Soothe and Sunder (MHA AU)

[Noxsin]

I was four the first time my quirk showed itself. Pretty standard all things considered, maybe even a bit late.

At first, it wasn't anything special. I could lift things a little easier, run a little faster, take a fall and get right back up like it didn't even happen. Mom said I was just "sturdier than most kids." Dad joked I was going to break the swing set by summer.

It didn't feel like much. Just enough to be a curiosity—"Oh, I guess that's his quirk." Nothing shiny. Nothing flashy. Certainly nothing worth bragging about.

I didn't mind. Not really.

And then the bruises started fading faster than they should've. Scrapes vanished overnight. A skinned knee I barely remembered was gone by morning. Mom called it a gift. Dad said I'd be the toughest of us all.

I liked that.

I didn't know it yet, but that was the part that stuck with me—the way they both smiled when they said it. The way they made me feel like I was okay.

I'd never been seriously hurt before, so no one thought much of it. Just a fast-healing kid with a quiet quirk.

But that was before the day everything changed.

The day we learned what I could really do.

---

It was a warm, sunny day. One of those afternoons that feel like they were made for kids.

The kind of day where the air smells like fresh grass and the pavement's warm under your sneakers. Birds chirping. Bees hovering lazily near flowers. I remember the way the breeze made Saya's hair lift in little wisps, and how she giggled every time it tickled her ears.

She was three. Clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit like it was made of gold. She named it "Bunny-chan"—because of course she did—and insisted it had to come with us on our "adventure." Which, really, was just a walk to the park down the street. But she made everything sound bigger than it was.

I held her hand the whole way. I liked being the big brother. I liked how small her fingers felt in mine.

Dad was just behind us, still in his apron from the café, chatting with our neighbor by the gate. Every now and then, he'd glance over at us and smile—like he wanted to freeze the moment in place. I didn't think much of it then.

Back then, nothing ever felt like it could go wrong.

I wish I could remember more of what we talked about. I think Saya was pretending we were on a secret mission. Something about rescuing a princess. Or maybe the rabbit was the princess.

Either way, we were laughing.

I remember that part. The laughing.

And then the tires screamed.

The sound was sharp—like the world cracked.

A car. Screeching way too fast around the corner. Too fast for our street. Too fast for a place with kids and front lawns and chalk drawings on the sidewalk.

I didn't even see it at first. Just the noise. The blur.

Some villain, they said later. Low-level. Nothing major. Running from a hero. They were shouting—something about civilians, about getting clear.

But I don't remember the words.

I just remember the wind. The roar of the engine. The way Saya stopped walking. A heartbeat before the sound had regustered in my ears.

She gasped.

Her whole body went stiff, like something inside her had snapped into place. It was her quirk, though none of us knew it then—just a flicker of instinct, a flash of awareness.

And I moved.

I didn't think. I didn't yell. I just shoved her back as hard as I could.

When I looked up, there was metal. Light. Motion. And then pain.

It hit me like the whole world collapsing. Like the air got knocked out of the sky itself.

I don't remember how far I flew. Just that I hit the ground wrong, and everything hurt. Like my body didn't know how to be one piece anymore.

I remember the color of the sky. Pale blue. Almost white.
I remember the way my heartbeat echoed in my head. Too fast. Too loud.

And I remember trying to breathe, but nothing working. Like the air had turned to water and I was drowning in it.

I should've died.

I know that now. I knew it then, too, in a way.

But I didn't.

I stayed awake. Barely. My whole body screaming at me, every nerve on fire. I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. I just stared at the clouds and tried not to disappear. Trying to reach for something, anything to take away the agony.

I felt fingers wrapping around mine. Warm. Familiar.

Dad.

He must've run the second he saw me fall. He must've known. I don't remember what he said first, or if he said anything at all. Just his hand, holding mine.

And then—

The pain was gone.

Gone, just like that. Like a switch had been flipped. The agony vanished, wiped clean like it had never been there.

I could breathe. I could move. I sat up, gasping like I'd come up for air after being underwater for hours.

But he didn't move with me.

He was still holding my hand.

Still smiling.

But something was wrong.

He collapsed. No warning. No sound. Just fell, like someone had cut all the strings holding him up.

"Dad?"
His hand was still wrapped around mine. Still warm.
But his body had gone still. Like something inside him had emptied out all at once.
I didn't understand.
Not yet.
"Dad…?"
That's when I saw the blood.
It was soaking through his shirt. Blooming red across his chest and ribs. His breathing was shallow, wet.
His legs were bent wrong. One of his arms hung at an angle that made my stomach twist.
Bruises—dark and spreading—crawled up his neck and face like the color had been pulled from somewhere else and forced into him.
It was all the pain I'd felt moments ago.
All the pain that had vanished.
He had taken it.
He had taken all of it.

His eyes fluttered open, just enough to find mine.
And he smiled.

"It's okay, Jouta," he whispered.

His voice was calm. Too calm. Like this was nothing. Like everything was fine. Like he hadn't just traded my life for his own.

"You're safe. That's what matters."

His fingers squeezed mine—still steady, even as the rest of him trembled.

"You've always been strong," he said. "Stronger than you know."

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he spoke, but he didn't seem to notice.
Or maybe he just didn't care.

"Take care of them for me, okay? Your mom… your sisters…"

"Be the warmth they need."

I tried to speak. To tell him to stop talking. To hold still. To wait for help.
To take it back.
But my mouth didn't work. My chest was a knot. My throat burned with something that wasn't pain—just terror.

"Dad, don't—please—just…"

He smiled again. Soft. Tired. Still holding on.
And then the strength left his fingers.

Just a little.

Then all at once.

His eyes never closed, but something in them went quiet.

I screamed.

I remember that part more than anything.
I clutched his shirt, begging him to wake up. Begging him to give it all back—to let me be the one who hurt instead.

But he didn't move.

His hand was still warm.

And then it wasn't.

---

I don't remember how long I sat there howling.

Someone must've pulled me away. Someone must've called for help.

I think the neighbors screamed. I think Mom came running. I think I heard Saya cry.

But it all blurred into noise.

What I remember is the blood on my hands. It wasn't mine, but it should've been.

The days after didn't feel like days.

Just gray hours stacked on top of each other. People talking in quiet voices. The smell of coffee no one drank. The sound of doors opening and closing too gently.

Everyone tiptoed around me like I might break.

But I already had.

The funeral was small. Family. A few friends. Some of our regulars from the café. A hero even came by—not the one who chased the villain, but someone who said they'd known my dad in passing.

I didn't care.

I sat there in a little black suit that didn't fit right, staring at the polished wood of the casket like it might open again. Like this was a trick. Like Dad would pop out, laughing, telling me I looked too serious for my age.
He always said that. That I didn't have to be so grown all the time.

I remember clenching my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.

Not once during the service did I cry.

Not in front of anyone.

Not even when they lowered him into the ground.

I'd spent all the tears I had in the street. When I tried to give the pain back. When I begged him to stay.

The rest of it—everything after—just felt empty.

People said things like "I'm so sorry" and "He was a good man" and "He'd be proud of you."
I hated it.

Not because they were wrong.

But because none of them really knew what happened.

They didn't see me sitting up, whole and unharmed, while my father bled out in front of me. They didn't see the way he smiled even as he died. The way he looked at me like saving me had been worth it.

They didn't see what I did to him.

That's why I stopped crying.

Because deep down, I knew the truth.

It wasn't just an accident. It wasn't a twist of fate or some tragic misstep.

The first time I ever used my quirk for real—it wasn't to save a life.

It was to take one.

And ever since that day, I've carried two things with me: The memory of his warmth—his steady, unwavering love, even in his final moments.

And the weight of his death.

 

[Apollo_Man]

I don't remember how far I flew. Just that I hit the ground wrong, and everything hurt. Like my body didn't know how to be one piece anymore.

I remember the color of the sky. Pale blue. Almost white.
I remember the way my heartbeat echoed in my head. Too fast. Too loud.

And I remember trying to breathe, but nothing working. Like the air had turned to water and I was drowning in it.

I don't remember how far I flew. Just that I hit the ground wrong, and everything hurt. Like my body didn't know how to be one piece anymore.

I remember the color of the sky. Pale blue. Almost white.
I remember the way my heartbeat echoed in my head. Too fast. Too loud.

And I remember trying to breathe, but nothing working. Like the air had turned to water and I was drowning in it.

Click to shrink...

A little bit of repetitions right there. Gotta be careful of that.

With that being said, I have to say that I'm very much confused as to the true nature of his quirk. Can you leave an index on what his quirk is.

 

[Noxsin]

A little bit of repetitions right there. Gotta be careful of that.

With that being said, I have to say that I'm very much confused as to the true nature of his quirk. Can you leave an index on what his quirk is.

Click to shrink...

Thanks for catching that!

The nature of his quirk will be revealed over the next few chapters, but an index is a good Idea for those who would like a sneak peek or clarity. Thanks for the suggestion

 

[Noxsin]

Index - Character sheet for Jouta Naoru.

Spoiler: Jouta Naoru Picture

Quirk: Soothe and Sunder
Jouta's quirk allows him to transfer physical injuries either from himself to another person, or from someone else onto himself. As a result of this ability, his body possesses an accelerated healing factor to cope with the damage he takes on. Though still developing, his quirk holds the potential for unexpected applications—through training, he may learn to store or manipulate injuries in ways that amplify his offensive capabilities.

Family

Daisuke Naoru Hitomi Naoru Aimi Naoru Saya Naoru

• Spoiler: Daisuke Picture

  
  
  Quirk: Warm Touch
  Daisuke can transfer warmth through physical contact. It's not flashy or offensive, but deeply comforting—perfect on a cold, rainy day. His quirk doesn't stop fights, but it softens hearts.
  It also made him the undisputed champion of the world's best hugs.
  
  Daisuke Naoru was a warm, charismatic man in his mid-30s, known for his easy smile and the quiet strength behind it. He carried a calm presence that made people feel at ease the moment he entered a room. Whether playing gentle melodies on the café piano or joking with regulars while serving coffee, Daisuke radiated a natural kindness. He was the heart of the Naoru family—steady, dependable, and full of quiet joy.
• Spoiler: Hitomi Picture

  
  
  Quirk: Quick Mend
  Hitomi's body heals small cuts, scrapes, and bruises slightly faster than normal. It's not powerful enough for combat or serious injuries, but it's useful for everyday life—burns from the stove, scrapes from moving furniture, the little hurts that come with taking care of others. Like Hitomi herself, it's not flashy, but it's reliable and always quietly working in the background.
  
  Hitomi Naoru is a resilient and grounded woman with a quiet intensity that often goes unnoticed until you really see her. Practical by necessity and warm by nature, she carries the weight of her family with grace—even when it threatens to wear her down. She's not one for big displays of emotion, but her love runs deep and steady, expressed through small acts of care and tireless effort. She's the kind of person who keeps moving forward, not because it's easy, but because someone has to. And for her children, she'll always be that someone.
• Spoiler: Aimi Picture Young

  
  
  
  Spoiler: Aimi Picture Older

  
  
  Quirk: Thermabalance
  Her body naturally adjusts to extreme temperatures, allowing her to stay comfortable and functional in both intense heat and bitter cold. While she isn't immune to fire or ice-based attacks, she can endure harsh climates easier than others—making her reliable in environments where others might falter.
  
  Aimi Naoru is the kind of big sister who holds things together by keeping things light. Easygoing and emotionally steady, she's always the first to crack a joke, start a game, or turn a quiet moment into something fun. After everything their family has been through, she made it her mission to help Jouta and Saya smile again—by reminding them that it's okay to laugh, to play, and to just be kids. She doesn't pressure, doesn't hover—she leads with warmth, showing them that healing doesn't always have to hurt.
• Spoiler: Saya Picture Young

  
  
  
  Spoiler: Saya Picture Older

  
  
  Quirk: Quick Twitch
  Her reflexes are heightened just enough to react faster than normal to sudden changes—like a flinch response turned up a notch. It's especially useful for dodging surprise attacks or catching something mid-fall, though it doesn't improve her overall speed or strength. Still, it gives her an edge in fast-paced sports and high-speed video games—anything where split-second timing counts.
  
  Saya Naoru is a whirlwind of energy—confident, competitive, and always in motion. She throws herself into everything with full force, whether it's a game, a challenge, or just a race to the door. Impulsive and bold, she's not afraid to speak her mind or tease her older brother for being "too slow." But beneath all that fire, she deeply admires Jouta—even if she'd never admit it out loud. She's the spark that keeps the family on their toes.

 

[Apollo_Man]

Quirk: Soothe and Sunder
Jouta's quirk allows him to transfer physical injuries either from himself to another person, or from someone else onto himself. As a result of this ability, his body possesses an accelerated healing factor to cope with the damage he takes on. Though still developing, his quirk holds the potential for unexpected applications—through training, he may learn to store or manipulate injuries in ways that amplify his offensive capabilities.

Click to shrink...

So, his power is similar to Queenie from the American Horror Stories.


View: https://youtu.be/98oWgVVAkdk?si=OUUbb00WKcTF-oBC

 

[Noxsin]

So, his power is similar to Queenie from the American Horror Stories.


View: https://youtu.be/98oWgVVAkdk?si=OUUbb00WKcTF-oBC

Click to shrink...

I have never watched American Horror Story but looking at the clip and reading the wiki they are kinda similar. Key differences being he can transfer both ways. He requires touch to do it. And he feels all the pain / takes on the actual injury.

 

[Noxsin]

A/N
Hello all!
I want to say thank you to all of you reading this It has been nice writing and focusing on this. It really helps that I've decided to write a fic instead of anything original that way I can focus on just my character writing without spending too much time on the setting and everything around.

Please feel free to leave comments, any feedback is very much appreciated. If you hate it I wanna hear about it, if you love it I want to know!

Here is Chapter 2 and I hope you enjoy

---

I sat at the breakfast table, my eyes lingering on the empty chair across from me—the one my father had always filled. Without him, the room felt colder. Like the warmth had left with him. The silence pressed around me, loud in a way sound never was.

Mom moved stiffly around the kitchen. Every step, every movement, seemed heavier than it should've been. Her eyes—usually bright, always full of life—looked far away now. It had only been a week, but everything felt different. And in a very real way, it was.

"Mom?" I asked softly, breaking the silence.

She paused, startled—as if she'd forgotten I was there.
"Yes, sweetheart?" she said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

I slid off my chair and crossed the room on quiet feet. I tugged gently at her sleeve.
"Can I help?"
I didn't know exactly what I was offering. I just wanted to help. Wanted to do something that would make things better.

She hesitated, hands trembling just slightly.
"You don't have to do that, Jouta. I'll manage."

"I know," I said, reaching up with small, clumsy hands to take the plates from her. "But I want to."

The plates felt heavy in my arms—not just because of their weight, but because I wanted to carry them right. I looked up at her, trying to offer reassurance. But what she saw was a kid trying too hard to be strong, peeking around a stack of plates too big for him.

I didn't know what else to do.
All I knew was that she was hurting, and this was the only way I knew how to help.

Her expression softened. A flicker of something warm behind the exhaustion.
"You're growing up too fast," she whispered, brushing her fingers gently through my hair.

Before I could say anything, I heard soft footsteps in the hallway. Saya appeared in the doorway, clutching her stuffed rabbit tight, her small face drawn with quiet confusion.

"Good morning, Saya," Mom said, trying to sound bright. "Are you hungry?"

Saya didn't answer right away. She looked around slowly. Her gaze settled on the empty chair.
"Where's Daddy?" she asked in a small voice.

Mom's face faltered. Her eyes welled up. She turned her face slightly away.

I quickly set the plates down and dropped to a crouch in front of Saya.

"Remember, Saya? Daddy had to go away," I said as gently as I could. "He can't come back."

I felt sick. The words barely made it out. She was standing right in front of me, asking where our dad had gone—while looking straight at the reason he was gone.

Saya frowned. "Not ever?"

Mom turned away, wiping at her eyes. Aimi stepped into the room, calm and steady as always, crouching beside us with a gentle smile.

"That's right," she said softly. "Daddy can't come back. But he's still watching us."

Saya hugged her rabbit tighter and took a step toward me, resting her face against my shoulder.

I froze. Just for a second.

Her touch was light. Innocent. But my body tensed anyway.

The last time someone touched my hand, I'd killed them.

Still… she needed me. So I didn't pull away.

"But… will he be lonely?" she whispered.

She didn't understand. Not yet. She was still too little.

Aimi met my eyes, then gently pulled Saya into her arms.
"He has us in his heart," she said. "And we have him in ours. So no… he's never really alone."

Saya nodded slowly, holding on tightly.

I stood, the weight in my chest pressing harder than before.

"Why don't you sit, Mom?" I said quietly, walking over. "I'll finish breakfast."

She looked at me for a moment, like she was going to say something else. Then she just nodded and sat down slowly, letting out a breath like she'd been holding it for hours.
"Thank you, Jouta," she murmured.

I returned to the plates, carefully setting breakfast in place—quietly taking on the role my father once held, feeling pride, sorrow, and guilt in equal measure.

We ate in silence, the empty chair casting a long shadow across the table.

---

The café felt different now.

Weeks had passed, but I still caught myself looking up sometimes, expecting to see Dad behind the counter—wiping glasses, cracking dumb jokes with the regulars.

But it was Mom instead. And she looked like she hadn't slept in years.

I sat in one of the corner booths, crayons spread across the table, trying to draw heroes and villains fighting in a giant city made out of toast. At least, that's what it was turning into. I was supposed to be doing math homework, but my pencil had disappeared under the table, and drawing explosions was easier anyway.

"Hitomi, I ordered a latte," an older woman reminded Mom gently, her voice polite but pointed.

"Oh, yes—of course," Mom said quickly, her smile stretched thin. "I'll get that right away."

She turned too fast and bumped into a nearby table, flinching as the cups rattled.
"Sorry," she mumbled, cheeks going red.

I stood up without thinking.

"I can help, Mom," I said—louder than I meant to—grabbing a tray that already had two mugs on it. "I can take their orders to them."

I smiled like everything was fine. Like I was big enough to be helpful.

She looked at me. Tired didn't even begin to cover it—her whole body seemed weighed down. Her eyes softened—grateful, but also a little sad.

"Jouta… it's your weekend. You should be resting."

"It's okay," I said, quieter this time. "I want to help."

She hesitated, rubbing at her temple, like the words were stuck.

"Jouta, I—"
She stopped herself. Then sighed.
"No. Sorry. Thank you, sweetheart."

She smiled—but her eyes had drifted somewhere far away.

I walked carefully between the tables, holding the tray tight with both hands. It was heavier than I thought. My arms ached by the time I reached the woman's table.

She smiled at me. But not the warm kind.

The kind people give when they're trying not to show they're uncomfortable.

Her eyes flicked to my hands. I saw her fingers twitch—like she almost pulled the cup back before I could set it down.

My stomach tightened.

"Let me know if you need anything else," I said, voice barely above a whisper.

I turned to head back to the counter. That's when I saw Mom watching me.

Her face was proud.
But her eyes were wet.

And around her? The same customers. Staring. Whispering. Not just at me—but at her too.

Like we were both something they didn't want to look at for too long.

And that.. That hurt in a different way.

---

School didn't feel the same anymore.

No one said anything to my face. Not really. But they didn't smile the same way. Didn't sit beside me at lunch like they used to.

After Dad died, teachers spoke in soft voices and patted my head a lot. Some of them hesitated, like I might snap at them if they got too close.

A few kids were extra nice for a while. But then the whispers started.

"That's the kid whose quirk killed his dad."
"My mom said to stay away from him."
"He's scary."

I heard them. Even when they whispered. Kids aren't as quiet as they think they are.

I didn't say anything. Just kept my head down, walked faster, stared at my shoes. Pretended I didn't hear.

But I did. I always did.

Recess felt too big now. Too empty.

I used to run around with everyone else. Now I sat alone on the tire swing, dragging my feet in the dirt. I didn't know if I wasn't invited anymore, or if I'd just stopped trying.

My notebook stayed open in my lap. I was pretending to draw.

Mostly I was just making circles.

"Hey, Jouta!"

The voice made me jump a little.

I looked up. Hiroshi was walking toward me with a half-smile. Not the big grin he used to wear. But not fake either.

"You wanna play some ball?"

I blinked. "Are you sure?"

I glanced past him—two boys were watching us from across the field, already whispering.

"Yeah, I'm sure." He shrugged. "They're just dumb."

He tossed the ball lightly into the air, catching it again.

"Come on. I miss playing with someone who can actually keep up."

I smiled. Just a little.

We played for a while.

He ran ahead and I chased him. We kicked the ball back and forth without any rules, making them up as we went.

At one point, he tripped over nothing and collapsed in the grass.

"Ow!" he groaned dramatically. "I've been wounded!"

I laughed—before I could stop myself. Just for a second, I forgot everything else.

"You're hopeless!" I called, running toward him.

"Hopelessly awesome," he shot back, grinning up at me.

I offered my hand to help him up.

He grabbed it without thinking.

And I flinched.

Only for a second. It was instinct. Dumb, even. It was Hiroshi.

But the memory was still there—buried just under my skin.

He yanked me down beside him and took off laughing, the ball tucked under his arm.

His laughter cut through the haze. And for a little while, as I chased after him across the field, I didn't feel their eyes on me.

It didn't last.

The bell rang. We headed back inside.

And I felt it again. The stares. The way people made space around me in the hallway. The way the teacher's eyes flicked up and then away when I passed her desk.

My hand still felt warm from where Hiroshi had high-fived me.

But it wasn't enough to make the whispers go away.

---

For the first time in weeks, the house felt warm and alive. Mom had suggested a movie night, determined to brighten the mood. We'd made popcorn, gathered blankets, and huddled together in the living room.

Saya laughed loudly at the silly cartoon characters on screen, her giggles infectious. Mom smiled genuinely—eyes crinkling softly as she watched us more than the movie itself. Aimi threw popcorn at me every time a joke landed, which led to a small battle that made Saya laugh even harder.

"Stop wasting popcorn!" Mom teased, trying to sound stern but failing to hide her grin.

"Tell that to Jouta!" Aimi shot back, ducking as another kernel sailed her way.

I grinned, warmth blooming in my chest. For a few precious hours, everything felt… okay again.

Eventually, Saya drifted off, curled up against Mom, so Aimi and I started picking up the stray popcorn, moving quietly—we didn't want to wake the moment.

"Tonight was nice," Aimi whispered, almost to herself.

But her voice wavered. Just a little. She turned away, suddenly focused on gathering stray kernels. I almost asked if she was okay. But then she smiled at me like nothing was wrong.

"You actually laughed, you know," she teased, nudging me with her foot.

I wanted to say something. But instead, I just smiled back.

"Yeah," I said softly, glancing toward Mom. Her smile had faded into something more reflective. Almost wistful.
"It really was nice."

Mom gently stroked Saya's hair, her eyes distant.

"Your dad would've loved this," she murmured, her voice thick with quiet emotion.

I didn't say anything. Just nodded. Talking about him still felt like pressing on a bruise.

We fell into silence again—one that didn't hurt as much. The kind that held warmth, not weight.

I moved to sit beside her. At first, I was careful not to touch her. Then, slowly, I let my head rest against her shoulder.

That flicker of unease was still there—like some part of me would always hesitate before reaching out.

But this time, I didn't pull back.

"We love you, Mom," I said quietly, hoping it would be enough to fill even a little of the empty space he left behind.

She squeezed my hand, her voice trembling.

"I love you too. All of you."

The house fell quiet again. But it wasn't the heavy kind of quiet anymore. It was softer now.

Full of memories, not emptiness.

 

[Erebos_03_]

And the weight of his death.

Click to shrink...

The whole emotionally attachment to the character thing do you have down to the T. Let's see where this goes

 

[Noxsin]

The whole emotionally attachment to the character thing do you have down to the T. Let's see where this goes

Click to shrink...

Thank you! Hopefully i can deliver a satisfying story.