Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your boss is a fucking asshole.

Endeavor is beloved, an esteemed public figure, a loving husband and father.

Behind closed doors, however…

A foot sweeps your feet out from under you, knocking you to the floor. The scalding cups of coffee on your tray spill all over your clothes, burning the skin underneath and making you hiss
“What the fuck, Endeavor?” Your ears flatten as you try to wipe away the liquid, your new work uniform likely ruined.

The redhead doesn’t look up from his desk, smirking into his computer. “You’re so clumsy. Clean up your mess, kitty.”

Narrowing your eyes, you stand and cross your arms, tail lashing. “My name is Y/N, not “kitty.” You know that. And I’m not cleaning that up.”

He leans back, finally looking over at you. Raising an eyebrow, he appraises your stained clothes. “Coming to work with your clothes all dirty is a demerit, Y/N. We talked about this.”

You did talk about this. You’ve talked about it exactly 11 times since you started working for Endeavor Hero Agency as an intern 4 months ago. When you started, you had been excited to work under your favorite hero, maybe working your way up the ladder into hero work some day. That dream had been promptly obliterated when your boss had cornered you in the break room and told you in no uncertain terms that you, a cute little cat heteromorph with no real power, would never earn his respect.

The work placement agency had refused to answer your calls, so you decided to tough it out. Now here you are, months later, dripping with coffee and shivering as a large hand yanks you forwards by your shirt.

Planting your feet, you bare your teeth at him. “I’ll report you to the Commission.”

He bares his teeth right back, mocking you. “You know what actual powerful animals do to cute little kitty cats in the wild, Y/N?”

“This isn’t the wild, asshole. It’s corporate Japan.”

“Oh yeah, corporate Japan, well-reknowned for its’ progressivism, right?” He rolls his eyes, spinning his chair towards you and grinning. “I could do whatever the fuck I want and get away with it. The Commission works for me.”

He tugs harder, making you stumble forward into his chair. You brace your hands on the back of it on either side of his head, growling.

“What are you doing? Knock it off!” You struggle against him, his legs caging you in on the sides.

He leans closer, expression cocky. “You piss me off, Y/N.”

You flinch as one of his hands grazes your breast. “I- I’m serious about reporting you!”

“No you aren’t,” he laughs. “You just need an attitude adjustment.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to make eye contact as his other hand fully grabs at your chest.

Panic sets in. Unsheathing your claws, you try to swipe at his eyes. He grabs your wrists, easily restraining them above your head and rendering you defenseless.

“You think you could hurt me, kitty?” Endeavor scoffs at you. “Sure.” His lips crash into yours, stifling your response.

Your eyes widen, thrashing against hand holding you. He’s undeterred, not coming up for air until he’s tasted every inch of your mouth. When he finally pulls away, you’ve given up thrashing and simply frozen.

Wiping his mouth, he smirks at you. “Are you going to behave now?”

Everything feels heavy and cold, like you’re going into shock. Your tail is puffed up, your heart much louder than normal in your ears as you look down at your boss. “Yes, sir.”

He looks a bit surprised. “Good girl. See, you just needed some attention, right?”

You nod hollowly. “Yes, sir.”

…

You arrive at your shitty studio apartment, getting into the shower without taking off your clothes. You had worked the rest of the day robotically, the hours blurring together. Did you take the train or walk the entire way home? You don’t remember.

Turning the water to the hottest setting, you begin shredding your outfit off of your body with your claws, unphased by the scratches you keep leaving on your skin. Tears roll down your cheeks, blurring your vision.

You’ll never be a hero. You’ll never be respected, loved, legitimate. The man you looked up to ever since he started hero work a few years ago hates your guts and…

And he assaulted you.

Bile rises in your throat and you collapse to your knees, vomiting into the drain. You stay like that for a while, shaking on all fours, before standing up and regarding the long claw marks you accidentally carved into your body.

You want to kill him.

…

Your resignation (without two week’s notice) goes through almost immediately when you email it to HR. Opening a new window on your laptop, you rub your temples.

After spending the night staring at the wall, it’s time to figure out what you’re going to do. You can’t just be unemployed, and you definitely can’t go to another hero agency.

Unbeknownst to you, an employer is becoming very interested in recruiting you after reviewing stolen office camera footage from yesterday.

…

You’re awoken by a pinging sound, having fallen asleep on your keyboard with no new job prospects. Checking your email, your eyes narrow at the new message.

Hello, Y/N L/N. I am interested in offering you an opportunity. Are you available to meet me at the train station at 9pm?

There is no email signature, the address somehow hidden. Your tail twitches as you consider your options.

On one hand, this is super shady. On the other, you have absolutely no prospects, rent is due soon, and you aren’t in a very “valuing your own life” mood.

You type out a short response, shakily hitting send.

I am available then.

…

Hurrying to the train station, you adjust your collar for the third time. You picked a very cute, professional outfit for the meeting, hoping to make a good impression. You’re feeling almost optimistic, getting a chance to start over somewhere else.

As the station comes into view, a large hand covers your mouth. You’re dragged backwards into an alley, scratching and yowling into the stranger’s palm the whole way.

Your back hits a hard chest, a rough voice sounding against your ear.

“Y/N L/N, right? Can you stop scratching my arm?”

You force yourself to relax, craning your head to look at the man behind you. Face paling, you feel your breath hitch.

Having worked with Hawks, you’ve heard him extensively complain about the man holding you. He’s significantly (like, significantly) less ugly than Hawks said, but the patchwork scars, staples, piercings, and glowing blue eyes are all the same. Endeavor hates his fucking guts.

Dabi. The Cremator. Disciple of the Hero Killer, member of the League of Villains, serial arsonist.

You made a point to learn about him to piss off your boss.

Attempting a casual smile against his palm, you wave. “M’sorry,” you say, muffled. “Hi.”

He looks confused, uncovering your mouth and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “Thought you’d be a bit more scared.”

You would have thought so too, but something drastic switched in your brain yesterday. Shrugging, you prick up your ears at him. “Can I have one?”

“Sure,” he sighs. His arm snakes around your waist to put it between your lips, his fingertip lighting it for you. “You don’t need to lean against me anymore.”

You realize that he’s not holding you against him anymore and step away from his chest, face heating up a bit. “Sorry. Are you the one who emailed me?”

“Nah, that was Kurogiri. I’m here to recruit you though.” He slumps against the wall of the alley, lighting a cigarette for himself.

Coughing a bit as you inhale, you raise an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“We were surveilling Endeavor’s agency, so we saw what happened yesterday. Why didn’t you kill him?”

“He’s more powerful than me,” you protest. “And I was scared.”

“If he was in front of you now, would you try?”

“I don’t know,” you respond. “I don’t think I could beat him, so no.”

“It’s not about beating- Nevermind.” He pokes at one of your ears. “Tell me about your quirk.”

“I have catlike senses and reflexes, claws, fangs, nightvision, and I’m super flexible,” you list off on your fingers, leaning against the wall next to him and trying to avoid coughing again. “And my joints are springy, and I land on my feet most of the time. But none of the traits are super strong.”

He furrows his eyebrows, leaning closer to you. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No?” you cross your arms. “What?”

“What are the drawbacks?” He looks… Angry?

“I’m an obligate carnivore. That’s about it.” You grab your tail, fidgeting with it.

“Who told you your quirk was bad?” Poking at your ear again, he spits the butt of his cigarette to the ground, somehow already done.

“I kind of assumed-” you start, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t get into a hero school. And Endeavor said-”

Dabi groans, covering your mouth again. “Shut up. Holy shit, shut up. You’re coming with me.”

You nod, letting him pull you further into the alley. “Mkay.”

“Your real drawback is how fucking compliant you are,” he grumbles. “Put up a fight, fuck.”

“What?” you ask, blinking up at him.

“You were just assaulted and you are letting a random man drag you into an alley.” He leans to speak against your ear. “Stop viewing yourself as disposable and put. Up. A. Fight.”

He slams you against the wall. You wriggle, eyes wide.

“What are you doing?” you yelp as he removes his hand from your mouth.

“I don’t care if you can beat me, or him.” Dabi’s eyes bore into yours. “But if you’re gonna join the League, I need you to fight like a fucking cornered animal if we get attacked. Can you do that?”

You shiver. Everything is happening too fast. You wanted to be a hero 4 months ago, now you’re going to kill them? Can you do that? Will you do that?

You don’t know, but you don’t want to be incinerated.

“Yes!”

The hand holding your wrist heats up. “Prove it.”

Fuck.

Chapter Text

You rapidly consider your options. Dabi has you pinned to the wall, one hand holding your wrists and the other resting on your throat. One of his legs is slotted between yours, keeping you from sliding down.

What are you good at?

Oh, right.

Using your enhanced spine and hip flexibility, you rapidly pull your legs up between your bodies, feet planted on his chest. Gritting your teeth, you throw your body weight into your ankles, sending him crashing to the ground.

He doesn’t release your wrists, dragging you with him. You land on top of him, knocking your heads together by mistake.

Wincing at the potential concussion, you fling your shoe off and unsheathe your hindclaws, raking them across his chest. He laughs, grabbing your ankle and flipping you onto your back.

“That’s more like it.”

With one of your knees flung over his shoulder, your claws are mostly useless, so you drive your ankle into his back to get him closer and bite the junction between his neck and shoulder as hard as you can.

He grabs your throat again, not gentle this time, and pins your head to the ground. You spit his blood into his face, snarling despite not really being angry. If anything, this is therapeutic.

Bending your wrists, you slide them from his grip and rake a hand through his hair, yanking his head back. You use your other hand to grab the one that was restraining you, claws digging into the back of it.

“I could win whenever I want by setting you on fire,” Dabi taunts. “You can do better than this.”

What can you do that you haven’t done at this point? You’re at a stalemate, fully entwined on the dirty floor of this alley with no end in sight. What would throw him off balance?

You release his hand and wrap yours around his exposed throat, digging your claws lightly into the sides. His eyes widen and he stops choking you, trying to pull back. You use your grip on his hair to pull him closer, opening your mouth and teasing his windpipe with your teeth.

“Don’t bite my throat out.”

His voice buzzes against your canines and you grin.

“We could both kill each other now,” he says, tone almost triumphant. “See? You just have to keep fighting till it’s equal.”

You pull back, panting as you look up at him. “Yeah.” It is hitting you that you just had someone’s life literally between your teeth. Not the worst feeling.

His eyes are the only light in the alley, hovering above yours. They’re fascinating, identical in color to the blue flames of his quirk. You tilt your head up subconsciously to look closer, jolting back when your lips brush his.

Eyes wide, you stare very hard at the night sky above you. “Sorry.”

Dabi’s face is unreadable. “I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, shifting under him.

Shifting was a mistake. Your eyes snap back to his face as you realize he did not, in fact, just have something in his pocket.

He is staring very hard at the concrete next to your head. “Sorry.”

“I- I don’t care,” you mumble, face darkening at least three shades.

For whatever reason, this isn’t bothering you. Quite the opposite effect actually. Maybe all the stuff online about trauma making you want to fuck questionable men is right.

Raising an eyebrow, he looks you up and down. “You don’t care.”

You can feel him up against you, slotted between your thighs. The adrenaline from the fight is repurposing itself, twisting in the pit of your stomach till you have to focus on not grinding up against him. Swallowing hard, you bite your lip, trying to slow your breathing.

“Oh,” he breathes, leaning in. “So that’s how it is.”

You stay still, closing your eyes and waiting for him to kiss you. He doesn’t.

His lips hover milimeters from yours. “I want you to say what you want.”

Biting back a whine, you blink up at him.
’
“I already told you. You need to stand up for yourself.” He pulls back slightly. “You can’t just lay down and take whatever you’re given. Where’s the dignity in that?”

You lace your hand back into his hair, hesitantly kissing him. Kissing Dabi is worlds better than kissing Hawks, and not just because it’s consensual or Dabi has tongue piercings.

He deepens the kiss, gently holding your free hand against the concrete next to your head. His hips roll against yours, the friction making you moan into the kiss.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, pulling away.

“Whatever you want,” you manage, panting.

He tightens his grip on your hand. “You definitely don’t want that.”

“Dabi,” you say softly. “My choices were already taken from me. This is one of the only ones I get to make, and I’m telling you what I need.”

“I’m a murderer,” he reminds you, sitting back. His free hand trails down your body to unbutton your pants.

“I don’t care.”

Two of his fingers trace too-gentle circles on your clit through your underwear, torturously slowly. “We just met.”

You keen, bucking your hips at him. “I don’t fucking care.”

“You’re soaking through these,” he murmurs, ripping open your underwear. “Don’t you care about your dignity?”

“Not at all,” you gasp as he slides a finger inside of you.

He clearly has experience, his finger hooking up into your g spot immediately. “You’re dripping. You want me that bad?”

A purr escapes you when you try to reply.

Smirking, he adds another finger, palm grinding against your aching clit. “You didn’t tell me about that when you were describing your quirk.”

You moan through the purring, heat building in your stomach.

“Aren’t you embarrassed? Falling apart on my fingers right after meeting me?” He adds a third finger and picks up the pace, scanning your face for reactions.

“N-no,” you whine, already humiliatingly close to cumming. “I’m~ah~I’m fine.”

His eyes turn calculating. “Are you really about to cum? Just from this?”

Your eyes roll back as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “I-” You feel it building, the pressure almost overwhelming. Chasing his fingers with your hips, you look up at him needily. “Y-yes.”

He laughs and slows back down, taking you off the edge. “Well you wanted me to call all the shots, right?”

Tears of frustration well in your eyes. “Dabi~”

Unfastening his jeans, he pulls out his cock. “Beg for it.”

“Please~” you sigh, rolling your hips.

You’ve never seen one so big before, much less with all of the piercings he has. They click as he strokes himself, and you can’t help but wonder what they’ll feel like inside.

“Please, what?” He rubs up against you, face smug,

“Please fuck me,” you almost whisper, verbalizing the request somehow the thing you’re most embarrassed about out of everything tonight.

He eases forward, hand once again finding your throat. He starts slowly to let you adjust. The piercings drag along your walls, rubbing your most neglected spots and drawing embarrassingly loud moans from your lips.

“God, you feel good,” he says against your neck. He bites you, sucking on your skin till he leaves a mark, too high to cover. “Fuck.”

You bounce your hips impatiently up on him. “Harder, harder,” you whimper, your failed orgasm building back up in your stomach.

“Oh now you wanna be in charge?” he asks, obeying your request. He snaps his hips into yours, angling himself so he hits your g-spot on every thrust. “I thought you didn’t~hah~want to make decisions. Hm?”

You wrap your limbs around him, claws scrabbling at his back. “Don’t stop~ Please don’t stop~”

“Aw, are you sure?” he mocks, drawing himself all the way out before filling you back up.

Nodding emphatically, you pull him even closer. “Please~”

He reaches down to rub your clit, pressing his lips to yours. You’re frantic, erratic as you chase your high, each thrust making it harder to think.

Pulling away, he presses his forehead to yours, face flushed. “You’re making the cutest fucking face.”

You speed up the movement of your hips as he kisses you again, forcing him to go faster. His fingers work your clit expertly, finally pushing you over the edge. You cum, biting his bottom lip till you taste blood. He keeps fucking you through it, rhythm increasingly random.

“Fuck, gonna cum,” he manages as he pulls away. “Do you want me to-”

“Inside,” you whine. Already wet and sensitive from your first orgasm, you’re rapidly approaching a second.

“No self respect.” He bites your neck again, stifling his moans against your skin. “None.”

You nod, tongue lolling out of your mouth. “None!”

He laughs breathlessly. “That’s my girl.”

His fingers find you again, your second orgasm washing over you. You shiver, holding him tightly and feeling his hips stutter to a stop, warmth filling you.

You stay like that for a few moments before he pulls out, watching his cum spill out of you with grit teeth.

“Fuck.”

Blinking at him sleepily, you tilt your head. “Hm?”

He lights a cigarette, giving you one too without asking. “Let’s go home. I’ll shoplift you a Plan B from the CVS tomorrow morning.”

Taking a drag, you zip up your pants, discarding your destroyed underwear. “Home?”

“You’re part of the League now,” Dabi explains, dusting himself off. “Home.”

Chapter Text

Dabi makes good on his promise the next morning, tossing you a CVS bag as you sit at the bar. Kurogiri made breakfast: scrambled eggs, toast, and a pitcher of old-fashioned. You didn’t know you could make those pitcher-sized.

Your new boss, Tomura Shigaraki, is sitting with you and absolutely slamming liquor despite it being 8am. You aren’t actually sure if he’s stopped since last night, when you and Dabi stumbled through the door visibly having just had sex.

“Can’t believe that the only real-life catgirl I’ll ever meet fucked you of all people,” he snipes at Dabi, in a way that seems shockingly good-natured all things considered. He holds up a piece of burnt toast, turning to you as you take the Plan B with a swig directly from the pitcher. “This is literally him!”

“Tomura Shigaraki, please do not mock my cooking in that way,” Kurogiri admonishes.

Dabi frowns at him. “Anyway, do not expect me to do that every time we recruit someone.”

“It’s worked all three times!” Tomura steals a cigarette from Dabi’s pocket.

You choke on your toast. “Who?”

Dabi declines to comment, lighting your boss’s cigarette for him.

The door opens, a cute blonde girl and a noseless post-punk band frontman walking in. “I found him! He’s here!” the girl exclaims.

“I do not want to be,” he grumbles.

Tomura’s eyes light up. “Oh yeah, it was four!”

You turn to Dabi, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Him?”

He again declines to comment. “Hello, Stain.”

“What do you guys want? I’m busy.” The fucking Hero Killer walks over and steals your last piece of toast. “Who’s the new chick?”

“Y/N L/N, a former intern for Endeavor,” Dabi explains. “He assaulted her. We want you to kill him.”

Stain looks at him like he’s stupid.

“I want to help,” Dabi clarifies. “I have personal issues with the guy.”

Stain’s expression does not change.

“We’re getting help from Hawks.”

You choke on your toast again and decide you’re done eating. “What?”

“He’s one of the four,” Tomura whispers dramatically to you.

Snorting a laugh, you remember how Hawks emphasized how annoying and ugly Dabi was. Not the best cover up in the world.

Dabi puts a hand on Stain’s shoulder. “Please?”

The man sighs. “I’m only free 2-6, we’ll have to make it quick.”