#professor touya

[mika-writes-fanfics]

Make it up to you

Professor!Touya x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You're assigned to be the teaching assistant for the new, attractive instructor at your university. His name? Professor Touya. Ever the good student, you hope to maintain a professional relationship with him and stay in good standing, but when he publicly embarrasses you in front of the entire class, all that is thrown out the window. 

Warnings/tags: Colleg AU, quirkless AU, older Touya (coded to be in his 30s), female reader, student/teacher's assistant reader, professor/student relationship, dumbification, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (female), public sex, usage of sir, public embarrassment, lots of dirty talking, messy sex 

Author's note: Huge shoutout to @dabisqueen and @history-be-written for being my beta readers and giving me good suggestions. I appreciate you guys sm!!! This fic truly wouldn't have turned out the way it did without you two. 

Word Count: 7.9K

“So,” Your friend turns to you, asking you in piqued interest, “Who’d the department put you with? You know who you’ll be an assistant for yet?”

“Yeah, I was told I’ve been placed with ‘Professor Touya Todoroki’,” you answer. The name is completely unfamiliar to you, though, you’re hoping she has at least heard of him before.

It’s your turn to ask her a question, and you choose to say, “Have you ever had him?”

Much to your dismay, she shakes her head no.

“Nope, never had him,” she replies. You frown slightly at her answer. Turning to  your friend’s roommate, you hope  to find that she has had some sort of interaction with him. 

“What about you? Have you had him before?” You question her. Just like your friend, she shakes her head, much to your disappointment. 

“I haven’t,” shesays. “I don’t even think anyone else has talked about him before either. I’ve never heard his name in my life.”

Damn. 

You were wanting to hear your peers' experience with your soon to be ‘boss’ of sorts, so that you could prepare yourself, but it seems you’re shit out of luck. You’ll just have to go in blind.  

“You know, they hired a new professor this semester. It might just be him,” your friend points out. She smiles at you mischievously before adding, “And rumor has it, he’s hot as fuck.” 

“Ooooh, how lucky. I’m jealous,” your friend’s roommate giggles. You scoff at the reaction. 

“No reason to be. He’s my professor, ‘s not like I can, you know, do anything with him,” you counter. 

You check your phone, seeing that the time to meet the new professor has come. “I gotta head over to his office before his lecture starts. I’ll catch you around.”

“See you later then. Have fun~” your friend farewells in a singsong voice. 

You chuckle at her antics and make your way over to the department building and to his office. When you get there, you stop to peer through the window on his office door, trying to see if he’s inside. Luckily, he’s there, looking down at a paper in his hand, unaware of your presence. 

You notice right away he doesn’t look like the rest of the university staff. He looks quite a bit younger than the rest of the aging faculty. Though, he was still a couple years your senior, in his early thirties at least. What makes him really stand out to you, apart from his piercing cyan eyes and dark, shaggy hair, is the way he dressed. He’s wearing tight black jeans, a form-fitting white button up, an expensive wristwatch, and black Converse. You can’t help but admire his intense, blue eyes as he studies the sheet of paper in his hand, too focused to notice your staring. Your eyes travel the expanse of his face, taking in his features. 

You remember your friend’s words, her little comment echoing in your brain. ‘Rumor has it, he’s hot as fuck,’ you’re reminded. For once, it seems her gossip is true. Even you can’t deny it; Professor Todoroki is very attractive. 

But you won’t act on your feelings, you can’t. You’re supposed to be his assistant after all! And so, with that thought in your mind, you snap yourself out of your daze. You take a deep breath, steeling your nerves and suppressing your desires, before knocking on the door.

He looks up from his papers and glances at you through the window in the door, before beckoning you inside his office. You swing open the door and take a few tentative steps into the room. He quickly looks you up and down, just for a split second, only for his eyes to settle back on your face and look at you expectantly. You hate how his overt glance at your body flusters you and makes you feel hot all over. 

“Excuse me, are you Professor Todoroki?” You ask with a soft voice. 

“Yep, that’d be me. Although, you can just call me Professor Touya. I don’t use my father’s last name,” he explains. His deep, smoky voice worsens your nervousness. The way his voice drawls has butterflies swarming in your stomach. He tosses the papers he was reading off to the side and approaches you, smirking down at you. “But what can I do for you, sweetheart?”

The pet name is something you’re surprised to hear coming from your professor. It borders dangerously on unprofessional, and yet, you find yourself letting it slide. Hearing him say something like that to you sends a wave of heat between your legs. 

Keeping your cool around him is not going to be easy, especially if he keeps calling you that. 

You start by introducing yourself and telling him your name before continuing. “I’m sure the department informed you already, but I’ll be your TA for this next semester,” you start. “I look forward to working with you.”

He hums in response. 

“So you’re my little assistant? Gonna help me with all the long hours grading, hm?” He asks. 

“Yes sir,” you answer. There’s a darker expression that flashes on his face, but it passes just as quickly as it appeared. He narrows his eyes slightly and lazily leans against his desk, supporting his weight using his forearms. Underneath the fabric of his button-up, you can see the muscles of his arms flexing. 

Oh god. 

He’s fucking ripped too. 

“You know, the other faculty told me about you,” he mentions. You can’t help but quirk up at the comment, feeling curious. What did the other teachers say about you? 

“Nothing bad, I hope,” you joke. 

“They all said you were a good student. Never a rule breaker, always professional. Top of your class too, I heard,” he starts. It fills you with a sense of pride and accomplishment, to hear your hard work has gotten you some recognition. You’re practically preening at the praise. And yet, it feels like there’s something else he wants to add. He straightens up and leans off of his desk. The space between you closes as he stands dangerously close to you. 

“But there’s one thing I think they got wrong,” he counters.

You tense up as your mind reels. His voice lowers and he adds, “I’m willing to bet you’re not as good as they say you are.” 

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his bold claim. Just who does he think he is? 

You clench your jaw, biting down the urge to snap back. He’s your superior. You can’t just yell at him and let him have it, not this early in the semester at least. Thus, you settle for tense questioning. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” he insinuates and takes a step back. The distance between the two of you gives you space to breathe, space to fume. “We’ll meet an hour before class to go over the lesson plan. I give a lot of tests over the semester, so come by every afternoon to help with grading.” 

Oh great. 

You’ll be spending most of your week nights with this hot asshole. 

“Understood?” He asks. His cobalt eyes bore into yours as he looks at you expectantly, waiting for your response. 

“Yes sir,” you answer flatly. Despite your lack of enthusiasm, he seems to grin at your agreement. 

“Hm, sir. That’s not something I’m used to hearing from my students,” he teases. There’s a darker look in his eyes that disappears as quickly as you notice it. “Your underclassmen tend to be more… casual around me.”

“And does that bother you?” You ask, suddenly feeling a bit awkward at your apparent odd choice of words. 

“No,” he says, quickly denying it. His voice seems to drop an octave, and he adds, “I prefer it, actually.”

There seems to be something off about the situation, something greater lying behind the surface of his words, but you can’t seem to figure out what greater meaning lies underneath something as simple as an honorific to him. 

The tension is broken after he clears his throat and leans off of the desk upon looking at the clock. “But enough of that,” he starts. “Our first lecture is scheduled to start soon. Let’s start talking about the lesson plan.” 

If there’s one thing you've learned about Professor Touya over the course of the next few weeks, it’s that he’s both fun to talk to yet incredibly strict. He has a penchant for teasing you and the two of you often banter with one another, but despite the growing bond forming between the two of you, he still insists on you calling him sir. 

You suppose he still wants to maintain at least a bit of an aura of professionalism between the two of you. And so, despite how awkward it feels, you continue to address him as such, unaware of the little quirk in his smirk that always follows. 

In speaking with him and sitting in during his lectures, you find yourself being intrinsically drawn to him like a moth to a flame. You reason it’s because you admire his remarkable intelligence, amongst other enigmatic qualities.

He’s driven. Witty. Mysterious. Captivating, even.

With how much he has going for him, it’s no mystery why the university hired him; he’s easily one of the brightest minds in his field, and an engaging professor as well. You could learn from him. 

Yeah. 

That’s all it is. 

You just want to learn from him, is all. 

That’s why you’re gravitating to him.

You don't want to think about him outside of class.

You don’t want to think about the way his attractive smirk gives you butterflies.

You don’t want to think about kissing those soft lips of his as you stare at him speaking.

And you definitely don’t want to think about his fingers descending down your body and touching your aching core. 

You try to avoid thinking about those less than pure daydreams you have about him, both out of self respect for yourself, considering the insulting implication he threw at you during your first meeting, and out of aversion to entertaining lewd ideas about your professor. However, despite this conscious decision, your subconscious has other plans. You find yourself often stealing glances his way, admiring his attractive features, much to your own dismay.

Today is another instance of your subconscious betraying you, and your eyes are now fixated on him, taking in the frustrated scrunch in his brow and tensed shoulders. He abruptly stops setting up the presentation on the computer and walks over towards the windows in the classroom. In an attempt to get respite from the rising heat in the room, he cracks open all the windows. 

“You’d think with the high tuition they’d have enough money to fix this damn AC already,” Professor Touya scoffs. The building’s lack of cool air is a well-known problem, which is why you wore such a thin, short dress today in the first place. It was too damn hot to show up to class wearing much else.

He sighs in annoyance as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls up the sleeves, revealing something that has your breath hitch in your throat.  They start from his wrists and travel up his arms. Shades of purple and blue accent his black ink work, the hues of blue matching his mysterious, cerulean-colored eyes.  From what you’re able to discern, his tattoos go even farther than just his forearms. You wonder just how many he has, and where. The curiosity makes your mind entertain some less than pure ideas, picturing his bare skin and imagining just what kind of ink work he hides underneath his clothes. You try to reign in these fantasies of yours, but you’re too busy drooling over him.

Too busy to even notice that he’s caught you staring. 

He smirks to himself upon seeing you ogling him. His hunch was right, there was something more between the two of you; an unspoken, mutual sexual tension. Though, you seem to be fighting your apparent attraction to him, he could see it in the way you quickly caught yourself and looked away, avoiding looking at him much more at all. He’s hoping he can change that. Maybe he can make you see there’s no shame in it. He’d be more than happy to indulge your naughty fantasies. 

He lazily glances at the clock, seeing how the scheduled lecture will start shortly. It’s then that he remembers something. He leans closer to you and taps the desk, startling you and flustering you with his sudden closeness, and requests, “Hey, I had some handouts for today’s class printed out upstairs. Will you go pick them up for me?”

“Yes sir, I can do that,” you agree. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. And with that, you leave the class and head to the printing room. Shortly after you leave, a couple students trickle into the room, all belonging to the same close-knit clique of fraternity members. They each take their usual seats and continue to talk amongst themselves freely. Their conversation is painfully loud. He can hear them all the way from the front of the classroom, even though they sit far in the back. 

“Aw man, that hot TA isn’t here today,” one of the frat boys bemoans. “She’s usually around before class.”

“Fucking bummer,” another complains. “Was hoping to get her number.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t mind getting a piece of that,” the other agrees. “She’s a total fucking nerd but I bet she’d be a decent fuck.” They all loudly laugh at that comment and continue making their comments about you. 

He knows their type, and just how it would end for you should you associate with them. Besides the fact that they’re all idiots and that alone would be enough to disappoint you, you would be wasted on them. Those frat boys wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you. They wouldn’t know how to make you cum. They wouldn’t make you completely dumb with pleasure. There’s just something special about getting a normally smart girl to completely fall apart for him, to give a girl so much pleasure that everything else melts away. And truthfully, he wants to take you there. He wants to see just what it would take to fuck you stupid. He has to know, just how much pleasure does it take to turn your brain to mush.

His desire for you is why these frat boys irk him so much. They casually talk about seducing you into their bed like you’re an easy lay. But the fun that comes with you is the cat and mouse game, the deliberation in your brain between suppressing your attraction towards him and wanting to cave into your own desires. Your little errand couldn’t have come at a better time. He’s glad you’re not here to give them an opportunity to make a move on you, but he can’t keep sending you away before class starts to spare you the misfortune of these idiots making a pass at you. 

No.

He needs to send a little message to the competition. 

And lucky for him, he’s got just the idea. 

More students start filing in as he makes his plans. He has everything thought out, and all that is left is the final piece: you. But shortly before Professor Touya starts the lecture, you make it inside the classroom, papers in hand. You attempt to start passing out the handouts, when he stops you in your tracks. He takes the stack of sheets from your hands and haphazardly tosses them aside.

“I thought they needed that for today?” You ask, thrown off by the apparent change in plans. 

“Nah, we’ll just have them copy the diagram themselves for today. I saw some research that suggested it helps more with memorization. You’ve seen their test grades, the students need all the help they can get,” he lies. You can’t help but genuinely chuckle at his light jab at his own students. As much as you think it’s a waste to discard the handouts– if Professor Touya believes it’ll help the students, you won’t argue with him. 

“Alright, whatever you say, sir,” you laugh. The lecture starts as it normally does and follows the previously discussed lesson plan, until it comes time to show the students the diagram. He turns to you mid-lecture, about to ask you for some sort of assistance. 

“You’ve got better art skills than me. Draw this diagram. Top of page ninety,” Professor Todoroki instructs. He slides over his copy of the textbook, pages turned to a rather complicated figure. It’s far too much information to draw from memory. 

“Sure thing,” you answer. You pick up a marker and uncap it, before holding the textbook in the crook of your arm. You’re about to start copying the figure near the bottom of the board when he interrupts you. 

“Ah, I’m going to write more notes there in a minute. Why don’t you put it over here instead?” He points far up the whiteboard to some blank space tucked in the upper corner. Your stomach sinks at seeing where he wants you to place the diagram. You’re regretting wearing such a short dress today. But still, short dress or not, you have to do this. Maybe… Maybe you can manage it, without flashing the entire class? 

Without much of a choice, you study the diagram, balancing the heavy textbook in one hand while you reach up the whiteboard with a dry-erase marker in hand. You start to stand up on the tips of your toes and you try to aim for a slightly closer area of blank space, all the while your mind is preoccupied with the hem of your skirt. You’re dangerously close to accidentally erasing all of his previous notes, something you’re not too keen on doing given his strictness. 

“Having trouble?” Professor Touya teases, with an amused grin on his face. 

“No, ‘m fine,” you lie. Not that you would admit it to him, but it’s more than just a bit awkward to both hold onto the book and stand up high to draw the figure. 

“Here, let me,” he insists. He comes up behind you, his crotch just barely brushing against your ass. Your breath gets caught in your throat at your body involuntarily stiffens. You internally cringe at how something so simple as a passing touch makes your body feel hot. 

He plucks the textbook from your hands, allowing you a bit more freedom of motion to stand up higher and draw with precision. He sidles up next to you and holds the book open for you. Still, even with his help, it’s still hard to draw exactly where he wants you to. Your dress already feels rather high on your legs as is, you’re sure disaster would happen should you stand up higher. 

“Come on, you’re almost there, just stand up a little more,” he encourages and goads. You almost jolt when you feel a warm hand touch your waist, egging you on to push the envelope just a little further. Not wanting to disobey him, you do as he says, though the regret is instant. The skirt of your dress hikes over your hips and reveals the curve of your ass. A sharp, hushed silence sweeps over the room. Your ears feel like they’re burning and tears are welling up in your eyes at the sheer humiliation you feel in this moment. You draw the figure anyways, albeit carelessly and sloppily. 

You just want this to be over. 

But since your back is turned to the class, you’re completely unaware of the silent exchange happening between Professor Touya and the frat boys in the back row. While you are doing as he asked, ever his obedient assistant, he’s busy glowering at his competition. 

The message is clear. 

You are off limits. 

When the diagram is finally drawn, you straighten back out and place your feet flat on the ground. You should be a bit relieved when your dress finally covers your body once more, but you’re unable to feel that respite. The damage is done, and you’re now left to simmer in your own embarrassment. 

“Is that all you needed from me, sir?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper and thick with emotion. There’s a lump in your throat forming as you fight back the urge to cry. 

“Yeah, that’s all, sweetheart,” he answers, in a manner that’s almost a subtle attempt at soothing you. You let out a shaky, uneven breath. 

“Okay,” you say through a tense sigh. Your voice cracks when you speak once more, “I-I’ll be in your office to… get started on grading.”

You dismiss yourself and nearly rush out of the classroom, all too eager to distance yourself from the source of your shame. Once you’re in the safety of the hallways, you freely let the tears flow down your face. You’re at least thankful the halls are somewhat sparse, meaning that few are able to see you fall apart like this. The last thing you can handle emotionally is someone asking you what happened or if you were okay. Talking about it would just make the humiliation much more real.  

When you finally reach Professor Touya’s office, you close the blinds on his door behind you and prop yourself up against the desk with your hands. You try to recollect yourself, to no avail. Your shame just eats away at you. But at least with his office so far out of the way of all other classes and the blinds drawn down, no one can see you fall apart like this. You can stew in your emotions somewhat privately, at least until Professor Touya gets back. 

Professor Touya.

You want to sneer at the thought of him. The more you think about what happened during the lecture, the more you can’t help but assume he wanted to embarrass you on purpose, like the asshole he is. He enjoys toying with you too much, but this time, he really went too far. You think you’ve been much too cordial with him. When he gets back, you swear you’ll give him a piece of your mind. Fuck professionalism, that was thrown out the window when he forced your hand and caught a peek up your dress. 

Speak of the devil, or rather, think of the devil, and he appears. More time than you thought must have passed while you were smoldering in your feelings, as Professor Touya leisurely strolls into his office, now apparently finished with the lecture. You wipe your tears on the back of your hand, trying to make yourself look a little less weak in front of him and steeling your nerves to tell him off. 

“So what the hell was that about, huh? Why do you get off on being an absolute dick to me? I know you did that shit on purpose,” you accuse. He makes his way over to you and stands in front of you, partially caging you against the desk. The close proximity to him makes you feel hot with what you assume is indignation.

Yeah, that’s what this feeling is.

You despise him.

He doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to let you vent out your frustrations, taking the spite you hurl at him. You’re very much angry at him, filled with so much frustration that your voice is unsteady as you yell, “You’re such a fucking ass. And for what! I did nothing to you, I’ve been nothing but helpful and polite. What could possibly make you want to humiliate me like that? What have I done to make you hate me like this?”

“Oh sweetheart, I don’t hate you,” he soothes. His voice sounds much more husky when he adds, “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Well I still think you’re an asshole for that little stunt you pulled, even if it wasn’t because you hated me,” you counter, speaking in between breaks in your voice. There’s still tears breaking past your lash line as a consequence of feeling so heated. Your emotions are only further worsened by the confusion you feel. If it wasn’t a malicious attempt to knock you down, why would he do such a thing to you? 

“I know, I know,” he agrees. “How about I make it up to you then?”

“How could you possibly make it up to me?” You question as your voice cracks under the weight of your emotions. You move to wipe your face when he beats you to the punch, brushing away the tears falling down your cheek with his thumb. His hand stays on your face and he tilts your chin to him, angling your face closer to his.  

“Well, I could start by making you feel good, give you something else to think about,” he insinuates. Your breath gets caught in your throat at his implication. “I know you feel it too, this tension between us. I’d love to indulge your fantasies about me, if you’d let me.”

You part your lips, searching for the right words and the strength to reject him, but with his face hovering tantalizingly close to yours, lips mere inches away, you realize you don’t have it in you. 

Fuck. 

You want him so bad. 

“P-please,” you whisper. He has a shit eating grin on his face at your meek and embarrassed begging. 

“What was that? You’ll need to speak up, sweetheart, I can’t hear you,” he teases. You swallow the lump in your throat, and lock eyes with him. 

“Please, make me feel good,” you say again, this time with a little more conviction. 

“Atta girl,” he praises. And with your agreeance, he closes the distance between the two of you and slots his mouth against yours. A gasp escapes you at the feeling of his lips working against your own. Your yearning and daydreaming didn’t prepare you for the intensity of this, for the pure wanting behind every movement of his lips. 

The kiss becomes more and more heated as he presses his body further against yours, leaving little space between the two of you. His tongue dips out from his mouth and runs along the seam of your lips and you part slightly, allowing him the space to slip the wet muscle inside. You find yourself shuddering at the contact and gripping onto the fabric of his button up as a way to tether yourself in this moment. It’s almost a bit embarrassing just how much you’re melting into his touch from something as simple as kissing. Your body is eating it up regardless, sending waves of warmth throughout your entire being and pooling between your legs. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks, after parting from the kiss, his breath fanning over your lips. Although you’ve been dreaming about this moment, and you desperately want to feel his touch all over you, your mind can’t help but chime in; you shouldn’t. 

You really shouldn’t. 

But with his hardening cock pressing up against your stomach and professionalism now abandoned, you throw caution to the wind and give in. You give him a nod and allow his hands to roam over your body. It’s almost dizzying to feel his touch, especially when his hands palm your chest and grope your ass, squeezing the plush flesh in his hands. He dives back in to press his lips up against yours in an intense, crushing kiss once more. You whimper against him, flustered at the feeling of his hot touch over your clothes. You’re becoming drunk on lust just from touches alone. 

Your arousal is heightened as the hands at your ass trail to the front, reaching your hips, before snaking up your dress. His fingers press against your clothed mound. He smirks into the kiss upon feeling the wetness already clinging against the fabric. 

You whine at the loss of friction when his fingers pull back, but the absence of his touch is short-lived. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and tugs the clothing down your thighs. You part your legs to allow him to completely rid you of them, leaving your cunt now bare before him. You’re glad the blinds on his door are drawn, preventing anyone else from seeing the debauched sight of your panties on the floor in front of your professor. 

The pads of his fingers teasingly trace up your inner thighs, slowly inching bit by bit up your legs and making his way to your aching core. You let out an involuntary gasp when he finally grazes your pussy, his touch now no longer separated by a layer of clothing. 

His fingers run up and down your folds, spreading your juices over yourself and teasingly avoiding sinking into your eager hole. You squirm and jolt every time the tips of his fingers brush against your clit. His warm touch on your engorged bundle of nerves sends jolts of pleasure up your spine. The embarrassment and shame melts away into pure, unadulterated desire with every drag of his fingers over your slit, leaving you wetter and wetter. Your slick coats his fingers as he grazes over your hole. He looks down to see his skin glistening with your wetness, causing him to suck in a breath at the sight. 

Realizing he’s teasing himself by waiting any longer, he decides to give you what you’ve been wanting. Two fingers finally dip inside of your heat, slowly at first. You let out a breathy moan as his digits sink into you. When they bottom out inside of you, you want to squirm at how full you feel with just his fingers alone. They’re the perfect combination of long and thick, stretching out your cunt with ease. 

A sharp inhale escapes you when he slowly pulls out, almost entirely, before pumping back inside of you. He sets an agonizingly slow pace at first as he watches your every reaction, studying what movements and angles have you panting for him. Ever observant, he effortlessly finds your most sensitive spots and hones in on them before quickening his pace. 

Your legs tremble and shake with every harsh thrust of his fingers, bringing you closer and closer to cumming with little effort on his part. He knows just how to curl them up, just how to press the ball of his hand against your clit, just how to get you panting for him. The relentless pumping of his fingers in and out of your hole sends floods of wetness to your core, coating his fingers with your slick. Moans loudly tumble out of your mouth when he slips another into your heat. Though as much as he’s enjoying hearing your slutty moans, he seems distracted. 

He puts his palm over your mouth and leans into your ear. “Shhh, someone’s coming,” he hushes. “Might wanna quiet down unless you want your classmates to barge in and see your pussy full with my fingers.”

You don’t have to see him to know he’s smirking at the comment, feeding off of your apparent embarrassment. The sounds of footsteps and talking nears closer and closer to the door. Knowing your classmates are nearing the door while your legs are obscenely spread for your professor and stuffed full of his thick fingers makes you feel hot with humiliation and overwhelmed with panic, but the pleasure Touya gives you is too much to give up. And so, you bite back your moans in an attempt to stay completely silent. Your body tenses with the risk of getting caught, causing you to clench down even tighter around his fingers. But even though you’re desperately fighting back the urge to whine and wail for him, with very obvious strain, the bastard keeps pumping in and out of you. You just hope the sound of wet squelching isn’t audible through the door.

“I can’t see in, the blinds are closed. Is he not here today?” A student asks, her question partially muffled through Touya’s office door. 

“No, he’s here. My roommate just left his class a while ago,” another student replies. The door knob jiggles as she tries to open the door. You hold your breath, expecting it to swing open and to be caught in the act. 

Only, it never happens. 

The knob refuses to yield to the student’s attempts. She mutters out of frustration, “Damn, must be in a meeting right now. His office is locked.” 

“Huh, I guess we’ll come back tomorrow,” the other classmate shrugs.

You sigh in relief, letting some of the tension dissipate. So long as you’re quiet, you can make it through this without anyone knowing what went on in his office. Still, even that is proving to be a challenge with the way his fingers continue to slam in and out of your pussy. Your knuckles turn white as you grip onto the desk like it’s your lifeline, pouring all your urge to moan into tensing your hands. His half-lidded, cobalt eyes stay trained on your face, seemingly searching for something, while a lazy and smug expression plasters his own face. 

A change in the angle of his fingers sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body and a stifled squeal wrangles past your lips. He snickers at your failed attempts at staying quiet. You instantly feel yourself sweating, either from the anxiety or from quickly racing towards your peak, you’re unable to discern. Hopefully the students didn’t pick up on it.

Much to your horror, one of the students speaks, “Wait, did you hear that?”

“No? What’d you hear?” The other asks in confusion. You cringe, worrying that their curiosity will lead to your social downfall. If they know someone is in there, they’ll demand you answer them. Should that happen, you’re sure Professor Touya will make you answer the door. Not only that, but with the way he’s eating up your embarrassment, you worry he’d make you answer their questions, all the while he still fingers you out of view.

“It was like… a squeak or something,” she explains. 

“Might have been a mouse, this building is super old ya’ know,” the other offers. 

The suspicious student laughs and says in disgust, “Ew, let’s just get the hell out of here. Lab starts in 5 minutes anyways.”

You can’t seem to hear the sound of their footsteps leaving over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the wet noises of your cunt gushing around his fingers. Evidently, Touya hears. “They’re gone, sweetheart,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. The feeling of his breath against your ear has you shuddering in response. His hand retracts from your face, no longer muffling your sounds. “Since we’re alone again, why don’t you let me hear those loud, slutty sounds of yours, yeah?” 

He starts to mouth your neck, intermixing his kisses with rougher bites against the delicate skin of your throat, leaving behind blooms of teeth marks and hickeys in his wake. It’s almost as if he wants everyone on campus to talk, like he wants your classmates to know you slept with him; the marks all over your neck damning evidence of your hookup. The sensation of his lips all over you  and the curving of his fingers against that bundle of nerves inside you has you keening for him, whines now freely escaping your mouth. 

“A-ah, feels so good,” you moan with a drawn out voice. He thrusts his fingers in and out of you in earnest, spurred on by your sweet sounds echoing in his office. You let out a choked noise upon feeling him speed up, and your walls clench down on his fingers, sucking them further into your heat. He can tell you’re quickly nearing your peak with the way your pussy flutters around him, contracting wildly.  

He pulls away from your neck and mutters against your skin, his breath fanning over the sensitive flesh, “Yeah, my fingers fucking your cunt feel that good? Gonna come on fingers then?”

The sound of his deep voice spewing such filthy words pushes you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes into you like a harsh wave, stealing your breath away at the impact. You loudly moan as your cunt contracts around his fingers, all the while he continues to pump in and out of you, working you through your release. True to his orders, you gush around him, and your slick freely leaks from your sensitive hole. He finally relents and pulls out of you when you squirm from the overstimulation, attempting to wriggle away from the excessive pleasure. A pleased smirk paints his face upon seeing his fingers glisten with your wetness in the light. The sight gives him an idea, one that goes straight to his cock just at the thought.

“Open up,” he commands. The fingers wet with your juices hover over your lips, waiting for you to follow his demands. You shyly part your lips, allowing his fingers to slip into you. The tang of your own slick touches your tongue and you hold eye contact with him as your mouth closes around his fingers. 

The feeling of your tongue swirling around his digits and the sight of your lips closing around him has his mind racing. He can’t help but think of how your mouth would feel on his cock and how filthy you would look on your knees for him, pretty face nestled against his pelvis and teary doe eyes looking up at him. But he’ll save that for another time.

He needs more than just your mouth right now. 

Once his fingers are sufficiently cleaned off by your tongue, he pulls them out. He surges forward and kisses you, sliding his tongue past your lips. The taste of you still lingers in your mouth. He lewdly moans into the kiss, feeling that much hornier upon sampling your taste. 

“Shit,” he curses against your lips after pulling back. “You taste so good.” He dives back in, passionately kissing you once more and tangling his tongue with yours. “Fuck, sweetheart. I’d bend you over this desk and devour this cunt, but I’m just dying to be inside you.”

“I need it, I want it too. Please, take me,” you beg. Never once did you anticipate you’d be begging for your professor to fuck you in earnest. Never once did you think you’d see the smirk on his face at your lewd pleading. And you certainly didn’t believe you’d ever feel his hands slide under your dress and lift it over you, unclasping your bra along with it, leaving you bare before him. 

He pulls back from you and starts to unbuckle his belt. The sound of the metal clinking in the room makes your ears burn at the lewdness and your pussy clench in anticipation. He frees himself from the confines of his dark jeans, leaving you salivating at the sight of him. 

You want to drool upon seeing how he’s quite thick and long, with prominent veins running along his shaft. You’re then pushed down flush against the top of his desk, splayed over a mess of papers, and he hooks one of your legs over his shoulders. Your breath hitches when he positions his cock in between your folds with his other hand and runs the head up and down your slit, collecting the slick dripping from you and lubing his cock. 

He locks eyes with you as he finally pushes the tip in, relishing in your expression as he slowly slips in, inch by inch. Meanwhile, your full attention is focused on the way his thickness stretches you out and how the veins on his shaft drag against your walls as he sinks into you. You feel a bit breathless when he finally bottoms out and his tip kisses your cervix. 

He starts to pull his hips back until his cock nearly slips out, before pushing back into you and filling you up once more. You feel completely stuffed. True to his words, you can’t think about anything else, the embarrassment you felt frowning more and more distant in your mind and being replaced by sheer, mind numbing pleasure. 

But when he really starts rutting in and out of you? 

Your brain is filled with cotton. He can tell by the way your eyes glaze over and soft moans sound from your parted, panting lips that he’s slowly fucking you stupid. It fills him with a bit of pride to see you being reduced to a brainless, horny mess for him, and the realization goes straight to his cock. 

“T-touya,” you stammer and moan upon feeling his thrusts increase in tempo. You never called him by his first name before, but now that he’s inside of you, it was reasonable for you to believe the two of you are well past formalities. 

“It’s still sir to you,” he growls, correcting your slip up. He punctuates his statement with a hard and deep thrust, making you sharply gasp. His stern voice draws a shudder out of you and you find yourself clenching down on him. 

“‘M sorry, s-sir,” you apologize. You can feel his cock throb in your walls at the honorific. Even through your lust clouded mind, you put the pieces together. 

Oh.

That’s why he liked you calling him sir. 

“Yeah, that’s better,” he breathes. “Like the sound of that out of your mouth more than my name. Keep it up, sweetheart.”

Spurred on by your words, he hooks your other leg over his shoulder, slightly raising you off of the desk and angling his thrusts to hit even deeper inside of you. You grip onto the edges of the table as he fucks into you harder. 

He’s canting into you so deeply and sharply that the desk shakes with every harsh clap of his hips against your thighs. Papers scatter onto the floor, picture frames fall flat on the table top, pens spill out of their holders and clatter onto the ground, all the while he chases one goal: to make you a stupid, incoherent mess from his cock. 

His pace quickens and you bite down on your knuckle in an attempt to muffle your whines and moans, not wanting to fill the entire wing of the building with the sounds of sex. You feel the pleasure rapidly building as he hammers into you, pressing up against that sponges bundle of nerves along your walls. It’s easy to tell he is feeling the same, as more and more deep moans and curses tumble from his lips while he ruts into you. The sound of his voice moaning out for you combined with the angle of his cock pushes you to the verge of orgasming. 

“Hah, fuck. ‘M close. Wanna cum, sir. Please make me cum,” you desperately beg. He throbs at your dumbified state and from the word sir coming out of your mouth. 

Shit, he’s getting close too. 

“Yeah? You gonna make a mess all over these papers then?” He asks, amid pants. He becomes drunk at just the thought of you cumming and dripping all over his cock. It sends a shock wave of pleasure straight between his legs and he rambles on, “Think you can squirt f’me too?” His hips brutally snap into yours, giving you the friction you need to finally be pushed over the edge. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck!” You chant, slurring each of your words in drunken pleasure. You finally fall apart with a silent scream, and just as he was hoping, you gush around him.

“That’s it, cream all over my fucking cock, sweetheart,” he encourages. Strings of your slick cling to his cock and snap with every clap of his pelvis against your skin. He continues to thrust in and out of you, recklessly chasing his own release as you lay below him, now teetering on the edge of overstimulation. 

Your pussy clamping down on him and your walls fluttering finally pushes him over. His hips stutter and he cums with a deep groan, painting your insides white. 

He stills, momentarily keeping his cock nestled in your walls, as he lowers your legs back down against the desk. Slowly, he pulls out of you, glancing down between your legs to see your combined releases leaking out of your hole. He watches, eyes transfixed, as his seed slowly starts seeping out of you and pooling on the sheets below. 

The two of you really did a number on his desk, and his entire office, for that matter. You lay there on the table, dazed and panting, attempting to catch your breath and come back down from your high. He can’t help but smugly chuckle at your dumbified state, before he tucks himself back into his pants. 

“What a mess you’ve made,” he teases. He walks off and heads to the door, about to leave, when he turns over his shoulder and adds, “Make sure to clean up after yourself.” 

You steal a glimpse at the wrecked state of the desk, partially horrified at the wetness pooling between your legs and onto the assignments and handouts. You stare at the wet spots on the sheets of paper. 

Fuck. 

Maybe it’ll dry off. 

You hope so, at least. 

Your face burns when you walk into his classroom the next day. You make eye contact with him as you go to stand near the computer, bringing up the PowerPoint for the lecture. The situation is more than just awkward. 

How do you proceed from here? 

You’re not even sure what to say to him, if you’re supposed to greet him as usual. Your mouth feels dry from nervousness, and you take a drink from your water bottle. A student then walks up to Professor Touya, thankfully taking the heat off of you to speak to him. 

“Professor Touya?” The student starts, preparing to ask him some sort of question. 

“Yes, what is it?” He answers. 

“Did you spill something on my papers?” The student confronts. You choke on your drink as he presents his graded assignment that looks to be partially sullied by water damage, only you and Professor Touya both know- that is definitely not water. 

“Hm, good question. I’m not sure, my TA graded most of these,” he deflects, feigning ignorance. He thinks for a moment, before snapping his fingers and saying, “You know what? Why don’t you ask her? She might know what happened.” 

To your horror, the student takes his suggestion, turning to you and interrogating, “What is this? Is this milk?” 

“Haha, yeah. Milk. It’s just milk,” you force out. You wish you could crawl into a hole and disappear at this moment from the sheer amount of embarrassment you feel. You awkwardly apologize, “Um, sorry about that.” 

“I mean, it’s okay I guess. Accidents happen,” the student shrugs.  

“Alright, if that’s all, we have to set up for today’s lecture. If you’ll excuse us,” Professor Touya intervenes. The student then walks off to take his seat as other students start trickling in. With the student now out of earshot, you confront him. 

“I hate you so much right now,” you say. “That was so embarrassing!” He chuckles at your situation, evidently very entertained by your dismay.

But as much as this circumstance embarrasses you, you can’t help but want more of last night, ruined papers be damned. Feeling bold, you ask, “Make it up to me?”

He gives you a cocky smirk, thrilled to know you want to be fucked dumb yet again. “Sure thing, sweetheart,” he agrees. “I’ll be waiting in my office whenever you want me.”

Tags: @the-milk-anon , @mirayasimpinghard

[onhiku]

Suggestions from twt

[autumnmobile12]

Just so we’re clear…

...the irony that Ambush Simulation was inspired by a Soul Eater episode where a white haired, patchwork dude with questionable sanity pulls the same stunt on some unsuspecting high schoolers and thought it was the funniest shit ever is not lost on me.

[schlechtenhunde]

"Hi, Dad."

That hurtful hand, poised, and bubbling Motor Oil—

Charred Tinsel curtains the sky and you’re crawling back from

Graveyard dirt underneath the Smiles of nails, frothy soil—

A fucking joke, Hit Me Again, better when I’m numb

Mottled skin flayed away just to Bite the hand that burns—

Started with hurt then followed by Detergent and Faltered acetylcholine

Sugary blood, ichor, sulfur water from the Carsick’s wheel yearns—

I watched that repulsive disappointment glaze upon your eyes, growl to clean

And maybe we watch Those cockroaches sniff your our smoky failure—

Empty heart, winter Nights, look at me, see me, watch me, tell me who’s the real VICTIM

They’re all over our necks, you, me, we, us, don’t you want a kerosene SAVIOR

Ice bath hounds, instinctual panting, and Azure will be your our last Symptom

Fire’s breathing until I’m snowy ash and there to stay

But I guess Hell never ever really bothered me, anyway.

[arjengelly]

I’m going to use Touya as an example cuz babies’ eye and hair colors can change over time…

[oneiricfallacy]

During Team Plasma's second invasion, Touya asked Zekrom to transform back into the Dark Stone to make it easier to keep him safe from Ghetsis. Since that left him without a body, Zekrom used Touya's body as his own during that time, especially since they had to fend off Neo Plasma attacks and out of the two he's the most competent fighter.

They work together well enough that it wasn't utterly debilitating for Touya's ability to exist as a functioning member of society (imagine Zekrom trying to buy groceries and attend college), but he didn't exactly think it was very fun.

[seumyo]

DABI | TODOROKI TOUYA ✰ RESONANCE

SYNOPSIS. Todoroki Touya abandoned the bass years ago, unwilling to chase a passion that had only ever led to disappointment. Now a distant but undeniably skilled third-year, he’s pulled back into music when a persistent second-year recruits him for her struggling band. He tells himself it doesn’t matter—but the stage has a way of unraveling the lies he’s built around himself.

PAIRING. [Third Year] Todoroki Touya and [Second Year] Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT. 13k+

CONTENT. Slowburn, Strangers to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, College AU, No Quirk!AU, Unhealthy Family (because Ende*vor), Angst with Happy Ending, Music as a Metaphor for Feelings, and so on.

AUTHOR’S NOTE. Haha (hides). This took SEVEN MONTHS, oh em gee. I’m never attempting to write long fics ever again (this was so fun). For my dearest, @seneon. Your long-overdue Bassist!Touya fic is finally here. And also @suksatoru, an absolute icon with who inspired me to write for Touya this way from her Carnations series <33 Special thank you to all my beta readers: Ali, Fio, Rinne, my brother—because without you guys, I would’ve just scrapped this whole idea and never let it see the light. I hope all Touya fans are fed with this !!

“Mr. Todoroki,” the professor began, leaning against his desk with arms crossed. “You’re intelligent. That much is clear from your written work. But intelligence without effort will only get you so far.”

Touya leaned against his chair, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “Didn’t realize effort was part of the grading system.”

“It is,” the professor replied. “That, and participation—which you’re both lacking. I suggest joining an organization—something to engage you beyond sitting in the back of a classroom and coasting through your courses.”

Touya let out a humorless laugh as if he just heard the funniest joke of his life, shaking his head.

“I’ll pass.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s just… not my thing, sir,” he muttered finally, his tone clipped. He didn’t need to say anything else to him.

The professor studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You’re only wasting your own potential, Mr. Todoroki. Though I do understand that you’re still adjusting from just having transferred two months ago. One day, you’ll realize that life isn’t going to wait for you to catch up.”

Touya didn’t respond. He just left the room once he was free to do so and didn’t bother letting his professor’s words linger too long with him.

Potential? What would his professor know about his own potential? As if the word hasn’t already been engraved in his mind from the moment he turned six, haunting him like a ghost out for revenge.

“Stupid professor,” he muttered under his breath. But even as he said it, he knew the real frustration wasn’t with the professor—or the thing that’s been holding him back, or anyone else. 

It was with him.

-

Lunchtime was always so chaotic in this university. Touya didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. But the food was good, surprisingly; he’ll give them that.

He settled into a routine. Sit on the farthest free table and have his earphones in, not because he was listening to anything, but because they were a convenient excuse to ignore anyone who tried to talk to him. He liked the solitude and how students here respected each other’s personal space.

So when a shadow fell over his table, he barely glanced up, assuming it was someone asking to join him at the table or grab the extra chair. You know, the usual stuff that happens in college—where everyone’s apparently too busy with their lives to meddle with others.

“Hey. You’re Todoroki, right?”

The voice wasn’t familiar. It was clear, a little raspy, and full of smugness that just screamed that this someone found the person they were looking for. Reluctantly, Touya looked up, locking eyes with the girl standing in front of him.

You weren’t anyone he recognized—definitely not from any of his classes. Your hands were behind your back, your posture casual yet still somewhat polite.

“And if I am?” he replied, his voice as flat and uninviting as he could manage.

You tilted your head slightly, offering him a smile. “Good. Saves me the trouble of asking around.” You bowed slightly in greeting, introducing your name and the department program you’re in. “Second year, I run the school band.”

He didn’t return the gesture, though he did raise an unimpressed eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Congrats? Do you want a medal or something?”

“I heard you’re good at playing bass.”

The words caught him off guard. Touya’s nonchalant expression is replaced by a flicker of something sharper, something guarded. “Who told you that?”

You shrugged, the motion deliberately casual. “Word gets around. Especially when someone is as good as you supposedly are.”

“Well, whoever said that was wrong. I don’t play anymore.”

Touya clenched his jaw, looking past you toward the window. The question scraped against old wounds he thought he’d buried—memories of playing in his room, of pouring everything into the bass that he’s only ever known.

“It’s not my thing anymore,” he muttered, barely loud enough to hear. “Sorry, kid. You’re years too late to have met me in my prime.”

“Not a kid—we’re probably around the same age,” you quipped. “And I don’t buy that.”

Your bluntness made him pause. He blinked, his head snapping back toward you. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t quit something like that unless there’s a reason,” you answered simply, your tone light but unrelenting. “And honestly? Professor Hamasaki actually forwarded his concern to me, so I think you really need it.”

Of course his professor had to have come up with an intervention for him. He spoke too soon about this new university letting him mind his own business.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” you said, crossing your arms and straightening up, “you look like someone who’s got way too much going on up here”—you tapped your temple—“and has no idea where to put it. Trust me, I’ve seen it before.”

Your words hit closer than he wanted to admit, and the smug look on your face didn’t help. He shook his head. 

“You’re annoying—putting your nose in other people’s lives.”

“I—”

He scoffed, raising a hand as if to stop you. “I told you, I don’t play anymore. Find someone else.”

“Can’t.”

“You’re the only bassist worth tracking down. And I’m not just looking for anyone—I’m looking for you. You ever heard of this university’s motto?”

“No, and I don’t care. Leave.” His voice was curt, unwelcoming now.

“Ut Optimi Simus.” That we may be the best.

Touya stared at you, his expression unreadable. You just couldn’t take the hint, could you? That much was clear on his end.

And to drop the school motto? What is he getting himself into? 

What kind of self-obsessed students did this university have?

“Look,” you continued, “we’ve got a spot open in the band, and I think you’d kill it. Just come to one practice. One. If it sucks, you can walk out, and I’ll never bother you again. Deal?”

There was a challenge in your tone, one that sparked something dormant in him. He could have shut you down again, could have sent you packing with another snarky comment. But for some reason—maybe it was the way you spoke or the strange mix of stubbornness and sincerity in your expression—he hesitated.

Maybe you would just bother him again if he refused; who knows?

But Todoroki Touya was screwed before he realized it.

“One practice,” he muttered finally.

“Yes!” you cheered, a bit too loud, which had the other students’ heads turning toward your direction. Touya had to rub a hand over his face. Great. More unwanted attention.

“Whoops—but that’s all I need. Music room, next week, after your class. Building GENM. Don’t be late, Todoroki.”

He stared at the empty space where you’d been standing, then at the table in front of him, where his phone lay forgotten.

“What the hell did I just agree to?” he muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that, for the first time in a long while, he might be walking into something worth his time.

Then again, it might be.

-

The week had passed in a blur for Touya. He hadn’t thought about the band—or you—much since your brief, honestly impulsive encounter. He convinced himself it was just another passing distraction, something to shrug off and forget about, like he usually did with things that demanded more of him than he wanted to give.

And yet, there he was, standing in the dimly lit hallway outside the music room, staring at the door like it might open on its own and save him the trouble of deciding whether to walk in.

It wasn’t like he owed you anything. He’d said he’d come to one practice—only one—and even then, he hadn’t really promised he’d participate. If you had any sense, you’d take the hint that he wouldn’t touch the bass.

Still, something made him turn the doorknob and step inside.

The room smelled faintly of old wood and metal, a mix of familiarity and nostalgia that hit him square in the chest. His gaze flicked around, taking in the scattered instruments, the amplifiers, and the slightly worn drum set shoved into a corner.

At the center of it all was you.

You were perched on a stool, your hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder as you leaned forward over a notebook in your lap. Your hand moved in quick, messy strokes as you scribbled notes, humming softly to yourself. A keyboard sat in front of you, the occasional sound of a chord filling the space as you tinkered with the rhymes and chords.

Your voice was soft, pleasing to hear, the kind of voice that could wrap around someone and pull them in without asking. Sort of like a siren, enchanting—bewitching.

“Damn, still doesn’t feel right,” you muttered to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips before crossing out a line. 

Touya stood there for a moment, unnoticed, just… watching. There was an ease to the way you worked. Quiet and focused. He didn’t know if it was weird to just stand there and watch, but it took him a minute to compose himself.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

You jolted, nearly dropping your notebook. You glance around to face him, your eyes meeting him before recognition softens your expression into a joyful one.

“Would it kill you to knock? We should’ve really put a sign to knock first before entering around here,” you joked, closing the notebook and setting it aside. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

Touya shrugged, slipping his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “Guess I had nothing better to do.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Your teasing tone was annoying, but it wasn’t enough to make him leave. Instead, he let his gaze wander to the instruments again.

“Is that for me?” he asked, nodding toward the bass leaning against the wall.

“Yup. Freshly tuned and everything. Had to get new strings because the last idiot who used it was just awful.” You stepped aside, gesturing toward it. “Figured you’d want something decent to work with.”

It had been a long time since he’d touched a bass. Too long. But he forced himself to walk over, crouching down to inspect it. His fingers brushed the strings lightly; it felt like meeting something familiar again.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

But before he could even pick up the bass, the door burst open with a loud thud.

“[Name]!”

The shout startled you both, and Touya turned to see a tall guy—not as tall as he is, probably—standing in the doorway, a guitar case slung over one shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. His face was flushed, and he looked like he’d sprinted all the way there.

“Kaito?” you said, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

This guy, Kaito, ignored your question, his gaze landing on Touya briefly before shifting back to you. “We’ve got a problem.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “Of course we do. When have we never? What now?”

“One of the judges for the festival just backed out,” Kaito explained, stepping fully into the room. “And the committee’s freaking out. They want all bands to perform a teaser set tomorrow to convince the others to stay on board.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head, the guitar case slipping slightly on his shoulder. “I wish I was. They’re saying it’s our only shot at keeping everything on track. Rikiyama said so herself.”

Touya raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you. 

“Festival?” he asked, his tone flat.

You let out a long sigh, finally turning back to him. “School music festival. Big deal, lots of bands competing for sponsorships and a chance to compete nationally. We’re signed up, obviously, but now they want us to play tomorrow. Which is insane, by the way.”

Kaito finally seemed to register Touya’s presence, his head tilting to the side. “Is this the Todoroki you were talking about, [Name]?”

“Our new bassist,” you answered breezily, grinning as if the words were the most natural thing in the world.

Touya shot you a glare, his posture stiff. “Not yet. I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Well,” you said, clapping your hands together, “looks like you’re about to. Lucky for us, huh?”

“Hold up,” Kaito said, stepping closer. “This guy’s the bassist? You’re bringing in someone new now? Do the others know?”

“Relax, they know,” you replied, waving him off. “Oh, and he’s good. Better than good.”

Kaito didn’t look convinced, but before he could argue, you turned back to Touya.

“Guess you’re jumping in sooner than expected.” Your statement was something that can’t be denied; even Kaito caught onto it.

Touya stared at you. He could feel the weight of the bass guitar in his hand, the pressure of the situation finally making itself known to him.

And yet, for some reason, he didn’t leave.

-

The day of the teaser set was supposed to be the day you reclaimed your band’s undefeated title. 

The kind of event that set the tone for the upcoming music festival. To keep spectators and sponsors engaged. Not… whatever was happening backstage.

Backstage was tense. You stood near the edge of the curtain, peeking out at the crowd as they settled into their seats. The band was set to go on in less than ten minutes, but your focus wasn’t on the audience—it was on the absence of one particular bass player.

“He’s not coming,” Kaito said from behind you, his voice flat. He leaned against a stack of amplifier cases, arms crossed, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced with thinly veiled irritation. “I called it the second he said he hasn’t agreed to anything yet.”

You didn’t answer immediately. You let the curtain fall back into place, turning to face the rest of the team. “We don’t know that yet. He might just be late.”

“True,” Haru sighed dejectedly. He’s the one who handles the keyboard and prefers to keep his opinion to himself most of the time rather than voicing it out loud—a second-year in your class.

Kaito scoffed. “Late is still bad. This isn’t some casual jam session, [Name]. This is our shot at keeping the sponsors happy. If they pull out, it’s over.”

One of the other band members, the usually energetic drummer named Yuuma, chimed in. “Kaito’s got a point. If he hasn’t shown up by now, he’s probably not coming.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Then we’ll do it without him,” you decided, trying to mask the knot of disappointment tightening in your chest.

Kaito shook his head, clearly exasperated. “This is why I said you shouldn’t go scouting random people at the last minute. You can’t trust someone who’s barely committed. Plus, we could’ve offered the slot to someone else.”

“Kaito,” you frowned, your tone sharper than usual. The entire band looked at you in surprise, and you softened slightly, your shoulders relaxing. “Look, I get it, okay? But we don’t have time for this. We’ve played without a bassist before, and we can do it again.”

He muttered something under his breath but didn’t push further.

The stage manager appeared a moment later, signaling that it was time for your set. You took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your guitar as the band moved into position.

As you stepped onto the stage, the audience greeted you with polite applause, and the blinding stage lights made it impossible to see the faces in the crowd clearly. You swore someone from the technical team really wanted to blind you and your team one of these days.

You approached the microphone, your voice steady as you introduced your band and the first song. “Thanks for being here, everyone! This is a little something we’ve been working on for a while now.”

Yuuma gave the count-off, and the music began.

The first song went smoothly. Kaito’s electric guitar filled in the gaps left by the missing bassline, and your vocals were working overtime to keep the audience engaged. The crowd seemed to enjoy it, clapping along during the choruses and cheering loudly by the end.

But something felt off.

The music was fine, technically speaking. You hit all the right notes and kept the rhythm tight, but it lacked the depth that a good bassline could bring. It was like there was a hollow space in the sound, a space that Touya’s presence could’ve filled.

It should’ve felt like a victory. To be able to perform without a bassist.

You also noticed the way the judges whispered among themselves, one even talking to the university’s president.

“Well, that wasn’t a complete disaster,” Kaito murmured, though his tone was less than enthusiastic as you all returned back to your practice room.

“Could’ve been better,” Yuuma muttered, packing up his drumsticks.

“I guess,” Haru pouted, flicking his wrist back and forth.

You didn’t say anything. You set your guitar down carefully, your movements slow and deliberate, as if everything wasn’t real just yet.

Kaito noticed your silence, obviously, and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not seriously still thinking about him, are you?”

“I’m not thinking about him,” you replied quickly.

He hummed faintly, clearly unconvinced, but he let it drop.

As the rest of the band packed up their gear and got out of the room, you stayed for a minute. You found yourself staring at the bass leaning against the wall, untouched and waiting. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would’ve sounded like if Touya had been there, if his bassline had woven seamlessly into your music and added the missing piece to tie the whole performance together.

But then you shook your head, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered under your breath, the words more for yourself than anyone else.

“He already made his choice.” You did sound a little bummed out about it, though.

With one last glance at the bass, you left the room, making sure to lock it on your way out, determined to push Todoroki Touya out of your mind. This would be the last time you’ll ever think of him.

Or so you told yourself.

-

The aftermath was everything but light. It was merciless.

The following week wasn’t as pleasant as you thought it’d be; you couldn’t walk two steps without hearing the agitating murmurs.

“I thought she said they had a bassist?”

“What happened? Did the guy just dip?”

“Damn, imagine embarrassing yourself in front of the whole school like that.”

You clenched your jaw and kept walking, ignoring the sting that settled deep in your gut. You had been prepared for some backlash, sure, but you hadn’t expected the weight of it—the way the entire school seemed to know, the way the student council president looked at you with thinly veiled disappointment when the secretary and treasurer greeted you down the hall.

You had been so sure. You had told them, had promised them that you finally had a full band, that you were ready to compete. Just like once upon a time. And now, you had nothing to show for it.

Now you seem like a liar.

And Touya just… disappeared completely from your radar.

It was your fault; you knew that now. The man hasn’t even known you for longer than two weeks, and you expect him to do something as big as perform for a teaser set? You must have been so entitled to have thought of that.

So selfish to have only thought about what you want and never thought about what he wanted.

The meeting with the president later that afternoon only made it worse.

You sat stiffly in the office, your hands clenched into fists in your lap. Across from you, the president and a few teachers sat with unreadable expressions, while the event’s organizers and two members of the student council looked far less amused. Haru and Kaito flanked your sides—Yuuma called in sick on the second day of the week.

The president sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ms. [Last Name], I’ll be honest with you. This situation has put us in a difficult position.”

You forced yourself to stay calm. 

“We do have a band,” you said evenly. “We just had an issue with our bassist showing up. But it’s temporary. We’ll fix it.”

One of the organizers, a woman in a navy blazer, exchanged a look with the student council members. “That may be, but you don’t have a bassist right now,” she pointed out. “And without one, your band does not meet the minimum requirements to represent our school in competition. The sponsors and judges of high authority weren’t too thrilled with your performance last week as well. We had to compromise some of them to stay for the music festival.”

Haru sighed softly. “Then what will happen to us?”

The president hesitated, as if reluctant to say it out loud. “We’re giving you until the end of the month,” he said finally. “If you can’t secure a bassist by then… I’m afraid we’ll have to dissolve your band.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Disband? Just like that?

Kaito shot up from his seat, palms flat on the table. “You can’t be serious. We’ve been working our as— very hard on this since last year, please.”

“We are very serious, Mr. Watanabe.” The president's voice was firm but not unkind. “The school’s music program is already under pressure for funding. With many bands making themselves known each year. If we can’t prove that your band is viable for competition, we can’t continue allocating resources to you.”

Haru exhaled sharply beside you, shifting in his seat.

You could feel the walls closing in, the weight of their situation pressing on your shoulders.

One month. That was all you had.

Your mind raced, going over every possible option, every potential bassist you could reach out to. But the truth was, other bands had already scouted most of the available musicians at school. If there were any other bassists capable of keeping up with you, you would have known.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part?

You already had the right person for the job.

You had found someone who could play at the level you needed—someone so good that even Kaito, with all his attitude, had begrudgingly acknowledged his skill.

But he was also the same person who didn’t want to play anymore. And you can’t force someone to do the things that make them unhappy.

You sucked in a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“We understand,” you said finally, forcing your voice to stay calm. “We’ll find someone. Thank you for your kindness.”

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, but the weight of it didn’t leave you, even as you stepped out into the hallway. It felt like your heart was lodged in your throat, rendering you silent.

The moment the office door clicked shut, Kaito exploded.

“This is bullshit,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “All because some spoiled rich kid couldn’t be bothered to show up just for one gig?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable.”

You didn’t say anything.

Kaito turned to you, eyes sharp. “Tell me you’re not still thinking about him.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m thinking about where we’ll find a good bassist. That’s all.”

Kaito scoffed. “Right. And who exactly do you think is good enough to replace him on such short notice? The others combed through almost all musicians in school.”

“Easy, Kai,” Haru told his friend.

You had no answer.

Because no matter how much you hated to admit it, there wasn’t anyone else.

Kaito must have caught the hesitation in your silence because his expression finally relented. “No. Let’s not think about it anymore.”

You adjusted the strap of your bag. 

“We’ll figure it out,” you said, sidestepping the subject entirely.

Kaito sighed.

“She’s right,” Haru said. “We don’t have a choice.”

You nodded once, more to yourself than anyone else.

One month.

One month to fix this.

One month to… figure things out for better or worse.

And unfortunately, there was only one person who could.

And you were sure that he no longer wanted to see you.

But you had to talk to him one last time. For closure.

-

It was late. Touya’s classes usually stretched to 7 in the evening on Thursdays.

Touya was halfway down the stairs of the main building, hands shoved in his pockets, his steps unhurried. The night air was crisp, but he barely felt it. He had done what he always did—attended just enough classes to stay off his professors’ radar, killed time, and now, finally, he was going home.

But then he saw you.

You stood near the entrance, arms crossed, your bag slung over one shoulder. You weren’t blocking his way, but you didn’t move when he approached, your stance solid like you had been waiting for him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were the waiting type.”

You didn’t react to the teasing. Not even a glare.

“I get it,” you said instead, your voice unnervingly steady. “You don’t want to play.”

Touya slowed to a stop, tilting his head.

Something about the way you said it made his neutral expression turn to a simple frown—because there was no anger, no frustration, no accusations. Just a simple statement, like you had already accepted it.

Took her long enough.

He shrugged. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, and for the first time, he noticed how exhausted you looked. Not physically—no, you were still standing tall, still looking him in the eye—but there was something in your expression, something worn down at the edges.

“I know.”

Your hands are clenched at your sides, knuckles tight.

“You could’ve just said no. You could’ve told me in the practice room that you weren’t going to do it. That you actually didn’t care. That you were going to let me stand up there and make a fool of myself in front of the entire school—because at least I would’ve been prepared.”

Touya’s smirk twitched but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never promised you anything.”

Your shoulders stiffened.

“Because you didn’t refuse that day, when Kaito asked who you were. You picked up the bass, played a few chords, and stayed an hour or less than you intended to. You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.”

Touya didn’t respond.

Didn’t shift, didn’t look away, but something in his posture went unnervingly still.

You let out a breath, closing your eyes for half a second before opening them again. “Do you have any idea what it was like?” you asked. “Standing up there, knowing everyone was laughing at us? Knowing the only reason we even got to play was because the judges were being polite?”

He had heard.

He hadn’t gone to the teaser set, but the rumors had found him anyway. Your band had been the first to perform to keep the judges on board—only to be the one band without a bassist.

A missing piece in an otherwise well-practiced performance.

A joke.

The sponsors and judges weren’t happy at all.

Your laugh was quiet, bitter. “We were supposed to set the standard, Todoroki. We were supposed to show them why the school backs us—that’s why we were the first to perform. And instead, we just… gave them every reason to doubt us.”

Touya’s jaw tightened just slightly, but his expression remained neutral. “That’s not my problem.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the city beyond the school gates filled the silence—the distant rumble of a passing car, the buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

Then, finally, you straightened.

“But I was happy,” you admitted. “To have seen you play in person. To have known that I was one of the first to approach you for your talent before anyone could even connect the dots with your name.”

Touya was quiet as you spoke, allowing you to tell him how you truly felt about the situation.

“Thank you for taking your time to visit our music room. And… I’m sorry, really sorry if you felt pressured to play because of my persistence. I know that now.”

Well, that took a turn, Touya thought to himself.

“I’m not going to bother you anymore,” you continued. “But I do really—genuinely appreciate you giving us your time.”

Touya felt something in his chest shift, but he ignored it.

You bowed for one last time and turned on your heel without another word.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t say anything as you walked away, disappearing into the dimly lit street.

Didn’t watch as you left him alone with the cold and the distant echoes of everything you had just said.

-

The house was silent when he got home.

It always was.

Touya kicked off his shoes in the entryway, not bothering to turn on the lights. Everything was still—too still.

His siblings wouldn’t be home for another hour.

The scent of old wood and polish lingered in the air, clean and sterile. The housekeeper must have been here earlier, tidying up everything that didn’t need tidying. It felt suffocating, the way nothing ever changed here.

His steps were slow as he made his way up the stairs, fingers dragging along the smooth railing. The portraits lining the walls were familiar, but he didn’t spare them a glance. Family pictures. Moments frozen in time. He knew what they looked like without having to see them—his siblings, perfect and poised; his mother, distant yet present; and his father, always standing in the center like an immovable force.

Touya wasn’t in most of them. 

Who knows what he must’ve been doing—or what he’s done for him to not be included?

His fingers curled against the wood before he withdrew his hand.

At the end of the hall, his bedroom door stood half-open, just as he had left it that morning. He pushed it open fully, stepping inside.

The room was clean, untouched, just like the rest of the house seemed to be every time he came back. Sometimes he questions if a family truly lives in this house. A house, because it never felt like home.

His gaze flickered across the shelves first. Medals hung from carefully arranged hooks, ribbons still tied neatly around them. Gold, silver, bronze—some gleaming, some dulled with time. A display case lined with trophies sat against the wall, their engraved plates catching the little light from his window.

They were proof of what he had once been.

A prodigy. A name whispered among teachers and musicians alike.

Someone who had been going somewhere.

But none of it had mattered.

His eyes landed on the bass guitar in the corner.

It rested against the wall, still in its worn case, the handle covered in faint scratches from when he used to carry it everywhere. He could almost feel the weight of it in his hands again, the familiar press of strings against his fingertips.

But it had been years since he actually played.

Years since he had felt anything when he looked at it.

Touya’s throat felt tight as he stepped further into the room.

At first, he had tried so hard. He had thrown himself into music with everything he had, drowning in it, desperate to carve out a space for himself in a family that never had room for him.

And for a while—just a little while—he had been good enough.

His teachers had praised him. His instructors had fought over who got to mentor him. People had noticed him.

But then his younger siblings had grown up.

And suddenly, his achievements weren’t enough anymore.

His father had never said it outright, but Touya had known. He had felt it in the way the encouragement faded, in the way the compliments grew fewer, in the way Enji barely looked at his trophies anymore.

You should focus on something more practical, his father had said once, as if music had been nothing more than a hobby. As if Touya had wasted all those years for nothing.

So he had stopped playing.

What was the point? What was the point of pouring himself into something that didn’t matter? What was the point of trying when no matter how good he got, it would never be enough?

Touya exhaled slowly, his gaze dragging back to his bass.

Even now, even after years of refusing to touch it, something in his chest twisted at the sight of it.

He told himself he didn’t care anymore. That it didn’t bother him.

But then your words came back to him, quiet but sharp.

You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.

His jaw clenched.

You looked so—tired. Not just angry, not just frustrated, but done. Like you had spent everything you had trying to reach him. 

To reach something that could never be reached.

And for what?

Because he couldn’t face his own ghosts?

Touya let out a quiet scoff, running a hand down his face.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He turned away from the bass, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You weren’t entitled to his skills.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that it used to mean everything to him. It didn’t matter that he used to love it. It didn’t matter that for a few years, music had been the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely.

None of it mattered.

Not anymore.

And yet—

Touya lingered in the doorway, staring at the bass for one second too long before finally walking away.

-

Dinner was quiet that night. 

Touya sat at the far end of the long table, arms crossed, eyes heavy-lidded with the kind of exhaustion that never seemed to leave him these days. The air in the house was the same as always—too clean, too cold, too silent. 

He propped his elbow against the table and rested his chin on his knuckles, watching his father from across the room. Enji Todoroki, a powerhouse of a businessman, always the center of everything, even here. He ate in silence, posture rigid, movements deliberate.

Touya barely touched his food.

Natsuo sat two seats away, quiet but visibly tense. Fuyumi kept sneaking glances at him, her fingers fidgeting against her utensils. Shouto sat at his usual place, unmoving, eating mechanically like he wasn’t aware of the thick tension hanging in the air.

Touya let his gaze drop to the table, to his own reflection faintly visible in the polished wood.

It was funny, in a twisted sort of way.

He used to sit here as a kid, hanging onto every word his father said, desperate for even the smallest ounce of approval. He used to listen to Enji talk about Shouto’s lessons, about the weight of responsibility, about greatness.

And for a while, he had been a part of that.

For a while, Touya had been someone his father actually looked at.

The kid who could play with instinct, who picked up the bass and made it sing like he had been born to do it.

And back then, Enji had actually acknowledged it.

Not praise, not exactly, but recognition. His father had seen the way Touya played, the way his sponsors praised his name, the way his name had spread through competitions like wildfire, and for a short while—Touya had mattered.

Until he didn’t.

Until his siblings started excelling at everything else. 

Natsuo was an academic. He soared through school with ease, outpacing everyone in his classes. His teachers raved about his intelligence, his potential.

Fuyumi was diligent and capable, always responsible, always steady, the one who excelled in sports. Swimming, volleyball, badminton—you name it, she could probably learn how to do it within two days maximum.

And Shouto—

Shouto was the golden child. The one their father had molded for years. The one meant for greatness, destined to surpass even Enji himself. He had a fragment of each of his siblings’ greatness.

And Touya?

Touya played music. And suddenly music wasn’t as great as academics, or sports, or arts.

One day, his father had simply stopped asking about his lessons. He had stopped attending his performances. Had stopped looking at the trophies he brought home, the medals he placed on his shelf.

And Touya knew then.

Knew that to Enji, he had already been left behind.

He swallowed down the bitterness clawing at his throat, his fingers curling against the table.

The silence in the room was unbearable.

So he broke it.

“You know,” Touya said suddenly, voice slow and deliberate, “I’ve been thinking.”

Enji didn’t look up. “About what?”

Touya tilted his head, watching him carefully. “About how pointless everything is.”

That got his father’s attention. Of course, it would. Enji finally met his gaze, brow furrowing slightly.

“Watch your tone,” he warned.

“Or what?” His voice was light, careless. “You gonna scold me? Ground me? Tell me that I’m throwing my life away in studying politics?”

Fuyumi’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to interject. Natsuo tensed. Shouto kept eating, but Touya knew he was listening.

Enji exhaled slowly, setting his chopsticks down. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Touya dragged a hand through his hair, breathing in sharply. “Alright. Fine.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I spent years playing the bass. I was good at it. No—scratch that. I was the best at it. You know that. My teachers knew that. Everyone knew that.” His voice hardened. “And you let me. You let me believe that it mattered, that it was worth something. And then one day, just like that, you decided it wasn’t.”

Enji remained impassive. “I never told you to stop playing.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He could still remember it. The shift. The subtle, almost imperceptible way his father’s attention drifted. How the words of encouragement—rare as they were—had faded. How the pride that once flickered in his father’s expression whenever he won had dulled until it was nothing but disdain.

Because music wasn’t important. Because it wasn’t a legacy. Because Touya playing the bass isn’t important. Because music wouldn’t help him become a candidate to rise to the business world.

And that had killed something in him.

“Do you even get it?” Touya’s voice rose slightly, sharp and bitter. “Do you know what it feels like? To pour everything you have into something, to love something so much it becomes a part of you, only to have it tossed aside like it’s nothing?” His fingers clenched against the table. “What was the point? What was the point of me trying? What was the point of all the competitions, the trophies, the lessons? What was the point of any of it if you were just going to decide it wasn’t worth your time?”

Enji was silent.

Of course, he was.

Touya’s laugh was louder this time, almost incredulous. He shook his head, his grip tightening. “I should’ve known, huh?” His voice was quieter now, something bitter curling around the edges. “The moment my siblings started excelling, I should’ve known.”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t refute it. Didn’t deny it.

Because it was true.

Because Touya had spent years waiting—waiting for something, anything, that told him he still was important. That he wasn’t just something his father had already discarded.

But Enji was as quiet as ever.

And that told him everything he needed to know.

His fists slowly unclenched. His expression smoothed over into something colder. He exhaled, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape of wood against the tile.

“Forget it.”

He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Fuyumi called out his name softly, but he ignored it. Natsuo watched him leave with something tight in his expression. Shouto didn’t move.

And Enji—

Enji didn’t stop him.

Touya didn’t look back.

Because what was the point in arguing with a wall?

But Touya knew the conversation was far from over.

-

“We need to talk.”

Touya let out a slow breath through his nose, already bracing himself. He didn’t stop to acknowledge him right away, just leaned down to untie his boots, drawing out the motion. He knew how this worked. Enji didn’t like raised voices, didn’t like drawn-out arguments, and didn’t like things disrupting his carefully maintained order. If Touya ignored him long enough, maybe he’d just drop it.

But, of course, Enji Todoroki never dropped anything. Especially not after the stunt he pulled earlier.

Touya sighed and finally straightened, rolling his shoulders as he turned. “Yeah?” He blinked lazily, voice laced with dry amusement. “What groundbreaking wisdom do you have for me this time?”

“You need to stop this,” Enji said, tone clipped.

“Stop what, exactly?” He tilted his head. “Speaking my mind?”

“Throwing a tantrum.”

“Ohhh. That’s what we’re calling it?” He let his voice drop into something almost conversational. “No, you see, I thought I was just telling the truth. You did say honesty is the best policy.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change. His silence pressed against Touya’s ribs like an iron weight.

Touya rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. Lay it on me. What’s the lecture this time? That I’m being unreasonable?” He snorted. “That I should be grateful?”

Enji exhaled carefully. “I never told you to stop playing music.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?”

“I told you not to rely on it,” Enji clarified, tone flat.

Touya clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Keep it as a hobby. Something to do on the side. Something that wouldn’t distract me.” His voice dipped into something laced with mockery. “Because that’s what you always do, huh?”

Enji narrowed his eyes slightly. “Touya—”

“No, seriously.” Touya let out a sharp, humorless chuckle, stepping closer. “First, you push me into it. You tell me I’ve got talent, that I should hone it, that I should train.” His voice dropped into something razor-sharp. “And I did.”

His gaze burned, unrelenting.

“I played,” he continued. “I trained. I performed. And I was good, wasn’t I?” His voice was laced with something bitter. “I was great.”

Enji didn’t deny it.

“But then one day, you just…” He snapped his fingers. “Checked out. Like it didn’t matter anymore.” His jaw tightened. “As if playing music was the most disappointing thing any of your children could’ve done. Or maybe that case only applied to me?”

Silence.

Touya inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “But, hey, that wasn’t enough, was it?” His lips curled into something sharp, his voice laced with venom. “No, because after making it real clear that music wasn’t worth your time, you decided to shove me into something else instead.”

His eyes burned.

“Business administration.”

Enji’s face hardened.

“You actually thought I’d be like you.” Touya laughed. It was a clear joke to him. “Like I gave a single shit about your business.”

Enji exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You’re intelligent, Touya. If you had stuck with it—”

“If I had stuck with it? Are you kidding me?” His voice rose, heated. “I never wanted that, old man! You wanted that!” He gestured wildly. “And you shoved me into it like you do with everything else because you thought it was better than me playing music!”

He took a slow, measured breath, voice lowering into something cold.

“And the worst part? I still tried.” His lips twisted. “I spent two years in that goddamn conservative, traditional university, forcing myself to study something I hated just because you thought it was acceptable.”

His fingers curled into fists. “And the second I transferred out, you had the audacity to act like it was my decision.”

He dropped his voice into a dead-on mimicry: “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? How could you waste two years?”

“Like you didn’t push me into it in the first place. You do that with everyone—Fuyumi would’ve still been competing today if you hadn’t discouraged her, Natsuo and Shouto as well.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Touya inhaled sharply through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less bitter.

“I didn’t even want to just play music,” he muttered. “I had a plan. I was gonna study law. Be a lawyer.” He scoffed. “Did you even know that?”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Touya scoffed. “Yeah, I didn't think so.” He shook his head. “I wanted to help. I wanted to be something. And I still wanted to play, still wanted to keep music as a part of my life—because it was with me for almost all of my life. But you made me feel like that was stupid. A childish dream that I was bound to let go of.”

His throat tightened.

“You made me feel like it wasn’t worth it.”

“Touya, you needed direction.”

“No,” Touya snapped. “I needed a choice. I needed support. But you never gave me one.”

Silence.

“You forced me into music. Then you forced me into business. And when I walked away from both, you just acted like none of it ever mattered. Like I had humiliated everything that you had built for this family.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change.

“No surprise, though, huh?” He tilted his head, voice dropping into something dangerously quiet. “Because Shouto could finally fill in my shoes.”

Enji’s jaw tightened, just slightly.

“Yeah, that’s what it is, isn’t it? Did I hit a nerve there, Dad?” His voice wavered, barely perceptible. “You didn’t need to focus on me anymore, so you didn’t.”

Touya’s fists clenched.

“I should’ve known better.”

Enji remained silent.

“Forget it,” he muttered, stepping out. “I’m going back to my dorm.”

And so, it did.

-

What used to be a room full of noise was now uncomfortably quiet.

You stood in the middle of it, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over the half-empty space that had once been yours. It didn’t feel real. The shelves where you used to stack your equipment were bare. The walls, once lined with posters and setlists, were empty now—just blank, peeling paint and old tape residue. The air smelled like dust and memories you weren’t ready to let go of.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and forced yourself to keep moving.

Yuuma was coiling up the last of the cables, his usual easy grin nowhere to be seen. Kaito crouched near the amplifiers, wrapping them up carefully like they weren’t just equipment but something precious. Haru had already taken down the band’s old posters, stacking them in a neat pile like he couldn’t bring himself to crumple them up or throw them away.

It was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that came with the weight of finality, of something ending when you weren’t ready for it to.

You bent down and picked up a box of loose sheet music, flipping through old setlists and unfinished lyrics scrawled in fading ink. Some of these songs had never made it past rehearsals. Some of them had performed on your biggest nights, your loudest wins. And now?

Now they were just scraps of paper.

You exhaled softly and shoved them into the box.

A few feet away, Haru stacked another case onto the pile by the door and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think the next band’s gonna do anything with this place?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to answer.

Yuuma snorted softly. “They won’t be us.”

No one disagreed.

Because it was true.

You had been the best. The best. Your band was the one that had carried the university through every local competition, every festival for a year straight. You have been known for your energy, your chemistry, and your sound. You were the band that made people stay even after the headliners left. 

The absolute blueprint.

But now?

Now, you were just another band that fell apart because people moved on. Your former bassist chose to focus on his internship, which you respected. The others started quitting as well due to some other conflicts, and only Kaito, Yuuma, and Haru stayed. You were thankful for that.

Kaito let out a slow breath and leaned against the table. “We really thought we could hold out, huh?” He smiled, but he was tired, resigned. “Guess we were all kinda stupid.”

“Not stupid,” you corrected. “We just… we wanted it to last.”

And for a while, it had.

For a while, it had felt invincible.

Until it wasn’t.

Kaito didn’t argue. He just nodded, pushing another box toward the door.

You glanced around, taking in the room one last time. The cracked stool where Kaito used to sit when he got too tired standing. The corner of the room where Haru always left his water bottle. The space near the set of drums where Yuuma used to zone out between rehearsals. The spot where you had spent so many late nights rewriting lyrics, surrounded by the sound of your friends messing around, playing half-finished chords, and making stupid jokes.

It was hard to believe that by next week, another band would be standing in this same space.

That this room—your room—would belong to someone else.

“Alright.” You clapped your hands together, forcing a small smile. “Let’s finish up.”

No one argued.

Because there was nothing left to fight for.

So you worked.

Packing up the remnants of what used to be something grand.

-

Touya wasn’t used to asking for things. Not from other people. Not from institutions. Not even from himself.

But here he was, sitting in the suffocatingly sterile office of the university’s administrative staff, pushing down every instinct that told him to just walk out and let things be. He couldn’t let things be.

The chair was stiff. The air was too still. His leg bounced impatiently under the desk, but he forced himself to keep his voice even.

“I’m here about the band that oversees the music club.”

The staff member—a woman who looked about one budget cut away from quitting her job altogether—barely spared him a glance as she shuffled through a stack of papers. “The band that was dissolved?”

Touya clenched his jaw. Yeah. The one I fucked up.

“…Yeah,” he muttered.

The woman sighed, rubbing her temples. “If you’re here to file a complaint, I’ll stop you right now. The rules are clear—without a complete lineup, the band can’t maintain active status, but the club is still available for students who want to learn to play instruments.”

“No, no. I’m not here to join the club,” Touya exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans. “And I’m not filing a complaint about the band,” he said. “I’m fixing it.”

That got her attention. She gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “You’re fixing it?”

“Yes.” His fingers dug into his palm. “Reinstate the band.”

The woman stared at him for a long moment, then let out a dry chuckle. “It’s not that simple, kid.”

Touya hated that. Hated how she dismissed him so easily, like he was just some desperate student throwing a last-minute plea.

But, to be fair, he was desperate. He’s never been this desperate before, but the moment he saw another band in your practice room, he couldn’t leave it as is.

He swallowed back the frustration rising in his throat. “Look, we need a full lineup, right?” He met her gaze evenly. “They’ve got one. I’m playing bass.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You?”

Touya nodded.

She tapped her fingers against the desk, considering. “…And this isn’t just some last-ditch effort to get back on a technicality?”

“No. I was just… a little late due to some… personal conflicts.”

She gave him another long look, then sighed, shaking her head. “If the band can prove they’re competition-ready by the end of the month, we’ll consider reinstatement on a probationary basis.”

Touya exhaled, relief flooding his chest. “I’ll take it.”

The woman slid a stack of papers toward him. “Then fill these out.”

-

The first thing Touya did after leaving the office was find you.

It wasn’t hard—because he asked a few students from your department where you usually stayed. The rooftop, they all said.

“What now, Todoroki?” you asked, not even bothering to look at him.

“I was going to play.”

The words were soft. Too soft for him.

Your hand stilled, pausing from rewriting your notes.

Touya let out a slow breath, stepping forward, leaning against the railing a few feet away from you. He didn’t look at you. Just stared out at the view below, where the campus stretched out in the afternoon light.

“I was ready,” he said. “That night. Before the music fest. I had my bass; I was going,” he admitted, shaking his head. “And then my old man showed up.”

Touya rarely talked about his father. Much less to anyone—especially you. You had heard things, of course—whispers, rumors, the kind of stories that floated around when a family name like his carried a reputation. But you never asked. It wasn’t your place.

And your priorities lie elsewhere.

You stayed silent, letting him speak.

“He told me to drop it. Said there was no point. That I was wasting my time.” Touya’s fingers curled slightly against the railing. “And I don’t know why it got to me. I thought I stopped giving a shit a long time ago. But right then, it was like I was a kid again, standing in that room full of trophies that didn’t mean anything to him.”

His voice was quiet. Not bitter, not angry—just honest.

“And I got scared.” His jaw tensed. “Because what if he was right?”

You blinked at him as he turned to face you, though you were quick to avert your gaze.

“What if I was wasting my time?” Touya said more than asked. “What if I walked into that music fest, got on stage, and realized I didn’t have it anymore? What if it wasn’t worth it?”

He got a bit closer to where you sat.

“So I didn’t go.” He glanced up at the sky. “I stayed home. Didn’t answer my phone. Figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

You stared at your notes, but the words were starting to blur.

“You were right,” Touya mused after a long pause. “Giving you hope was the worst thing I could’ve done.” He sighed. “You should’ve hit me for that one.”

You finally turned to look at him, and for the first time, he actually met your gaze. His eyes weren’t cold or distant, not laced with sarcasm or carelessness.

They were just… open.

You swallowed and looked back down.

“You used to love it,” you concluded. It wasn’t a question.

Touya gave a slow nod. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I did.”

The wind was the only thing that spoke for a while.

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say to that. To him.

But…

You could hear it in his voice. The regret. The way he hated himself for it more than anyone else ever could.

That didn’t change much. Your band was still dissolved either way. And you’ve been drowning yourself in your studies to ignore the ache.

But maybe—

Maybe it meant something.

His hands were still in his pockets, his shoulders tense like he wasn’t used to saying things that actually mattered. Like he had already braced himself for whatever you were going to throw at him—anger, disappointment, indifference.

But instead of waiting for you to say anything else, he spoke first.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” His voice was steady, quieter than usual. “And I’m not asking you to.”

You blinked, fingers tightening slightly around the edges of your notebook.

He sighed, shifting his weight. “But I talked to the organizers, professors, and staff. The university president, too.” He glanced at you, searching for a reaction, but you just stared, waiting. “The band’s registered again.”

Your breath hitched, barely noticeable—but he caught it.

“As long as you want to have a band,” he continued, his tone more certain now, “it’s yours. I’ll play.” He tilted his head slightly, something almost pleading flickering in his gaze. “I should’ve played from the start. So if you’ll let me, I’ll do it now.”

He was serious.

There was no sarcasm, no deflection, no half-hearted attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t doing something that mattered. He wasn’t trying to be cool or detached.

For once, Todoroki Touya wasn’t running.

“And if I say no?”

Touya smiled slightly, but there was no arrogance in it—just something quiet, maybe even hopeful.

“Then I guess I’ll have to find a way to convince you.”

You looked at him, your knuckles white where they pressed against your closed notebook. The wind picked up, rustling the pages slightly, but you didn’t move. You barely breathed. Forgot to, maybe.

God, you hated him.

You hated how genuine he was being.

But more than anything—

You hated that you wanted to believe him.

“You really think it’s that simple?” you ask. It’s soft this time around.

“No.” Touya’s voice was level, calm. “But it’s a start.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me. I’ll listen.”

You couldn’t tell him.

Because the truth was, you believed him.

And that was the worst part. You’re too hopeful again, and what if this time around, the damage would be even more severe?

“You don’t have to do this.” Your voice was steady, but underneath it was something raw. “You don’t have to do all of this because you feel bad. Because you suddenly decided it mattered to you again.”

Touya didn’t flinch. He just listened.

You wanted to scream at him. Hit him. Something. Because how dare he stand there so calmly while you were unraveling all over again?

“I believed in you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t have. Even when everyone told me not to.” You had to clasp your hands together and take in a steady breath.

Touya was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly—

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” His voice was lower this time, more certain. “I know because I did the same damn thing to myself. To be scared of something inevitable, I chose to run.”

That stopped you cold.

This made you realize—

This wasn’t easy for him, either.

The exhaustion in his posture, the way his hands curled into fists in his pockets—

He wasn’t just standing there expecting you to forgive him.

He was waiting for you to tell him no.

Waiting for you to tell him he had lost his last chance. To tell him to stop bothering you.

To leave you alone.

And you should.

God, you should.

But then there was the way he looked at you—

Not with pity. Not with indifference.

But like you were the only person in the world whose opinion could ruin him.

And you had never seen anyone look at you like that before.

-

Practice ran late. Not that anyone was really complaining—well, except for Kaito, who kept muttering about how his fingers were cramping up, but nobody paid him much attention. You were all riding the high of a solid rehearsal, the kind where everything clicked, and even though Touya would never admit it out loud, it felt good.

Really good.

It had been so long since he played in a group like this, since he let himself enjoy it instead of overanalyzing every note.

And then Yuuma, with his usual lack of impulse control, had to break the comfortable silence.

“Okay, but seriously,” he said, spinning a drumstick between his fingers as he leaned against the wall. “How the hell did we get you?”

Touya, who had just been double-checking the tuning pegs on his bass, glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “Huh?”

Kaito grinned. “He’s got a point, man. You’re Todoroki Touya.”

Touya frowned. “Yeah. I know my own name.”

“No, but seriously,” Yuuma insisted, gesturing vaguely. “You’re like—this mysterious, untouchable figure on campus. The guy who doesn’t show up to class half the time but still somehow passes. The guy who sits in the back of the room and barely talks to anyone. And now, suddenly, you’re our bassist?”

Touya exhaled through his nose. “You make it sound like some divine intervention.”

“It is,” Yuuma said, completely serious. Then, without missing a beat—“Do you have a girlfriend?”

…

“What?”

“Yeah,” Kaito snickered. “That would actually explain so much.”

You, on the other hand, were completely distracted with your phone to even pay the boys any attention.

Haru, who had been silently observing the conversation like he was watching a wildlife documentary, finally chimed in. “Are you implying that Touya was bribed into joining the band?”

Yuuma nodded sagely. “Exactly. Like—imagine he’s secretly dating some hardcore musician chick who was like, ‘Touya, babe, you need to do this for me,’ and he just couldn’t say no.”

Touya gave him the flattest look imaginable. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?” Haru asked, adjusting his glasses.

Touya sighed, already regretting all of his life choices. “No.”

Yuuma snapped his fingers. “Damn. There goes that theory.” Then, after a beat, he turned to you. “By the way, do we have a budget for a talent fee?”

You glanced up. “Huh?”

Yuuma jerked a thumb at Touya. “I mean, we basically landed a celebrity. Should we be paying him or something?”

Touya scoffed. “You can’t afford me.”

Kaito snickered. “Damn, that’s bold.”

“What?” Yuuma grinned. “I’m just saying, we might as well treat him like a high-profile guest artist.”

Touya smirked. “You should be honored.”

“This is dumb,” you laughed.

Yuuma, still grinning, slung his bag over his shoulder. “But for real, you’re actually sticking around this time, right?”

Touya hesitated.

The question felt heavier than it should’ve. Because a few months ago, the answer would’ve been an easy no. Why would I waste my time? This wouldn’t matter.

But now?

He exhaled, shifting his bass case higher on his shoulder.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “All the way.”

Kaito whooped, slapping him on the back. “Hell yeah.”

Yuuma smirked. “Good. Because if you did bail again, I was fully prepared to start charging you a dropout fee.”

Touya snorted. “You wish.”

You, who had been watching him carefully, finally exhaled and gave him a slight nod. “Then don’t be late tomorrow. Same time.”

Touya smirked. “No promises.”

You gave him a knowing look.

Yuuma grinned. “Alright, then—welcome to the band, officially.”

And for the first time in years, standing there with his new bandmates, feeling the weight of his bass strap across his shoulder and the lingering buzz of rehearsal in his fingertips—

Touya actually felt like he was home.

-

With the recent turn of events, jealousy is an apparent feeling for those who aren’t as privileged to have snagged Todoroki Touya.

And it all started as whispers.

Small, snide comments whenever you walked past the other bands in the music hall. Barely-there smirks, little glances, and the occasional scoff from some second-rate bassist who thought they were so much better because they had never once lost a performance slot.

You ignored them.

You had better things to do. Your band was back, and with Touya as your bassist, things were better and stronger than before. You were making up for lost time, running setlists late into the night, writing new songs, fixing old ones. The fire was back in your chest, the thrill of the stage creeping closer.

But the whispers didn’t stop.

And eventually, they weren’t whispers anymore.

You were passing by the courtyard, Touya trailing half a step behind you, when a group of students—members of another well-known band—let their conversation just slip into earshot.

“She’s lucky, isn’t she?”

“Right? If we had a prodigy like Todoroki, we’d be unstoppable.”

“I mean, let’s be real, he’s the only reason they even got reinstated.”

“I wonder if she realizes how much she’s riding on his talent. Kind of embarrassing if you think about it.”

Your steps faltered, just for a second.

But you didn’t stop.

Didn’t give them the satisfaction of giving them your time.

Touya, though—he did stop.

You had taken another step before you realized he wasn’t beside you anymore. You turned, frowning, just as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head at the group, expression unreadable.

“Oh, sorry,” he drawled. “Didn’t realize I had groupies.”

The students stiffened. “What?”

“You’re talking about me like I’m not right here.” His tone was light, almost amused. “That desperate for attention?”

One of them scoffed, recovering quickly. “We’re just saying. It’s obvious [Last Name]’s band wouldn’t stand a chance without you.”

You clenched your fists, but Touya—he laughed.

It wasn’t a friendly laugh.

It was sharp and unimpressed.

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, amusement fading into something colder. “Then why is it that even before I joined, they were the best band on campus?”

The students shifted uncomfortably.

“I mean, that’s what pisses you off, right?” Touya continued, taking a slow step forward. His presence was overwhelming, gaze sharp as he looked them over. “They were already winning before me. [Name] built that band from the ground up, and everyone knew they were the ones to beat.”

No one said anything.

He smirked. “But if it makes you feel better to pretend it’s all me, go ahead. Must be easier than admitting you just suck.”

One of them clenched their jaws. “What’s your deal, man? You don’t even care about bands or competitions.”

Touya rolled his shoulders, casting a glance back at you.

You hadn’t said a word, but he could see it—the way your grip on your bag had tightened, the way your jaw was locked. You weren’t going to defend yourself. 

Which was fine.

Because he would.

“I didn’t care,” he admitted, looking back at them. “Didn’t give a fuck about any of this.” His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp. 

“But I do now. And you know what I found out?”

The weight of his words sank in, and no one had a response.

“I actually kind of like it,” he hummed. “So try to keep up. Because for the remaining two years, we’ll never lose as long as [Name] and I are onboard.”

With that, he turned back to you, nodding toward the path ahead. “Come on. We’ve got practice.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, then let out a slow breath and walked beside him, leaving the others behind.

They didn’t talk about it and didn't bring it up again.

But as you headed toward the music room, Touya nudged you lightly with his elbow.

“They’re just jealous,” he said, voice quieter now. “You know that, right?”

You exhaled, then, finally, nodded just a little.

“Obviously.”

-

“Alright,” Yuuma had said one afternoon, spinning a drumstick between his fingers, “hypothetically, if you were going to make it up to [Name]—properly, not just half-assed—what would you do?”

Touya, who had been tuning his bass, barely spared him a glance. 

“I already apologized.”

Kaito snorted. “Yeah, and she tolerated it. Barely.”

“Then what do you want me to do? Write her a sonnet?” Touya asked. 

Haru, from where he was perched on top of the amplifier, added, “Not a sonnet. A song.”

“Excuse me?”

Yuuma grinned. “Dude, it’s perfect. She’s all about the band, right? Music’s what she actually gives a damn about. So if you really want her to believe you’re in this for real, show her through music.”

Kaito nodded. “Exactly. Words don’t mean shit to [Name] unless there’s proof behind them.”

Touya frowned, fingers idly running along the strings of his bass.

Writing a song.

It had been years since he’d tried—since he let himself create rather than just play. Back then, his notebooks had been filled with half-finished compositions, lyrics scratched out and rewritten over and over again. He had loved it once.

He was conflicted.

Yuuma clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You in?”

Touya exhaled sharply. “…Fine.”

Yuuma grinned. “Good answer. It’s sooner or later that you’ll learn that we actually can’t take no for an answer here.”

-

The first problem?

Touya had no idea where to start.

Sure, he knew how to write—he knew chord progressions, rhythms, and structure. But what the hell was he supposed to say?

It wasn’t like he was about to write some sappy, ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole.’

The actual writing process was a disaster in itself.

Yuuma wanted a fast tempo—something that hit hard and kept the energy high.

Kaito argued for something more melodic, something with room to breathe.

Haru, the only one thinking practically, kept reminding them that it had to fit your vocal range.

Touya, meanwhile, wanted to strangle all of them. It’s hard to believe that he and Yuuma were in the same year because the latter acted so childish—so energetic.

It took days of back-and-forth, of testing out different riffs, of scrapping entire verses because they weren’t good enough.

But eventually, they had something.

Something undeniably theirs.

Now all that was left was playing it for her.

-

Practice started like any other day.

You arrived on time, as usual, already flipping through your notebook and mumbling about setlists before anyone could even say a word.

Touya, despite knowing what was about to happen, stayed silent.

It wasn’t his place to introduce this.

It had to be them. All of them.

And, sure enough—

“Actually,” Kaito cut in, casually adjusting his guitar strap, “we’ve got something new to go over today.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What?”

Yuuma grinned. “Surprise.”

“If this is another one of your pranks—”

“It’s not,” Haru assured you. “Just listen.”

You sighed, clearly not in the mood for their antics, but you leaned back against the chair anyway, crossing your arms. “Fine. But if this sucks, we will proceed with the hardest entry as our warmup song.”

Touya smiled. “Noted.”

And then they started playing.

The first few notes were soft, subdued—a simple melody carried by Haru’s keys, the kind of sound that felt like waking up from a long dream. Then the bassline came in, low and steady, grounding everything. Touya’s fingers moved instinctively, muscle memory taking over, like the song had always existed in him, just waiting to be played.

Kaito’s guitar layered over it, bright and sharp, a contrast to the weight of the rhythm section. And then Yuuma’s drums kicked in—fast, insistent, alive.

The song had movement.

Had feeling.

It wasn’t an apology.

It was a promise.

By the time the last chord faded into silence, [Name] was staring.

Not in shock, not in disbelief—

But something Touya couldn’t quite name.

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder, avoiding your gaze. 

“Well?”

“…You wrote this?” you asked.

Touya nodded, feeling strangely exposed. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause, and for a second, he thought maybe this had been a mistake. That maybe you’d say too little, too late.

But then—

“…It’s good,” you told him, laughing quietly. “Is this our entry for the Music Mayhem Event?”

Yuuma grinned. “Hell yeah, it is.”

Touya smiled, nudging at you a little. “So. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“I… actually forgave you when you sought me out on the rooftop.”

“Wait, really?:

“Yeah, I— really don’t hold grudges for long.”

Yuuma clapped him on the back. “Dude, that’s so romantic.”

Kaito laughed. “Congrats, man. You got to apologize twice and wrote a song for the competition. Killed two birds with one stone.”

Haru just nodded, satisfied. “Saves us the trouble and time, then.”

Yeah.

Looked like it was.

-

The venue was packed. 

Touya rolled his shoulders, gripping his bass a little tighter than necessary. The strap dug into his shoulder, grounding him, reminding him that this was real. No running this time. No excuses.

You were beside him, your fingers tapping against your mic, an old nervous habit you refused to acknowledge. You exhaled through your nose, a slow, measured breath, but Touya could see it—you were excited. No, more than that—you were ready.

Kaito was tuning his guitar, barely holding back a cocky grin. Yuuma stretched his arms, rolling his neck, hyping himself up under his breath. Haru was calm, adjusting his keyboard settings with precise movements, unreadable as always.

“Make sure your voice doesn’t crack, Todoroki,” you commented.

Touya chuckled. “We’ll see.”

Then the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers:

“Next up—give it up for—”

The crowd erupted.

Lights flooded the stage, hot and blinding.

And then, it was just them.

-

If you told Todoroki Touya that he’d be playing the bass again after eight years, he would’ve laughed right in your face.

(Mm, yeah, I know how this goes…

You stand in the light, I fade in the smoke…)

He would’ve told you that he didn’t care how good he used to be. He’s lost interest, to put it into simpler terms.

(Didn’t ask you to chase me down—didn’t need another fight…

But there you were, reckless and loud, saying we could get it right…)

He would’ve told you that he had better things to do. 

But now, he did. Touya was playing the bass.

Touya didn’t just play—he felt it. His fingers moved on instinct against the strings, like they had a mind of their own, like he was carving out something raw, something familiar, something that had been trapped inside him for too long.

Then came the pre-chorus. The tension built.

And that’s when he came in.

(Yeah, I left you hanging, left you cold—swore I’d never play that role…

But damn, you still play me like a note…)

His voice was rougher, rasping with emotion, clashing with your smoother tone in a way that shouldn’t have worked—but it did. You turned toward him, stepping closer, your voices winding together like opposing forces caught in the same storm.

And then—

The chorus hit.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

You and Touya met in the middle of the stage, mic stands forgotten. 

You were fire; he was smoke.

Then came the second verse, and it was yours to claim as his voice faded into the background.

(You don’t beg, you don’t plead—

But I hear it in the way you breathe…

Sick of ghosts and dead-end dreams—

But somehow, you still look at me…)

Your gaze caught his. And Touya—he didn’t look away. He looked at you because you were the only one he could see—that he wanted to see.

The music dipped again, shifting into the bridge. Everything stripped back—just the bass and your voice.

(You don’t get to walk away, not this time…

Not after leaving me behind…

You play ghosts, I play fire…

But even flames need something to burn inside…)

The way you sang it—low, steady, sharp as a blade—it sent a shiver down his spine. It tugged at his heartstrings in a way that didn’t feel like him.

Then—

The build.

Drums creeping back in. Guitar humming under the surface. The energy climbing—

And then everything crashed into the final chorus.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

It was undeniable. It was everything.

As the last note hit, ringing through the venue, the whole place seemed to hold its breath.

And then—

The deafening eruption.

Viewers screamed. Hands shot up. The cheers were deafening. Even the judges looked impressed, their quiet conversation lost under the sheer force of the audience’s reaction.

You stood at the front, chest heaving, sweat beading at your temple, but your eyes—your eyes—burned with something victorious.

Touya, gripping his bass, let out a slow breath.

This was it.

For the first time in a long time, he felt it.

Not just the music. Not just the stage.

But the want.

The need.

The need to keep playing.

You had done it.

Done this to him.

And it was only the beginning.

-

Todoroki Touya never thought he’d come to this point.

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, sweat dripping down his temple, his adrenaline spiking so hard that he could barely stand still. The entire band was high off the energy, voices overlapping as they half-shouted, half-laughed at each other, Yuuma swinging an arm around his shoulders while someone shoved a bottle of water into his hands.

“That was insane!” Your guitarist, Kaito, was saying, practically vibrating with excitement. “Holy shit, did you see how the crowd lost it when we hit that last chorus?”

“Dude, [Name] killed that bridge,” Yuuma added, shaking his head in disbelief. “And Touya? Bro, your bass solo? I felt that in my soul.”

Touya barely registered the words.

Because across the room, you were glowing.

To Touya, you had this look about you, the way you always did after a performance—flushed cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on your skin making you radiate under the dim backstage lights. You were standing just a few feet away, laughing breathlessly, one hand gripping the back of your neck as you spoke with their events coordinator, your body still thrumming with the rush of the performance.

Touya swallowed.

There was something clawing up his ribs, something tight, something desperate, and before he even realized what he was doing—before he could stop himself—he moved.

His fingers curled around your wrist, firm but not rough, and you barely had time to react before he was pulling you with him, slipping past the others and into the dimly lit hallway behind the stage.

“Hey—Touya, what—?”

You didn’t finish.

Because the second you were out of sight, the second you two were alone, Touya turned, one hand still gripping your wrist, the other lifting without hesitation—

And he kissed you.

It was instinct, thoughtless and reckless, but it felt right.

You went rigid.

For a single, heart-stopping second, you didn’t move, didn’t react—so still that Touya almost panicked. Almost pulled away, almost started to stammer some kind of half-assed explanation, almost—

But then you inhaled sharply, and your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him like you were trying to ground yourself.

And that was all it took.

Touya’s grip tightened, his palm cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing against your cheek. His lips moved against yours with the feeling of overflowing feelings that are just too good to put into words.

The music, the rush, the way your voice had wrapped around his on stage like you had been made for this, for each other.

Whatever this feeling was, it had been simmering beneath the surface, lingering in the way he always found himself seeking you out, the way he stayed just a little longer after practice, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

And now—now—it was spilling over, like an overfilled cup, impossible to ignore any longer.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless; Touya didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours, his hand still cradling your face, fingers brushing along your skin.

You were staring at him, wide-eyed, your lips parted in shock, chest still rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

“Huh..?”

Touya exhaled sharply, trying to steady his pulse, trying to make sense of the mess in his chest.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice rough, strained.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his breath still mingling with yours, but one thing’s for sure.

“But I think I wanna do it again.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[shigarakislittlepet]

Swallow Your Words

Part 1

Incel!Shigaraki. Quirkless/college seniors AU.

I’m doing this as a series not a one shot because in the process of writing it I got attached to the characters and the plot QnQ this will have a positive character arch for Shiggy. This first part ends on a bit of a climactic spot, but hang in there I’m already writing the next part that will have some spice ♡

tw: HEAVY misogyny; like upsettingly so; I read Reddit threads and instagram comments to get into the headspace of an incel for this; yes it did hurt my brain; that’s all for now I think. Future parts will have heavy smut.

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Okay, so maybe going out on your third date this week with another brand new guy right after your shift at work wasn’t the brightest idea considering you still had abnormal psych homework to finish. You blearily trudged into your campus library, thankfully open 24 hours, and shuffled into the computer lab. Taking out your textbook, you set to work on the writing assignment due in approximately 6 hours. You got this.

As you were furiously typing up your mock evaluation of patient number 3, you heard someone cough. It made you jump, it was nearly 11pm and you could’ve sworn you were in here alone. You looked around the room as calmly as you could and spotted him sitting two rows of computers down, you were facing each other so he caught you looking. Damn it, not him.

Tomura Shigaraki, AKA rich asshole misogynist lives off daddy’s money motherfucker. He caught sight of your decidedly slutty outfit (a tank top push up bra miniskirt combo that never failed to get your dinner covered and a super oversized zip up hoody) and unmistakably doneforadate hair and makeup when you’d walked in, paying him no mind.

-What a bitch, he thought. She probably came here straight from getting fucked over some loser’s coffee table and was so disappointed at how shit he was that she decided maybe she didn’t wanna flunk out senior year and came here to finish her homework.- He rolled his eyes.

He’d had a crush on you since he first saw you freshman year. And he hated himself for it. Just like he hated how soft your hair looked, or how good you smelled sitting at the desk in front of him, or how your eyes sparkled when you laughed at something your friends said. He hated it all. Women were good for nothing cheaters and gold-digging sluts, just like his first stepmother. And the second. And the last. And the current. He’d watched these women sneak around his father after he’d given them everything and it was never enough for them. His father, ever pragmatic, would just get rid of them and find a new one when he finally caught them. Watching this happen over and over again taught him two things. 1) Women are worthless and 2) Women are replaceable. But not you. It didn’t matter how many girls Touya set him up with, he couldn’t get you out of his head. It pissed him off. He should be able to just fuck any bitch and get it out of his system. But he couldn’t. It was torture. And it made him hate you more.

You rolled your eyes, breaking eye contact and he chuckled. You tried your hardest to ignore him, fuck that guy. You could practically hear his internal obnoxious comments from here. He had been in at least one of your classes every semester since freshman year of college. He totally wasn’t stalking you. You had the same major, Forensic Psychology, so you told yourself it made sense you’d be taking similar classes. He’d managed to piss you off for the last four years almost every single day. He and his friend Touya, another trust fund kid that shared your major, would often make crude remarks back and forth to each other during class. Because their fathers donate so much money to the college, the professors can’t say anything without fear of retaliation. You could though, and often did when you couldn’t stand ignoring them any longer. Usually embarrassing them into shutting the fuck up for the day. The blissful peace never lasted long however.

“You get all dressed up like that just for me? I’m touched, but I think I’ll pass. I don’t know where you’ve been.” He sneered, finally deciding to break the silence. You raised an eyebrow at him and took in his relaxed posture. Leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, shit eating grin splitting his infuriatingly pretty face. You scoffed at him, eyebrow still raised, and went back to doing your homework. “What, no snotty retort? I’m almost offended. Cat got your tongue? Or is that tongue too tired from what it got up to tonight?” He mimed sucking a dick and you sighed deeply. “Oh please, as if I’d get this dressed up just to impress you. All it would take is a T-shirt and jeans anyway, since we both know the last woman you saw in a mini skirt only talked to you cause you paid her.” You snarked back.

He visibly tensed. “I don’t pay whores to spend time with me, so if you’re searching for a summer job keep looking.” You actually laughed. Out loud. “You silly little rich boy, no amount of money is worth stooping low enough to fuck an incel like you.”

Your laugh caught him off guard. It was long and loud and almost musical. It pissed him off. So did everything about you. You were too good at reading people, at reading him. He wanted to listen to you laugh more. Almost as much as he wanted to fuck that stupid beautiful grin off your face. Instead, he just huffed and deflated slightly. “What makes you think I’m an incel? Is it cause I don’t go on 10 dates a week? Not all of us are that desperate, honey.” He threw back at you. Without even looking up, you shot back, “It was only 3, fyi, and don’t call me that. Also, no it’s not that. It’s everything about you. You have never, in 4 years of being unfortunately aware of your existence, ever shown that you hold even a modicum of respect for women. Any woman. And you and your jerk bff do nothing in class but talk over and make sexual comments about the girls sitting around you while making assumptions about their personal lives. God forbid we have a female professor! You dont go on dates because every woman in a 10 mile radius of you knows what a disgusting shitbag you are. You make it exceptionally clear that you don’t want us around other than to occasionally stoke your micro dick while you get off to cartoon porn. Now shut the fuck up and let me finish my homework.” You glanced at the clock, 11:30. Ugh, tomorrow is going to suck.

He seethed. No one spoke to him like that ever. It pissed him off that some dumb slut like you thought you could get away with it. He was going to get even. He was going to find a way to make you his. He was going to be the one to bend you over his coffee table. And his desk. And his car. And anything else he felt like bending you over. He would get you to submit to him. And he would make it painful and humiliating for you, just to prove a point. Let’s see you call him an incel shitbag after that.

He contemplated how he was going to do this for a few minutes. He decided he would start by just playing it cool. Sighing long and loud, he started, “Hey, are you working on the Abnormal or the Physio homework?” He asked, putting effort into making himself sound exasperated. -There is no way this is going to work, he thought.- You raised your brow again, “Abnormal, already did the physio. Why?” You were immediately skeptical. “I missed class yesterday, and this really sucks but I’m stuck on this bullshit.” He wasn’t. “You think you might deign to help me? And let me copy your notes?” He looked at you almost… hopefully. What the fuck? “Uh, are you sure you’d want such a ‘dumb worthless bitch’ to help you with your homework? I’d hate to drop your IQ by breathing the same air as you.” You said flatly, throwing some of his more common insults back in his face. “Oh come on, we both know your GPA is like a 4.2-” “4.5.” You corrected. He sighed in irritation. “Look, will you please just come over here and help me? I’ll even call it tutoring, I’ll pay you.” You regarded him skeptically. Damn it, if you didn’t really really need the cash. “Hmm. Okay, fine. I’ll help you. But only if you promise to leave me alone in class from now on. Stop snapping my bra straps and making gross comments about me to Touya, I mean it. And it’s gonna be 100$ bucks to help you with two classes at midnight the night before the homework is due.”

-Pocket change, he thought.-

-Easy money, you thought.-

That was… shockingly easy. He hadn’t expected you to actually agree to help him. Or to gather your things and gracefully float over to the chair and computer next to his. You pulled up her homework again, continuing to work on it. “So, what did you need help…with…” you trailed off as you looked to his computer to see what he was stuck on. He was watching cartoon porn. On a school computer. He quickly clicked out of it and his homework came into view. Well, you thought, at least he was actually doing his homework. At some point. You gazed at him from the corner of her eye. He really is an incel. He grinned at you almost evilly. Although man, ok, getting caught watching porn on a school computer totally does nothing to refute your incel accusation. But it did make you flush satisfyingly. You held out your hand expectantly. He rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet, handing you a crisp 100$ bill. You gawked at it, “It’s a wonder no one has ever mugged you I swear.” You said, shaking your head. The motion caused your hair to swish prettily, he could smell your shampoo. He pulled his backpack into his lap.

You spent the petter part of the next hour doing your homework together, you “helping” him as you went. He was surprised you actually knew what you were talking about. He was surprised you could retain any information in that wind tunnel you called a skull, even knowing your GPA was as high as it was. You were actually…smart? You didn’t look smart, you looked like every other college whore with dyed hair and winged eyeliner. It made him angrier, for some reason. It made him want to crush you beneath him even more. You on the other hand were surprised that he was able to hold a conversation with you for this long without insulting you. You actually just laughed at one of his jokes. “You know, you’re actually fun to talk to when you’re not constantly putting me down.” You said, smile wide and eyes all sparkly again. Ugh. He hated how it made his stomach flip. “Am I?” He attempted a smile back. “Mhmm. You’re even a little bit funny. JUST a little bit.” You joked back while typing up the last bit of your assignment.

Funny? She thinks I’m funny? And.. ‘fun’ to talk to? Girls didn’t usually think so, even when he wasn’t insulting them. They usually couldn’t get past his face. He had eczema, and even though his father’s very expensive doctors worked hard to keep it under control so it wasn’t angry red and weeping anymore, his skin WAS chronically dry. Even his face and neck, though it was worst around his eyes. The skin there looked stretched and almost flaky, though it wasn’t NEARLY as bad as it had been when he was a child. He had a scar over one of his eyes that started above his eyebrow and fell just above his cheekbone and another scar on his mouth from when he was a kid and couldn’t stop scratching at his face. He looked… deranged maybe? Not pretty. Certainly not pretty, you told yourself over and over while sitting there talking with him like it was a normal thing you did. Certainly not pretty, with his pale shaggy hair and his big eyes that looked almost like shiny rubies this close up and the little beauty mark on his chin. Even his scar made him look… you didn’t know, edgy? Beautiful, a sick twisted part of your mind offered. Oh god no. PLEASE no.

You started packing up your things and getting ready to go. “Well, this wasn’t the worst end to a night I’ve ever had. Thanks for keeping me company, I’ll see you in class in… god, 4 hours?” You smiled at him, getting up from your chair. It was nearly 2:30 in the morning. He laughed a bit, “Ah, yeah. Thank you for helping me finish.” Even HE cringed a bit and that double entendre. “But uh, hey, you live off campus right? Just come crash on my couch, I’ll take you to class after we both get a power nap. That way you don’t have to wake up even earlier just to come back.” He casually suggested way more confidently than he felt. (Now listen, if you’ve never pulled an all nighter right before a 6am class, you might think this is insane. But this… this was like the dove and the olive branch.)

-Thank god, you thought. And he’s really not so bad honestly, maybe you just had to get to know him. Famous last words. -

You practically beamed up at him, now standing at his full height, “That would be so nice actually, thank you!” You paused. “As long as you don’t try to do anything to me in my sleep.” You narrowed your eyes at him. He laughed.

You got to his dorm and your jaw dropped. It wasn’t a dorm. It was a dedicated on campus villa for his family to use when visiting or attending classes. His whole family were alumni of this college it seemed. Apparently Touya’s family had one too, right next door, which is how they’d met as freshman. It was… adorable. Landscaping clearly took care of the outside, the grass was immaculate and the garden in front was lousy with flowers and shrubbery and meticulously kept ivy that climbed latticework around the windows. Above the door was a gold plaque, “In honor of family Shigaraki for their generous donations throughout the history of this campus.” The Shigaraki was the largest thing in the plaque, written in elegant swirling cursive.

“It’s beautiful.”, you said in awe. You’d never imagined a person like him would live in a place that looked like this. How is he so miserable? You wondered. He has money and a beautiful house and his college is payed for in full. He’ll never have to worry about student loan debt or whether he’ll eat or not or his parents medical bills or his siblings needing new clothes and shoes for school. He’ll never have to go on dates just to eat because his whole paycheck goes to his family to make sure they survive until he’s making enough money to support all of them. You just… couldn’t understand. It seemed like he had everything.

He seemed surprised by your compliment of the place. “Oh, thanks. Yeah it’s pretty old now, but the school keeps it in great condition. The past four generations of Shigarakis have lived in this place. I didn’t think much of it at first, just a place to pass out and do homework. But a year ago I went into the attic and found an old picture album my grandmother made while she went here. It made it feel… more important.” He rambled on while he fumbled with the keys in the lock, not sure why he was telling you this. “Ahg, this damn thing always sticks.” He finally unlocked it and ushered you inside.

[majoryeager104]

My nose started to randomly bleed since winter, and even though I’m used to it people around me are concerned for me, my professor even asked me if I needed to go home (should’ve said yes honestly 💀)

Anyway, can you please make Shigaraki and Dabi with a gf like that ? Thank you< 3

My sister deals with the same thing I gotchu <3

Dabi/Touya

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“oh come on”

Touya’s gruff voice from beside would have startled you if his sudden presence in front of you now didn’t startle you even more. He’d grabbed a tissue and before you could ask what he was doing or even process it he’d shoved it against your face and sat you down in a chair.

“really creepy when your nose just starts bleeding like that you know…”

you blinked, finally processing as he held the tissue to your face, and only just now did you notice the warm familiar trickle of blood against your upper lip. He was knelt in front of your chair right up against your legs, leaning wayyyy to close.

“I didn’t even realize”

“…that’s a bit creepier. Is this normal for you?”

he asked as he absentmindedly dabbed away the blood, as if grabbing you, shoving something in your face, and pinning you into a chair was a perfectly normal occurrence for him. Still, you nodded, not exactly in a position to protest. “Yeah, at least now it is” you replied, shrugging. “Damn” he muttered, turning to the table to reach for another tissue. “Jeez, and it’s a lot too.” He scoffed, cleaning up your face.

After a few minutes of this, he leaned back on his heels, sighing. “Seems like it stopped. You should really see a doctor about that. Weird as hell.”

And with that he stood up and left, and you watched him instantly burn the bloody tissues to ash on the floor, turning the corner and leaving you still quite confused to his behavior in the first place.

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Tomura

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You were sitting on the couch in the league hideout, hanging out with Toga and Magne as you usually did this time of day. The sun was setting, this part of the city was a little quieter, and that one dating show Himiko got addicted to was on. (I just know she’d binge love island just because)

The other league members were around as well, Compress, Twice, and Tomura, but they were scattered around the room doing various things, and with Himiko and Magne watching tv, it seemed no one noticed the blood that began to trickle down your face but you.

You glanced around nervously, looking for a box of tissues, but didn’t see it in the vicinity. Damn it, you thought, and I wore a white shirt today.

“has anyone seen the-”

Before you could finish, someone’s hand came up to your face from behind, careful as he leaned your head back and dabbed away the blood from your face with a tissue, Tomura offered a little smile “here you go”

you held it to your face and quietly thanked him, taking a moment to make sure you didn’t get any blood on your shirt. “You okay?” He asked quietly, sitting next to you. “Mhm” you replied simply, smiling behind the tissue that covered your face. He nodded, watching you curiously. “Actually, can you get me another one, please?” You asked quietly, and he nodded, standing up and moving back around the couch.

You turned just in time to see him accidentally decay the box, and sheepishly look around for more.

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Lowkey giggling for Shiggy tho bc like just imagining it was just 👌

[irisintheafterglow]

NOW PLAYING...IRIS' ROM-COM SPECIAL (20s)

SELECT YOUR LOVE INTEREST:

THE SWEETHEARTS: kirishima eijiro, todoroki shoto, iwaizumi hajime, bachira meguru, umemiya hajime, kaminari denki. THE PLAYBOYS: gojo satoru, hoshina soshiro, kuroo tetsurou, takami keigo/hawks, miya atsumu. THE BROODERS: sakusa kiyoomi, bakugo katsuki, suna rintaro, roronoa zoro, itoshi sae. THE WILDCARDS: nanami kento, miya osamu, itoshi rin, geto suguru, todoroki touya.

SELECT YOUR SCREENING:

1. 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU - A newcomer underclassman crushes on your sister, and pulls some strings to get you to go out with the reckless bad boy that is oddly charming. STARRING: ITOSHI RIN // PART II: GETO SUGURU // PART III: HOSHINA SOSHIRO 2. LEGALLY BLONDE - Your boyfriend breaks up with you because he's going to law school, so you follow him. What do you do when he decides it's over, even when you're there? Fall for your professor's junior partner, of course! STARRING: NANAMI KENTO // PART II: KUROO TETSUROU 3. THE PROPOSAL - Your boss asks you for a favor: marry him so he doesn't get kicked from the country. The problem? You're going with him when he proposes to you on holiday at his family home. STARRING: GOJO SATORU // PART II: HOSHINA SOSHIRO // PART III: KIRISHIMA EIJIRO 4. 27 DRESSES - You're a bridesmaid for hire whose boss falls in love with your sister. And she wants you to plan her wedding. And the guy who helped you not get a concussion is stupidly cute. STARRING: ITOSHI SAE // PART II: SUNA RINTAROU 5. SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE - For the record, he doesn't believe in love anymore. But, to appease his son, he talks to the reporter on the radio. Now he has a choice to make: does he risk it all to meet you on Valentine's Day? STARRING: BAKUGO KATSUKI 6. WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING - You fell in love with the cute guy that always passes you at work. When an accident puts him in a coma and his family thinks you're engaged, what do you do when you fall for his brother instead? STARRING: RORONOA ZORO // PART II: TODOROKI TOUYA 7. HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS - As a writer, your next big project is to create a list of what traits make men lose romantic interest. Too bad your latest target is hellbent on winning a bet of his own: to make you fall in love. STARRING: MIYA ATSUMU // PART II: DENKI KAMINARI // PART III: GOJO SATORU 8. THE WEDDING PLANNER - On the eve of celebrating your greatest career achievement, you're saved from imminent disaster by the man of your dreams. Unfortunately, he's engaged...and is hiring you to be his wedding planner. STARRING: IWAIZUMI HAJIME 9. ALWAYS BE MY MAYBE - On again, off again, you and your childhood best friend went separate ways in life. Back in your hometown for the opening of your first restaurant, you don't expect to see him again. Or expect to see that he's hot. STARRING: MIYA OSAMU 10. LA LA LAND - One was a burnt out actor. One was an aspiring jazz musician. Need I say more? STARRING: RORONOA ZORO 11. THE WEDDING DATE - You have the genius idea of hiring a male escort to accompany you to your sibling's wedding, and find there's more to him than his physique. STARRING: GETO SUGURU // PART II: MIYA ATSUMU // PART III: HOSHINA SOSHIRO 12. 50 FIRST DATES - Whether it's a blessing or a curse, the effects of an accident on your brain cause you to fall in love with him again...and again...and again...and again...and... STARRING: TOUYA TODOROKI // PART II: SAKUSA KIYOOMI // PART III: NANAMI KENTO 13. TO ALL THE BOYS I'VE LOVED BEFORE - Your sister sends the letters you'd written to every boy you'd had a crush on. Fake dating and chaos ensues. STARRING: IWAIZUMI HAJIME // PART II: TODOROKI SHOTO // PART III: KIRISHIMA EIJIRO

TO RESERVE YOUR SEAT:

REQUESTS ARE NOW CLOSED, THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO SUBMITTED <3

DIRECTOR'S NOTES:

EEK okay so this is my first ever event and it's for my birthday :) I'm a huge fan of rom-coms so I gathered some of my favorites of all time to apply some new characters to and hopefully make you want to watch (or rewatch) them too! I'm very excited to host this event and hopefully have some fun fics released in the process. Thank you all so much for your support on my blog, I appreciate it more than you'll ever know. Disney+ banner was made by me, heart dividers are by the wonderful @cafekitsune !

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ Good boy. ❞

Touya Todoroki x ftm!reader x Tomura Shigaraki x Taishiro Toyomitsu x ftm!Shota Aizawa x ftm!Keigo Takami | AU, Dabi & Tomura works as a body piercer & tattoo artist. Taishiro and Shota work as college professors | nsfw, smut, p**n with plot | vers. bttm. reader | wc: 8.7K | NOT PROOFREAD

warnings: most likely inaccurate description of getting pierced, D/S dynamics, T4T (Shota Aizawa x r! x Takami Keigo), infinity collar (Keigo Takami), markings, blowjobs, handjobs, anal sex, orgy, minor daddy kink, overstimulation, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick though), squirting, Aizawa has had top and bottom surgery, Keigo has had top surgery and bottom growth

masterlist: pt1; pt2; pt3

authors note: this is for @thatone1diot and @kaycesspade! I could not resist writing more for these horny idiots! * song on repeat when writing this: sugar by sleep token & LA FAMA by ROSALiA ft. The Weeknd

Oh fuck.

Taishiro, with those warm honey eyes, catches the apprehension on your face. He lifts a hand, his smile soft and dimples filled with nothing but kindness; "There's really no need for that. The offer is really cool and all but, we're practically strangers, so there's no need for — " Tomura scoffs as he folds his arms across his chest.

"Strangers? You put your dick into our boy, wouldn't think that counts as something strangers do," he snaps out. Dabi is slipping a hand into your back pocket, the other reaching for the back of Tomura's neck.

"Alright, alright. Nobody is a fan of the fivesome. No need to get all macho about it," Dabi said. Taishiro offers an apologetic grin that makes your lips pursed. "It's fine, really," you pull away from your boyfriends — they watch with cocked brows — and stand between the duos. "It wasn't offensive, it was just a lame joke Dabi likes to make." Dabi didn't think his jokes were lame, his frown reflects his thoughts but you elect to ignore it as you turn to face Taishiro and Shota. Out of the club, they're dressed so...handsomely. You suppose they could be wearing nothing but a potato sack and still make you salivate but it was nice to see their personal styles.

Shota was wearing a black turtleneck that was tight in all the right places, his coat hung over his arm and sleeves rolled up to show the dark ink on his cool-toned skin. On the other hand, Taishiro is in white and creams — his button-up crisp with his coat made his skin glow. His hair slicked back showed off those mixed metals decorating his ear lobes and cartilage.

God, he was huge. Not just his tall frame but the softness of his tummy and the way his sleeves seem to struggle to hold onto all of him. Memories of that night flood in and you shouldn't be surprised at your perverted brain doing what it does but there's a sense of shame that comes.

"A - anyways, what brings you two here?" Shota gives a glance over your shoulder, you wonder where he got that facial scar. Your thighs tickle in memory of his beard, before he answers.

"A friend recommended the place." You nodded and motioned for them to go towards the glass counter. Tomura huffs behind you but follows you as well. There were several other tattoos and piercing parlors around here. It was just the area for it. Still, Villain's Hideout was a crowd favorite for its beautiful tattoos along with their masterful piercing techniques.

"You're getting a tattoo?" You wonder, grabbing the store's iPad and peeking at Shota through your lashes. He shakes his head, stroking over the curved cartilage of his ear.

"A piercing. Helix." He wonders why your eyes sparkle. Shota watches the silent exchange between you and Tomura with mild interest.

"...Would you be willing to get pierced by him?" Tomura says after a quick exhale. Shota pinches his brows.

"Is he trained to pierce people?" You nod enthusiastically and it reminds him of the night you were downing tequila shots with ease whilst leaning against the bar with a giant grin; looking oh-so handsome when you glanced back at him with a wink.

He isn't sure if that memory helped his confidence in your ability to stab a needle through him, but he nodded either way.

"I don't see why not, if I die at least you'll know who to sue, Taishiro." The joke manages to wring a chuckle from your lips. It loosens your boyfriends shoulders. You hope it’ll be an indication that things can goo by smoothly between everyone today. There really was no need for any drama — you’ve had your fill with the months leading up to the three of you finally making it official. You’ve earned some peace in this lifetime.

Dabi's usual spot is too much of a squeeze for everyone. So you're in Tomura's; it's more spacious, less private.

"So, are you guys a couple?" Dabi is sitting on the swivel chairs, watching you idly as you and Tomura set and sanitize things up. Taishiro smiles, putting his phone away after he had taken a photo of Shota sat on the chair. "We're colleagues, actually." Dabi scoffs, inching in closer to them before Tomura can wheel him back.

"At like a BDSM club or something? Seem pretty coordinated. Is it an open relationship kinda deal?"

"You're so interested, I'm almost flustered," Shota drawls out. "We're coworkers who fuck each other with no romantic aspects in our relationship."

Shota isn't usually so open about himself and his private life. Although because he ate you out with Taishiro's dick in your cunt, he supposes he should offer your boyfriends some courtesy.

"Hm, fair enough." Dabi says with a shrug. Taishiro finds it befuddling how casually Dabi seemed to ‘approve’ of their status. It was a bit strange, but he seemed like the eclectic type anyways.

Enigmatic? Was that a nicer description?

Tomura hooks the toe-point of his boots to the steel bars of the swivel chair and tugs Dabi back. "You got it, babe?" Tomura murmurs. You nod, humming along as you recount the steps in your head.

"Will Shota be your first?" Taishiro wonders as you turn around. Tomura snickers but a quick elbow from you silences it into a pleased grin. "No, I pierced Dabi's ears before and did Tomura's lip piercing. A few lobe piercings too!"

"He's good, we taught him everything he needs to know," Tomura holds the back of your nape, twisting your head to place a quick kiss on your lips.

"Isn't that right, baby?"

That look is still in his eyes. That possessiveness from the night in the club. His vermillion eyes are hooded with a desire that's entirely out of place. Still — your cheeks warm from the public display and irritation is beginning to show in the twitch of your brows.

"Yeah," you reply, darting your eyes elsewhere which makes Tomura's moisturized — you've made it a habit to do it for him for his sake — lips stretch. Dabi gives you the chair he'd been sitting on and you're unaware of the heavy gazes of the other men in the room.

That night of passion, unfiltered and raw and rough; your bedroom eyes from across the room that made embers of lust roar into a flame. Shota and Taishiro had come to the club to get drunk after a particularly harrowing round of marking their students exam papers. They had no intention of visiting the private rooms above despite the club owner excitedly informing them he had saved one just for them.

"Hizashi, we're only here for the drinks. Not the boys," Taishiro chuckles out, cheeks red and lips sweet from the drinks Hizashi had so graciously poured into his mouth. Straight from the bottle, standing over him while he was sitting on the couch. Shota was chugging the rest of it down after he had tapped the blonde's side for mercy.

"Really?" Hizashi scoffed. "You come to a club called Boy Toys for the drinks? Don't even wanna get your tips wet? You're fucking with me!" Taishiro whines when Hizashi slings an arm around his neck, forcing him to lean down a bit. "Your pretty little blonde pet still busy?" Shota sighs as the last drop trails down his chin, wiping it away with the back of his hand and placing the bottle down.

"When he isn't, we should arrange another play session! The both of you made him so good at eating ass out! My ass still has ghostly sensations!"

See? Absolutely no intention of finding someone to fuck. Until you bumped into him at the bar — tequila shots — and suddenly he just couldn't keep his eyes off of you. Taishiro's interests were obviously piqued because of Shota's and then, well....

You remember what happened next, don't you?

Stumbling into the private room, Shota's talented mouth working you open and Taishiro’s cock splitting you open...

“Ready?” Shota nods and you murmur a thank you as you reach for the alcohol swabs. Wordlessly, Shota brushes his long bangs back and into a ponytail, revealing the streaks of white hairs he has and Dabi blinks as he spots the way your fingers wrinkle the poor swab.

Shota straightens his back and you carefully feel the spot. He wanted it higher, a quick touch to the curve of his ear tells you it’s because of space as you felt the dips of his other piercings. Shota focused his gaze on anything but you; staring at the floor and his lap. Unintentionally catching the sliver of skin the oversized shirt collar shows him.

You’re marked up. That doesn’t surprise him. It’s the amount of marks that do. If it wasn’t the hickeys, it was the traces of what was probably a collar. Shota holds himself back from commenting on it. It wasn’t his place to tell you there were nicer, padded, collars that won’t leave such marks on your skin. Even if he was dying to ask if you have any moisturizer or gel to soothe it.

The coolness of the wet pad cleaning the spot feel numbed out for him. If he could muster anymore attention to anything but the remnants of sex on your body, he'd applaud you for how thoroughly you're sanitizing the area and how steady your fingers are as you mark the spot.

A mirror breaks his train of thought and his wide eyes blink back at himself.

“What do you think?” Shota focuses on the mark, clearing his throat. This was not appropriate. The situation was unusual but his behaviour was entirely inappropriate. Dabi stands behind you, bending at the waist as he regards the placement. The sight of him makes Shota’s interest pique despite his moral protests.

Dabi had offered — No! It was an awful joke! That’s all!

“I like it,” Shota nearly strains out. Seeing your lips curl proudly only fuels his guilt. And lust. “Good job, baby,” Dabi presses a kiss to the side of your temple and his hands squeeze your nape once again.

It must be a comforting touch for you. Twice now it’s done and each time, both Taishiro and Shota note how your eyelids flutter. Threatening to close but being kept open through sheer will and — if your reproachful glare to them is of any indication — slight embarrassment.

Bit too late for that now if they’re being completely honest.

“D’you need me to hold your hand, Shota?” Taishiro teases from his side. Shota snorts, tilting his head as he looks down at Taishiro. “You’ll be the one squeezing my hand until it breaks if I do that. So no.”

“Big guys a scaredy cat?” Tomura is staying in his corner. Content as he watches you prepare the jewellery for Shota from a distance. Dabi is hovering and you’re tempted to elbow him too if it weren’t for the grip he had on your waist.

“Hah, not really,” Taishiro snorts, “Shota’s just teasing. He’s the more edgy one compared to me.” Tomura’s brows raise at that.

“I just like poking fun at him,” Taishiro adds.

At the moment, you're feeling something else poke at your behind. God, the both of them were like animals in heat. There's a pinch of amusement at this but you push it down. Dabi and Tomura laugh along to Taishiro's words — they were little shitheads too. Taishiro was just in nicer packaging.

He was so big. The mere memory of him makes your dick twitch. What did his parents feed him to make his body so perfect?

You chastise yourself in your head. Bad enough your boyfriends already have some weird beef with these DILF's, you cannot be calling them DILF's in your head and lust over them. You were a whore but you weren't an adulterous whore!

You pick up your piercing instruments, tilting your head to switch gears from horny fantasies to a more professional mindset. Dabi's boner can wait.

The gloves are making his thoughts run wild. Feeling you but not all of you, the pressure of your touch and the concentrated scrunch between your brows are making him feel like a teenager.

Was that just the effect you had? Making queer men go stupid after one taste of you?

It's like some sort of supernatural power. A mutation or a quirk, hes's sure of it. Because Shota was not some horny dog that ran after any pretty boy, especially not ones who were already in a relationship. These emotions of rabidness was not meant for someone like him, it was meant for his student not him. He had a goddamn tenure.

Shota tenses as the sharp tip of a hollow needle presses onto his skin. He dares to flick his eyes upwards and he instantly regrets it. You look at him and that memory of the night he met you flashes again.

"Deep breathe in."

He can definitely do that.

His shoulders raise and drop. The needle pierces through with a sharp yet familiar sting. It’s soothing. The rush is minuscule but it’s the exact pinch he needs to rid his filthy thoughts of you. Shota is impressed with how smoothly your motions are. You’ve clearly got the routine down. Hands steady as you slip the hoop through his flesh and gently fix the jewellery. Dabi is still behind you, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed while Tomura is sneaking a video of your process.

You nod, backing away with a proud grin. It’s Dabi’s cue to inspect the product and Tomura holds up a mirror for Shota.

“Looks great,” Dabi’s praise practically makes you bounce off the balls of your feet. Taishiro approaches, so Shota turns his head for him to get a look. It was perfect. The placement was exactly where he wanted it to be and there was no blood spilt —

Why is this making his craving for you heighten?

The payment process that follows is oddly methodical. Taishiro likened it to a mechanical process. The air was so thick with sexual tension despite the inappropriateness of the entire situation. Or perhaps, because of the inappropriate situation. The blonde’s cheeks were red and all that was shared was just heavy gazes, coy questions and teasing.

It ends so abruptly. He kneads at his neck, as if physically feeling the effects of whiplash instead of metaphorically. Shota bids you and your boyfriends, thanking you for the piercing and Taishiro offers a polite nod and grin. The door closes behind them and they both walk in silence for a minute or two.

“...He’d honestly love the three of them,” Taishiro casually mentions. “Didn’t he say he wanted a new piercing?”

Shota and him exchange a look. Taishiro then slips his phone out and begins texting their obedient little pet. They did promise him a good surprise for when he returned from his trip overseas — new playmates sounds perfect. They were already on some thin ice with Tomura, Taishiro thinks. Their pet would be an olive branch, an offer of peace, so to speak.

Toga and Spinner tilt their heads at the closed store. She rattles the front door with a quizzical expression while Spinner is balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder, rummaging his pockets upon pockets of his pants for the keys. Twice was keeping "lookout" behind them while he held the canned drinks they got from the grocery store a train ride away.

"Spinner, are you messing with us?" Toga pouts. Thankfully, the weather was cool and breezy. But it wasn't exactly good for business for them to be loitering in front of their own store. They looked dumb too, Twice whined out at some point.

"We look like losers!" the taller of the three huffs.

"Give me a goddamn second! I know I brought the keys with me, okay?" Spinner hisses out. Toga and Twice watch on, unimpressed.

The rattling of the door makes him shiver. That's what he'd say if you asked. It was your tongue and tongue piercing but telling you that would just make you way too smug about your headgame. Tomura's spot was hidden away by a wooden divider, the dark red colour of it popping out brightly against the cooler tones of the shop. Dabi's spot was a small room with one door tucked in the hallway at the back of the store.

Tomura's spot was a corner. Not a room, no door.

The only thing separating it from the front area was that wooden divider and some big plants whose leaves needed a wipe down.

Fucking in Tomura's spot is always a rush considering how the shops front is basically a fish tank. That, and the CCTV in the corner provides Tomura — and Dabi and you — with grainy, noir-esque, replays.

Tomura knows Spinner doesn't have the keys. He left his fanny pack — or as he calls it, his Utility Belt — behind the glass counter. He thinks that deserves a bit of punishment and ignores his buzzing phone while you're working on his cock. He half-regrets teaching you how to use that damn barbell piercing. It flicks under head, dragging itself up to his slit and Tomura curses as you grin.

"I'll cum all over your face if you keep teasing me," he warns.

"Hm, promise, baby?" you push your lips out, relishing in the salty taste of his precum while he tosses his head back. Dabi watches from the side, sitting on the same spot Shota had been on, while he looked at the stores iPad.

His dick was so hard and begging to be let out from his pants. His usual impatience's was not present in this romp. It couldn't have been from their three dumbass apprentices outside the door. He relishes in peoples — small — sufferings.

You roll your eyes internally at him brooding. Focusing on Tomura as you squeeze his dick just how he likes it. The contrast of your hold, wet, tongue and that cold, smooth, piercing — the swelled tongue and soft food diet you had to go through was worth it. Tomura was close, you could feel the way he's twitching in your mouth and you pull back with just the slightest hint of teeth.

It makes him grunt, gripping the back of your head in warning and you flutter your eyes closed to simply avoid looking at him.

"Fuckin' brat." He wasn't wrong. It wasn't his lose. He liked you like that way.

You take him into your mouth again, humming, and Tomura hates how good it feels. The incessant buzzing is making Dabi's eye twitch and so he crouches next to you to reach into Tomura's pants. You ignore him completely while he answers the call, simply going further down on Tomura.

"Shit — !"

"Yo, Spinner. What's up?" Dabi moves to stand behind you as he boxes you between him and Tomura. He guides Tomura's hand to his crotch, and he stifles the moan in his throat as he feels it jump from underneath the layers.

"Are you guys in the store?" Spinner sounds hopeful.

Dabi almost feels bad for them...

"Nah, we headed out to buy some food. There's no appointments until later today. You want anything to eat?"

Tomura manages to whip his dick out and you felt it tap the back of your head. Pulling away, you wipe the spit away from your lips as you look at Dabi in disbelief.

"What the fuck is your problem?" you mouth at him.

Tomura chuckles, pushing himself off the wall and closing in on you.

"What the fuck's your problem?" you hiss.

He simply gestures to their dicks and you sit back on your calves in disbelief.

"Well, ah, no...we're at the store and I kinda..." Spinner trails off.

"Yeah?" Dabi caresses your ear, trailing his touch down to your chin. That wavering glare on your face...fuck, nothing gets him harder. His cock twitches again and you curse out the both of them as you jerk them both off.

"I left my keys inside the store," Spinner admits with a sigh.

"Seriously?" Dabi laughs when you leave petty kitten licks along his cock.

"Man, I swear I thought I got it on me before I left," He elects to ignore Toga whispering/hissing at him that she told him so to instead strain his ears to hear his bosses response.

"You gotta do better than that," Tomura says. It makes Spinner's shoulders droop; "I know, man. I'll double check before we leave next time."

"Yeah, that's good," Tomura praises as you spit onto his dick, the friction alleviating.

"Yeah, so, where are you guys eating at?"

"What?" Dabi sighs when you bring both of their tips together, kissing them while your hands jerk them both.

"Uh, said you were at eating lunch?"

"Shit, yeah," Tomura groans when you take his dick in again. Dabi clenches his jaw when you cup his balls and squeeze them gently. He wonders for a moment if you did the same with that Taishiro and Shota that night. It tightens his expression into a sour one.

"Huh?" Spinner's voice pulls him away.

"We took Tomura's car. Might take awhile. Why don't you guys chill out at that cafe nearby," Dabi bites out.

"Uh — Oh —"

The line is disconnected.

"'Kay...?"

The air is biting. Despite the layers he has on him. The tropical temperatures had spoiled him and his winter coats were annoyingly heavy as they pressed against his body — his shoulders feeling particularly heavy. Winter was just horrible, really. Other then the hot drinks and using it as an excuse to find a body to curl up with.

There was also the added bonus of covering up and hiding your face too. This time, without the humidity of a facemask during a warm day.

Keigo lets the pros and cons of snow flurry in his mind as his long legs guide him to The Villains Hideout. This side of town had a less intimidating aura when everyone was bundled up. It made him chuckle from behind his neck scarf. These tatted up men and women just looked like emo grandma's — those titanium piercings must be frigid.

He stops in front of the store and spots a few people gathered around a glass coffee table and low couch, the neon words hung above the couch shining a comforting yellow as all of them share a laugh.

Keigo presses on, the door sensor going off and immediately turning heads.

You honestly hadn't expected to get any customers. It wasn't a snow storm, but the streets were somewhat bare. Toga and Twice greet the bundled up man, standing as they held onto their warm mugs of tea/coffee. Dabi and you sat next to each other and instantly noticed the clothes he wore.

They were branded. Expensive. New.

The both of you shared a glance.

Tomura briefly mentioned of Dabi coming from a pretty affluential yet shitty family. You weren't sure if you should feel glad you were right about Dabi having parental issues, but it explained a lot. You leaned into Tomura to flutter your lashes up at him and he deliberately stands to ignore you.

"I didn't make an appointment. I hope that's okay," Spinner's ears twitch. That tone of voice. Where has he heard it before?

"Oh, sure. That's cool. You in here for ink or for piercings?" Toga takes a page out of your book and blinks rapidly. She's been dying to stab someone a million times with her needles. Tomura would tell her to stop saying it like that, but he finds it too amusing to do so.

Keigo approaches the counter after offering everyone else a polite nod. With his back to the waiting area, the four of you — Dabi, Spinner, Twice, and you — shamelessly eye him from top to bottom. When he removes the beanie, Spinner nearly jumps into the air.

"Holy shit," he slams a palm onto Twice's knee. The man flinches, bewildered. You're still squinting, leaning back into Dabi's shoulders as you sip on your drink. "What? Ya' know him?" Dabi is acting like the man isn't a feet away from him. You elbow him to remind him to keep his volume into a whisper.

"That's Takami Keigo. The model."

"Whoah? Really!?" Twice is smacked on his shoulder by Spinner, making him yelp.

Tomura offers Keigo a lipless, pursed, smile at the commotion behind him. "Don't mind 'em. They're fucking dumbasses," Keigo laughs. It's practiced. Something you'd hear from a guest during some late night show.

"Nah, it's alright." Takami Keigo, model. He was easy on the eyes. Strong brows, deep double eyelid crease and a nice curve to his nose. Tomura can see why he's plastered on nearly every mens magazine and interviewed for the womens magazines. He wasn't much a gossip — everyone in the store would disagree — but Tomura is active online.

Takami was private. He had interviews and posted semi-actively on his social media accounts, sure. But outside of what he allowed to be known, he was practically a hermit crab.

"So, piercing?" Toga hides her disappoint as Takami nods. He had nice lobe piercings but nothing too unconventional. Comes with the profession, Tomura supposes. Your body is no longer really yours.

"Is it okay if we discuss this in a more private setting?" Takami was straightforward. Yet, the tone he said it in just makes you loosen up. It's those honey coloured eyes.

Or maybe Tomura was just gay.

Toga and him share a glance but he nods and motions for Takami to the hallway. Dabi cocks a brow as Tomura curls his finger for him to come hither. He cocks his brow again when you're suddenly standing with him.

"What? I just wanna get more experience," you defended.

"D'you have some sort of piercing fetish? You do know it's illegal to make people unknowillingly participate in your kinks, right?" Dabi swings an arm around your shoulders to catch your head between his bicep and chest, smiling at your grunt as he messes with your hair.

It simultaneously irritates you and soothes you.

Curse him and his delicious muscle mass.

Takami is dressed down now. His goose-feathered padded jacket, and branded beanie neatly folded over a chair in the corner. You pause in the doorway. Dabi slips past you and Takami eyes him for a moment then you.

You smile and lean against the doorway, curling one leg over your ankle as your boyfriends prepared the consent form.

"It's pretty straightforward," Tomura says, "honestly though, doing it while it's cold out isn't the best choice."

"Hah, I know, I know," he waves a hand around and tugs at his cashmere scarf, "I meant to do it when it was warmer but I've never gotten around to it. Might as well bite the bullet and just get it over it. No shirtless photoshoots during winter either."

Takami pauses for a moment then ping-pongs his eyes between the three of you once again.

"Actually, uh. Like I said, my friends told me about this place. They mentioned a (Y/N)."

Your name sounded pretty coming from him. It made blood rush to your cheeks and you straightened up considerably.

"Me?"

You're hot. You, and your boyfriends. Keigo can see why Shota and Taishiro told him about you. Though he hasn't exactly understood the whole kink vibe they were talking about. Polyamory wasn't kinky — just a relationship dynamic. He knew his dominants knew that better than anyone, so Keigo just nodded and waited for it to unfold.

He trusted his doms and their choices, but he did appreciate them giving him a chance to scope the scene, so to speak. The three of you were strangers after all, to him and his dominants. Plus, they didn't even know if you'd be down for mingling private parts as a group.

"I heard you're good at what you do," Takami tilts his head, leaning back on his hands on the bench. A husky laugh erupts from the dark-haired man. The iPad is dwarfed as his long fingers as he precariously holds it like a tray over his shoulder, his other hand cupping his elbow.

"He's good, but he isn't ready for a nipple piercing. Not yet."

"But he'll be more than happy to watch."

Ah. There it was. Introduced to him with such a charming smirk. It's entirely wolf-like. You nod eagerly, eyes twinkling as you settle next to Tomura. Instantly, he reaches to wrap an arm around your waist. His usually cold fingers were warm from the hot mug of tea and you relished in it as he 'sneakily' slipped them up your sweater. It was casual PDA, perhaps a bit too much in a closed room, but Keigo didn't mind. He signed the consent form, ignoring the slow drips of fire down south.

Dabi looked over the consent form once it was signed. "Hope you don't mind taking off your shirt in front of people," the jokes makes Takami chuckle. He reaches for the hem of his sweater and pulls up.

It glints in the light, catching your eye instantly. Takami folds his clothes on his lap and sets it aside. It's titanium, looking like a complete circle with no ridges or bumps. There didn't seem to be any sight of a way to unclasp it, other then a thin — barely noticeable — slit. It rests comfortably around his neck, not tight enough to be a choker and instead demurely laying on his collarbone. Tomura instantly recognizes it, while you were intrigued. Dabi sets everything up, knowing one of you would ask.

"Nice collar," Tomura's words make Takami...bashful. His lips curl into an appreciative grin and you're prompted to ask; "What is it for?"

"It's an infinity collar, (Y/N)." Your boyfriend answers, Takami nods in confirmation. Takami strokes the front of it, his wine-red polished nails looking oh-so-pretty.

“It’s different for every dynamic, but my doms and I enjoy the permanent collar aspect. It’s soothing in a sense. Plus, it looks good on me.”

“Anything looks good on you, you’re a model,” you say light-heartedly. His laugh is airy this time, less talk show and more casual. “So, it’s an ownership thing?” Dabi slides over the cart of instruments. “For us, yeah. We’re busy people and it’s just a nice reminder outside of our scenes.” He lands his sights on you and Tomura, contemplating for a brief second.

"You've actually met my doms before. Aizawa and Taishiro."

You cough. A shoulder jerking, curling over, coughing fit kinda cough. Tomura rubs your back, using your surprise as a way to hide his. It’s been a couple of weeks since that encounter. Other than Dabi’s possessive scenes and dissuading Tomura from stalking their socials, you’d almost forgotten all about them.

"They have a thing for pretty boys, don't they?" Dabi’s smooth with his reply. Shitty bastard. You find your composure. Extremely glad that you weren’t gulping down any water at that moment. Jesus, talk about a small world. Your boycunt and asscheeks still ache from your boyfriend's bout of possessive sex.

Takami smirks. Those golden eyes look at you again, swallowing you up.

"Guess they do, but to be fair — you three made quite the impression."

“These two were bizarre, I’m sure Sho — your doms were just being nice.” Nice recovery, Tomura thinks with a small scoff. You were glad to know they didn’t think you and your boyfriends were complete weirdos, finally, you could sleep easier at night.

“Don’t listen to him. (Y/N) is just embarrassed we fucked him in the hallway while your old men were listening in,” Dabi motions for him to sit up straight, placing his hand on Takami's chest.

“Oh, they weren’t just listening,” Takami replies.

You’re dreaming. You’ve had some pretty sexy dreams before, this must be one of those extremely realistic ones. Tomura is going to wake you up with his fingers inside of you while Dabi’s licking at your chest because of how you were moaning at this dream orgy. Yeah, that’s it.

There is no fucking way this just falls onto your lap.

Takami's collar glints, the light catching your eye and you feel envious. That must be nice, that nice weight on the base of your neck as a constant reminder. You could definitely plan an outfit that’d go with it.

“My doms and I, we’ve been humouring the idea of an orgy. They seem very interested in the three of you and I wanted nipple piercings. One stone, six birds.”

Dabi and Tomura don’t even need to land their sights on you to know you’re wide-eyed and expecting. Threesomes were their wheelhouse; orgies? That takes a bit more coordination, trust, discussions, and condoms — Oh god, so many more condoms.

“You don’t have to answer right away,” Takami assures with a wave of his hand. “Just a suggestion. I don’t want you to be trembling while piercing me.”

“They’re still sensitive after your top surgery?” Dabi is pleasantly surprised by his nod. “Not as sensitive as they used to be but I’m grateful the old doctor who did it still had it in him to preserve them.”

His chest was the envy of all men. Firm and filled out, the scars he had nearly all the way gone. Still, you wonder if he’d enjoy the sight of you licking them and telling him how sexy he was.

Tomura squeezes you again. As if he knows the filthy thoughts your brain is conjuring.

Dabi warns Takami about the pinch he’d feel. “You honestly don’t feel the first one at all, the adrenaline helps. The second nipple is going to hurt a bit more, need anything to squeeze, Takami?”

“Call me Keigo, please. I offered all of you to get into an orgy with me, might as well get into the first name basis.”

Keigo calls out your name and Tomura’s. He holds out a hand and you slip yours in while Tomura stands by his legs, placing his hold there. Keigo’s not sure if this will turn into a new fixation but seeing three handsome men stare down at him was making his crotch feel all sorts of things.

Primarily, it’s feeling the urge to be used, but Keigo’s a good boy.

A very good boy.

You, on the other hand, are not. Keigo was a messenger with gold wings and you were raised right, dammit. A guest should not leave with nothing — ignoring the fact he is getting a piercing — and so you lean down and brush the hair away from his face.

His eyes widen as how close your face is. This is familiar. Your first encounter with Dabi flashes through your mind and you smile as you cup his face.

“A distraction great for piercings. Need one?”

“Or two?” Tomura’s hands are resting on his knees now.

Dabi shakes his head as he laughs under his breath. What else did Keigo expect, offering such a scandalous proposition to you? He supposes he deserves this and, really, he should get to know you three to some degree.

Just to test the chemistry.

“I’m not allowed to cum,” he says as Tomura’s hands travel to his thighs. You coo as you tease him with your lips hovering over his. Your grip on his hand loosens and tightens, mimicking his racing heart. His throat is closing up like it always does, but Keigo pushes through to speak.

“But I’m allowed to make three of you cum.”

“Tell us your colours when you need to,” Dabi reminds him as he sanitizes the piercing spot. “That means, no kissing, (Y/N).”

Keigo and you turn to look at Dabi, eyebrows furrowed in despair. He simply stares ahead.

“It isn’t fair that Keigo’s the only one with rules. You’re not allowed to kiss him, Tomura’s not allowed to suck his dick —”

“What the fuck!?”

“And I’m not allowed to participate. I’ll just watch.”

Tomura is aghast. Bewildered. Shocked. Bamboozled.

Him? Shigaraki “I Give The Best Head” Tomura, not allowed to go down on a man’s penis?

He wants to smack Dabi but the man is prepping to pierce and Keigo needs a distraction. Dabi doesn’t need to open his stupid fucking mouth, but Tomura connects their gazes and he knows what that raised brow means.

‘Can’t get someone off with your fingers? Lame.’

Dabi is lucky Tomura is his boyfriend.

Keigo gasps when he undoes his pants, pulling them down to his knees and squeezing the flesh of his thighs. Keigo is smooth, clean-shaven, and so soft. His cunt is warm, his cock big and twitching under the layer of his boxers and Tomura’s mouth salivates.

Dabi simply hums as Tomura cusses him out.

“That’s too bad, Keigo,” you whisper. “Tomura, his mouth is fucking amazing. You’d love it, baby.” Keigo is not even looking at his chest. Torn between your lips or Tomura’s fingers cupping his crotch.

“Fuck, what a big cock,” Tomura can feel it. It was half the length of his thumb. He so badly wants to see Keigo and your cock frotagging together. So badly wants to see it fuck into your boycunt.

The first piercing happens and you press a kiss to Keigo’s forehead while Tomura jerks him off through his boxers.

“O-oh, fuck.”

Taishiro and Shota weren’t joking. He definitely understood their point now. His half-on pants were limiting his ability to widen his legs but Tomura sees it as a non-issue. Simply providing the pretty model with his services while his thighs pin his hands between them.

“Good boy,” you murmur against his forehead. It makes Keigo’s throat close and he whines so sweetly, the sound coming out in a rumbly song that makes your eyes crinkle.

“Good boy.”

It makes Keigo whine again and Dabi fixes the jewellery in place.

“Hey, hey, no need to buck,” Tomura chides, pulling his hand away as he pins his hips down. Keigo freezes, wetting his lips as he stares at yours.

“So needy,” you purr out.

The second piercing goes through and Keigo gasps this time, tightening his hold on your hand and you soothe him with kiss on his cheek this time.

He wants to cum. The thought is shocking to Keigo. He doesn’t go against his doms, never even thinks too really. He relishes in rewards and praise.

But.

He wants to cum.

So fucking badly.

“All done, baby,” Dabi stands and Tomura fixes Keigo’s pants up. You still look down at him, like some devilish saint as you blatantly break the one rule imposed on you.

You kiss him and Keigo wants to cum.

But Keigo’s a good boy.

He takes a moment to calm down, the three of you are good at grounding him with easy-to-answer questions and squeezes to his bicep and featherlight touches to his face. When he gets his bearings, he pulls his phone out.

He wants to cum with you, (Y/N).

He’ll show you just how good he can be.

He pretends not to be excited in the taxi cab home when he realises his number was added into a groupchat with all of you.

Fuck, he needs to cum. This taxi cab is not fast enough. He needs to cum now.

Keigo appears in front of Taishiro’s home and the tall man smiles sweetly at his darling pet's flustered expression, Shota greeting him as Keigo walks in.

“Please, please, please.”

You can barely see past your nose. The blindfold across your eyes makes everything darker and fuzzier. This heightens your other senses. You can hear the shibari ropes creak as you breathe and squirm in the air. His beard tickles your thighs and your legs jerk but they don’t move. Your arms are tied behind your back, wrists bound together in a pretty pattern as Shota’s white rope digs into your chest and thighs. Being suspended in air is frightening, you feel like you’re constantly teetered on the edge.

You had no control. Completely defenceless and open. Hung from the ceiling like fresh meat.

It makes your cunt so wet, Shota’s lapping it up like a starved dog. The entire process of him tying you up has made you sink so deep into subspace it made Tomura fully intrigued. The sight of your body going lax as the ropes applied pressure. The sighs of pleasure you let out despite not being touched in any sexual manner.

Tomura has never been interested in shibari before but if he gets to see you like this again, he might talk to Shota way more often for tips.

Fuck, the white rope against your (S/C) skin made him so hard. The sheen of sweat against your skin, running down the curve of your back and thighs — Keigo gags on his dick and Tomura groans out his appreciation. Taishiro chuckles as he guides Keigo’s head up and down Tomura’s member.

“Easy, doll. Relax your throat,” Taishiro reaches under Keigo’s jaw and Dabi feels particularly empty as he sees the way the big man’s cock chubs up. Taishiro can feel Tomura’s dick in Keigo’s throat and he keeps the blonde boy snuggly against his pelvis, when Keigo begins to choke he carefully pulls his head back. Keigo coughs, lips shining with spit as he sticks his tongue out.

Keigo is quiet, Shota tells them. Though he is a confident man on camera — and off — when it comes to intimate moments, Keigo is quiet. He simply prefers to be, to just get lost in the feelings of pleasure. Taishiro told them Keigo will be a bit shy at first is all, that he’ll warm up soon enough.

Soon is now. He’s whining again, looking at the three men in slight distress. “What is it, doll? What do you need?” Taishiro strokes through his hair and Keigo twists his head to look at you.

Fuck. Look at you.

You’re sucking in a breath, back arching as your toes curl from Shota’s talented mouth. Your fingers are indecisive. One second clutching the air and the next, letting go. You’re tossing your head to the side, mouth open as your chest heaves up and down.

The lights in the room make your skin look good enough to eat. You’re a filthy angel caught in the net of a demon named Shota. He’s kneeled as he tastes you, his hair tied into a bun and so deliciously salt-and-peppery it makes Dabi grab at his dick.

Shota’s beard is soaked and you’re losing your mind in the best way possible. They can tell you’rs about cum. They can see it in the vein that threatens to jump out from your neck and the way you’re trying so hard to form sentences but your tongue is like lead and you’re simply saying; please.

Over and over again.

Taishiro tears his eyes away as Keigo paws at his thighs.

He desperately wants to fuck you. Taishiro stifles a laugh, walking past Keigo to sit between Tomura and Dabi, arching a brow as Dabi casually leans down to stroke his thick dick.

“You know the rules, doll. If you wanna fuck him, you gotta ask his daddies.”

“You? Fuck our baby? Think you can even make him cum? He’s very spoiled ya’ know, he’ll whine and kick and yell if you’re not pleasing him,” Tomura says as he taps his lap. Keigo crawls to him, kissing the skin sweetly as he looks up at Tomura.

“I...I can make him cum,” he says quietly. Taishiro reaches over to ruffle Keigo’s head, scratching under his chin. “Keigo’s a very good boy. Shota and I trained him well.”

Tomura pretends to think about it. Keigo begs between his legs, pumping his cock as he kisses up the sides, splattering precum on his chin when it bumps there but not losing a beat as he kisses Tomura’s cockhead.

Shota pulls away from you when he hears footsteps. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you catch your breath. Keigo kneels beside him and Tomura settles behind your suspended self. He laughs wickedly when you jump from his sudden touch to your sides.

“A-asshole,” you shakily hiss out. He kisses your arm as an apology while Shota guides Keigo to your dripping cock.

You can tell the difference between them. While Shota’s technique was intent on making you last long and your orgasms gut-punchingly good. Keigo just wants to cum on his face. You squeak at his hunger.

It’s messy. So fucking messy. Your slick is on his lips, his chin, practically dripping down his neck. He uses his fingers to spread your cunt apart and when he plunges his tongue inside, you moan like a true porn star.

Tomura has a hand on Keigo’s head, reaching from behidn your torso as he guides him. Setting a pace that isn’t going to wear out your poor cunt too quickly, despite how tempting the thought of fucking your oversensitive pussy is — Tomura purposefully pushes Keigo’s face in just to hear his muffled groans and your breath hitching as his tongue deeper slips inside at the risk of Keigo losing his ability to breathe.

“Keigo! Fuh - Fuck, feels — Tuh-tuh much! Ngh!”

Keigo looks concerned for a moment but Tomura just smirks.

“Keep going, doll. He can take it. C’mon, this is what you wanted. Right?” Keigo nods and your entire body shakes as you feel an orgasm rip through you. Keigo moans as you cum all over his face, panting beneath you. His hot breath makes you lift your hips, whimpering at the stimulation despite how light it was.

Tomura slaps your cunt and you squeal.

“Just one more time, baby. Keigo’s hungry for you.”

Shota settles next to Dabi, putting him between Taishiro and himself. Dabi lifs his head away from Taishiro’s dick, jaw aching the tiniest bit before he turns to the sight of Shota’s dick. He kisses Shota, licking away you from his lips and lightly sucking on his tongue before he leans down. He kisses the top scars, enjoying the feeling of his chest hair against his face before he goes further down and takes Shota’s hard dick into his mouth.

The man sighs, threading his fingers through Dabi’s inky black hair. Taishiro and him share a kiss, groaning into it for entirely different reasons though both related to Dabi. Shota can feel him pressing just under his dick, rubbing the spot that makes him bite down on Taishiro’s lips.

“Gonna cum?” Dabi purrs, so smug at Shota’s flushed face. It disappears when Taishiro rearranges himself, pressing his crotch to Dabi’s ass.

“Hey —”

“Relax. I’m not going to fuck you. Just grind against you. You’ve got a great ass...and a hot back tattoo.” Dabi shivers as Taishiro’s large hands run down his back. Every time he breathes, the dragons on his back do too and Taishiro wants to paint it with white.

“Colour?” Taishiro asks.

“Green, baby.”

You’re set down on the bed. The air conditioning in the room making your sweat feel a bit cold and uncomfortable but that’s hard to focus on when you feel Shota spread your thighs again.

Keigo is moaning beside you. Open-mouthed gasps and raspy groans as Tomura fucks his asshole. A rule that was implemented by Keigo’s dominants. His cunt was for them and his ass was for their guests. The blindfold that was still on you made it hard to predict his next move but you feel his cock tap onto your hole and you shakily open your legs further. Shota chuckles, sliding his dick up so you feel it rub against your swollen dick.

“Fuck me, please. Just fuck me already.”

“He doesn’t say please much does he?” Dabi laughs at Shota’s comment. It gets cut off by a groan as Taishiro rims his hole, so Tomura answers for him.

“He’s a fucking brat. But we like him that way. Makes us fucking — “ Keigo yelps at a rough thrust, his strap-on slapping onto his wet stomach — “work for it.”

You feel Keigo reach for your wrist and you clasp your hands together, wishing you could see just how wrecked he was. He sounded like he was being fucked within an inch of his life. You wanted to see, but alas, you were given this blindfold because Dabi once again thought it’d only be fair that both subs got some sort of rule.

“Poor Keigo,” he said during the discussion of rules and limitations.

You wanted to punch him in his perfect face —

“Ahh! Oh- oh fuck!”

Shota is fucking you with his dick. It’s thick, stretching your poor cunt out as you squeeze around it. Though not as long, the way he moves his hips as you baring your neck as you toss your head back.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Keigo wants to kiss you. He twists his torso and you gasp into his mouth, teeth briefly clacking against the other as you made out.

“You look suh-so pretty,” Keigo whispers. You grip onto his hand.

“I wanna see you, please...ngh! Fuck, please, Keigo.”

There you go again. Tempting good Keigo into breaking rules. He seems distraught by your pleas and Tomura grips his hair. He yowls, asshole stretching as Tomura pushes in deeper.

“Shota, turn him onto his hands and knees. Need to shut our darling (Y/N) up before he corrupts your obedient doll more.”

Dabi has Taishiro pinned to the end of the bed. Fucking up into him as he watches you suck Keigo’s silicone cock. It’s truly a talent you have. Slobbering over dick despite how good someone is fucking into your pussy.

Dabi is so proud of you.

“Dabi, guh-god, those piercings,” Taishiro chokes out. “Feels good, doesn’t it, big guy?” Taishiro nods, clutching onto the already soiled bedsheets.

Keigo is going insane. You’re sucking his dick and you look so fucking good. Licking his tip, kissing the sides and taking it into your mouth. He moans with each action, entranced by how sincere your actions are. He bucks into your mouth despite Tomura not moving and thrusts into your mouth and back into Tomura completely unprompted.

Ah, he wants to see you look up at him. He can feel you moan around his dick as Shota fucks into you and he wants to see your eyes flutter and go cross eyed. Tomura laughs as Keigo wretches his hands away to rip your blindfold off.

Youre disorientated for a minute. Adjusting to the lights as you struggle to breathe through your nose.

Keigo feels shame but vindication. You’re looking up at him and fuck you’re beautiful.

“Bad boy,” Taishiro reprimands.

But Keigo doesn’t care. Because you pull away, tongue stuck out and grinning.

You looked so proud of him.

Keigo cums around Tomura’s dick, you take his cockhead into your mouth and he’s grateful as he imagines himself cumming down your throat.

You’re kissing up Keigo’s chest, stroking his sides as all of you come down. Panting and soft moans echoed through the room as aftershocks of pleasure ran through everyone's nerves.

Shota is the first to get up, but Tomura forbids it as he circles his waist and pulls back down in the mess of sweaty bodies. “Stay,” he whispers and Shota nods as he cradles Tomura’s head to his chest. Taishiro lay on Dabi’s lap, he was itching for a cigarette but he remained on the large bed just watching over everyone for a moment.

“Baby,” he whispers to Taishiro. “I’m gonna get us water, can I do that?” Taishiro appreciates the gentleness Dabi is exhibiting. He lifts his head and Dabi slips out the room to get everyone some refreshments. He places it by the bedside tables, wiping down you and Keigo.

“Want Keigo’s dick in you?” you nod at Dabi’s question, curling your leg across his hips tighter and Keigo turns to kiss your forehead.

Dabi, Shota, Tomura and Taishiro chuckle at the sight. They slowly sit up, chatting quietly whilst wiping themselves down.

“We should definitely do this again,” Dabi says whilst Tomura cleans his back. Shota leans against Taishiro’s soft front, nodding as he strokes Keigo’s back.

“I agree. I’d love to teach your brat manners.”

You huff and simply hide your face in Keigo’s neck. The blonde smiles, simply allowing you too.

“And I’d love corrupting your doll,” you reply smugly.

“So, we’re all in agreement,” Taishiro coos out.

“Fuck yeah, we are, are you kidding me?” Tomura scoffs. “There is no way this is just a one time thing. B’sides, look at those two bottoms, they’re attached already.”

“Hm,” Dabi muses. “It’d be mean to pull them away. Poor Keigo, poor (Y/N).”

Your body is protesting the thought but, fuck, you cannot wait for the next time. Keigo can feel you clench around his cock and he thinks the same as you.

[autumnmobile12]

My Hero Academia AU: Ambush Simulation

Aight, storytime:

So awhile back, I was thinking about Episodes 4 & 5 of the anime Soul Eater where the gang is tasked with capturing two villains, the zombie Sid and the guy who resurrected him, Professor Stein.  (There’s also the added stakes that if they fail in this task, they’ll be expelled from school.)  After a somewhat harrowing fight, defeating Sid and losing to Stein, the plot twist is this was never a real fight, Stein and Sid were not villains, and this whole thing was just a test that was orchestrated and sanctioned by the school and definitely skewed more toward hazing than actual education.

And I thought, what if that’s all the Vanguard Action Squad was during the Summer Camp Arc?  Just a test orchestrated by UA that skewed more toward hazing than actual education. (Note:  These are the traditional LoV members, so Muscular, Mustard, and Moonfish are not part of this line-up.) At the very least, that would probably be the meanest ruse Aizawa has pulled. And you can't tell me Principal Nezu wouldn't have been all in for this plan.

"It happened once at the USJ. Despite our precautions, it could happen again. Let's teach them how to prepare...by scaring the absolute shit out of them."

"Ambush Simulation" is playing off my earlier AU comic with Shigaraki being the adopted nephew of All Might and leading a pretty normal life.  The rest of the squad is more or less in the same boat. For context, Touya’s canon divergence is he returned home after the three-year comatose and actually stayed there, but since nothing about that household environment really changed, he’s still an unhinged mess, but that is a whole other kettle of fish best saved for another comic. (Clearly getting a kick out of the prospect of scaring a bunch of kids, including his brother, half to death, though.)  Toga’s home life is rocky at best after ‘the incident,’ but she’s no longer a runaway teen.  Everybody else just kinda fell in with each other.

Their role as a vigilante team was inspired by the series Durarara!, specifically Kadota and his crew for anyone who's familiar. I genuinely forgot the Vigilantes spinoff existed...sigh, it's been awhile and I only recently got back in this fandom. The Vanguard is pretty much living by a 'you're only in trouble if you get caught,' philosophy. (And the nepotism has probably saved all their asses a few times because it doesn't look good for the No. 2 Hero if his eldest son is busted for vigilantism.)

Anyway, there's a few other details that I can't fit in this post, so head over here if you want to read more behind the scenes of making this thing.

[thebestpumkin]

-title - is this what one calls a meet-cute?

-pairing - dabi / touya todoroki x reader

-word count - 897

-summary - your first run-in with him.

-cw - uni au 😻😻, reader is kind of a nerd (can you tell this is self-indulgent haha no..), its implied reader ate fast food, dabi is implied to be a womanizer, lmk if there are any to add!

-a/n at the bottom!

As soon as Touya Todoroki - or, commonly known on campus as "Dabi" -  stepped into the Literature and Composition lecture hall, he assessed every single person.

Did her already.

Too loud.

Too plain.

Then his eyes landed on you. He tilted his head and watched you closely for a few moments. You seemed smart enough, quiet, and most importantly, innocent enough to ruin.

So he sauntered over and sat beside you, not bothering to ask if the space was free. You hardly glanced at him. His smirk faltered momentarily. He pretended to dig through his bag - which was filled with nothing but a few condoms, his wallet, and his keys. He faked a huff and looked at you.

"Hey. I'm sorry to do this on the first day, but do you have a pencil I could borrow?" He whispered. You finally looked at him properly. You smiled kindly and his heart unexpectedly stuttered.

"Yeah, of course! Here you go." You handed him a pencil. He stared down at it. A couple of moments passed before you spoke up again. "Do you need some paper, too? I have some extra." He nodded dumbly. He felt like he was in some sort of trance.

That smile must've been witchcraft. He glanced at you a few times during the hour. You seemed to be dutifully holding onto every word the professor spouted. He almost found himself paying attention, trying to figure out what had your undivided attention. But there wasn't anything special. It seemed you were just...like that. He grumbled quietly and did his best to scribble down notes, trying to impress you.

Get your head in the game, he reminded himself. He didn't come up to you for nothing, after all.

And yet, as the professor dismissed class and wished everyone a good day cheerily, he found himself watching you walk away from him. He could've stopped you. He could've asked for a contact. He could've gotten things over with quickly and just asked you to go back to his place. But he only watched you as you walked out of the hall. He looked down at his paper, filled with bad notes and gibberish when he got bored. He frowned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken notes, but something about you compelled him to.

They're just another conquest, he reminded himself as he sat next to you again on Wednesday.

At one point during the lecture, he leaned over. "Hey, uh, I didn't catch what he said at the end of that last slide. Did you...?" You smile, and his face warms. He scolds himself inwardly as he reads over the notes you jotted down. The rest of the class goes on without any more interruption. He felt guilty for wanting to distract you, which was...unusual.

You left the hall before he could ask so much as your name.

The next time he sees you is at a fast food spot on campus, on Thursday. Now's my chance. He smirks to himself and walks over.

"Oh, hey! You're in my lit class, right?" He makes a thoughtful face. "Ah, I can't remember your name right now..." You nod at him.

"I'm (y/n)," You introduced.

He felt his chest tighten. Your voice was sweet, but not airy. And your name - "(Y/n)," He repeated - was like a shock of lightning on his tongue.

"I'm, uh, Dabi." He sat down in front of you. You nodded again, that gorgeous smile never leaving your face. Don't you know who I am? He wanted to ask. Ugh, he hated thinking like that. He sounded like his father.

You glanced at the time. "Do you...have a class?" He asked tentatively.

"I have, like, 10 minutes before I have to be there," You replied. 10 minutes isn't long enough for what I want, he wanted to scoff. He forced himself to nod slowly. "What class?" He asked instead. "Politics," You answered.

There was silence for a few beats. Awkward, looming silence, he figured. He shifted in his seat, but before he could keep interrogating you, you asked, "What's your major?" He blinked, surprised that you seemed interested in talking with him. He forced himself to remember what it was he was studying, again. "Business," He eventually mumbled. You nodded. "Is it hard?" You asked. He felt a smirk forming, but he stopped himself. He shrugged. "I think my core classes are harder than my focus classes," He admitted. You laughed softly. His heart buzzed, and he found himself smiling. Your laugh was the most perfect song he decided he'd ever hear.

Before he could return the question and learn more about you, you glanced at the time again. You gasped quietly and gathered your things. He looked up at you.

"Ah, sorry. I have to get to class so I can get a good seat. I'll see you tomorrow?" You added hopefully.

Hopefully. You wanted to see him again. He blinked, then slowly nodded. "Yeah! Tomorrow," He replied, a little too eager for his liking. You smiled and waved. "Bye, Dabi!" You said cheerily.

He felt feelings bloom in his chest. Feelings he didn't remember he was capable of feeling. Feelings he hadn't had since when he was younger and dumber. He nodded and waved right back at you, but you were gone before he could say anything else.

pumkin speaks: omg hi gng. got hyperfixated on writing so here's this. longest thing i've written thus far.

this idea's been brewing in my head for too long. you can pry uni aus out of my cold, dead hands. also omg i couldn't decide if i wanted dabi to major in business or smth like criminal law but then i was like i'll just go business bc it's the safest option and i feel like he'd have dropped out if he went for something more tryhard. idk. if y'all feel differently lmk so i can change that.

also...how would we feel abt this being a series? i have too many ideas abt college dabi. in my mind it's like...an 'i can fix him' situaiton w reader for dabi. BUT if that sounds dumb i'll leave it just at this.

HOWEVER if it doesn't sound dumb, please tell me what reader's major should be 😭😭 i wanted to say music education like me but then i was like...ppl wouldn't agree. can you tell thats why the ending is rushed LMFAO

likes, reblogs, requests, and feedback are vv appreciated! divider credits go to r0se-designs. thanks for reading, have a nice day!

[heich0e]

weeeell since u mentioned them,, tomura and touya 👉🏼👈🏼

keeping on the college boy train of thought:

tomura has good attendance but generally comes across very apathetic. sits in the back row. wears headphones every second the lecturer is not speaking. big comfy hoodies every single day, always has an energy drink. gets VERY good grades in spite of his seeming indifference (in fact would be kind of annoyed if you got better marks than him. would def silently resent you for it. it would be a real shame if the two of you got paired up for a group project.......)

touya has absolutely abysmal attendance and regularly strolls into class late. he's very nonchalant about his academics but in the courses that actually interest him he manages to pull of pretty good marks and his professors are surprisingly endeared to him. he doesn't care abt retaking courses or the cost of his education bc his dad is the one paying for it (if anything that encourages him to make the process more drawn out and painful.) he has zero reservations abt making whoever is sitting next to you move (whether it's in class, the library, the cafeteria, etc.) because that's HIS seat. always complains about the coffee on campus but constantly has one in his hand anyway. pretends to sleep in class but his hand is creeping into your lap under the table in the lecture hall. does actually sleep in class sometimes, tho.

[dark-elf-writes]

After all the drama I’ve had, I would love to hear about Harry/Dabi soulmates from you again if you’d be willing to?

I live to give. Have a silly little Phoenix fire drabble thing.

___

“Do you think he waves his dress around like that to hide the fact he has no ass?”

After years of having Touya’s running commentary in his head, Harry had managed to build up a pretty solid poker face out of survival more than anything else. If he laughed at every ridiculous Touya said, the Wizarding World would have denounced him crazy long before last year, or worse, learned about his soulmate and tried to hunt him down. Harry prided himself on being able to keep his cool no matter what thought spilled into his head.

Only today he was tired. And angry. And his face still hurt with phantom echos of an already healed broken nose. And he has walked into his favorite class to find he least favorite person and Touya knew that so he through out his most ridiculous line just as Snape whipped around with a truly over the top flourish to address the class he shouldn’t even be teaching.

Harry laughed.

A sharp bark of a laugh that he had no chance of hiding before it already spilled free of his lips.

At the head of the classroom, Snape scowled like he was imagining throttling Harry. Harry would know. He had seen that look on his and many others peoples faces quite a lot over the years.

“If he touches you I’m flying to Scotland and burning off his fucking hands. Think I won’t. I’m looking at plane tickets right now.”

“You can’t even see the castle.”

“And? I’ll figure it out. People don’t get to hurt you.”

In spite of the death looming in front of him, Harry’s chest felt warm. His own personal inferno that would never burn him.

“Is there something funny, Mr. Potter?”

Harry knew what he was supposed to say. Knew he was supposed to make himself small and pretend he didn’t exist. Knew he was supposed to curl in on himself and keep his head down.

But he was tired. But he was angry. But he had a fire that was and wasn’t his burning in his chest.

“No.” He said instead, not bothering to drop his gaze from those hate-filed black eyes.

One of those eyes twitched. “No, sir,” Snape prodded.

Harry blamed Touya. After all, he had been pushing Harry for years to grow fangs. To snarl back at the world whenever it spit in his face. To burn just as hot as Touya’s flames.

To not let anyone hurt him.

“There’s no need to call me sir, Professor.”

Across the world, in a home that knew so little joy, Touya Todoroki shrieked with laughter.

[joachimz]

INSUFFERABLE

todoroki touya x gn!reader

includes: dabi is a shameless flirt lol. brief dire mention bc he’s a dumbass. you fall for his antics

notes: he’s so. dumb. i hate him lol

Sometimes you envy the students whose professors’ lock their doors as soon as class starts. 

The ones that provide that immediate punishment for the students who don’t care enough to show up on time, not giving them so much as a minute past the beginning of lecture to slip in. If they’re late they miss, it’s nothing more than a product of their carelessness and they deserve it. 

Sadly, your biology professor is not one of those people. 

Which is fine for your peers who rush in only five, ten, hell—even fifteen minutes late. Their hair wet from just getting out of the shower or clothes wrinkled from having just rolled out of their cramped dorm bed because they forgot to set their alarm. You can understand that; empathize with the plague that is eight a.m. classes. 

Who you absolutely cannot empathize with is the guy who sits next to you. The one who walks in not ten, not twenty, no—thirty minutes late at the very least into lecture, and doesn’t give two shits about not being disruptive. Lets the door slam shut behind him and his scuffed combat boots stomp heavily down the aisle and shuffle with an unneeded amount of noise before plopping down in the chair next to you. 

He’s simply insufferable, truly. With his box dye black hair and chipped fingernail polish and the intricate canvas of tattoos that sweeps from his jaw down his arms and disappears somewhere below the ridge of his perfectly carved collar bones that look absolutely—whatever. He’s annoying. That’s the point here. And today is, of course, no different. 

“Hey, dollface,” Dabi smirks as he sits down, then immediately scrapes his chair over to you. You think today is a new record, a whole forty-one minutes late. You wonder why he even bothered to show up at all. 

You don’t address him, not at first. You merely send over a half assed side glance as a form of acknowledgement. That is, until something glimmering catches your eye. (Something that isn’t the piercings or rings you’ve become accustomed to over the past month). 

“Why do you have that?” You half whisper-half hiss at him, staring down at the object twirling around his fingers. 

“What? ‘S just a lighter.” He flicks it open to show you, as if you couldn’t tell before, then snaps it right back shut. 

You roll your eyes, turn your attention back to your professor. Just fifteen more minutes and you’re out of here and far away from him. “Obviously.” You sigh, bounce your leg subtly. “Don’t light that in here.” 

And you don’t think you should really have to say that, and you don’t know why there’s an unease bubbling in your stomach due to his presence—but you do and it’s there. And it only increases as you catch the smirk slicing deeper across his face out of the corner of your eye. 

“Or what?” Dabi questions, scrapes his chair even closer to you, opens the lighter again. “Whatcha gonna do about it, doll?” 

“Seriously don—“ 

“Oops,” he grins, wide and cheeky as his thumb flicks the lighter on. He’s holding it up, like he doesn’t give a shit whether the professor catches him with it or not. Like he has no worry for the trouble it could cause. 

“What’re you—stop that.” You can’t believe him, seriously, and the audacity he has for disregarding basic rules. “If you get caught with that inside you could get fined.” 

“Pfft, please.” And this time it’s his turn to roll his eyes at you, scoffing under his breath. “You have to be a student here to get fined.” 

You blink at him. Once, twice. “Huh?” 

“What?” He hums, waves his finger over the flame disinterestedly, not even looking to make sure he doesn’t hold it over it too long and burn himself. “I don’t have to worry about stupid ass fines.” 

“Yeah, but—what do you mean you aren’t a student here?” 

Your lecture is long forgotten, your professor’s voice fading out into static as you stare at the man beside you. That uneasiness in your stomach is twisting, stirring around in a way that’s a little uncomfortable. Because sure, you knew the guy was a little odd. But not being a student? Showing up to your classes all the time? Hanging around campus? What if he’s some sort of creep, or stalker, or— 

“Woah there, sweetheart. It’s not what you’re thinking, I'm not some freak or anything. My dad’s the uni president. I get to sit in on whatever classes I want for free. No need to alert the authorities.” 

Oh. 

Your cheeks heat up, a flush rising so fast as well as the want to hide under the table. Silly you, of course he wouldn’t be some creep. I mean, he might be a tad creepy, but that’s not necessarily a crime. 

(He’d be a cute creep, you think. Then mentally tell yourself to shut up). 

“I wasn’t going to do that,” you huff, still looking at him. You aren’t sure why, but his eyes look particularly blue today; more than normal. Maybe it’s because you’re finally allowing yourself to look, a full proper look at your—sort of—peer. “For the record.” 

“Sure,” Dabi chuckles, leans a little closer to you. His fingers mindlessly play with the necklace dangling around your throat. You don’t know why you let him. “So that wasn’t a total how do I discreetly call 911? expression then?” 

“Definitely not,” you dismiss, tapping your pen to your notebook. “It was a man this guy’s so lame he goes to class in his free time expression.” 

Dabi winces, an exaggerated thing that you hate to admit is a little charming. “Ouch, lame? You wound me, dollface. Right in the heart.” 

“You’ll live.” And it’s minute, a little twitch of your lips before you can catch yourself, but it’s there. And Dabi catches it, pointing a finger annoyingly close to your face. 

“Was that a smile, hm? Did I just make my little doll smile?” He teases, prods his finger into your cheek. If you had any idea where it’d been you might lean forward to bite it off. 

“One,” you tut, pinching his digit between two of your own and pulling it away from your face. “I’m not your doll. And two, not a chance. You’re imagining things.” 

“Oh no no, definitely not,” Dabi presses, devilish tilt to his mouth. “That was a smile. Finally falling for me, that it?” 

“Uhm, excuse me—“ 

“Not now,” the man in front of you cuts off the person’s voice from behind, giving them a cold look, “We’re busy, thanks. Anyways, as I was—“ 

“Sorry, it’s just—“ 

“I said we’re busy,” Dabi grits, brows cutting deep as he snaps his head back over his shoulder. “Or did you not hear me?” 

“I did, but—“ 

“What?!” 

“Their jacket’s on fire.” 

Whatever snark Dabi might’ve wanted to push out at your fellow classmate dissolves immediately as the both of you snap your eyes down. And sure enough, right where Dabi has his lighter open—the one you told him not to light—the edge of your jacket has just caught on fire. 

“Oh shit,” Dabi curses, snapping the lighter shut and tugging it back from your jacket as he watches you frantically pat it out with a sleeve covered hand. 

You’re successful—thank god you don’t burst entirely into flames—but the corner of your jacket (your favorite one, mind you) is now very obviously scorched. Your eyes snap up to meet cerulean blue and what little bit of uneasiness left in your stomach turns into a boiling fit of rage. 

Completely disregarding the lecture (that you admittedly weren’t paying attention to anyways) you shove everything into your bag and get up from your seat to leave. You make your way out of the lecture hall absolutely fuming and don’t miss a single beat as you turn on your heel to yell at the man behind you as soon as the door shuts. 

“You’re absolutely unbearable!” You grouse, jabbing your finger into Dabi’s chest. “Seriously! I can't believe you.” 

“Oh c’mon. ‘M sorry! I didn’t mean to, it was just an accident—“ 

“I told you not to light it. But no,” you groan, and you seriously want to rip your hair out, or punch him, or something. “You just had to act like a tough guy. Mr. Too Cool To Be A Student Here. You lit me on fire!” 

“I didn’t mean to! I said I was sorry!” 

“I don’t care! I could’ve been burnt up in a crisp!” 

“But you weren’t!” He defends. “It's not a big deal.” 

“It is to me, this was my favorite jacket. You know, just because you’re hot and have some big shot dad doesn’t mean you can just do whatever you want!” 

“Well obviously, because if I could do whatever I wanted then I'd be doing you!” 

The both of you pause for a moment, catch your breaths through slightly labored pants as you stare at each other. It’s like the gears are turning in both your heads simultaneously, cogs clicking into place and smoke clearing in the workshop. 

“Did you just admit you think I'm hot?” 

“Did you just say you want to do me?” 

A part of you wishes your jacket was still on fire, because at least then you could try to justify that as the reason your cheeks are suddenly burning. You turn your face away from him, adjust the bag slung over your shoulder. You’re thankful you’re the only two in the hallway, or else you’d probably die from embarrassment right now. 

“Well, how ‘bout I make it up to you then?” 

You let your gaze drift back up to meet Dabi’s, staring into tattoo and mascara framed eyes suspiciously. You narrow your vision, tip your head to the side as you watch that shitty (read: thigh clenching) smirk make its way back to his lips. 

“And how do you plan on doing that?” You tense up a little as he takes a step closer to you and digs a pen out of your bag. Then he grips your wrist—gently, despite the firm hold—and scribbles across your palm. 

“I’ll be outside your dorm at eight,” he grins, dropping the pen back into your bag when he’s done. “Wear something hot. ‘N I don’t mean the burnt kind.” 

You shove his shoulder at the remark, glancing down at your palm to see what you’re guessing is his phone number. “Asshole.” 

He simply catches your wrist again, tugs you close enough that he has perfect range to dip down and kiss your cheek. And if you weren’t flushing before you certainly are now, eyes going wide against your will as you watch him let go of you and take backward steps away. He throws you a wink, chuckles when he sees you snap out of it and scoff at him. 

“Insufferable!” You call after him. And you don’t try to hide your smile this time. Don’t try to veil your expressions. 

“Irresistible!” He corrects, sticking his tongue out and making a corny call me gesture with his hand when you flip him off. 

And you wonder if you should wear your scorched jacket tonight simply to spite him.