The first time Mirio notices it, they’re second-years at UA. Tamaki was already so quiet, already so reserved, that only someone as close as Mirio was to him could even notice the subtle shifts.

They’d been at lunch, sitting side-by-side like they usually did.

Mirio was listening half-heartedly to Nejire complain about whichever boy she had her heart set on now, pushing his ramen around in its bowl.

He was paying more attention to Tamaki, who didn’t seem to be eating his lunch. He didn’t want to make it obvious, so he kept ‘mhm’-ing along to Nejire’s story.
Mirio knows what he saw, but he needed to be completely, without-a-doubt sure before he mentioned it.

Nejire, however, had asked a question that ‘mhm’ was /not/ the right answer to.

“Hey!” She drops her hands on the table loudly, causing both Mirio and Tamaki to flinch, “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes?” Tamaki whispers, condensing the long-winded story she’d just told them into a few words.

But Mirio was now openly staring at Tamaki—because even if Nejire didn’t notice, he did.

CW: Implied abuse/assault.

**Will update CWs as thread continues. LMK if I've mistagged/forgotten anything.

Sure, that sudden sound she’d made would make most people jump—hell, even Miro was startled—but Tamaki didn’t just flinch.

He raised his hands to block his face.

“Is there something on me?” Tamaki asks quietly, reaching up to brush at the corner of his lips. The little movement slid his sleeve back enough for Mirio to see what he’d been trying to catch a glimpse of for the last half-hour.

A purpling ring around his tiny wrist.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem like Tamaki noticed where Mirio’s eyes had landed, though he did pull his sleeve down, habitually.

“No,” Mirio forced a little smile. “No, you’re good, Amajiki.”

Mirio couldn’t figure it out. It wasn’t happening at his house—his parents were the two kindest souls on the planet. They had to be, to raise someone like Amajiki. But, he also didn’t have many friends outside of himself and Nej.

He was friendly with their classmates—and everyone loved Tamaki. They all found his mumbling shyness endearing.

So /who/ was hurting his best friend?

Finally, one day, Mirio reaches his breaking point. He’d been noticing the flinching getting worse, but he never in a million years thought Tamaki would flinch away from /him/.

They were alone in his dorm room, watching some gaudy reality TV show, and as it went to commercial with 4 minutes left in the program, Mirio threw his hands up and groaned.

The sudden movement made Tamaki move away so quickly, he’d almost slipped off the futon.

“Amajiki?” Mirio turned to him, his eyes hardening once he realized what’d happened. Softer, he repeats, “Amajiki,”

For a long moment, things are quiet. Tamaki doesn’t answer, he just straightens his shirt, methodically tugging on the sleeves.

“I don’t—I don’t want to talk about it.” He finally says.

“But Amajiki—“

“I don’t.” He repeats, more firmly this time. His dark eyes are glassy.

Mirio swallows.

“Okay. Fine.” He glances down at his own hands, finding them trembling in his lap. He clenches them into fists, “Is it…are you afraid…of me?”

Again, quiet envelops them. Then after a moment, a warm hand wraps around one of Mirio’s and Amajiki quietly says, “Never.”

Their first year out of UA, Tamaki remained with FatGum’s agency, and Togata with Nighteye’s, as sidekicks. Mirio and Tamaki were now—as their agencies required them to say—‘Seeing each other more often’, as the buzzword ‘dating’ was only bred scandals.

That weird time in high school was almost forgotten.

Tamaki couldn’t be so sensitive to sounds and sudden movements anymore, not when he was working with Fat Gum and Red Riot—they were some of the loudest people Togata thinks either of them have ever encountered.

So, Mirio didn’t really have to think about it anymore. Especially not when he’d come home from patrol and meet Amajiki already knocked out on his couch. He was still in the process of convincing the young hero to move in with him—but he already basically lived there.

Tonight, when Mirio got home, Tamaki was just dozing off. He quickly got out of his hero clothes and cleaned off to join him. As much as he hated them, Mirio indulged Tamaki’s love for puzzle-y game shows, content to just snuggle against him.

Even though they were both beat, things started heating up pretty quickly. It started with an innocent arm around Amajiki’s shoulders, which turned into the smaller of them rubbing his face against Mirio’s shirt, getting comfy.

Then, a few minutes, it turned into Amajiki’s fingers fiddling with the hem of Mirio’s shirt, which turned into his slender fingers dipping under it, playing with the taut flesh there.

Then, those fingers started untying the loops of Mirio’s pajama bottoms.

And well, Mirio could handle all that teasing, but the last bit was all the permission he needed to shift Tamaki up onto his lap to kiss him, hard.

When they do separate, they’re both gazing at each other with slitted eyes and panting.

“Amajiki,” Mirio grumbles, but Tamaki just kisses him again, far softer this time.

They moved against each other lazily, both still exhausted from the day, but still determined to get each other off.

Mirio’s hands roamed over Amajiki’s hips, hooking his thumbs in the elastic band, but not tugging them down yet.

“Bed?” Tamaki whimpers, but makes no move to shift himself off of Mirio’s lap.

Mirio just stands them both up, heading to the bedroom. “Bed.”

A few more years pass by, and the the duo naturally found themselves nearing the top of the hero rankings.

Mirio made the switch from sidekick to hero organically—Tamaki always told him he had the resilience to do it.

Tamaki, although an absolute powerhouse in the field, still wasn’t the best at the socio-political aspects of hero work.

The charity galas, the photo-ops and meet and greets—even after a few years, it was just as jarring as the first time.

Fortunately, Mirio and Amajiki had made the leap from being almost-boyfriends to being a pair of fiancés—so he never had to walk a red carpet alone.

At the annual Nighteye Memorial Charity Gala, Tamaki was attached to his soon-to-be husband’s arm like white on rice.

They went from reporter to reporter, stopping at all the marks on the carpet and posing for every gossip rag.

Even if he hates the glitz and glam of it all, clutching Mirio’s arm and flashing his engagement ring for the cameras gave him the boost he needed to smile and wave.

Once inside, Mirio smiled at him the way he always would and says, “You did so good, babe. I’m proud of you.”

The dinner went off without a hitch. Mirio spoke to the crowd, thanking heroes and citizens for their philanthropy, before everyone was taken from the dining rooms through to the ballroom.

Tamaki and Mirio found Nejire at the open bar,
already nursing a margarita.

She greets them warmly, her bubbly laugh comforting Tamaki even more.

Mirio has to make his rounds—coax pocketbooks open for the charity—so he leaves the two of them at the bar.

Just how she manages to slip a vodka cranberry into Tamaki’s palm is beyond his own understanding

But before he knows it, he’s looking at an empty crystal glass, at his slender fingers wrapped around it, trying desperately to focus on the glint of his diamond ring.

Nejire’s talking to him about her own agency, and her new sidekick—and he’s trying to listen.

His head is swimming, feeling soaked from the sourness of the drink.

And he’s listening to her, he swears, but he’s /also/ looking at Mirio over her shoulder.

He’s so handsome in his suit—it’s meant to resemble his winter hero costume, with a red silk sash across his chest, and gold tassels.

He looks like some sort of prince, Tamaki thinks, with his hair pulled back and his suit clinging to him. But under that suit, Tamaki knows he’s got far more than a prince’s lithe body.

He’s got a chest of rippling muscle, thick shoulders and forearms, too.

Tamaki felt his mouth begin to water, thinking deeply about his lips running over that skin—those arms holding him still.

“Tamakiiii, stop ogling your man! You’re going /home/ with him, when’s the next time you’re gonna see /me?/“ Nejire demands, so he focuses on her again.

When the evening starts winding down, he’s stuck to Mirio’s side as they climb into the company car meant to take them home.

They barely make it in before Amajiki’s fingers knot in the belly of Mirio’s suit, yanking his shirt out of his slacks.

“Amajiki?” Mirio asks gently, searching his fiancé’s eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

“Just one.” He murmurs. One was enough to have him rip-roaring and ready to fuck in the back of a sedan, driver be damned.

More CWs: NSFW/ things are getting steamy in a minute, but will be (don't worry, it's coming eventually) interrupted for serious conversations.

Those themes of abuse/assault mentioned earlier will be resurfacing.

TBC

“Amajiki, baby,” Mirio chuckles awkwardly, eyes flitting to the driver’s in the rear-view mirror. “It won’t take too long for us to get home, I promise,”

And as though it were the simplest thing in the world, Amajiki just furrows his brows and hums, “But I want you now?”

His fiancé didn’t normally drink at these kind of events, for this exact reason—he turned into such a horn-ball that Mirio simply couldn’t sate him fast enough.

“Yeah, babe, I got that,” Mirio whimpers when Amajiki’s long fingers slide over the crotch of his pants.

He glances up at the driver, “H-Hey man, could you, uh, maybe step on it a bit?”

Mirio had to pull Amajiki’s hands away from his chest, his hair, his /dick/ so many times that eventually,+

+ he had to grab his fiancé’s wrists and hold them still in his lap until the car stopped in front of their apartment building.

When they’re safely on the other side of their front door, Mirio fixes hard eyes on his fiancé.

“Babe—we can’t take risks like that. We don’t want any scandals, remember?”

Vaguely, he does. Amajiki can remember the 'Wonder Duo' debacle when Midoriya and Bakugo debuted as heroes. Caught in a back alley on their patrol, the media had ripped those two to pieces.

“We’re gonna be married,” Amajiki says, as though that made them immune to tabloids.

To a vodka-soaked brain, perhaps it did.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mirio’s voice rises a bit.

And for the first time in /years/, Mirio watches the love of his life flinch away from him.

His heart absolutely drops in the few following seconds, especially when Amajiki’s eyes quickly dart away from his—glossing over.

“No, wait,” Mirio whispers, but then, he notices something.

Amajiki wasn’t crying.

His cheeks lit up a gorgeous pink, and Mirio is so confused, he swears the giant cartoon question marks must be popping up around his head.

“—jiki?” He takes a step forward.

“I won’t do those things in public again,” The smaller man promises, his voice soft, but loaded with lust. “But, we’re home now, right?”

“Yeah,” Mirio sighs, pulling him close, “We’re home now, babe.”

He kisses him, and it’s a mishmash of lips and tongue and the lingering taste of sharp liquor. Mirio can taste the desperation on Amajiki's lips, and groans, “You looked so good tonight, in that gorgeous suit, wearing my ring,”

“You did too,” Amajiki finally manages, unclipping the sash that ran across Mirio’s front, “But I want it off now,”

Mirio obliges, quickly undoing the clasps keeping the ornate fabric attached, and dropping it onto the floor.

He’s quick to snap Amajiki’s suit open too, sending the buttons flying everywhere.

And Amajiki makes the sweetest keen under him that spurs Mirio on more than anything else ever could.

There’s just something about when his fiancé gets like this that makes Mirio ravenous.

Normally, their sex was great. Sensual. Beautiful. But when Amajiki got a drop of liquor in him, he was a bit more open with the things he wanted.

Sex under these circumstances was always /earth-shattering./

“Like this?” Amajiki whispers, his voice shaking.

Mirio watches him back up against the wall and sink down to his knees. He reaches out, pulling Mirio closer by the waist of his pants.

Nimble fingers drop them quickly, and then, Amajiki does something that Mirio has never seen him do before.

He takes one of Mirio’s big hands, placing it over his wrists, and positions them over his head, against the wall.

Mirio shifts his stance, taking it all in. Amajiki—his precious, shy fiancé, on his knees, wanting to be held down and throat-fucked against a wall.

“Holy shit babe,” Mirio grunts, watching his dick twitch, brushing Amajiki’s lips.

“C’mon,” Amajiki keens again, hips rolling up to appease the erection in his pants. “Please, Mirio?”

Mirio takes a baby step closer, watching his lover’s wet lips fall open, ready to take him.

Once he slips in, they both let out ragged breaths.

Mirio can’t help but think that Amajiki looks so /pretty/ like that. Legs spread and cock straining in his pants. Pretty lips spread around his cock.

"That's it babe—oh, you look so fucking good down there," Mirio's voice is wobbly and wrecked. "Fucking hell,"

His hips pick up the pace, chasing the warm wet heat of Amajiki’s mouth, and with each thrust he goes deeper. Tears start to well up in Amajiki’s eyes.

It should make Mirio want to stop, but he doesn’t. /Want to/, that is. He doesn’t /want/ to stop.

He /wants/ to see those pretty tears streak that pretty pink face, soon to be mixed with the cum he’s about to leave there, too.

It rips a rough, strangled sound out of him.

He feels Amajiki's tongue flatten out so he can take more of Mirio's cock down his throat, and it makes the blond groan loudly again.

His voice pitches higher now, as he treads closer and closer to his orgasm. "Fucking—just—just like that, Ama—my fucking /God/, Babe,"

And he's almost there when his fingers instinctively tighten on Amajiki's wrists, his other hand tightening in his hair, when he pauses.

His eyes settle on the pale wrists in his hand—at how lost in this he is, at how he's gripping them hard enough to bruise, and it clicks.

When—when they were kids. Those bruises he had—

Is—is this what they'd come from?

Mirio freezes, completely statuesque. It's like ice suddenly shot through his veins, and his mouth is hanging open, his eyes wide in fear, and a billion thoughts begin roaring through his head.

TBC after class?

here we go bby, Updated CWs: mentions of age-gap, past underage relationship, assault, ANGST, etc.

again, let me know if I mis-tag or forget anything.

As if Amajiki’s skin had suddenly become hot coals, he drops his wrists and pulls away from him.

“What—why’d you stop?” Amajiki gasps, hands falling into his lap.

“Ama—Amajiki,” Mirio’s voice shakes, and he falls to his knees inches away from him. “Is this—was someone doing this to you? When—when we were kids?”

At first, his brows furrow up in confusion. Then, his eyes widen and he stiffens in realization.

His voice is hard when he sighs, “Mirio,”

Mirio’s palm gently takes his fiancé’s face, and it breaks his heart when he recoils. “Tamaki, baby, was someone hurting you?”

“No,” He says it reflexively, but his eyes soften and his breath hitches, so he adds, “Y-yes, but it’s—it’s in the past now, Mir, I—I’m fine now, really—“

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, I should have been there—“

“—It’s not your fault,”

“—I knew something was wrong but I didn’t think—I was too—“

“I promise, it’s not your fault, Mirio. It’s—it’s mine.”

His heart splits in fucking half. Right down the center. Because from the look on Amajiki’s face—Mirio knew he meant it. The word comes out broken and shaky “/No/ it can’t be—“

"You don’t /know/, Mirio,” Amajiki snaps, and Mirio’s brain short-circuits. His fiancé never raises his voice.

There’s something behind his dark eyes, something ashamed, something broken, and Mirio knows there isn’t anything he can do to fix it. “Just—just trust me. It’s just as much my fault as it was his.”

/His/ Mirio's stuck, frozen in place with his mouth open, gaping like a fish.

“You weren’t there.” Amajiki clarifies, and maybe he didn’t mean for it to hurt Mirio the way it had, but in seconds, his eyes had filled with tears. “You—you don’t know, and I don’t want to talk about it. Okay? Just—“ He puffs, rising up onto wobbly feet.

“—Jiki,” The blond tries, but Amajiki only turned away from him, heading towards their bedroom.

He’s left there, standing in their foyer, blinking back a million feelings.

TBC? oof

They don’t talk about it. Weeks go by, and they just don’t talk about it.

Their dynamic changes—and people notice.

They used to plan their work rotations in sync—but now, it seemed that Amajiki left for patrol the moment Mirio came home from his.

This game they've got going, hiding from each other, It’s exhausting them both.

Eventually, Mirio can’t handle it anymore.

He leaves his shift early, determined to catch Amajiki before he could flee to work.

When he does, he almost wishes he hadn’t. His raven-haired fiancé is curled up on the couch, TV droning on in the background, clutching a pillow to his chest and crying in his sleep.

Mirio is there before he can even think about it—arms around the love of his life, wiping those tears away and hushing his cries. When he finally wakes up, he starts crying even harder.

It’s painful and messy for both of them, but Amajiki explains.

He’d been young, /God/ so fucking young. Barely sixteen. Everyone around them had started coupling and dating. Then once they began dorming, those couples began having sex.

He was a shy, nervous gay mess—but he was still a /teenage boy/.

He wanted that, too.

So he started looking in all the wrong places.

Found someone. An older someone.

At first, things were fine. Then all of a sudden, they weren’t, and Amajiki didn’t have anywhere to turn—no one would believe him.

And even if they did, they’d only think it was his fault.

At least, that’s what /he’d/ told him.

“It’s not your fault,” Mirio had promised into his hair, trying not to cry, as Amajiki shook and whimpered against his chest. “I promise you, baby, it’s not your fault.”

Just when Mirio thinks hes fine, that he could handle this, that he /wouldn’t/ find this bastard and fillet him six ways from Sunday, Amajiki looked up at him with glassy eyes and asked, “Do you think any less of me?”

That’s when his walls fell down, and the tears came.

Ok, nooooow tbc.