

”It is,” he smiles, crossing to you. Once he’s pulled you into his arms, he says, “I’m still a bit worried.”

”I told you, I’ll review the case,” you say. “Izuku, you have nothing to worry about.”

His hold around your waist tightens, and he leans down to press a kiss into your forehead.

”I know.”

With that, the two of you head inside. The weight of the trial seems to dissolve from your shoulders with the newest update. Sato will be released, and the right man will be taken into custody.

”How are you feeling?” you ask Izuku over your shoulder, unlocking the door.

”Relieved,” he says, following you into the house.

”I’m glad it’s not something you’ll have to deal with anymore.”

”Well…” he shrugs. “We’ll see how the Commission is after this. It could be something I’ll have to deal with again soon.”

”I’d be surprised if it is,” you say, dropping your bag on the couch and heading into the kitchen.

”Why’s that?”

”Usually the HPSC has a select few heroes they use to do their dirty work. They prefer the pros who don’t care if the arrest is clean.”

”Like who?” Izuku asks, taking a seat at the table. “Anyone I’d know?”

”Probably, but I’m not telling. Let’s take tonight to relax, celebrate our anticipatory win.”

He frowns, but doesn’t push back against your will. Because even if it might be a good thing, telling him which heroes are the most corrupt, you won’t right now. Not this second. Not when tonight, for the first time in roughly two months, he doesn’t feel the weight of the arrest on him.

Bringing a water to the table for him, you sit and take a sip of your own.

”Do you wanna go to bed?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll go up with you, but I’m not tired.”

”Feel free to stay down here, watch tv. You can bring down a movie, if you want.”

Izuku gives you a small smile and stands from the table, holding out his free hand. You take it, standing, and let him walk you over to the stairs.

In your room, the two of you move to get ready for bed. You’ve allowed him to keep a couple changes of clothes here, his toothbrush. Small necessities you pretend don’t mean anything to you.

Under the covers, Izuku holds you to him. You know he’s still awake, doesn’t roll away to let the fan cool him down, but he doesn’t speak. His thumbs rub lazy circles on your stomach, his nose burrowing into your hair.

”Is everything okay?” you ask softly.

He mumbles a response you’re unable to make out.

Sighing, you roll over to face him. Bringing a hand up to his face, you cup his cheek and run your thumb along the high bone on his face.

Your touch surprises him, his lips parting ever so slightly, but he leans into it nonetheless.

”What’s going on?”

His minty breath gently hits your face, making an easy smile grace your lips.

”I’ve been thinking… After the trial is done, I won’t get to see you as often.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

”I won’t be able to just stop by, anymore,” he starts, voice light. “There won’t be any reason for me to help, I’ll only get in your way.”

”Izuku, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but there was no reason for you to help me in the first place,” you chuckle. “I want you around. If that means you coming to bug me at work sometimes—keyword: sometimes… then I’m alright with that.”

“It’s not the same.”

”What isn’t?” you ask, trying to see where he’s coming from.

”We won’t be, y’know… working together.”

He frowns as your brows furrow, figuring out what he means.

”You’re upset because you want to keep working cases with me?” you ask, voice soft.

Izuku nods, unspeaking.

What can you say to that? How do you respond? The sentiment tugs at your heart in an unfamiliar way, and you can’t help how you frown as well.

Is this… heartache?

”Maybe if we… I mean, you could try asking…” your voice trails, words unsure. Because there’s really no way to resolve the issue. The Commission would never invite you to work on cases with them. Taking on Midoriya as a consultant can only end in disaster, and frankly it’s more hassle than it’s worth.

And yet, you want to solve the unsolvable. You want to search for a loophole, and grant him the ability to work alongside you. To keep bringing you cases, and help you prep for trials.

”You’ll be busy, once you start taking on your own cases again,” you tell him. “Once you’re back in the swing of things, you won’t think twice about working with me.”

”That’s not true,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “You know that isn’t true.”

Your lips press into a line. Persistent as always.

”There isn’t a second of the day that goes by, where I’m not thinking of you.”

”It’ll change,” you try.

”I don’t want it to,” he says. “You consume me. Body and soul.”

Groaning, you turn away from him. The attempt is unsuccessful, as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you back into him.

”What’s with all the Pride and Prejudice references?” you ask as Izuku buries his head in the crook of your neck.

”They’ve been consistently applicable,” he mutters against your skin, starting to plant kisses along your shoulder. “How tired did you say you were?”

You chuckle a bit. “Would it matter?”

”Of course,” he says, though doesn’t cease the movement of his lips against your skin. “You wanna sleep?”

”Not anymore,” you say, leaning into the touch.

”Can I taste you?”

”What?” Your voice comes out strained, a bit louder than you mean to.

”I want to, if it’s okay.”

Izuku’s hands move from your stomach to your hips, trailing down to your thighs. He presses himself up against you, letting you feel just how badly he wants this.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you say, “Okay. You can.”

”I can what?”

”Don’t push your luck,” you snap, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He grins, big and cheesy. Very cute. Nearly innocent, if he hadn’t just told you he wants to eat you out.

Quickly, he flips you onto your back and moves to pull off your pajama pants. When he sees you’re not wearing underwear, his eyes darken in a way you’ve never seen.

”Izuku…”

Ignoring you, gaze planted on your bare cunt, he positions himself between your legs. For a moment you watch, transfixed, the look on his face doing something to you. But, you quickly grow flustered, overwhelmed by the vulnerability, so you plant your eyes on the ceiling instead.

Then the first lick comes. Gentle, warm, confident. Testing.

A moan leaves you, lids fluttering shut. The sound seems to spur Midoriya on, as if your noises are enough of an incentive for him.

When his tongue circles your clit, your hands fly to his hair, fingers weaving between the dark green strands. Tugging lightly on it causes him to moan. Tugging roughly, though, makes him whimper.

”Fuck, ‘Zuku, just like that,” your words slur together. Spreading your legs a bit wider, the pleasure you feel increases tenfold.

As Izuku sucks on your clit, laps through your folds, you continue pulling his hair. Finally, having built enough confidence to do so, you open your eyes and look down at him. The sight is better than anything you could’ve imagined.

His brows are furrowed, so completely focused on his actions. Face flushed a soft pink, one you’d otherwise miss, if it weren’t for the moonlight.

He wraps his arms around your legs, hands grasping desperately at your thighs, burying himself further into you, if possible.

You throw your head back into the pillows and let out a gasping moan as his head dips down, tongue teasing your aching entrance, nose brushing lightly against your swollen clit.

”Don’t stop,” you command through another moan. Nails grazing his scalp, you hold onto his hair even tighter. “I’m close.”

It doesn’t take long for the knot in your stomach to build, for you to come undone. Bucking lightly against Izuku’s face, you ride out your high, slurring out his name and curses alongside your moans. Even after you’ve come down, he continues, cleaning up your mess.

Finally, he pulls away. Sitting back on his knees, he wipes his mouth off on his arm, staring down at you.

His expression is unreadable. Serious. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but you can see the clear strain in his boxers.

So, you beckon him to you.

Izuku’s movements are slow, as he crawls up your body, unsure of what you want.

Face hovering over yours, he gives you a small smile. “Yes, Y/N?” he asks lightly.

You swallow your hesitation.

”I wanna taste you, too.”

A groan leaves Izuku, his eyes screwing shut, and he nods. Before moving, though, he crashes his lips to yours in an unexpected kiss. It takes you aback, but quickly you lean into him.

He pulls away, rolling off of you to lay back on the bed. You climb on top of him, hooking your fingers in his waistband, pulling his boxers down around his thighs.

For a second you take him in. His length, the thickness. You haven’t seen him before, haven’t done anything since his mom crashed the party, but now you do. The pink of his tip matches his pretty lips, the aching strain causing him to throb and twitch in the open air.

You wrap your hand around his base, and a moan leaves him. It almost makes you smile, but you maintain focus. Dipping your head down, you bring your tongue to his tip, licking the small bead of precum from his slit.

”Oh god,” Izuku groans, head digging into the pillows. “I won’t last.”

You answer by taking his head into your mouth, wrapping your lips around him, pressing your tongue flush against him.

His hips buck instantly, thrusting his cock a bit deeper into your mouth. Sucking in a breath, you let your jaw open a bit more, and you take him even further.

Izuku’s hands come up to your hair, but unlike you, he’s gentle. Soft. Collecting the strands into a makeshift ponytail to keep it out of your face. You’d give him a smile if you could, but you can’t, so instead you start bobbing your head.

It doesn’t take long at all, for Izuku to turn into a mess of whimpers and moans beneath you. Hips bucking, though you can tell he’s holding back. The way his grip on your hair tightens slightly before loosening, you can tell he wants to shove your head down onto him. But he restrains himself, finding solace in your pace.

”I-I’m close,” he stutters out before biting his lip. It’s his warning to you, telling you to pull away before he spills into your mouth.

But… you don’t. You keep going, taking him as deep into your mouth as you can, feeling his tip press against the back of your throat.

”Fuck, Y/N,” he groans, the sound throaty. It causes your cunt to clench around nothing, suddenly ready for more.

Izuku’s hips jerk, and his grip on your hair tightens again, and suddenly you feel his warm cum sliding down your throat. You hollow your cheeks, aiding him in his finish, taking him completely.

When you’re sure he’s finished, you pull him from your mouth and wipe your lips off on the inside of your wrist.

”Did you…?” his voice trails as his chest heaves, heavy breaths being sucked into his lungs.

”Did I what?” you ask.

His eyes roll back, lids fluttering shut. You realize you indirectly answered his question: Did you swallow?

Normally you wouldn’t. You’d spit it back out on his stomach, or in his hand, and make him deal with the mess. But, it’s Izuku. So… you kinda just… wanted to.

Smiling, you help pull his boxers back up, then settle into his side. Midoriya pulls you into him, turning, wrapping his arms and a leg over you.

”You gonna cuddle me tonight?” you chuckle.

”Mhm,” he murmurs. “Go to sleep.”

”I should put my clothes back on.”

”No,” he sighs. “You shouldn’t.”

So, you don’t. Falling asleep naked and in Izuku’s arms instead.