Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world had moved on.

The war had ended years ago, leaving scars across the skyline—but not all scars ruined beauty. New foundations rose. Gleaming towers of tech, community-built districts, AI-guided transit, solar-paneled streets. Construction was booming. Economic reform programs had flourished, aimed at rehabilitation and integration for people with dangerous quirks.

Life was normal, imperfect, striving, and was happening everywhere.

But above it all… were the heroes.

Their names still sold sneakers. Their faces were still idols on cereal boxes and billboards. They stood taller than politicians and shone brighter than pop stars. Even after chaos and rebuilding, they remained untouchable. Symbols. Aspirations. Gods.

And in moments like this…they reminded the world why.

A monstrous villain, nearly forty feet tall, staggered through central Minato, crashing through a half-built shopping center. He had steel grafts growing from his shoulders, a massive drill arm rotating with a mechanical whine. People scattered like ants.

The media drones arrived even before the police.

Then:

A roar above the skyline. A silhouette running fast across the rooftops.

“Stand aside, boys! Canyon Cannon incoming!”

Cheers erupted before she even landed.

Mt. Lady, in all her glory, flung herself from a rooftop with the sun at her back. Her body expanded midair, limbs elongating, outfit stretching to fit her signature size. Glittering blonde hair snapped with the motion, and she dropped like a divine hammer toward the villain.

Phones came out. A few screamed her name.

“She’s huge! Go, Mt. Lady!”

“Take him down, Queen!”

She grinned, flipping her ponytail dramatically as she descended. Her leg swung back with practiced flare, building momentum

SMASH.

A shockwave cracked through the air. Wind howled. Dust exploded in every direction.

The villain didn’t just fall, he launched, spiraling upward like a ragdoll struck by a bullet train. His body arced over three buildings before crashing down into a reinforced net ten blocks away.

The cameras followed the fall.

So did everyone else.

Mt. Lady blinked at the empty space where her target used to be.

Her boot hit the ground, unused. Her punchline, her pose, her moment …gone.

Shrinking down with a deep exhale, she barely had time to sigh before green tendrils wrapped snug around her waist and hoisted her effortlessly.

She rose, arms crossed, already scowling.

Of course it was him.

“Hey,” Izuku Midoriya said warmly, holding her like it was routine. “Sorry about that.”

“Stole my shot again,” she muttered, not bothering to mask her irritation.

He gave a sheepish laugh. “I thought he was going to attack the crowd. I didn’t mean to-”

“Yeah, yeah,” she cut him off, flicking a bit of rubble from her glove. “Didn’t mean to. You never mean to.”

Below, the crowd was already buzzing. The drones focused in. Reporters shouted.

“Deku! Over here!”

“Mt. Lady too! What a team-up!”

But the ratio was obvious. The cheers were louder for him. Always louder for him.

Still, a few familiar voices called her name, older fans, longtime followers. It was enough to catch on if she pushed just a bit further.

She looked up at him, still floating with her in his arms, and smiled wide, her lashes fluttering.

“Lower me down, Romeo,” she said sweetly, loudly enough for a nearby drone mic to catch. “Unless you’re planning to carry me over a threshold too?”

Izuku blinked. “Huh?”

“Oh come on,” she purred, voice like honey and spotlight, “You keep swooping in and sweeping me off my feet. People are going to start getting ideas.”

He flushed, but didn’t argue. Just lowered her gently to the ground.

The second her boots hit concrete, she struck a pose one hand on her hip, the other flipping her hair. Her chest rose high, her smile sharper than usual.

She turned to the nearest camera and winked.

“Guess I’m still worth catching, huh?”

She reached back, looping an arm around Izuku’s neck, pulling him playfully toward her. The contact was flirtatious, almost clingy.

“Deku-kun~ If you keep saving me like this, people are gonna think I’m yours.”

Reporters laughed. Flashbulbs popped.

Izuku gave a polite chuckle, flustered but used to it by now.

“Just doing my job.”

She patted his chest lightly, lips close to his ear, still smiling.

“Sure you are.”

He stepped aside, modest and deferential as always. The media swarmed him next. She knew he wouldn’t milk it. That wasn’t his way. But the world would.

The headlines tomorrow would be the same as always:

DEKU SAVES THE DAY

MT. LADY JOINS THE FRAY

She watched him speak calmly to the press, his voice steady, his words practiced.

And behind her camera-ready grin, something cold and old curled beneath her ribs.

The crowd had long dispersed. The villain had been carted off, and the headlines had already started to cycle.

Yu Takeyama stepped into her agency just as the evening sun slanted across the lobby’s tall windows. The moment the glass doors shut behind her, her secretary approached like a guided missile, tablet in hand.

“Takeyama-san your schedule for the week,” she said, already tapping through highlighted entries. “Three interviews JUMP Weekly, HeroWatch, and that streaming collab with Red Riot. Costume reshoot’s been moved to Thursday. You’ve got a Q&A panel on Saturday, and two patrol meetups with Gunhead’s side agency.”

Yu nodded, eyes half-lidded as she took the tablet. Her feet ached from heels. Her ears still rang with the echo of crowds. Her lips felt like they hadn’t relaxed in hours.

“Busy week,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. Congratulations on the media bump today,” the secretary added, beaming. “Everyone’s talking about the rescue.”

Yu smiled, practiced and glossy. “Of course they are.”

She made it to her office, shut the door behind her, and let the smile drop.

The second she reached her chair, she collapsed into it with a sigh, boots kicked off, legs stretched out inelegantly across the carpet. Her body still thrummed with adrenaline, but her soul felt two sizes too small.

With a flick of the remote, the wall-mounted TV flared to life. The footage was already looping.

Drones caught the exact moment the villain went airborne his body a blur against blue sky as the crowd roared.

On-screen, bold white text read:

“DEKU DOMINATES YET AGAIN!”

His name, big and centered. Hers came three minutes later an offhand mention under “Notable Assists.”

They used a good shot of her, at least. Slow-mo, clean angle, wind in her hair as she dropped from the sky like a comet.

Beautiful. 

Big.

Completely irrelevant.

She turned off the TV.

Picked up her phone. Typed her name into the search bar.

The results were fast. Immediate.

A news article:

“Mt. Lady Holds Her Own—For a Minute or Two!”

Then the threads: 

“Deku and Mt. Lady: Power Couple or Private Arrangement?”

“Mt. Lady’s Still Got It—But Can She Still Keep Up?”

“Cougar Heroine Crashes Deku’s Scene: Strategic or Sexy?”

“Deku and Mt. Lady Spotted Again—Mommy Issues or Marketing Genius?”

Then the comments:

“Bet she rides him like a skyscraper.”

“He’s too nice. She’s definitely the one pegging.”

“Deku’s charity case gets another five seconds of screen time.”

“He could have anyone and he picks her? Bro has a type: washed and stacked.”

And further down:

“Hero Cougar Still Has It 🔥”

Yu stared. Then scrolled. Then stared some more.

It was always like this—split down the middle.

Half the world calling her washed.

The other half calling her hot.

Either way, they only cared when she was next to him.

His strength. Her ass. Their chemistry.

She wasn’t even a hero in the narrative anymore.

Just a visual. A fantasy. A Deku-adjacent thrill.

But she was still being talked about. Still being booked.

She still had her name in the feed.

That had to count for something.

She didn’t hate it. Not really.

She built this—this persona, this body, this bombshell brand.

She wore skin-tight suits because they looked good. Blew kisses to the camera because it kept her in the press. Bent low when she knew the lens was rolling.

It wasn’t shameful. It was strategy.

But now?

Now it felt like she was stuck performing a role the world had stopped clapping for.

And the worst part?

She needed it to work.

She still needed to be seen.

Because if they stopped looking…if he stopped looking

What else was left?

Her fingers moved without thinking, flipping over to contacts. Scrolling until she reached “Deku 🟢💚.” She stared at the name for a second, then tapped.

Her thumbs typed quickly.

Tonight. My place?

The reply came before she could even set the phone down.

Sure.

She smiled, small and satisfied. Not surprised.

Her fingers hovered a moment. Then she typed again:

Want something special? 💋

Another buzz.

Surprise me.

She tilted her head, lips curling with a kind of lazy amusement.

Ok babe 💄💅

She locked her phone.

Then exhaled.

The moment the screen dimmed, the room felt colder. Quieter. Her reflection on the TV caught in a pause frame mid-wink grinned back at her, perfect and plastic.

She didn’t hate it.

This was the job.

And tonight, she’d do it well.

—

The hours passed, and the noise of the world faded behind a door that locked with a quiet click.

Yu Takeyama stood beneath the hot spray of her shower, humming something shapeless. Her fingers traced the lines of her body without thought, shoulders, collarbones, the curve of her waist. Water kissed her skin and steam clung to the mirror, blurring the reflection she wouldn’t have met anyway.

Rinsed and warm, she stepped out, her movements relax. She toweled her hair, dabbed moisture from her thighs, then crossed the bedroom with a bare ease that suggested she’d done this routine a hundred times.

Laid out across the sheets was something new .

A custom piece. Lingerie barely-there silk dyed the signature purple of her hero costume, trimmed with subtle gold lines. The top hugged her chest with illusion mesh and a stylized V-neck, dipping deep between her breasts. The bottoms were cut high, legs framed by faint garter straps, sheer enough to tease. Decorative, but functional enough to cling and shift with her every move.

It wasn’t for her. Not really.

He’d mentioned it once  awkwardly, offhand, like he didn’t mean to  that during her first years, she was basically all he searched for. That in high school, she was the reason his browser history needed deleting. The constant in every late-night urge. She’d been his favorite tab, his go-to, the fantasy he looped back to every time.

So, tonight?

She’d let him have it.

Let him live it.

She sat at the edge of the bed, legs crossed, smoothing down the curve of one stocking. Her phone buzzed. A message from him.

30 minutes.

She smiled and set the phone down, legs swaying gently as she leaned back on her palms.

Now came the real prep.

The performance.

She ran through the roles in her head like she was choosing outfits:

Playful tease?

Overheated vixen?

Blushing first-timer?

She giggled softly at the last one. “Yeah right,” she muttered to the room.

She couldn’t fake innocence if she tried. Not anymore. That look had long left her eyes.

But there was one version that always worked. Always sold.

The woman who wanted to belong to someone.

Eager. Warm. Willing to be his.

The clock ticked. The room dimmed, lit only by the soft glow of her city-view window. When the door finally creaked open, she didn’t bother hiding the slow grin that curled on her lips.

There he was.

Izuku Midoriya stood in the doorway, taking her in, his eyes wide, his mouth parted, breath catching like he forgot how to use it. His gaze dipped from her face to her thighs, to the purple sheen hugging her curves, then back up with a visible effort.

She rose, hips swaying as she approached, her bare feet silent against the floor.

“Surprise,” she said, playful, sultry.

He tried to say something maybe to protest, maybe to thank her but she was already wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him slow.

His lips were warm. Hesitant. He responded with that quiet care he always carried, like he didn’t know what to do with everything she gave so easily.

But he didn’t stop her.

Her fingers moved with purpose—down his chest, over his shirt, undoing buttons like she’d rehearsed the rhythm. She tugged the hem free, kissed his jaw, and began working at his belt.

“Yu…” he murmured, his voice low. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

She knelt before him, undeterred, lips brushing his skin through the fabric of his pants.

She looked up at him with a grin, already pulling the leather through the loops.

“Of course I did,” she said, voice like silk. “I have to thank my sponsor properly, don’t I?”

She winked, then tugged the belt free with one smooth pull.

His pants followed, easy and practiced, this wasn’t their first night, or their tenth.

Yu hummed softly, eyes glinting as his length sprang free, heavy and already stirring. She reached up with both hands, thumb brushing against the base with familiarity. Her smile curved.

“All for me, huh?” she teased, gaze flicking up. “Still not used to how big you are.”

He flushed but said nothing, breath hitching just a little when she leaned in to kiss the crease of his hip.

It was a script she knew well: how to touch, how to press, how to look up just the right way to make a man melt. She set the pace. She always did.

The hours blurred.

She used everything she had: lips, breasts, thighs. She arched and curled, bent over and spread herself across the bed, the dresser, the wall. She took him in her mouth, slow and deep, until his hands gripped the back of her head like she was precious. She mounted him, riding to the rhythm of her own breathing. She let him flip her, fold her, pin her. His hands were always strong, always gentle.

Any pace. Any place.

She offered it all.

Because this was the one thing she could still give that no one else could. The one thing the fangirls couldn’t offer.

Not to him.

So she gave it. Again. And again. And again.

By the time they hit round nine, her body was trembling, sweat slick across her skin. Her hair stuck to her cheek in wild strands, and her voice had started to crack.

Izuku was behind her now, slow and focused. His hands held her hips as he thrust, deep and steady, hitting that spot low and forward. Pressure built in waves. Yu bit her lip, trying to keep the rhythm, trying to keep the sound in her throat–

But it escaped anyway.

A soft, gasping moan. High-pitched. Unplanned.

Her eyes widened.

Damn it.

She laughed too loud, too quick and glanced back over her shoulder.

“Oof. Okay, that one slipped. Careful, Romeo. I might start thinking you’re good at this.”

But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile.

He just kept going same pace, same depth and leaned in closer, lips brushing against her ear.

“I want to hear more,” he whispered.

That stopped her breath short.

Her arms trembled. Her comeback stuck halfway in her throat.

He shifted his angle slightly and… there.

Her voice cracked again. A sharp, helpless sound that turned into something wetter. Realer.

She clenched the sheets beneath her, jaw tight.

Stop. Take control. Tease him back. Say something. Say something.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” she muttered, trying to toss her hair back over her shoulder. “You always–hnngh–pull this shit when I–”

Another thrust. Another hit against that same spot.

Another sound spilled out of her before she could shut it down. Too soft. Too raw.

She hated how easy he made it. How gentle he was. How he never demanded anything and somehow still got everything.

Her hands curled around the sheets. Her mouth opened, but no jokes came out. Just breath. Just need.

And he kept moving, never faster. Just deeper.

The way she was starting to shake, her control slipping inch by inch wasn’t part of the plan. It never was.

So she pushed him.

With a breathless laugh and a flick of her wrist, Yu slipped out of his hold and straddled him, palms pressed to his chest.

“Hey now,” she purred, tossing her hair back as she rocked her hips down slow. “That was cute, but don’t think you get to run the show.”

His cock was still thick, hard, still so deep inside her.

She ground down with practiced ease, eyes half-lidded, mouth curling into a grin. “You earned this,” she said, voice low and sultry. “So just relax. I’ll have you coming in seconds.”

She moved her hips in tight, slow circles deliberate, confident. The angle was perfect. She had control again.

For a moment.

Then he thrust up slowly, deep gripping her hips and holding her there. Not tight. Not forceful. Just enough to stay connected. To stay close.

Her body shuddered.

Goddamn him.

His eyes stayed on her, warm and steady. Watching her, not just her body, but her.

She cursed him silently. Not harshly. Just… annoyed. Confused.

Why couldn’t he just be selfish?

Why couldn’t he use her the way she offered herself?

Why couldn’t he fuck her fast, rough, stupid?

Why did he keep doing this, making her feel good?

She bit his shoulder. He groaned, held her closer.

She leaned in and whispered filth in his ear, voice dripping with sin.

He only kissed her jaw. Whispered her name like it meant something.

She clenched around him, tried to set a brutal rhythm, but he moved with her, not against. Matched her. Held her. Caught her when her legs trembled and her rhythm faltered.

And she hated how her head tipped back. How her moans lost their edge. How her nails dug into his arms not for effect, but because she was actually losing it.

By the time it ended, she collapsed onto his chest, drenched in sweat and breathless, heart hammering like she'd run a marathon.

He looked up at her, chest rising and falling, green eyes soft and unreadable. His mouth opened just barely.

She kissed him.

A deep, open-mouthed kiss meant to shut him up.

When she pulled away, she gave him a grin lazy, sultry, and practiced.

“Well?” she whispered, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. “That the best you’ve ever had, or what?”

He blinked. Then chuckled, that same warm, boyish laugh that made her teeth clench.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it was.”

She dropped onto him fully, resting her cheek against his chest. His arms wrapped around her like muscle memory.

A slow, unconscious squeeze.

He exhaled, body relaxing beneath her.

Within minutes, he was asleep.

And her?

Eyes wide open. Staring at the ceiling. The smile gone. Her face unreadable.

She could feel his breath against her shoulder soft and steady, the way it always was after he finished. One arm was still draped loosely across her waist, not possessive or clinging, just... there. Familiar. Like it belonged.

She didn’t move.

There was no reason to. It wasn’t like she was uncomfortable. Her skin was still warm from the afterglow, her thighs sticky and sore in a way that should’ve been satisfying. Should’ve been enough.

And yet.

She lay there, silent, the same way she always did, waiting for something to fade that never quite did. It didn’t feel like a transaction anymore. It never really did, not with him. That was the part she hated most.

Because it felt like something else.

Something soft.

Something dangerous.

It felt like being wanted. Like being cared for. Like she mattered.

She let out a quiet scoff, breath catching at the back of her throat. A part of her wanted to blame it on the lingering heat in her chest. The other part knew better.

You let it happen again, that voice whispered inside her. You let it feel good. You let him hold you like you were something worth holding.

Her fingers curled slowly into the bedsheet. She tried to rationalize it, to drag herself back to the surface. It was just sex. That’s all. Physical release. Chemistry. He had a big cock, a sweet voice, strong hands, who wouldn’t melt under that? Her reactions were natural. Biological. Nothing deeper than a well-oiled machine responding to good friction.

But the voice didn’t let up.

This wasn’t about her feeling good. This wasn’t about mutual satisfaction. This was about value. About debt. About keeping herself needed.

She’d offered her body to keep herself relevant. That was the truth. Not romance. Not affection. Just survival, dressed in lingerie and confidence.

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

It wasn’t like she’d forgotten how it started.

She was the one who showed up to his door.

Two years ago, everything had started to fall apart. Her agency had stopped calling. Sponsors pulled out. Her PR team had ghosted her overnight, and when she tried to schedule appearances, the silence on the other end of the phone made her stomach twist. She watched her name slide off the charts, watched younger, newer heroes steal headlines while hers got buried under nostalgic retrospectives and out-of-context soundbites.

“Whatever happened to Mt. Lady?” one host joked on a daytime panel. “She still doing that size-change gimmick? Cute.”

She was thirty-six and had become a footnote.

And so she acted.

High heels, red lips, bodycon dress cut high on the thigh and low at the chest. She walked into his penthouse like she belonged there, like she wasn’t already drowning. Her smile was perfect. Her voice syrupy and teasing. She tilted her head just enough to seem coy.

“You want a woman in your bed,” she had told him. “I want my name back in the headlines. Let’s help each other out.”

She remembered the way his eyes widened, the way he hesitated, like he couldn’t quite believe she was offering herself to him.

Like she wasn’t already gone.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t push. He didn’t even smile.

He just nodded.

And maybe that was the worst part. How easy it was. Like he’d already said yes in his head before she finished speaking.

He’d wanted her. She knew that.

Back then, he’d been younger, still settling into the weight of being number one. Still starry-eyed, even when trying not to be. She saw it on his face. Saw the want. Saw the way he looked at her legs. Her chest. Her lips. He tried to hide it, but not well enough.

So she pressed her advantage. Slipped into his bed. Made herself useful.

And now here they were. Two years later. Still doing the same dance.

Only now, he kissed her like she mattered. Held her like she was breakable. Fucked her like it was for her, not for him.

And she hated it.

Not because it hurt.

Because it didn’t.

Because it felt good.

And it was never supposed to.

She could feel him start to stir behind her just the faintest shift of breath, the twitch of a hand along her waist. His fingers flexed once, like he remembered she was there and didn’t want to let go.

She let her expression shift as naturally as breath. Her face softened. Her lips curved. Her body adjusted like she was just waking too, not lying there for nearly an hour, staring through the dark like it owed her answers.

"Hey," she murmured, warm and sultry, twisting in his hold until she was half facing him. "You alright, babe?"

His eyes blinked open, hazy and still half-asleep. He blinked again, then smiled, sheepish.

"Yeah. Sorry. Did I wake you?"

She smiled, all flirt and lazy affection, and leaned in to press a kiss to the edge of his jaw. "Mmm, no. Just enjoying the afterglow." She gave him a look half teasing, half invitation. "Unless you wanna add to it?"

He stiffened at the implication, the familiar stammer already rising in his throat. "Y-Yu, I mean, we–I'm not sure if you’re still, uh, tired, or–"

She didn’t wait for him to finish.

Her hand slid down his stomach, smooth and slow, until her fingers rested just above his growing length. She felt the twitch beneath her palm and let out a low hum, tilting her head.

"The other guy doesn’t talk this much," she teased, voice thick with mischief. Her hand gave the barest stroke, just enough to make him gasp quietly. "He’s always honest with me."

Izuku swallowed hard, his breath catching. She could already feel him reacting, hips tensing under the sheets.

She leaned over, lips brushing his ear. "You gonna let him speak for you again, sweetheart?"

Before he could stammer out another word, she was already shifting, swinging her leg over to straddle him. Her body moved with ease, practiced and fluid, like slipping back into heels she wore every day.

She rolled her hips forward once, letting his cock press against her, not yet inside—just a promise.

His hands went to her thighs instinctively. She smiled down at him, sultry and in control, her hair falling to one side as she leaned in closer.

"I’ll take the lead this time," she whispered. "You’ve earned it."

And so she did.

For the next few hours, she gave him what he wanted, what she told herself he wanted. She rode him at a pace that let him moan and gasp beneath her, coaxing every reaction with her body, her voice, her lips on his skin. She whispered filthy things, praised him, teased him, told him what to do, and took what she needed.

Her rhythm never faltered. Every movement was deliberate.

Every sound she made, controlled.

This was her domain. Her trade.

She curled her fingers in his hair when he got too soft. Bit his shoulder when he tried to slow down. Held his gaze when he tried to close his eyes.

And he let her.

By the time it ended, his body was limp—boneless beneath her, breathless, dazed, exactly how she needed him.

She collapsed beside him, not gracefully, not in triumph, but because she had nothing left to give. Her muscles ached, her lungs still burned. She threw a leg over his, curled into his warmth, and exhaled like it meant something.

When his arm came around her again, gentle and sure, she didn’t flinch.

Couldn’t.

She was too tired.

Let him be soft. Let him be kind.

Just for now.

If she held still long enough, maybe this would feel like a win.

Even if the only thing she had left was pretending.

—

Days passed without incident.

Well, no major incident. A few scattered fights, a failed villain protest downtown, and the usual patrol rotations. The city was tense, twitchy. Word had gotten around that Trigger was surfacing again…not in its perfected form, but something messier. Cruder. It spread like mold in the corners of old buildings, synthetic offshoots flooding the underground with copycat batches and desperate, mutated users.

But the world spun on.

And Mt. Lady?

Still trending.

Her face lit up on digital billboards near train stations. Her ass lit up on a dozen edits below it. She’d seen the headlines float across her phone screen on the way to the operation briefing:

“Mt. Lady: Heroic Comeback or Deku’s Bedroom Project?”

“She’s Got Legs (and Apparently Izuku Midoriya)”

“Who’s Funding Her New Gear? Hint: It’s Green and Wears Gloves.”

She smiled, like always. Even tapped the like button on one of the thirst edits someone tagged her in, a slowed-down clip of her flipping her hair after last week’s joint operation, set to sultry music, with comments ranging from "Mommy???" to "Deku’s so lucky it hurts."

Theories. Jokes. A few hits dangerously close to home.

But this wasn’t the time.

Now wasn’t about her smile, or her ass, or whose sheets she ended up in.

Now was work.

The ops center was buzzing when she arrived sterile white walls lined with touchscreens and tactical schematics. Dozens of heroes clustered around digital displays, murmuring about shipment schedules and injection points. Trigger was on everyone’s minds. Not the version that warped civilians into monsters during the war, but its weaker, street-sold cousin. A chemical cocktail passed between shaky hands in alleys and backdoors, spliced together by small time labs that didn’t know what they were playing with.

And yet the side effects were the same: surging power. Diminished control. Temporary strength that tore through buildings before it tore through bone.

The mission was simple on paper.

Infiltrate. Shut down distribution. Secure samples. Interrogate anyone breathing.

In practice, nothing ever stayed simple.

The room was packed with heavy names. Some new. Some old.

Shoto stood by the board, already in a quiet argument with Dynamight over deployment routes. Red Riot laughed at something Cellophane said across the table, but even he looked tense beneath it.

And further back, Best Jeanist and Edgeshot were murmuring over data pads like the veterans they were.

Ryukyu gave her a small wave as Yu passed by. She returned it with a nod, light but professional. It was strange, sometimes seeing herself among the old guard, not the fresh blood.

And then,

Of course.

The center of the room.

The one person every head turned toward when strategy got stuck. The one voice that broke through uncertainty like a blade.

Deku.

Izuku Midoriya stood near the tactical map, arms folded, listening intently as someone updated the estimated shipment window. His jacket was unzipped, exposing the compression suit underneath still clean, for now. The green in his hair looked darker under the ceiling lights, but his eyes were just as bright. Focused. Steady.

The number one hero. Unshakable. Reliable. Everything the world wanted.

And the man the world had decided she belonged to.

She stepped into the circle of voices without hesitation, her heels clacking lightly against the floor. A few younger pros glanced her way, one of them nudged another, whispering behind a hand.

She smiled. Big. Warm. Polished. The kind that showed teeth.

The detective leading the operation entered seconds later, coat trailing behind him as he motioned for the projection feed to update. He wasted no time, laid out the objective clean, clipped, and concise. The location was a former cargo lot two clicks outside city limits. Dilapidated, low surveillance, and just rural enough that no one would question noise in the dead of night.

The op was split into five strike teams. Routes were marked. Entry points assigned.

Everyone’s role fell into place.

Yu’s was clear and simple: front-line devastation. Break the walls. Cause the panic. Open the path.

She was the tip of the spear.

"Word is, there's one quirk-enhanced brute in the mix," the detective added, tapping a photo on the board a grainy image of a tall man, thick arms, reinforced bone visible beneath skin. "Usually caps out at the size of two heavy trucks. But with even a partial Trigger dose…"

The room didn’t need the rest of the sentence.

Yu gave a sharp nod. “If he gets big, I get bigger.”

A few chuckles around the room. Not mocking. Just tension relief.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was hers. The role she carved, the role she owned.

Until:

A voice cut through the buzz. Confident. Grating.

“Do we even need a size queen for this?”

The room went still.

A new face. Fresh suit, flashy colors, Splicefire, if she remembered right. Public darling, quirk with high visual impact. Heat and chroma manipulation. Blew up on HeroTube last year. His debut merch already outsold some mid-tier veterans.

He stood near the back with arms crossed, too relaxed for someone who hadn’t seen real field hell yet.

“I mean, what’s she gonna do, step on the crates and call it a day?” he smirked. “Unless that’s what she’s good for.”

“I mean, she’s trending, sure,” the rookie said, loud enough to cut through the room, arms casually crossed like he hadn’t just tossed a grenade. “But is that because of her quirk or because she’s Deku’s favorite MILF?”

Eyes turned. Slowly. Some with confusion. Others with instant, sharp understanding.

He shrugged, all smug and smirking. “I’m just saying..it’s not hard to stay relevant when you’ve got the number one hero funding your gear. Makes you wonder what she’s really bringing to the table. Or the bedroom.”

The room chilled by a few degrees.

Yu didn’t blink.

She turned her head, slow and deliberate, the smile spreading across her lips like velvet stretched tight.

“Aw,” she cooed, voice dipped in honeyed condescension, “You sound jealous.”

The guy’s smirk twitched. Her tone stayed light.

“Nobody spread theirs for you lately?” she asked, tilting her head. “Or are you just mad it takes a rumor about me on my knees to get your name mentioned in the same breath as his?”

That got a few real reactions.

Red Riot nearly choked. Sero let out a low “oof.” Someone in the back muttered damn.

She let the silence simmer a second longer.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she added, with mock pity and just enough curl in her lip to sting. “One day, you might even be good enough to make someone fake it for you.”

His mouth opened, red creeping up his neck

“Oi,” Dynamight snapped from across the room, arms folded, scowl twice as lethal. “Shut the fuck up.”

Everyone turned.

Dynamight didn’t even look at Yu. His eyes were locked on Splicefire like a target.

“If anyone here’s a liability, it’s you,” he went on, voice flat, low. “You torched two blocks ‘cause you forgot civilians exist. You showboated on a hostage raid and almost got your partner shot. And now you wanna come in here and mouth off like you’ve earned the right to ask who’s needed ?”

Splicefire flinched. Barely, but it was there.

“Grow the fuck up. Or get out.”

The silence after that was dense and solid.

Splicefire said nothing. Just dropped his gaze and clenched his jaw.

She smirked until he looked away. Until the laughter faded.

Then, quietly, she exhaled.

—

A few hours had passed since the meeting wrapped. Heroes filed out in pairs or solo, returning to their agencies, apartments, or wherever they were stashed for the week. Plans were set. Teams aligned. Friday was locked.

Yu’s boots echoed through the hall, arms lazily swinging at her sides. Her body ached, not from fighting, but from standing too long in her own shoes. She was already fantasizing about her bathtub. A long soak. A bottle of wine. Some trashy show where she wasn’t trending in the background.

Her schedule floated through her thoughts like clutter she couldn’t shove off her desk: an interview in two days, the raid after that, then a fan meet-up in two weeks, handshakes, photo ops, and perfectly filtered smiles.

The interview made her pause.

Technically, the invitation had been for her. Technically.  

But even buried beneath corporate flattery, the subtext flashed like neon:

“It would be a dream if Deku could tag along…”

That was the game now, wasn’t it?

Not just Mt. Lady.

Not just a hero.

A maybe. A what if. A possible gateway to the Number One.

The fantasy every station and showrunner clung to: Maybe, just maybe, she could get him to show up. Say yes. Sit beside her. Double the ratings overnight. Ratings, reach, retweets.

She sighed as she pushed through the double doors of the building.

She was used to it.

Still stung, though.

Getting the green-haired golden boy to appear on a talk show wasn’t something she could force. Not unless she sweetened the deal. Asked just right. Or offered…

Her heel clicked against pavement.

…Sex?

The bitter little voice in her head chuckled. 

Sure. That always worked, didn’t it?

She was already letting him between her legs to keep the lights on. Already letting him hold her after like it meant something. What else could she sell?

And if she offered again, this time with a please and a booking request. Would he even say yes?

Or would he look at her with those soft, stupid eyes again, like he cared too much to take advantage, and then leave anyway?

A voice cut through her spiral.

“Hey.”

She turned.

There he was.

Still in full hero gear. Leaning on the wall like he’d been waiting. City lights caught in his hair. The collar of his costume half undone. Gloves off. Smile blooming the second she saw him.

Deku.

Her mask slid into place without thinking.

Frown gone. Posture shifted. Shoulders tilted. Smile lazy.

“Well, hey there,” she greeted, voice breezy, flirt biting at the edge. “Didn’t know I had a fan waiting for autographs.”

He pushed off the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just figured… you were done, too. Thought I’d walk you home.”

She tilted her head, teasing smile in place. “Is that it? Or are you angling for another round?” Her tone was all lilt and curve, every syllable dipped in play.

His face flushed. “Wh–No! I wasn’t–! I just thought, you know… since we’re both..”

She laughed. Almost real.

Almost.

She stepped in, arms slipping around his shoulders. Close enough to feel his breath.

“I’m not opposed,” she whispered at his ear. “That was the deal, right?”

She felt his breath hitch.

And then…

That look.

Warm. Gentle. Like he wanted to say something.

Something kind.

Something real.

She hated that look.

Yu pulled back immediately, turned on a heel with a smirk and a toss of her hair. The mask stayed.

“You gonna stand there and ogle my ass,” she called over her shoulder, “or walk me home like you promised?”

—

She could already imagine the headlines. The clips.

“Spotted: Mt. Lady and Deku, walking home together after top-secret mission—lovers or teammates?”

She tilted her head just slightly, lips curling at nothing. If people wanted to believe she had her nails sunk into Japan’s golden boy, let them. It kept her name warm.

But even then, beneath the image she painted, their eyes kept moving.

Subtle sweeps. Habitual glances.

Checking rooftops. Counting alley mouths. Reading every shift in the sidewalk crowd.

Hero instincts didn’t clock out, even when the cameras did.

Still, she kept the smile on. Kept her voice light.

“So,” she started, glancing at him out the corner of her eye. “That kid today. Loud one. Pretty brave calling me out in a room full of top tens. Think he wanted attention or just a slap?”

Izuku gave a breath of a laugh. “Maybe both.”

“Mmh.” She smirked. “Too bad I save that kind of punishment for people who ask nicely.”

He flushed immediately. Of course he did.

She leaned in, bumping her hip against his. “Relax, babe. Just teasing.”

He cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry, I..uh–I just thought he was really out of line.”

“Aw,” she cooed. “Protecting my honor?”

“I just don’t like it when people talk about you like that,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re… a good person. A great hero.”

She paused.

For a second, the smile almost cracked.

But only for a second.

“You’re sweet,” she said, brushing her hair back. “And totally biased. I mean, we’ve done things.” Her tone dipped low, suggestive. “Lots of things. It’d be weird if you didn’t like me a little after all that.”

He looked away, ears pink. “That’s not why. I just…I like being with you. That’s all.”

There it was again.

That look. That softness.

She clicked her tongue. “Careful. You keep saying stuff like that, I might start thinking I’m more than just a warm mouth on your cock.”

“Yuu…”

“I’m kidding,” she said, waving it off with a grin before he could say something too earnest again. “Relax. I know the line.”

They walked a bit more, silence stretching between them like elastic. Not uncomfortable. Just taut.

Then,

“OH MY GOD!”

Both of them turned fast, but it was just a girl, barely twenty, bouncing on her heels with wide, glittering eyes and an armful of merch: keychains, folders, a plushie of Deku, and a Mt. Lady acrylic stand missing one arm.

“I love you two!” she beamed, nearly tripping over herself as she stepped in front of them. “Like seriously! You’re my favorite heroes!”

Yu’s smile returned with ease. “Well, aren’t you sweet,” she purred. “You want a picture, sweetheart?”

“Can I?! Please?! Oh my god, I don’t have my camera, but I..wait, no, I do!” She fumbled with her phone, still squealing.

Izuku blinked. “Of course. Happy to.”

They stood close, the fan between them, snapping a few quick photos. Yu adjusted her hair, leaned in, smiled wide. Picture-perfect.

Then came the question.

Innocent. Sweet.

“So, are you guys, like… together?”

Yu blinked.

So did Izuku.

Then she laughed, looping her arm through his with practiced grace. “We could be,” she said, all flirt and shine, “but this golden boy keeps turning me down.”

Izuku chuckled softly, a little awkward. “We’re good friends. Coworkers.”

The girl giggled. “You’d be cute together.”

And just like that, she was gone off to post her pictures, to feed the algorithm another headline-ready fantasy.

Yu’s arm lingered in his a moment longer before she let go. Her smile still stayed on, even as the fan bounced off into the distance, already tapping excitedly at her phone no doubt uploading that picture with a caption full of emojis and theories. Something about them being a couple, followed by speculations of her being “Deku’s girl,” probably. Or his sugar baby. Or his MILF.

Always something.

She leaned a little closer, letting her body bump softly against his. Her arm looped tighter around his, drawing his attention without forcing it.

“Hey,” she said, casual. Too casual. “You know I’ve got that interview coming up in a few days, right? That agency talk-show thing. One of those legacy and contribution deep-dives they pretend is for pro-hero awareness.”

Izuku glanced at her. “Yeah, I heard. That’s the one with Hana Kurosawa, right? She’s pretty good.”

Yu snorted. “Pretty dull, you mean. But yeah. They’re gonna ask about my career, my legacy, how it feels to be a ‘mature’ woman in the hero business. All that usual fluff.”

He gave a polite smile, already sensing the wind-up. Yu tilted her head toward him, just enough to make her voice drop playfully low.

“You know, if you swung by…even for the last segment, people would go nuts. Could really boost their viewership.” She squeezed his arm a little. “Might even boost mine.”

Izuku blinked, caught off guard. “You want me to come?”

“Just for the tail end,” she said with a grin. “Wave to the cameras, smile a little. Be the golden boy you were born to be.”

He hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck, expression apologetic. “I don’t really do interviews unless I have to. You know that.”

She kept the smile on. Brighter this time. Coy.

“I could wear your favorite,” she offered lightly. “Let you finish in my mouth a few times…deep. You know I’m good for it.”

His face went scarlet. “Yuu! You don’t have to…I mean…You don’t need to go that far.”

But I can , she thought.

And I will.

It’s all I’ve got left to offer.

Instead, she just laughed and waved it off like a dirty joke.

He glanced down at her, softening. “You’ll do fine without me. You’re incredible, Yuu. You don’t need me there for people to see that. I believe in you.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Something in those words hit just a little too clean. Like they slipped beneath her costume, beneath the lingerie, beneath the act and brushed against something real.

You’re incredible.

You’ll do fine.

For a second, she almost believed him.

But then the thought followed, fast and familiar: belief didn’t pay bills. Faith didn’t fund her agency. Hope didn’t keep her name trending.

Only proximity to power did.

She laughed. Light. Easy.

“If you keep saying things like that,” she said, nudging him with her elbow, “I might actually fall for you.”

Izuku chuckled, flustered again. “I’m just being honest.”

“That’s what worries me,” she muttered under her breath, too quiet for him to hear.

They kept walking. Side by side, the noise of the city thinning the closer they got to her place. A few people passed them, some glanced, none interrupted. For once.

Minutes passed.

When they reached her street, she pointed up ahead. “This is me.”

Izuku stopped with her, hands slipping into his jacket pockets. The way he always did when he wasn’t sure how to leave something on a warm note.

“Good luck on the interview,” he said, smiling gently. “You’ll do great. Just… be yourself.”

She blinked.

Then gave him a grin, soft and lazy. “You’re sweet.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

She waved him off, turned toward her building with an extra sway in her hips. He didn’t comment, didn’t catcall…just watched, then finally turned the other way. She waited until he was around the corner before her smile dropped.

The quiet settled instantly, no more footsteps, no more warmth beside her. Just streetlamps buzzing faintly and the ache behind her knees.

Then came the silence. The kind that pressed on her chest as she unlocked her door.

Her  door clicked behind her with a dull thud. She leaned against it, eyes fluttering shut, heels still on.

Tiring.

Everything was so damn tiring.

She toed her shoes off, set her bag aside, and padded to the bathroom. Lights on. Mirror bright. She pulled off her earrings, unclasped her necklace. Then she reached for the wipes.

One stroke. Then another. Mascara gone. Eyeliner faded. Lip tint smeared and stripped.

Bit by bit, Mt. Lady came off.

The water ran while she undressed, steam curling into the corners of the room. She tied her hair up loosely, then stepped into the bath.

Heat lapped at her skin, and for the first time today, she sighed.

This… this was hers.

The stillness. The warmth. The privacy.

She sank low into the water until it lapped her collarbone. Closed her eyes. Tried to feel nothing.

But even peace had a timer.

When her skin started to wrinkle, she stepped out, towel slung around her body. Hair damp. Skin flushed. She wiped the mirror and stared.

Then reached for her phone.

She shouldn’t have. But she did.

And there it was already viral.

That fan photo.

Her and Izuku and that poor girl sandwiched between them, grinning from ear to ear like she was witnessing a real couple. Comments swarmed the post, a hive buzzing, everyone with something to say:

“God she’s lucky. Deku’s MILF confirmed?? 🔥🔥🔥”

“Power couple tbh.”

“I bet he funds her whole career lmao.”

“Mount Lady still so hot. I’d let her crush me fr.”

“You think she only made it this far cause she’s got him between her legs?”

“Don’t care what anyone says, she’s always been cool.”

“Wait, are they ACTUALLY dating?”

“Imagine waking up to that every day. Deku’s winning.”

“Kinda sad she’s clinging so hard to relevance tho.”

Every line was a different kind of sting.

Romance. Perversion. Mockery. Sympathy. Judgment. Worship. Dismissal.

But they all had one thing in common.

Him.

She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the lock button.

Then she dropped it on the counter and looked up.

She wiped the mirror. Stared.

No lashes. No lipstick. No power pose. Just skin and bare eyes and an ache behind her ribs.

This was her. Just Yu.

And it wasn’t enough.

His voice played again in her head soft, warm, like a blanket she didn’t deserve

“You’ll do fine. Just be yourself.”

Herself?

What a joke.

If it was just her, they wouldn’t have asked for the interview. Wouldn’t have taken the picture. Wouldn’t have clicked or tagged or commented. Wouldn’t have given her the time of day.

The numbers didn’t spike when it was just Mt. Lady.

They spiked when Deku was in frame.

She clenched the towel tighter around her.

She wished she hated him.

Wished she could call him cruel, or calculating, or shallow. Wished he was the kind of man who took what she gave and never looked back.

But he wasn’t.

He was kind. Gentle. Honest.

He looked at her like she mattered.

She’d rather he didn’t.

—

A few days had passed. Enough time for the dust to settle. For the numbers to come in. For the applause to die down.

The interview?

Fine.

Decent viewership. Solid reception. Comments praising her charm, her wit, her experience. Everything she was supposed to be.

It should have felt good.

But it didn’t.

Because the numbers hadn’t spiked for her.

She’d gone alone, hair blown out, lips glossy, her best blazer and best lines, but the moment her segment ended, the hosts had shifted gears. The clip was everywhere now.

“You and Deku seem pretty close these days–”

“Any truth to those late night rendezvous?”

“Is it professional? Or a little more…personal?”

“Come on, you gotta give us something, Mt. Lady. The fans are dying.”

They grinned. She played along. Teased. Flirted. Gave just enough of a smile to keep it fun.

And that was the part the internet ran with. Deku’s Favorite MILF. Couple Goals. She’s So Real For This.

The numbers? Surged.

Not because of her legacy. Not because of her accomplishments. But because of a maybe. A rumor.

Because Deku’s name was next to hers.

The next day, her PR team practically foamed at the mouth.

Finances looked great. Merch sales were steady. Engagement was high. But—of course—they had notes.

“You know what’d really push this higher? Couple branding.”

“Limited merch drop. Mt. Lady x Deku, Hero Power, Bedroom Power.”

“Or a panel! Fans love panels. You in his lap, maybe a kiss on the cheek”

“Hell, we don’t even need the real thing. Just imply it. Let the audience do the rest.”

“Get him to post one photo. Tag you. Boom.”

She kept smiling. Always smiling.

“He’s not mine to sell,” she told them, voice syrup-smooth. “But you’re welcome to ask.”

They laughed. She didn’t.

Because she knew the answer already.

And where was she now?

Oh, you know.

Just thriving in the middle of the damn ocean fighting a roided out muscle freak who stabbed himself with a copycat Trigger dose and now stood almost as tall as she did. Almost. His head barely reached her chest. But hey, props for effort.

The mission to stop the latest wave of illegal Trigger sales had mostly gone smoothly. Raids hit all across the coastline. Dozens arrested. Cargo seized.

She? Got the flashy one. Big, angry, and dumb enough to punch a boat in half.

They fought out in the surf, each blow spraying salt and foam, her footing slipping once, maybe twice. She had a bruise somewhere. Her nose might be broken.

But she was winning.

And when she slammed him hard enough to crater the shallow seabed and tossed him to shore like wet garbage, she could hear it.

Cheers.

Applause.

Her name.

It'd been a while since she heard it like that.

Loud. Proud. Carried by the wind like it used to.

She stood there towering, panting, dripping with salt and sweat and waved. Smiled. For once, the smile meant something.

For once, it felt like hers.

Until, of course

BOOM.

A sonic crash of wind and earth not far off, and just like that cheers turned. Eyes turned. Cameras turned.

Her moment cracked open like a shell.

Deku arrived.

The No. 1 Hero finished his part of the operation with a spectacular airborne takedown that sent tremors through the beach. Dust. Flash. A villain pinned in a crater. Cameras clicked from the cliffs.

The crowd turned.

So did the headlines.

She stayed crouched in the shallows, chest heaving, seawater clinging to her skin. The echoes of her name faded as his replaced it. Again.

He turned to her, breathing hard. Concern in his voice.

“You okay?”

She looked up at him.

And smiled.

Bright. Carefree. Practiced.

“I’m touched, babe,” she called, voice playful. “Didn’t know you cared.”

She winked.

Even as the salt stung her busted lip.

Even as the tide took what little applause was left of her.

—

A few hours passed. The sun dipped low behind the shattered skyline, casting long shadows over a battlefield already halfway cleared.

The operation was a win, technically.

The medics buzzed through what was left of the staging ground, field tents, collapsed barricades, and the throb of distant camera shutters. Some heroes smiled for the press, blood still drying on their suits. Others gave statements. A few, like Splicefire, stormed off, boots crunching debris, face twisted in humiliation after his explosive misfire took out more sidewalk than villain.

Yu?

She sat on a folding cot beside a medic’s table, holding an ice pack to her cheek. Her nose wasn’t broken anymore. A quick Quirk assisted patch up did the trick. But the bruising would linger. And the dull throb behind her brow would make damn sure she felt it.

“No fieldwork for at least three days,” the medic had told her. “And stay out of saltwater.”

“Sure,” she said. “Doctor’s orders. Promise.”

She didn’t mean it.

But she was already dreaming of her couch. Of warm bathwater and wine she couldn’t taste. She’d pawn the paperwork off to her office team. That was what they were paid for, right?

She deserved rest.

Deserved to feel human again.

“Hey.”

The voice cut through the buzz around her. Familiar. Soft.

She turned.

There he was, walking toward her still in full gear, dirt streaking his arms, curls damp with sweat. He slowed as he reached her, hands in his pockets, concern flickering behind those green eyes.

“Hey,” she greeted, slipping a smile on her face. “Came to check on your goods? I’m still alive. Still beautiful. Can’t complain.”

He smiled faintly but his eyes said something else. Something tired.

“I just came from over there,” he said, jerking a thumb behind him.

She followed the motion.

A cluster of familiar figures gathered around Ryukyu, Red Riot laughing beside Dynamight, Uravity sipping water as she leaned into Froppy’s shoulder. Some waved her way. Ryukyu caught her eye and gestured—you coming?

“I got the invite,” Yu said, leaning back with a smirk. “Ryukyu tried. But my sofa’s calling. And after the day I’ve had? I think I’m gonna answer.”

Izuku nodded, quiet.

“Yeah. I said no too,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… not in the mood, I guess. Big crowd, lots of noise. Not really feeling it right now.”

That made her pause.

“…Wait. Then why are you here?”

She narrowed her eyes, playful suspicion on her lips.

“Don’t tell me you came all the way over just to–”

“I was wondering,” he said, cutting gently through her tease, “if you’d rather come to my place instead.”

Yu blinked.

“…Oh?”

“We could order something,” he continued. “Takeout. Junk food. Whatever’s easy. I’ve got drinks in the fridge. We don’t have to talk about anything. Just… hang out. Just us.”

She stared at him.

Then leaned in, head tilting, voice teasing.

“So what, no crowd, just the two of us?” she said, lips curving. “Should I be flattered, or is this just you buttering me up for round two in your shower?”

He flushed, like he always did.

“No–no, I wasn’t–I didn’t mean..” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just… didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

His voice was smaller now. Real.

“But I didn’t want a party, either. Just… company, I guess. Someone I could sit beside and not have to talk over. Stuff our faces. Complain about bruises.”

Yu didn’t answer at first.

She just looked at him.

The way his eyes didn’t drift, the way his hands stayed in his pockets. No lingering touches. No bedroom eyes.

He was just tired.

And maybe…just maybe…he meant it this time.

No hero names. No rumors. No spotlights. Just two people. Just a couch.

She exhaled.

And smiled.

“…Yeah,” she said softly. “That sounds lovely.”

Hours passed.

People returned to their homes, their beds, their routines. Patrols handed off. Reports filed. Tokyo’s ever-buzzing skyline blinked a little slower tonight.

And for once, nothing demanded their attention.

Yu made herself right at home.

Feet tucked under her, hoodie too big for her shoulders, his hoodie, actually, stretched and faded from too many washes. She was loud, animated, mouth full of fries as she pointed at the screen.

“Why would you leave the room?!” she barked. “You’re literally safe. You have salt, sage, a circle of protection and your idiot ass goes outside?! Are you trying to die?!”

Izuku laughed, nearly choking on his slice of pizza.

“You’re really into this, huh?”

She shot him a look, cheeks puffed out as she chewed. “They’re stupid, Izuku. I get panic. I get trauma. But this dude is calm. He had every opportunity to not die..and then boom. Gets himself full on ghost curb stomped.”

Right on cue, the poor fictional soul got hit by a spectral van or something equally gruesome.

She jabbed a finger at the screen. “See?! That’s what you get for not respecting the wards!”

Izuku nearly fell over laughing.

“Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m never stepping out of a salt circle again.”

“Damn right, you won’t.” She grumbled and shoved the rest of her burger into her mouth.

The room smelled like takeout. Grease, cola, something vaguely burnt from the fries. The TV played on, flickering against the walls. Her body had started to relax, slumped sideways into the couch, her head close to his shoulder.

Izuku looked good like this.

No gear. No gloves. Just shorts, a loose t-shirt with sleepwear kanji on the chest, and that easy smile he didn’t often get to wear. She'd seen it before, sure, but it always hit her differently when he wasn’t tangled in sheets. When he wasn’t flushed from release. When the soft moments weren't part of a transaction.

This one wasn’t either.

That was what made it worse.

She watched him laugh at something dumb the ghost did on screen. Her burger sat forgotten in her lap.

Her mouth opened before she could stop it.

“…Hey.”

He looked at her. The smile didn’t fade. Not yet.

“Yeah?”

And for once, she didn’t smile back.

“Why me?”

His brows knit. “Huh?”

Yu shifted on the couch, turning toward him more fully. The movie played on, forgotten, the volume a soft hum under the tension that had just taken shape.

“You could’ve asked anyone tonight,” she said. Her voice wasn’t biting or dramatic. Just… plain. “After the raid. The drinks. You could’ve gone to any one of them.”

Izuku blinked. “I… I didn’t want to be around a lot of people.”

“I know,” she said. “But still. You have people. Friends. People who make sense.”

He frowned, confused. “You don’t?”

She tilted her head, like she was genuinely considering that. Then: “I’m not exactly the go to when it comes to quiet, comforting company.”

He opened his mouth probably to say something sweet, but she raised a hand, already ahead of him.

“I’m not fishing,” she said. “Don’t start.” She let out a breath and leaned back against the couch, hoodie sleeves covering her palms. “I’m just… curious. Why me, Deku?”

He blinked again, mouth parting. “Yu, come on. We’re–”

“We’re not friends,” she said.

And though she said it with a small smile, there was no edge. No cruelty. Just fact.

“We’re close. Sure. You see me naked. I laugh at your jokes. Sometimes we order pizza.” She gave a shrug. “But let’s not rewrite the history here. Two years ago, I came to your door and made a pitch. I needed a sponsor. You needed a woman in your bed. That’s the deal.”

Izuku sat still. Quiet.

Yu didn’t look at him. Her gaze drifted to the coffee table. “I opened my legs so I could stay relevant,” she said softly. “And you…” she allowed herself a short laugh. “Well, you were young. Lonely. A little starstruck, maybe. Who knows. Maybe I looked like a fantasy to you.”

He stayed silent, but his eyes were on her.

“And hey,” she continued, still light, still distant, “it worked out. I trended again. Got brand deals. A nice little comeback arc. You got to let off steam. Everyone’s happy, right?”

She finally turned to him. “So don’t complicate it.”

Izuku’s voice was quiet. “I’m not trying to.”

She studied him. Watched the way he rubbed his thumb against his palm. The way he always did when he was holding something back.

“I remember everything,” he said. “The deal. How it started. The way you looked that night when you walked in like it didn’t matter.”

Yu said nothing.

“But it mattered to me,” he added. “Still does.”

Her eyes flickered. A shift. Small. Barely there.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said lightly. “Not to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not the kind of woman you care for, Deku.” She was smiling, but her voice was too calm. Too practiced. “I’m the kind of woman you fuck and fund.”

“That’s not how I see you.”

“Maybe not now,” she said, still holding his gaze. “But at the start? You can’t tell me you weren’t just thinking with your cock.”

Izuku didn’t deny it. He just exhaled, slow and tired.

“I care about you,” he said. “Always have.”

She leaned back against the couch, arms folded. Her lashes lowered.

“…You still didn’t answer the question,” she murmured.

He blinked. “What question?”

“Why me?”

The question settled in the quiet room. The TV flickered on, forgotten. Neither of them looked at it.

Izuku didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropped to the blanket half draped over his lap, the crust of uneaten pizza on the plate between them.

Yu watched him, arms loosely crossed. No smirk. No tilt of the head. She wasn’t teasing.

She was asking.

“I think…” he started, rubbing at the back of his neck, “It’s because I don’t have to be ‘Deku’ when I’m with you.”

She blinked.

“You don’t look at me like I’m supposed to save the world,” he said. “You don’t… expect anything noble or clean. You don’t ask me to say the right things or be better. You just let me be… kind of tired. And maybe a little selfish.”

She tilted her head, lashes low. Then, with a snort

“Yeah, probably because we kept things simple your money, my body. No feelings. That was the deal.”

A beat. Casual and sharp.

Izuku smiled faintly, but didn’t laugh.

“You let me hold you,” he said, voice low.

Yu’s posture stiffened.

Then, eyes rolling, she muttered, “You’re warm. And a good pillow. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Still, he didn’t joke back.

“I like being with you,” he said. “Because you don’t need me to be anything but here.”

Her lips parted just slightly. She turned her head, watching the glow of the screen.

“We fuck so I can use your name,” she said. “Sounds like I need you for something.”

Izuku was quiet.

Then:

“…Then why don’t you ask for more?”

Yu turned her head. Slowly.

“What?”

He didn’t flinch. Just looked at her gently.

“You could’ve asked for anything. Brand deals. Contracts. Hell, a public statement. But you didn’t.”

“You only ever ask for what you think I already planned to give.”

She stayed silent. Her fingers pulled at the frayed hem of the hoodie she wore.

“So why stop there?” he asked. “Why not ask for something that isn’t… a transaction?”

Her throat moved.

But her voice was quiet when it came.

“I already ask for too much.”

Another beat. The kind that tastes like surrender.

Izuku leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.

“You say you’re using me,” he said softly, “but sometimes I wonder if you’re just scared of being owed anything real.”

Yu didn’t answer at first. She held his gaze a moment too long, then looked away.

“And what does more even look like?” she asked. Not quite sharp. But not soft either.

Izuku didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her.

With that same damn look.

The one that made her uncomfortable in ways she hated to admit, because it was soft. And real. And dangerous. It wasn’t the way you looked at someone you paid, or someone you fucked. It was the way you looked at someone you cared about.

She turned her face away, jaw tight.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“…Like what?”

Like I’m not the woman who showed up at your apartment two years ago with a tight smile and a drowning agency. Like I didn’t offer you sex in exchange for sponsorships, gear, press. Like I wasn’t smart enough…practical enough to trade my body for another year in the spotlight.

Because if you keep looking at me like I’m something more, I might actually start to believe I could love you.

And that would be the cruelest thing of all.

Because Mt. Lady was never built to fall for anyone. She was built to sell, to perform, to trend. She made headlines and posters and figurines. She grinned wide, flaunted her ass, winked at cameras, and fought giants. She was the fantasy. The one people wanted to fuck, or follow, or flame.

Yu Takeyama? She was the one who stopped being relevant by twenty-eight.

She was the one who stepped into the No. 1 Hero’s bedroom and offered herself up like a desperate woman trying to be remembered.

And you know what? That first year, it worked.

She made it work.

He needed stress relief. A body to fuck. Someone older, experienced, eager to play the role. And she let you take what you wanted. Her mouth, her cunt, her name. Whatever made the pressure ease a little.

And in return? She got to stay in the public eye a little longer. Her face got on a few more posters. Her agency didn’t fold. The clicks came back. So did the rumors. The edits. The buzz.

Everyone wins, right?

That was the deal. Simple. Uncomplicated.

Until it wasn’t.

Because you stopped treating her like a transaction. You started texting her just to say hi. Asking if she’d eaten. Holding her after sex instead of just rolling off and cleaning up. You started talking to her like she mattered and worse, you started believing it.

And that’s when she started losing control.

Because once it stops being a deal, once feelings start creeping in then there’s something to lose.

And Yu Takeyama does not lose.

If she lets herself fall for you, then what? What’s left when it ends?

She loses the power of Mt. Lady. The mask. The brand. The distance.

She becomes just another woman who stayed too long, gave too much, and got too little in return.

And if you leave…if this all falls apart then she won’t just lose you.

She’ll lose the last person who looked at her like she was worth something without the costume.

And she won’t survive that.

So no, she can’t love you. She won’t.

She’d rather be Mt. Lady.

She’d rather be wanted for her ass and her name and her fuckability than be Yu Takeyama, the has-been hero who fell in love with the one man who made her feel whole.

Because at least Mt. Lady still trends.

Yu Takeyama just begs.

“Like what?” he asked again, quieter now, like he already knew she wouldn’t answer.

Yu Takeyama smiled.

Soft. Sweet. Familiar.

And it killed her.

“Like you’re thinking of either calling me beautiful or hot,” she said lightly, voice slipping into something playful, “and can’t decide which one fits better.”

Izuku blinked.

“Yu…”

She pulled his hoodie tighter around her frame, curling her legs up and tucking her chin as she turned toward the television. “We should go for another movie. Something dumb. Maybe with aliens. You’re overdue for getting the remote thrown at your face.”

She tossed it., not hard, but with enough aim that it tapped the side of his head.

He caught it, reflexive.

Stared at her for a moment. Said nothing.

Then, finally, “Okay.”

He scrolled. Clicked. Some action flick neither of them were really paying attention to. Something loud enough to cover the quiet.

Yu didn’t talk. Just sank into the couch, the cotton of his hoodie pulled up to her nose. Izuku tried to focus on the screen, but his eyes kept flicking her way like he didn’t know if he should touch her again, or if he already said too much.

The silence didn’t sting.

But it lingered.

And when the night finally ended, they found their way to bed. No kisses. No touches that carried weight. Just the warmth of the blankets, and the quiet heaviness of what was left unsaid.

Except this time, she shifted closer without making it a game. Her fingers didn’t flirt when they brushed his arm. Her body didn’t arch when she rolled into him.

She just settled. Let herself sink.

—

Weeks passed.

The world turned as it always did.

Yuu put on her costume. Put on the smile. Put on the flirt.

She stood tall, stepped big, cracked jokes at villains, and took the spotlight like she was born to wear it. Because she was. She is Mt. Lady. And Mt. Lady gets cheers, gets fan cams, gets tagged alongside Japan’s Golden Boy like she belongs.

People talked.

Of course they did.

What are they? Are they sleeping together? Is it just PR? Did she trap him? Is he just another notch on the belt of a has-been hero clinging to relevance?

Some posts called them goals. Others called her a gold digger.

She did it all. Hero work. Press runs. Interviews.

Panels. PR. Podcasts.

Izuku declined most like he always did. But then, one day, he didn’t.

A yes .

He joined her for a merchandise launch. Sat beside her at a panel. Gave a quiet, earnest response to a fan’s question that made headlines for a week. It wasn’t even intimate. It wasn’t even flirty. Just being there beside her was enough to spike numbers, boost sales, pull every eye back onto her like she mattered again.

She looped her arm through his at charity events. Giggled beside him on late-night panels. Called him babe, darling, honey all sugar and no truth, but no one questioned it.

And Izuku?

He let her.

Didn’t pull away. Didn’t correct. Didn’t joke it off.

He showed up to her events. Shared interviews. Collaborated on merch.

Limited edition figure set: Giant Hero Mt. Lady and the Symbol of Peace Reborn.

It sold out in minutes

And the industry noticed.

Talk shows whispered about chemistry. Brands reached out for “couple energy” marketing. Her PR team called it “potential synergy.” Her manager called it gold. Fans called it love.

And others?

They weren’t as kind.

“Mt. Lady clinging to relevancy by riding Deku’s coattails.”

“I’d let Deku fund my gear too if I sucked him off on the regular.”

“She’s too old for him. This is pathetic.”

“Can’t tell if it’s sad or smart. Bed your sponsor, secure the bag.”

  “Not gonna lie, I’d bend over too if it meant Deku shows up at my agency.”

She liked a few of them, even retweeted one with a wink emoji and “A girl’s gotta eat 💅”.

Because Mt. Lady doesn’t cry.

Mt. Lady winks. Wears gloss. Sells tickets.

Mt. Lady wins.

Even if Yu Takeyama, the woman beneath the lashes and the laugh, feels like she’s slowly dissolving into someone else’s spotlight.

But she kept the hoodie.

Wore it to bed more than once.

Then came the juiciest story of them all.

Just one moment.

One tiny, unscripted flicker of something real.

It wasn’t even a full interview. Barely a clip. Less than a minute. But the internet doesn’t care about length only impact.

Deku. Post-fight. Still bloodied and dirt smeared, steam rising faintly from his shoulders. He was standing near the barricade when the press swarmed, as they always did. He smiled through it, calm, courteous, answering what he could.

Then someonem some idiot with a mic and too much confidence cut in with a question meant to go viral.

“Hey, hey Deku! Be honest! Is Mt. Lady as good in bed as she teases?!”

The air snapped.

And for a second, just a second, the whole world saw it.

His expression didn’t just falter. It cracked. Like something mean and ancient tore through the calm veneer of the Number One Hero. A glare. Cold and sharp and personal.

The kind of look that didn’t need words.

It only lasted a moment.

And then he smiled again, polite and breezy. Gave some vague, professional non answer.

But it didn’t matter.

Because the world had already run with it.

That one frame paused, zoomed, analyzed from every angle launched a thousand headlines. Thinkpieces. Fan edits. Shaky reels set to romantic audio. Panels debated it. Talk shows ran segments on it. Comment sections turned into warzones.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

That look said everything.

Deku had glared, actually glared, at someone for disrespecting Mt. Lady.

He was protecting her.

No, he was claiming her.

He was her man.

She was his.

The fantasy was real.

And just like that, Yu was trending again. For days. Weeks.

#PowerCouple. #WifeyEnergy. #GodILoveHer. #ProtectiveDeku.

Even the hate couldn’t dim it.

Mt. Lady was back.

All because Yu Takeyama got looked at like she mattered.

And she thanked him for it.

Every damn night.

Tonight was no different.

“Mm–ah–there,” she gasped, grinding down on him with steady rhythm. Her thighs trembled slightly, but she kept her pace, claws flexing into his bare chest.

He lay beneath her, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes. His hands had slipped up to her hips, holding her steady, but he wasn’t thrusting just letting her work for it.

She liked it that way. Earned it that way.

The black collar around her neck was tight, a short silver ring glinting in the low lamplight. He tugged on it once earlier, told her to keep going when she slowed.

She made sure she didn’t slow again.

The cat ears on her head were crooked now, the cheap headband sliding from sweat and motion. Still, she left them on. Let him see the whole picture.

“You like that?” she whispered, leaning down, breath warm against his jaw. Her lips brushed just behind his ear. “Your little kitten saying thank you?”

He swallowed hard.

“I’m not stopping,” she continued, hips moving more desperately now, faster. His cock hit just right, her slit slick and clenching around him. “Not until you forget how mad you were that day. Not until you forget what they said. What they asked.”

“Yu–”

“No,” she said, not letting him speak. “Let me thank you.”

He blinked up at her, surprised by the sharpness in her tone.

“You could’ve denied me. Could’ve let me fade. You gave them something to talk about again. Gave me something to cling to. And now every show wants a taste of Mt. Lady because she might be the one riding Deku’s cock.”

She kissed him then rough, ungraceful, almost messy with how hard her mouth moved against his. Like she was still talking with her tongue.

“You want soft?” she breathed, biting down on the moan in her throat.

“After everything you’ve done to me? After every time you gagged me, bent me over, fucked me in your favorite costumes like I was something to ruin?”

Her voice cracked not from pain. From pressure.

“Don’t look at me like that. Like I’m something you could love.”

She rocked harder. Faster. Her head dipped low to his neck, pressing against him like the breath she couldn’t catch.

“Don’t look at me like I’m something you’re proud of,” she hissed.

His grip tightened.

“Because I’m not,” she said, voice cracking. “I’m just your reminder. Of how good your cock feels when I ride you like I’m grateful.”

She choked on a sound that wasn’t a sob. Not quite.

“But I am. So, so grateful.”

Then Izuku tugged on the collar.

The soft leather strained against her throat, and Yu made a sound that curled up her spine. Her smile followed instantly, wide and sharp, as she rolled her hips a little against his lap, the bell on her collar giving a soft jingle. 

“Mm? That a command, golden boy?” she purred. “Or are you just checking the merch you helped pay for?”

He shifted, rolled her onto her back, and moved over her. His weight settled gently between her thighs. His lips brushed her jaw.

She should’ve known. That look in his eyes. He was trying to be tender.

Yu’s smile didn’t falter. She just huffed  “If you’re gonna hover, at least rub your cock against me,” she teased. “I didn’t go all out with the ears just for you to play sweet.”

He paused just for a breath and she saw it again.

And she hated it.

Not because it was bad. Because it wasn’t. Because it felt… nice.

Too nice.

Too real.

So she did what she always did. She flipped it. Took his hands and slid them over her breasts, dragging his palms down to her waist, then lower, until he was holding her hips the way she liked tight, rough, claiming.

“There,” she whispered, voice husky as she rolled her hips up to meet him. “That’s what I want. Not your soft little fantasy, sweetheart.”

She pulled him into a kiss that started rough and stayed that way all teeth and tongue and desperation disguised as confidence. And still, still there was that moment, half a second, where she almost… slowed down.

Almost let it soften.

Almost kissed him like it meant something.

Almost.

But she bit his lip instead. Just enough to sting. Just enough to stop herself from feeling anything at all.

She arched beneath him and shoved his hand down between her thighs.

“Don’t make me beg,” she whispered against his jaw. “I already do that enough on camera.”

He cursed, low, needy and she grinned when his fingers found her slit and pushed in with a familiar, reverent urgency. Her legs wrapped around his waist, hips grinding up to meet every motion. Her nails raked his back, not for show but to feel something, to leave a mark that proved she was still here and still being seen.

He tried to be slow again. Tried to kiss down her chest like she was fragile.

Yu just rolled them over again and sank down on his cock in one greedy motion.

“Fuck...Yu..”

“Don’t slow down now, baby.” Her voice was velvet and smoke, heavy with want. “You’re the one who got me trending. A thank you is way overdue.”

She rode him with rhythm and purpose. Like it was the only thing she had left to offer.

Because this was the arrangement. Not love. Not hope. Just her, writhing above him, nails digging into his chest, moaning his name while the world mistook it for affection.

He flipped them again halfway through. Pinned her wrists to the pillow. Whispered things she didn’t want to hear. That she was beautiful. That he was hers. That he’d stay.

She ignored all of it. Pulled him closer anyway.

By the end, he was panting above her, his body trembling with the weight of everything he wouldn’t say. She blinked up at him, chest rising and falling, her lipstick smeared, sweat cooling between them.

And still, that smile found its way back.

She tilted her head, lashes low, voice sticky-sweet.

“Careful, lover” she whispered. “You keep fucking me like that and I might end up pregnant.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t move.

She giggled, hooked a leg around his waist.

“Guess we’d have to start a family, huh?” Her voice was a tease. A joke. A lifeline tossed out before either of them could say something real. “Wouldn’t that be the dream, Izuku?”

He didn’t answer.

She didn’t want him to.

The worst part was, for just a second, she meant it.

—

Months passed.

Villains still did villain things. People still worked their nine-to-fives. Students still went to school. The world, for all its chaos, kept moving and so did she.

Yu Takeyama stepped into her agency with the same poise she always carried: back straight, hips confident, heels clicking against the polished floor like applause that never quite stopped. Hair done. Lips tinted. Smile light, pleasant, untouchable.

Mt. Lady.

Always Mt. Lady.

And things? Things were going well.

The buzz had dulled, sure the fire from that look Izuku gave months ago had started to flicker out in the press, but the warmth still lingered. Still echoed in hashtags, in headlines, in those fan edits of her leaning on him, eyes half-lidded, fingers curled into his jacket like she belonged there.

His milf. His bed warmer. His. His. His.

She welcomed it all.

Because she was still relevant.

Her secretary approached with a smile and an even crisper tablet.

“Morning, Miss Takeyama. I have your schedule. Quiet day for once. Some patrol rotations and a couple of interns requesting mentorship. Oh, and–” she tapped the screen “--you’ve been invited to this year’s Hero Gala.”

The Hero Gala.

Annual. Flashy. Stupid expensive. One part red carpet, two parts political chessboard. They were honoring the Top 20 again. Plus a few special mentions. Maybe even candidates for the next Top Five.

Of course she was invited. She always was. Whether it was because she was officially Number 14 this year… or unofficially something else entirely.

Her secretary hesitated. “Do you have a plus one yet? Your team mentioned… well, if you plan on inviting him again, they’d like to finalize arrangements early this year.”

Yu gave a dry laugh. “I’ll ask him,” she said with a breezy shrug. “He’ll probably say no, like always. So tell the team to plan for a solo spotlight.”

Back in her office, she closed the door behind her. The moment it latched, the room quieted, all that shine and posture dropping just a little.

She sank into her chair.

Unlocked her phone.

Searched his name in her contacts.

The messages were still there. Some flirty. Some quiet. Some just about food or patrol rotations. Others… heavier.

She hovered her fingers over the screen, thinking for only a second before typing.

Got invited to the Gala. Need a plus one. Want to be my date? Or am I going solo and flashing too much leg again?😉

She hit send.

She always kept it playful. Like it didn’t matter. Like she didn’t care if he said no, even if it meant walking that red carpet alone again.

She already knew the answer. He never went to these things. He hated them. Avoided them like the plague. She had asked–what, four times? Five? And he always declined. Even when she offered every incentive, every wink and tease she could summon, he always brushed it off.

The reply came almost instantly.

Don’t really want to go.

Yu smiled faintly. Expected.

She typed back, letting the mask slide on like silk:

Not even if I sweeten the deal? Skimpy dress during the event or something sweeter tonight?

The dots blinked for a moment before his response came:

Please don’t wear something like that. I’d have a heart attack getting out of the car.

She laughed. Already accepting the no. Already thinking of what solo outfit would draw the best camera angles.

Then another message.

…I’ll go.

Yu blinked. Sat up a little straighter. What?

Another ping:

I might be jittery with the crowd though. Think I can hold your hand the whole night?

Yu stared at the screen.

Then  slow, warm, tentative  a smile broke across her face.

The phone buzzed once in her palm. Warm, familiar, like his hand had brushed hers.

She typed back:

Only if you promise not to puke on my dress.

He responded with a single emoji: I’ll try😅

Yu leaned back in her chair, stared at the message.

Then she laughed.