TheFanficGOD
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MHA176- Hipsters
🕑 Added 2025-07-17 17:38:29 +0000 UTCThe next few days, Nejire dragged me out to “waste my money.” She refused to call them dates, even though they absolutely were. Shopping, random food spots, sometimes just wandering around the city doing nothing. What she called ‘quality sibling bonding’ and what I called ‘thinly veiled extortion.’ Every time, she insisted it wasn’t a date, just two best friends who happened to hold hands, share food, and make out in between. Yeah. Very sibling-like..
She never stuck to a plan. One minute, she wanted coffee. The next, she was leading me into some boutique, claiming I needed to “expand my wardrobe.” She tried to put me in some flashy shit once… I refused. She pouted, then got distracted by something else.
One time, we found a photo booth. She made me cram in with her, dragging me through stupid poses. A couple of normal shots, then one where she kissed me. When the pictures printed, she examined them, then smirked. “Damn, we look good.”
“Obviously.”
She slipped one into her pocket, left the others on the counter for me to grab.
Some nights, we just walked. Ended up at some quiet park, sitting on a bench, watching the city lights. She would lean against me, humming some song she half-remembered.
Tsuyu wanted her third date, but she insisted Mina, Toru and Jiro had to have their seconds first. “I won’t betray a friend,” she said. So Uraraka held off on her own third date too. That left Mirko and me free to keep fooling around whenever we could.
The agency was always packed, so we had to get creative. Between patrols, we would sneak into motels, using System Masks to change our faces. When that wasn’t an option, an alley worked just fine. Mirko didn’t care about the setting, just the results.
Ryukyu, of course, knew. The second we returned to the agency after the beach day, she dragged us into her office. She sighed for a solid three minutes before speaking.
“You do realize he is still a student.”
Mirko leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, completely unbothered. “Yeah, and?”
Ryukyu pinched the bridge of her nose. “You are a pro. This is…”
“Perfectly legal,” Mirko cut in. “Kid is an adult. I am an adult. We fuck. No issue.”
Ryukyu gave her a deadpan look. “You could at least pretend to take this seriously.”
Mirko smirked. “I take my dickings very seriously.”
Ryukyu exhaled sharply, looking at me instead. “And you? You have nothing to say?”
I shrugged. “I am enjoying myself.”
Mirko clapped my shoulder. “Atta boy.”
Ryukyu’s eye twitched. “This is unprofessional.”
Mirko’s grin widened. “You should get some too, y’know. Loosen up a little.”
Ryukyu didn’t dignify that with a response. She rubbed her temples before waving us off. “Just… be discreet. If this causes problems, I am throwing you both off the roof.”
Mirko stood, stretching. “Sounds fair.”
We left the office, and she elbowed me lightly. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
“She looked two seconds from drop-kicking you.”
“She wouldn’t.”
“She would.”
Mirko just grinned, already steering me toward the back exit. “Got time before the next patrol?”
I checked my phone. “Yeah.”
She pushed open the door, glancing down the alley. “Perfect.”
Two days ago I was balls deep in a pro hero. Now I am carrying Nejire’s shopping bags and debating if I am her brother, her sugar daddy, or her emotional support boyfriend. I am in hell. A confusing, strangely horny hell.
I was walking with Nejire in the city after a long day, because she had decided we needed another round of “sibling bonding.” Her words, not mine. This time, though, it felt less like a spur-of-the-moment thing and more like she had planned something. She even forced me to make two custom suits. Hers was a sleek pastel number that screamed ‘chaotic energy in designer clothes.’ Mine was simple and sharp, which she had approved with a satisfied nod before forcing me to match her tie color.
Now she was tugging on my arm as we moved through the crowd. “Come on, hurry up. I swear you are dragging your feet on purpose.”
“I am,” I said. “You already dragged me into five stores today. Pretty sure you are trying to kill my bank account for fun.”
She waved a hand like she was swatting the thought away. “Pfft. Relax. You are rich. You should enjoy it instead of hoarding like a dragon.”
“Dragons don’t spend their treasure on overpriced coffee and random candles.”
“Maybe they should.”
We passed a group of teenagers hanging around a food stall, the smell of skewers hitting us. Nejire slowed down, glancing at them before pulling me toward a quieter street. “I am starving again. Wanna grab something first or after?”
“Depends. Are you planning to eat or to ‘sample’ five different places until you are full?”
She leaned closer with a grin. “Both.”
I sighed. “Figures.”
We stopped at a boutique that had glass windows and mannequins dressed like they belonged in a magazine. She let go of my arm and turned to face me, walking backward as she stepped inside. “Five minutes.”
“That is a lie.”
“Ten.”
“You said five seconds last time. We were there for an hour.”
“You didn’t die.” She waved me in. “C’mon, you might find something that doesn’t scream ‘man-child with too many hoodies.’”
I followed, mostly because I knew she would come out with twice as much energy if I refused. Inside, she darted between racks, touching fabrics and muttering under her breath about colors. I stood there, arms crossed, watching her pull a jacket and hold it up to me.
“This. You would look good in this.”
“It is pink.”
“It is salmon.”
“It is pink.”
She tilted her head. “Fine. But it is still good.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I am not wearing that.”
She tossed it back on the rack with a shrug. “Your loss. Let’s go.”
“You bought nothing.”
“I got ideas.”
“Great. That means we are coming back.”
“Probably.”
We left and continued walking. The streets were calmer here, the noise fading as we headed toward a quieter part of the city. She grabbed my arm again, swinging it lightly as we walked.
“You know,” she said, “we are getting good at this.”
“At what? You bleeding me dry?”
“At hanging out.” She smirked. “You are fun when you are not acting like everything is a chore.”
“Maybe because everything is a chore when you are around.”
She bumped her shoulder into mine. “You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
“Same thing.”
She dragged me through a few more backstreets before stopping in front of what she called her “secret place.” It was one of those cafes trying way too hard to be different… neon signs with phrases that didn’t make sense, uneven furniture to make it feel “authentic,” and a menu filled with random shit like charcoal lattes and gluten-free air. I knew this type. The kind of place that thought serving coffee in mason jars made them rebels. Outliers? No. These were hipsters. The worst kind of people humanity ever spat out.
This wasn’t a cafe. This was a crime scene. A sanctuary for people who thought gluten was a personality trait and paid extra for coffee that tasted like sadness. The barista looked at me like I pissed in his kombucha.
The air smelled like overpriced beans and irony. A guy in suspenders and a beanie looked at me like I wasn’t worthy to enter their sacred Instagram backdrop. Nejire spun around, holding her arms out like she had brought me to paradise.
“This is your vibe,” she whispered like it was sacred.
It wasn’t.
We stayed anyway. She ordered something complicated that took ten words to say, and I just asked for a black coffee. The barista raised a brow, probably offended by my lack of “soul.” I didn’t care. Nejire dragged me to a corner table where the seats didn’t match.
When the drinks came, she sipped hers with an exaggerated hum, then shoved it in my face. I tried it. Regretted it. It tasted like sugar tried to fight coffee and both lost.
“Good, right?” she asked.
“Terrible,” I said.
She pouted, muttering that it looked cool on the outside. How was she supposed to know it was filled with, she scoffed, saying the word like it offended her “hipsters.” I patted her head, stood up, tossed some cash on the table, and took her somewhere that actually felt alive. No neon signs trying to be ironic, no forced minimalism, just a place with energy that pulled you in without trying. The food was good, the noise around us felt more real than whatever that café was trying to sell.
Halfway through the walk back, she stopped pulling and started leaning, her weight settling against me like she had decided walking was too much effort. She wasn’t tired. I could tell by the way her lips curled slightly when she felt my arm shift to support her.
“Comfortable?” I asked.
“Better than any hoodie I ever stole from you.”
“Guess I should charge rent.”
“Guess you should shut up.”
She kept brushing against my side as we moved, her hand gripping my shirt like she didn’t want to let go. When we reached a quieter street, she tugged me to a stop, eyes flicking over my face once before she stood on her toes and kissed me. Quick at first, then slower, her fingers curling into my collar.
I held her face and kissed back, her hands gripping my shirt like she wanted to tear it. When we broke apart, our foreheads pressed together, I muttered, “What the hell are we doing?”
She smirked faintly. “Having fun.”
I sighed, thumb brushing her cheek. “You claimed me as your brother.”
Her gaze didn’t flinch. “And now I am claiming you as my lover.”
I opened my mouth, but she pressed a finger to my lips. “Nothing exclusive.”
I blinked, but her tone didn’t leave room for questions. My brain was screaming. My dick was nodding. My heart was… confused but horny enough not to argue.
She pulled back slightly, tugging my shirt straight. “Don’t overthink. You are too good at ruining simple shit.”
“Bold of you to assume I think at all.”
She snorted and tugged me forward again. “Exactly why this works.”
We walked on, her fingers sliding down to intertwine with mine.
I sighed. “Great. I am dating my ‘sister.’ Therapy is gonna love this one.”
Comments
TheFanficGOD
Yeah, lol
TheFanficGOD
Lol
Marvin Baltes
Prob the truest of all prejudices. To us men there are only 3 kinds of a colour: light, normal dark. Not salmon or the other dozens invented names
Marvin Baltes
Why not all options?
hector lyng
Ryuu is really going crazy
