Plushies and Firearms

one

Warning:

This fic contains imagery of guns and knives and violence throughout - it's a Mob AU, Izuku is a mob boss, therefore the plot fits the theme.

Along with that, Katsuki age regresses - I tried to make this as accurate as possible based on the personal experiences of others and the research I have done, if I've portrayed some details in a way that isn't realistic, I'm sorry.

Appropriate warnings will be tagged whenever anything is done in any chapter, but this is the basic warning, if you don't like: weapon imagery, mentions of violence, death, vague torture, and age regression, then please opt-out of this fic.

Anyway. That's that. Let's get into it.

At first, Izuku wasn't quite sure why everyone had quieted down all of the sudden.

Usually, Friday nights were rather hectic for the bar, even during the rare occasions when he visited - normally to ensure things were being taken care of - but now Izuku was certain he could hear a pin drop.

His own men seemed to be on edge, their fingers twitching and ready to grip the guns they hid in their holsters, but Izuku didn't quite feel the same panic they had.

That was, until he glanced to the side, and set his gaze upon the reason for such behaviour - but his panic was of the different sort.

The boy didn't quite fit in with the rest of the people in the place, perhaps that was why he'd caused such an atmosphere. Where everyone else wore leather jackets and scars upon their knuckles, he adorned a rather large orange hoodie and shaking hands. Where everyone's gaze was sharp and lustful, his was fearful and bleary with unshed tears.

An anomaly in the world Izuku had grown up in, completely separate from the harshness that he had somehow stumbled into.

Izuku refused to allow this wide-eyed little thing get harmed by any of the lowlifes in the establishment.

When he finally reached the bar, fingertips pressing into the sticky counter before he recoiled, face scrunching up in a cute little grimace as he pulled his sleeves over his hands, Izuku watched as the boy leaned over to speak to the bartender.

Izuku didn't give the man a chance to respond, and so he whistled, gathering their intention. As soon as the man looked over at him, he raised a hand, gesturing towards the kid with his head and beckoning them over with two fingers.

After a quick word to the boy, the target of his attention finally looked over at him.

Even from afar, he could recognise the beauty of the boy, but when he stumbled over to him, hands pulling on the edge of his hoodie and shoulders pushing upwards, as if he were attempting to hide himself, make himself smaller, Izuku could finally see what a gem he had come across.

Crimson eyes, a similar shade adorning his cheeks and the tip of his nose, most likely from the cold winds blowing outside, hair light blond and, despite the harshness of those spikes, soft-looking. He almost wished to hide him away, kiss those round cheeks of his and protect him from the evils that he would surely encounter in this part of town.

He was lucky he had come across Izuku - he wouldn't let anything happen to him.

His men remained vigilant, even though the kid seemed as dangerous as a damn kitten. Izuku didn't judge them for doing so, but still. He almost wanted to snap at them, tell them to get their shit together and not attempt to taint this boy's innocence with their suspicious minds.

But he didn't.

Instead, he simply shifted in the booth, glass of whiskey still in his head as the blond finally stood in front of him.