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shibaraki · 11 months ago

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ON THIN ICE ┊ TODOROKI TOUYA

synopsis: your partner’s injury left the future of your skating career uncertain. but where one door closes, another is being held open—and has been, for many years.

tags: GN reader, no quirk au (figure skating), reader is an ice dancer, retired ice skater (+ teacher) touya, angst + fluff, sports related injuries, childhood friend shouto, best friends older brother touya, reference to canon, romance, mutual pining, first kisses, getting together, ice skating jargon (to the best of my ability lol)

wc: 8.3K

A pair of young, doe-eyed volunteers parted the curtains. Beyond it the battered ice and a stadium filled to capacity, their deafening cheers flooding through to the corridor. Harsh flashes of light assault your vision where the photographers are standing around the entryway; if not for the hand in yours, you’re not sure you would’ve been able to move.

The applause crashes over you as the other couple exit the ice. Bouquets, ribbons and gifts are thrown onto the ice, swiftly collected by the sweepers as the gates are opened for you to begin warming up.

“…and Todoroki Shouto!”

Your names are announced side by side, syllables ricocheting through the cavernous arena. Aizawa is there to take your jacket and hang it over the crook of his arm. You haven’t trembled under his sharp scrutiny in years but it is a close thing.

“Go out there and do what you do best,” he nods.

The cold rink air balloons in your lungs. It feels as though there is a black hole in your chest pulling at every quark within your body. You glide after Shouto, tension released from your shoulders in increments as you do a warm up lap of the rink, pushing into every stride to keep up with Shouto’s pace. He’s pale, you notice. A sickly sheen of sweat illuminated for you to see under the stadium lights and a pinch to the smile that softens as your fingers flex.

The beginning notes to music for your free dance start to play. In a blink it is nothing more than a figment of your imagination—there’s no time to second guess. Shouto takes you into his embrace and the routine you’ve worked to perfect throughout the season comes naturally. Rippling around one another like water meeting again and again, endlessly going out and coming in. Every leg movement, every turn and lift, every flick of the wrist snapped in time with the beat as you reacted to each other, movements tightly entwined, merging with a synchronicity that you would have only dreamed of in your adolescence.

The song crescendoed. The world fell silent.

And then it erupted.

Applause echoed around the arena. Thunderous, enough to overshadow the violent beat of your heart. You’re dazed, caught in a snare. Shouto poised above you, his pupils blown wide, a wild, pained look in his eyes. As presence of mind returns you become acutely aware of the arm shaking around your waist, the hand buried in his hair. The proximity—or lack of it. Short, frantic puffs of air ghost across your cheek.

You start to panic. Your hand slides down the curve of Shouto’s throat and he blinks, startled. And then his face crumpled.

He grew heavy in your arms.

He collapsed.

ICE DANCING PRODIGY TODOROKI SHOUTO TO RETIRE: UNDERGOES SECOND HIP SURGERY Skatebuzz - 11 December 20XX - 16:34

Three time national champion and prospective Olympian Todoroki Shouto will not only be missing the entirety of the 20XX-XX season but every one following. Revealed in a statement uploaded to his social media, Todoroki Shouto has announced his intention to retire. The ice dancer is reportedly recovering and ‘in good spirits’ regarding his decision. While the skating community has come together to wish him well, they have also begun to speculate about the future of his partner…

A slow, electronic instrumentation accompanies you onto the bus. Soft vocals intertwined with a soothing ambience. Purposeful in your choice of music—hoping it’ll calm your restless mind before you arrive. Your body jostles as you stare down at your phone. You click out of the article and open the text app. Eyes skim over the messages Touya had sent you an hour ago.

Touya : 16:45 ➢ Rink?

He must’ve heard the news.

You : 16:53 ➢ omw

Touya : 16:55 ➢ K. Hurry up

Things had gone quiet after Shouto’s second surgery last week and you haven’t been skating since. Over the years you had shared multiple strained numerous ligaments, a few blade nicks, bruised a coccyx and broken a finger or two, but a long untreated hip labral tear was not so quick to heal. You’d respected his request to sideline any talk of skating for a while. Having been skate partners for nearly a decade you understood the grief he must be feeling, because in part you are feeling it too.

Shouto’s absence on the ice was akin to a phantom limb. His father, Todoroki Enji, paired you together in early childhood, and over time a pleasant friendship quietly blossomed as you endured rigorous training and competitions together. Even after he broke away from Enji’s iron grip and sought new guidance under Aizawa’s care you followed right behind him. You had plans together. Dreams to chase.

To put to rest. To create anew.

The bus rolls to an abrupt stop. You grip the nearby handle and gather yourself quickly, shucking your bag higher as you walk down the narrow aisle toward the front. You dip and murmur in thanks at the driver before stepping off into the tepid air.

Seeing the rink is always a bit like coming home. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t desperately missed it. People smile in your direction, employees waving you in, recognising your face. The din is muffled by the music pouring into your ears; simple, contagious chords paired with soulful vocals. You hum along and kick off your shoes, taking no notice of the others in the locker room, incognisant to their whispers.

You hang your skates over your wrist and pad through toward the rink. Cold air fills your lungs. The old pop song playing through the speakers disrupts the harmony of your own—you pull out the earbuds with a sigh and lower onto a nearby bench.

A few feet away you hear a young girl exhale an awed sound. You glance up and follow her line of sight. There are a few junior level skaters doing their final lap, most practicing on their own, but that isn’t what she’s staring after. Gliding around the far end of the rink is their trainer, Todoroki Touya, and your best friend’s eldest brother.

Growing up alongside Shouto ultimately led to spending time with his family. You were integrated little by little, until it was entirely normal for you to have a set of spare keys to his house. Touya had been a taciturn presence amongst the siblings. You were drawn to him from the beginning. Rough around the edges and quick witted. Swan-like limbs, lithe muscle and a narrow waist, you recognised the subtle gentility in his movements that can only be attributed to skaters.

Though you knew he still practiced everyday, the topic of Touya’s dead skating career was off limits. You learned that very quickly. And you understand why now more than ever.

Watching him warm up in solitude, you couldn’t help but privately think the world had laid him to rest before his time. He shed his form and became one with the ice. Your ears prick at the sound of the blades as he slides, his loose white t-shirt billowing with the quick turn, flashing slivers of pale skin and scar tissue. The muscles in his thighs strained in the confines of his leggings as he took off to jump, wing span broad and beautiful, body suspended in the air.

There’s a lump forming in your throat. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t competition standard, or that his step sequences were unrefined. Touya always burned on the ice—he threw away his shame and took every leap without fear, because he was determined to do it. Because he knew he deserved better.

Poised like a prima ballerina, Touya grabs the edge of his blade and bends his leg high, changing the trajectory of his spin. For a few short minutes he is a soft blur, and then he deftly alters his footing, pushing off into another lap of the rink.

His speed increases. Curiosity urges you forward towards the rink wall. Your hands grip the railing, sucking in a sudden breath as you recognise what it is he’s trying to do.

A triple axel.

Touya lands hard and barely maintains his balance, forcing a stunned gasp from your lungs, joined by a chorus of others. It was clumsy and amateur, yet perfectly imperfect. The bright fluorescent lights reflect on the ice, exaggerating the mottled pink cutting across his cheeks, and the expression on his face can only be described as serene. Your heart hammers with excitement as if you were right beside him.

A modicum of guilt lingers despite everything. It was always too easy to envision yourself there. Shouto was a wonderful skater, and a partner hard to come by. He managed to make the act of sweeping another person with one arm for three rotations over an icy surface look effortless and skated like he was born for it.

But figure skating is brutal, a dangerous and painful sport cleverly masked by elegance and beauty—just like Touya. As he sinks to his knees with his head tipped back, releasing a loud, exhilarated laugh, you can’t help but think:

Touya skates like he’s in love with it.

Brushing back the loose white hair stuck to his forehead, Touya surveys the rink. You flinch away from his gleaming eyes when they land on you. The joy in his face turns grim as he pushes up and begins to glide over.

You, guided by your foolish nerves, scramble back to the bench and start on your skates. A presence steps off from the ice, another warm body at your side. Your fingers tremble as they work at the knot in your laces, undoing, pulling apart the tongues, shoving in your pointed foot. The silence grows slightly oppressive as Touya lowers himself to sit He leans forward, propping his chin on his bony knee, blades scraping the floor.

“All those gold medals at home and you still can’t lace your skates properly?”

It’s as much a lie as it is an olive branch. You bite your tongue, casting him an indolent glance. Touya rolled his eyes and patted his knee. You kick your foot up into his lap and set it down gently. He used to help you lace up, back when you were still floundering on the ice and learning how to fall. Meticulously, he crosses and pulls each loop taut. Touya remembers exactly how tight you liked your skates to be without a word of direction.

“They’ve announced Shouto’s retirement,” you say delicately. “And mine by proxy, I guess. I had to hear about it from Skatebuzz of all things”.

Touya grunts. After two long minutes he makes another of his quiet pay-attention-to-me noises. Wordlessly you meet his gaze. The cool overhead lights illuminate how his expression is flat in admonishment, “You shouldn’t look at that shit. It’ll make you miserable”.

A wave of irritation comes over you. “I still want to know. I knew he was considering it but—I should’ve known first. I have a right to, and it’s,” your voice cracks under the sudden sad weight sitting on your chest. “It’s not all bad stuff. There were nice comments”.

“They never stick. You forget them as soon as you see something negative”.

“That’s not—”

"I would know," Touya interrupts harshly. His eyes shutter as he collects himself with a deep inhale. He shakes his head and your leg jerks, skate knocked off his lap now that it is secure. “Give me the other one”.

You do, but not without first making a face at him, that which he returns tenfold. “Ugly,” he says. The warmth in his tone is all that keeps your hackles from raising. That’s how Touya is. Beautiful and bright and bruised, like a wounded animal that yelped at the lightest touch.

“Bastard,” you reply. “You looked cool out there, by the way. I didn’t know you could do a triple axel”.

“Can’t. I always fuck up the take-off,” he shrugs. The compliment is dismissed but there’s finally colour in his cheeks again. You’ve long since learned the intricacy of interacting with him. Treat him too delicately and he’ll bite. Treat him too flippantly and he’ll bite. There’s a careful balance between caution and carelessness.

Shouto never truly mastered it. As brothers they communicated like two closed fists. This is perhaps the only thing you can do that he cannot.

You smile at the thought, only for it to taper as you study Touya’s hands. Lithe fingers, a broad palm, uneven skin. A memory pushes its way to the forefront of your mind. For a fraction of a second you’re small again, and your hand feels tiny in his. You can barely keep yourself upright in the ill-fitted skates on your feet. You catch your toe pick and careen towards the ice with a yelp, only to be pulled back upright by Touya.

“I’ve got you,” he assured with a big, proud grin as you regained your bearings.

The force behind his present movements grows rough under your scrutiny. You wince. He loosens the laces and starts again. Off the ice there’s nothing particularly graceful about Touya. None of the typical pride and swagger. Like this he’s just—Touya. Bony and awkward, white hair tousled in every direction. Your best friend's older brother. The boy that kept you from falling on the ice when you were five.

Your dynamic has always been oddly harmonious, if not a bit melodramatic, your crush withstanding. It had been a plentiful source of lighthearted teasing from your partner and rinkmates alike. Whether his attentiveness toward you was for the purpose of goading Shouto in some way you weren’t sure, but grateful all the same.

It was Touya who stiffly suggested you assist him with the novice ice show. At the very least as something temporary to do, keeping your mind off the prospect of bowing out of competitive ice dance for good. The reception from your rinkmates had been lukewarm compared to the disastrous scenario you’d picture in your head. It came with varying degrees of surprise and confusion but overall they respected it. Shouto’s insistence that he attend your rehearsal blocks whenever possible tempered a majority of the nastier rumours, for which you were thankful, though not everyone had a working filter.

You’ve been working on refining individual elements for the kids. It’s far more difficult than you realised. After years competing at such a high level you’ve needed to reacquaint yourself with the basics, and somehow assemble them into a coherent, beautiful dance that would make your class feel proud.

Appreciative as you are to have him there, Shouto was no real help either. He was a natural at skating; albeit reluctant to accept that fact. Whenever one of the children asked him to explain the specifics of something he would end up staring in a loss for words. He rarely gave much active thought to the mechanics of how he skated since he instinctively knew how to do it.

Touya was the opposite. He skated with purpose and understood every movement his body made. What he lacked in clean edges he made up for in musicality. Purported by his emotions, in a way, and coaxing you along with him. He’s a good teacher. Passionate in a way that sparked passion in the student’s while being firm enough to keep them in line.

He could demonstrate each solo element with ease and explain it step by step. You envied the fire in his belly—undistinguishable and bright. Spending more time together has only succeeded in fuelling your feelings towards him.

“Skate with me?”

Touya’s sharp eyes skim urgently across your face in search of something. They soften. He huffs and then jerks his head toward the rink. “Why else would I tell you to meet here?”

Your cheeks ache, and you realise you’re smiling.

The junior level skaters have petered out, leaving the space relatively empty. You remove your guards and follow him onto the ice, doing a warm up lap of the rink. His legs—and by extension, his stride—are no longer than Shouto’s, and you don’t need to fight to keep up.

"Want to start with the Dutch waltz?"

While Touya earned his fair share of accolades—placing first in the Junior’s Division World Championship and receiving a Grand Prix invitation before the accident—he was never an ice dancer, and you loved monopolising that fact.

As expected Touya shot you an affronted glare. “I’m not doing the Dutch waltz. Toddlers can do the Dutch waltz,” he exaggerated.

“Should be easy for you then,” you replied blithely.

Touya let out a long sigh and shook his arms out before extending them to you. Hip to hip, you take his hand, dazed by the unfolding reality of the situation and the warmth of his skin. You let your blades carry you through the long axis of the rink and stand in a starting position.

Your uncertainty carries into the first steps, ebbing as the sequence progresses. Touya’s scowl smoothed out and his posture relaxed, aiding the flow of your shared movements and momentum. Your legs swing out in unison and the cold air whips across your cheeks. Preliminary as it was, you were excited to be skating with him. Glad, in part, that nobody else was around, giving the illusion that you were alone together in a space of your own making.

The hour passes cycling through a waltz at a time and crests at the final turn of a Westminster waltz. Despite his lack of formal ice dance coaching Touya’s technique was decent, as was his speed, and he flowed through each pattern as if it was the hundredth time he had done it. There are areas where your edges could have been stronger, or your stances straighter, but the intimacy you worked hard to portray with Shouto came naturally with him.

“You’re surprisingly good for a guy who insists ice dancing is beneath him”.

“Ice dance is equally advanced. Stop being dramatic,” he grumbles.

“Wow. Did that hurt to say? Kinda nice of you, actually”.

“Shut up”.

A wave of shocked murmurs bursts the bubble that had formed around the pair of you. Touya cranes his head, brow furrowed. Trepidation trickles in as you catch sight of a familiar dichromatic head. Shouto is here, leaning against the boards.

“Shouchan,” you push off to greet him with a tentative smile. His expression visibly gentles, a smile of his own coming to his eyes. “You look well. It’s good to see you up, but is it okay for you to be walking so soon?”

“Aizawa encouraged it. As long as I use the crutches,” he lifts one as proof, glancing around the rink. “You looked great together”.

It sends a surge of relief through your body, quieting the nagging part of your brain that always felt as if you were cheating on Shouto somehow. Touya is slower in his approach. He hunches over the sideboard and hums in that very cavalier, cool way that actually betrayed his piqued interest. “That’s sweet and all, but what’re you doing here?”

Shouto’s gaze drags to his older brother. Touya doesn’t appear perturbed by his inexpressive face, nor his stubborn silence. Mismatched eyes, azure surrounded by old scar tissue. His mothers face, her lips and the slope of her nose. They really are reflections of each other, in many ways.

“I need permission to come see my friends now?”

Touya’s nose flares and his jaw ticks in irritation. “I didn’t come empty handed,” Shouto continues. You hadn’t noticed the takeout bag held against his front until he offered it to you. “Have you eaten? I bought udon on the way”.

“I could eat,” Touya says.

You stretch across the boards to take the bag, “It’s my udon”.

His mouth thins as he cranes his chin, looking down his nose at you as he says, “Maybe it’s for me too”.

“Is not,” you stare stubbornly at Touya, shielding the food to your chest with one arm and side-hugging Shouto with the other. A warm puff of breath skims your collarbone as he laughs.

“Please don’t flirt in front of me”.

“You wouldn’t know flirting if it hit you over the head with a crowbar,” Touya deflects haughtily. “Whatever. Hand that over”.

You whirl past him to step off the ice, valiantly trying to keep the bag out of reach on principle. When you’re seated on the bleachers, Shouto to your left and Touya on the right, you unpack the contents and realise—to the latters smug satisfaction—that yes, Shouto had brought two containers of udon.

Shouto appears content to simply be there, chin propped on the handle of his crutch, watching you both eat with a small smile. The conversation is slow and pleasant as you eat, steering from genial small talk about the weather to sarcastic quips about your rinkmates.

You pinch your chopsticks around the thick noodles and inhale the tangy-sweet scent of oyster sauce, “Is Bakugo still peacocking around you?”

Bakugo Katsuki—another prodigal solo skater and unwilling friend—had been making a point of practicing quads whenever Shouto was around. While the intention might’ve been to gloat while Shouto is unable to skate, it instead came across like a hilariously aggressive mating dance.

“He’s not peacocking. He’s just…”

“Peacocking,” Touya repeats with feeling. “Admit it”.

Shouto’s mouth twists into a little self-effacing smirk. “What about the show—are the students excited? Eri-chan was, last I saw of her”.

“Don’t change the subject. But yeah,” you smile as memories sift through your thoughts. A mass of red, runny noses bundled up in sweaters and gloves, their bright eyes staring back with enthusiasm. “They’re really excited. It’s no national competition but—”

“It is to them,” Touya cuts in pointedly. The smile slips and you blink owlishly at him. “The show will be the deciding factor for a lot of them, if they want to keep skating or not. It’s equally as important”.

“I—I know,” you assure him, feeling a little ashamed for having made light of it, albeit unintentionally. “We’ve started on the rhythm elements,” you continue hesitantly as Touya acquiesces. “Picking the music has been a nightmare”.

“Their step sequences suck,” Touya interjects. You give him an incredulous look. Seemed his compassion ran dry quickly. “What? They do,” he argues, “Eri and Kota aren’t syncing. Every time she tries to skate closer the kid pulls away”.

“It isn’t a technical issue. They just… struggle to maintain their connection, before, during, and after an element is performed… is all”.

“That’s a problem,” Shouto says. “On the ice you’re one entity. It’s important to convey that feeling of unity”.

“Yes. Thank you, Shouto,” you sigh, choosing to ignore Touya’s muffled snort. “It’ll work out in the end. Kota just has a crush Eri-chan, so he’s being awkward”.

Shouto gives a noncommittal hum. “You two seem to do fine though”.

In that instant the weight of Touya’s gaze is intense. You close your eyes, suppressing the urge to put your head between your knees. An exasperated breath promptly swelled out to the limits of your ribcage. Sheer mortification. You glare at Shouto who merely tips his head, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in amusement, not in the least bit sorry.

“Well obviously. They’re children,” you clear your throat, ducking to concentrate on finishing your meal. “I miss Fuyumi. The men in your family are impossible”.

Neither Todoroki brother reacts. “Don’t lump poor Natsu in with us like that,” Shouto says coolly.

The hot takeout tray cradled in your arms does little to soothe the restlessness of your heart as Touya drapes along the back of the bench and smirks. He looks like he’s waiting for an odalisque to feed him grapes. Instead he shovels the last of his noodles into his mouth and sucks them through puckered lips. The strand flicks him on the nose.

“Our kids will do fine as well,” he says after swallowing. You temper a smile at the use of our, your embarrassment dissipating as Shouto’s comment is left unquestioned. He picks at the last of his food with his chopsticks, pinching and letting them go. “That Kota brat just needs to remember where to put his hands”.

“How about the costumes?”

“We don’t have music sorted yet. Now you want to talk about costumes?”

“Yes. I think you should wear glitter, Touya-nii”.

“Touya-nii,” Touya mocks with a distasteful scowl. “I can’t pull glitter off like you, Prince Shouto. Forget it”.

“An androgynous look would work well. You’re prettier than you think, Touya,” you cut in over their bickering. Touya baulks, flustered. “But we’re not in the ice show, so talking about it is pointless”.

“Well, the giftbox costumes are simple enough”.

“You’re making them wear boxes?” Shouto gives you both a flat look. Touya’s mouth pulls into a wicked grin.

“Only a few of them,” he shrugs. “The elves, Santa and his wife will need a little more detail—what the hell is his wife’s name, anyway?”

You tip back against the bench in thought. The soft hair on his forearm tickles your nape and you fight the urge to jerk away, not wanting to bring attention to the contact and subsequently lose it. “Depends on the adaptation I guess. Heard once that her name is Gertrude,” you reply.

“Gertrude?” Shouto echoes, his English stilted around the unfamiliar name.

“Shit. Guess that’s why she never uses it,” Touya grimaces, tucking the chopsticks inside the empty tray and wiping his mouth. “You done eating?”

Shouto, sensing the opportunity, rights his posture and asks, “Could we get a minute alone?”

You give Touya a once-over to gauge his reaction; outline his profile, trace the line of his cheekbone back to the pierced shell of his ear, glinting amongst his unruly white hair. When his eyes flicker to yours you scramble to look away. “I’ll go throw these out,” he replies, shoving the empty takeout containers back in the bag and getting to his feet. “You’ve got two”.

Purposeful silence hangs thick over the bench. “I actually came today to apologise,” Shouto murmurs once his older brother is a distance away. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you that I made up my mind. I knew you’d want me to give it more thought if I did”.

You hook your thumb into the cuff of your skate as you allow his apology to linger longer than necessary. Enough that he squirms a bit. “You get how bad that sounds, yeah?”

“I know. I didn’t want to hurt you but I didn’t want to be convinced otherwise either,” Shouto concedes, taking the seat beside you. A weight settles on your shoulder, slanting where he rests his head. His hair is silky against your cheek. “I wouldn’t be upset if you took another partner next season”.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to compete without you”.

“Well. You seem happy working with Touya. You two really do skate well together,” he wrinkles his nose then, “I always imagined you would. Especially after you told me you like him—”

“I was drunk—on whisky highballs!”

“—and wanted to work with him. You have that chance now”.

You sigh and rub your cheek against his crown. The smell of tea tree and mint fills your senses. “But what about you, Shouto?”

For a long, long time ice dancing had been the one thing Shouto picked for himself. His father wanted him to compete on the ice, but he hated doing it alone, and he hated carrying Enji’s legacy. Ice dance was, in many ways, a tool for Shouto to forge his own path with you alongside him.

“Skating has been my life for as long as I can remember. I’ve pushed people away. Declined dates. Forgotten birthdays. Missed holidays,” Shouto eventually replies. “These few months away have been… jarring. Like I came back to Earth and found out the world had been carrying on without me”.

The finality of it leaves a lump in your throat. You sniffle and indulge the urge to hug him. Shouto melts into your embrace, his hand splayed at your back. It is comfortable, comforting. When you part it’ll be as though you were walking on different sides of the same street. Not far, but a parting all the same.

Shouto leaned in and you found yourself mirroring the position reflexively. “Is it different?” he asks, hushed as if talking about something taboo. “Skating with Touya, I mean”.

Flashes of the past few weeks filter through your thoughts. Of warm, rough hands on your hips. Of his mouth by your ear. Of bodies intertwined, synergies flowing. You cover your face and sigh, “I feel like I’m going to develop cardiac arrhythmia”.

“It’s that good?”

“Don’t make it sound weird! And he’s coming back so—quiet”.

The understanding noise he makes does little to comfort you. Touya raises a brow at the smug look on his brother's face but generously, says nothing.

Shouto slinks away soon after the cold starts to agitate his injuries. Eventually you find yourselves on the ice together again. You run through yet another set of twizzles at Touya’s stroppy instruction, rotating on one foot with hard-earned grace. He mimics your attempt. He manages two before dropping his left leg.

“Remember to shift from ball to heel”.

“Fuck,” Touya hisses, his blade hitting the ice with a whip-like crack. You turn in place and raise a brow at his thunderous face. He was adamant about practicing step and turn sequences after a passing comment from Shouto about its difficulty.

“You keep positioning your other leg too far back. It throws your weight off,” he eyes your hands with suspicion as you get closer, poised to reach for him “Twizzles are hard. When I first attempted a double my body seized up and I fell. Bruised the entire right side of my ribs,” you admit sheepishly, hoping it would at least make his own failures seem smaller in comparison.

“It shouldn’t be this hard. I’ve been doing axels since I could walk,” Touya insists. He sounds almost hurt, and you stand to wonder if the only thing he inferred from your words was ‘you can’t do it’.

You understand his frustration. You are hardly a stranger to the desire to succeed. You know Touya, too; know how he built his entire life in pursuit of the summit. But while Touya has been striving toward his goal with renewed vigor, you've spent the past two months learning how it feels to desire in a whole new way—to want so badly that it hurts.

“Give yourself some grace,” you shake your head with an exasperated smile and you glide toward the boards. “You’ll get it down eventually”.

He remains in the centre of the rink and raises his voice as the distance yawns wider, “Yeah, yeah. I got it”.

“Are you staying longe—?” the call thrown over your shoulder as you step off the ice halts midway. The hem of Touya’s shirt has risen beneath the wide movement of his arms. You’re drawn to the swath of bare skin—physically unable to unglue your eyes from Touya’s lower back as he attempts another step sequence. You frown, having not noticed it before, "Is that KT tape?”

Touya had two bands of athletic tape parallel to each other on his back, the pale blue contrasted against his skin. “Sometimes. Increases my range of motion,” he reaches around to peel them off, then rolls the strips in his palm before shoving them in his sweatpant pocket. “Skin grafts messed with my flexibility. You know that”.

“I… do, yeah”. You did. Yet the information never stuck, because Touya always worked so hard you never would’ve thought he was suffering. “Ignore me, sorry. Are you staying behind, or?”

“Nah. Let me do another lap,” his voice reverberates around the rink, volume rippling with his continuous awkward rotations. “Go on. I’ll meet you out front and walk you to the bus”.

The light scrape of his skates remains inordinately loud now that everybody is gone. You drag a cloth over your blades before snapping on the guards and heading to the changing rooms. You take off your skates and do a few light stretches before washing up. The satisfying burn in your muscles dwindles as they relax and fatigue sets in; lately they’re so sore you’re sure they’ll slough off the bone.

After slipping into a clean pair of leggings and your loosest hoodie you hoist your sports bag up and cross the strap over your chest. Your phone vibrates with a notification from Nejire asking how you’ve been. You reply as you shrug on your bag and head out toward the entrance, stopping to duck into Aizawa’s office.

“Hey, Aizawa-sensei. We’ll be heading out no… oh,” you falter when you look up from the screen to find another skater seated across from Aizawa. “Hey, Midoriya! Sorry, I didn’t know you were here. I should’ve knocked”.

Izuku waves back and forth at your apology. “No, no! It’s okay I just came by to say hi,” he demurred, hand then fluttering to rub the back of his neck. He glances at Aizawa. “I’m just leaving, actually. Want to head out together?”

It’s a surprise to see him, though not an unpleasant one. You could’ve sworn he was away to partake in a skate exhibition. In that fraction of a second you wrack your mind for the date, the place, and when it clicks you try not to grimace. It had been over a week ago. The knowledge makes obvious what an absent friend you’ve been.

You smile softly, hoping he can see the apology in it. “Sure. I’d like that,” you tell him. “I’m actually meeting Touya at the reception. Just warning you”.

“Touya-san isn’t that bad,” his grin widens as he stands. Still boyish in a way he’ll probably never shed. You linger in the doorway while he bows to bid Aizawa goodbye and you wonder if he had even realised your lapse in memory.

Your eyes catch a flash of colour. His signature bright red skates are hooked on his backpack. They knock together when he walks. “So, tell me. How was the exhibition?” you playfully nudge his side as he falls in line with you. At the mention a stroke of pink spreads across his cheeks.

“It was really fun, and so different from competing. The choreography was amazing—and the lights. I couldn’t believe how coordinated everything was!” he rambles, brushing the mossy hair atop his head back and frowning when it flops back over his eyes.

You shove your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see it,” your fingers fiddle along the inner seams. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner, too”.

Izuku’s confused expression smooths into a familiar exasperated fondness. “You sound like Shouto. There’s nothing to be sorry for. I know you’ve been busy with Touya-san,” he teases, as though to remind you of that fact. “Ochako took a bunch of pictures. I’ll show you them next time I’m here, or—I can send them to you?”

“I’m still sorry. But thank you. I’d love to see them,” you concede to his kind insistence. Guided by a surge of affection for your friend you loop your arm through his and Izuku slows his stride. “So, gold medalist Midoriya Izuku, where are you heading off to next?”

The flush across his cheeks deepens, but he doesn’t appear flustered, and he doesn’t pull away. Izuku has long outgrown his childhood aversion to touch. You recall how wooden he once was, never knowing where to place his hands, how tight to squeeze or how long to linger. Now he takes it in his stride—actually, he’s something of a fiend for it.

“I’m meeting Kacchan. He actually picked this place,” he says, with just as gleeful as he had been while talking about the exhibition. You smile reflexively at the laughter jostling his shoulders, “It’s called ‘Mean Mug’!”

“Sounds like the perfect place for Bakugo”.

“Right?”

Interlinked, you pivot the next corner and wander into the open space. The receptionist desk is empty, as expected, and Touya is waiting by the entrance. What almost stops you in your tracks is the sight of Takami Keigo.

Touya’s eyes find yours across the threshold, pleading. They harden as they flicker to Izuku. He wrinkles his nose, ignoring whatever Keigo is saying, and Izuku tenses. You squeeze his forearm and try not to laugh. “What happened to ‘he’s not that bad’?” you ask under your breath.

“That was when we had one foot between us,” Izuku whispers. He raises his voice to greet the other men with surety as you close the distance, “Touya-san, Takami-san, it’s good to see you!”

“If it isn’t the wonder boy. You did well at the exhibition. The reviews were pouring in,” Keigo drawls, patting Izuku’s shoulder. The younger skater preens. Keigo’s attention turns to you. An amused smile stole over his features as he punctuated the syllables of your name, a flirty lilt to his tone. “You’re a sight for sore eyes”.

You unlatch your arm from Izuku’s and come to stand at Touya’s side. “Hawks,” you make reference to his stage name, equal parts amused and ruffled. “How’s the season going?”

A lazy smirk hangs on his lips. He rocks on his heels. “As expected. I was just tellin’ Touya I’ll be taking it easy until the NHK Trophy,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “But enough about me”.

“That’s a rare sentence,” you heard Touya mutter. You bite the inside of your cheek and elbow him in the side, hard.

“There’s a noticeable gap now that you and Shouto aren’t competing, y’know,” Keigo pats Touya’s shoulder, firm enough to not be shrugged off. “Are you planning on coming back, or are you stuck here with him now?”

“I’m perfectly happy where I am,” you answer, before Touya can interject with vitriol that’ll likely get you kicked out. He’s physically bristling at your side.

Keigo scrutinizes you for a second longer. “Blink if you need help,” he squints. You smile back, unblinking, and he releases a noise of surrender, hands held out palms up. “Alright, I’ll bite. I can’t stick around much longer. Midoriya, which way you headed?”

You’re too preoccupied with assessing Touya to eavesdrop on their friendly small talk. “Sorry I took so long,” you tell him. “Hope you didn’t suffer too badly”.

“I won’t forgive you,” Touya leans needlessly close to your ear. You tear at the fabric of your hoodie from the confines of the front pocket and suppress a shiver.

“Ah, lucky lucky! I’ll give you a ride,” you hear Keigo announce, leaving no room for rejection. Izuku deflates slightly, moreso in surrender than actual dismay. You offer him a sympathetic nod.

“We’ll see you retired lovebirds some other time,” Keigo throws out a two finger salute. Izuku motions to hug you, but as his gaze crosses Touya he decides to redirect the awkward flight path of his hand to your bicep and squeezes.

“It was really good seeing you again. Tell Shouto to text me—we can catch up,” he says, wearily glancing to your left. “I’ll see you!”

Keigo corrals him away with a distinct cackle.

“Lovebirds,” you echo dumbly. Touya’s presence moves away like the sun being blocked out. “Where are you—hey!”

The doors slide open to a street lined with camphor trees. Long shadows are cast across the concrete. Stepping into the crisp evening air, you can’t help but appreciate the apricity that kisses your face.

Touya walked onward, rubbed at his mottled cheek and stifled a yawn, arms stretching above his head. The faint bumps left where his skin grafts had been stitched together all those years ago pulled taut.

Stubbornly, you do not want to part ways yet.

“Y’know, the winter fair isn’t far from here,” you managed to say, scrambling for a reasonable excuse to prolong his departure. “They even put the little rink out with the fake penguins and everything this year. You wanna go?”

“Yeah. Great idea. Let's go and do what we do every single day,” Touya replies, with enough sarcasm that you have to look again and check whether he’s joking or annoyed. The tendon along his neck strains under his thin lipped smile. Annoyed, then.

“Just a thought. You don’t need to be such a dick about it,” you mumble, hearing how your voice goes tight despite your efforts. His jaw works in your periphery, like he’s trying to dig out the words he needs from between his teeth.

Touya sighs. The fight drains from him and in one swift motion he snatches your hand to thread your fingers together. Your palms kiss, clasped tight. You feel your heart kick in your chest. “Fucking—alright. Get that look off your face,” he conceded in an unexpectedly gentle voice. Your attention snaps toward him, but he has already schooled his expression back to resignation.

The winter fair is far from difficult to find. At the mouth is a narrow space covered by a canopy of twinkling lights, washing the darkening surroundings in a bright starlight glow. Stalls are lined either side, painted in shades of red and green, displaying various homemade crafts and street food. Your attention to the surroundings waned, returning again and again to Touya, sneaking furtive glances as he roved the market. You felt a surge of pride at the gleam in his eye, counting his ease as a small victory.

“Let’s get tamagoyaki,” you suggest excitedly. “Oh, or hot chocolate?”

“Are you twelve?”

You point at a display in the distance. What appears to be a rendition of a sentient mug of hot chocolate, topped with whip cream hair and marshmallows. In its cartoonish hand is a liquor bottle, “They can put rum in it”.

That earns his unspoken approval. Touya herds you toward the tinsel-covered stall in lieu of a response. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and your breathless laughter is light enough to get lost in the smooth notes. He orders the drinks, and while you’re distracted by the hot takeout cup thrust into your hands, he pays too. Kind of like a date, your traitorous mind whispers. In a leisurely daze, you allow the crowd to guide you both deeper into the belly.

Touya’s defenses lower with every sip and appreciative hum, tongue loose enough to speak about the life he leads away from the rink. You find him easier to talk to like this, this softer, relaxed version of Touya, stripped of all tension, purpose and sharp edges. “I still can’t believe you actually know him, though”.

Touya rolls his eyes skyward, seeking patience, and you wonder how often he has to hear that line. “He’s just some guy,” he says. “And a pain in my ass”.

“He’s Shimura Nana’s grandson. The first woman to ever land a triple axel!”

“Old news,” he pinched his brow in a delicate mocking gesture. “You were all cosy with Mighty Yagi’s protege less than an hour ago but you’re excited about Tenko? He doesn’t even skate”.

Heat rushes to your face. “Midoriya is—I was not cosy! He’s Shouchan’s best friend,” you argue before clusmily amending your words, “Shouchan’s other best friend”.

“Right,” Touya snorts.

Wisps of steam roll over the rim as you sip. The spiked hot chocolate slides down the back of your throat, warming you from the inside out. You watch the bob of his throat as he tips his cup back and swallows. Discarding it in the nearby bin, he motions for you to do the same. “C’mon. You’re the one that wanted to skate more”.

“We don’t have to if you’re that bothered”.

“I’m not bothered. I just don’t get why you’d want to”.

Because it’s you. “It’s for the novelty of it!”

The bickering continues on your journey to the skating rink. You give it a once over, then a second take, discerning whether it is even made of ice. The surface is murky and scratched beyond recognition.

“Here. Good luck tying those things,” Touya deposits a pair of rental skates into your arms with an air of disdain before grabbing his own. “If I strain my ankle tonight I’ll kill you”.

“You’d miss me too much” you bump his shoulder to distract from your own racing heart. The corner of his eyes crinkle, betraying his harsh leer.

Cut-out frames have been fixed around the nearby benches, cardboard pillars have been wrapped in more fairy lights, giving the feel of an enclosed space. “Cute. Like our very own kiss and cry,” you say, bending to shove your feet into the skates and grumble when the tendon guard digs unnaturally into your calf.

“This is a cardboard box”.

You tighten your laces too tight after a spark of agitation. “Could you suspend your disbelief for five minutes?”

“No,” Touya rises and stomps to settle into his boots. He inclines his head toward the rink. “Let’s go,” and he gestures for you to take his hand again while looking elsewhere. You smile shyly and take it.

As suspected the ice is miles from ideal for skating—not that the general public would notice. You feel the difference the second your blade meets the surface and your instincts kick in. Simultaneously too soft and too rough. The thin indents catch as you glide ahead, fist enclosed to retain the sensation of Touya’s fingers.

You can sense his focused gaze on your lazy motions like kerosene and after a few laps he dashes ahead, following the parameter, a lithe slip of moonlight. It makes known an unwarranted hollow in your chest. There’s nothing to be wanted or missed and yet your arms felt empty, hungry. Pushing against your skates you strive to keep pace.

You wanted him to keep looking at you. To see an equal in you. You suppose that’s a quality you shared.

In your distraction you’d failed to notice the crowd gathering outside the rink. Awareness creeps the length of your spine. People are holding up their phones filming the pair of you and you’re hardly skating anything groundbreaking.

Touya relishes it.

“You’ve skated in front of tens of thousands of people but a few dozen spectators is what gets you scared?” he flashes a smarmy grin. His skates carry him closer. Rough hands take you by the hips, fingers kneading slowly towards the middle of your back, spreading outwards as if wanting to canvas more of you. The tiny hairs on your nape stand endwise as his voice deepens, “Wanna make it a show worth their while?”

You suck a sharp breath and your toe pick catches on the uneven surface, almost throwing you off balance. He steadies you, tips his head back and laughs.

You remain markedly clumsy as a pair, in a drawing outside of the lines sort of way. There’s no music yet at some point you fall into a familiar sequence and Touya fights to match you. It’s as though your inhibitors have been loosened; you often find yourself getting carried away with the routine. Any judge would think you were an over excited novice. But it’s exhilarating. It’s—fun. Fun in a way it hasn’t been in a long time.

Your bodies came flush together in a final grand movement. Close enough to mimic the rapid rise and fall of Touya’s chest as though it were your own. You spend a few scant moments staring at each other as you catch your breath. Taking in the atmosphere, the proximity you’d never been afforded until now. Blood has risen in Touya’s cheeks and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes are full of a childlike excitement you haven’t seen in years.

“Did you mean what you said?”

You regain your bearings, “What?”

“About being happy with what you’re doing now,” he clarifies. Your mouth parts in soft surprise, and he grows tense in the seconds it takes to form an answer.

“Without Shouto I might never return to competing and I’ve mostly made peace with that reality,” the tightening in your chest made it clear just how true those words were. You smile then, “Helping you with the kids, it’s… I feel like I’ve won all there is to win. Is that stupid?”

Years ago you used to watch Touya skate and think there probably wasn’t a person in the world whose depth and intensity of feeling matched his loneliness. You would wonder how he survived it—

Above, the lights emphasise the shadows of his scars. Maps of lines, intricate furrows, beginnings and endings, tangible proof that he had changed and grown.

—you know now, having received your own fill, how he found himself surrounded by love with no idea how he came to acquire it.

“No. Maybe a little,” Touya answered. You think he’s the only man to exist that can make a leer appear fond.

A camera flash goes off. A couple dozen more.

“That’s probably not good,” you point out, though you’re struggling to find it within yourself to care. “They’ll have my name in Skatebuzz again. Aizawa will kill us”.

“I can see the headlines now. Prospective Olympian’s disgraced brother steals his partner away,” Touya’s vindictive mirth ghosts over your lips, fleeting and hesitant, “…can’t wait”.

Your blood sings, rising to the surface of your skin to meet him. You looked at him in such a way, like he couldn’t wait to—kiss you. A barely audible exhale asks, “What’re you doing?”

He slides a hand up the curve of your throat, thumb pressed to your pulse. “What does it look like?”

The restraint drains away.

You clutch at the front of his shirt as he sips at your mouth. It’s far too indulgent to be chaste, and when you pull away—barely an inch—to look at him, his eyes are already half lidded and watching you, close enough to count his lashes, pale as they fan over his cheeks.

A raucous applause thunders in your ears.

But the reverential murmur of your name is that much louder.

TO THE RINK AND BACK: TODOROKI TOUYA’S ROMANTIC RETURN? Skatebuzz - 13 December 20XX - 10:05

Todoroki Touya, once a favoured national champion, skates publicly for the first time since the career ending accident that left him permanently scarred. But he was not spotted alone. Lips locked with Todoroki Shouto’s former partner, the skating community are buzzing at the possibility of his return…

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya x reader

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lilacgaby · 3 months ago

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return to main menu?

- bakugo katsuki

"what are we?" "...nothing. right?"

convienence. a means to end. that's all this was for both of you right? when katsuki is fed up with the crazed fangirls who just won't leave him alone, he works out a deal with you. it was just coincidence he had a huge crush on you.

to kiss or kill.. a vampire?

you've been a vampire for as long as you can remember. you were going through your day, or night, routine as normal when a noise startles you. a man, katsuki bakugo to be exactly, was standing at your door. though, he can't seem to rember whether he's supposed to kill or kiss you...

I've changed, won't you see?

summary: katsuki ruined your life when you were small, giving you a life altering injury, though getting nothing more than a pat on the back. throughout his successes he can't get you out of his mind, so he sets out to make amends with you.

running out of time, to make you love me.

THE PRINCE'S BALL was to be had on his 18th birthday. the week before, you realize the feelings you have harbored over the years for him. little did you know you were both fighting against the time restraint placed on him.

die for you.

after an attempt on your life, the royal family turns to promising young blood, hoping to find someone to protect you. katsuki was chosen and ended up dedicating himself to you in a way even he never predicted.

excuses, excuses

katsuki had left you, overwhelmed by the situation you two were now tied to. now, when he finally reaches his dreams, he realizes victory doesn't taste as sweet without you.

my first, my last, my everything.

summary: katsuki left that life behind for you. but when the life you two built from scratch together was threatened, what else could he do but go back?

my last, my everything.

ride or die

you'd been partnered up with the hotheaded speed racer, katsuki. who knew he'd end up more interested in you then the races he'd win?

crayons and connections

after a harsh relationship he really didn't want another try at romance for a while. at least, not until he hired you. he thought he loved the way you cared for his kids, but you both knew it was something more.

*truth bomb! (f,h)

in which a lovesick girl is hit by a truth telling quirk that lasts 7 days.

*serenity (f)

in which a longtime fanboy meets his anime crush in his world.

entranced (f)

through all stages of his life, katsuki was entranced with you.

save me

katsuki has always saved you, his princess.

saved.

awakened

you've been asleep all this time, who knew a barbarian would be the one to awaken you?

death is inevitable, but why you?

summary: each boy has to live through their horrors, the horror of losing you.

fairy tale.

summary: katsuki's life had been flipped onto its head, who knew some pixie dust was all he needed?

iced out.

"he'll need an ice pack when i'm done with him."

fantasy au's:

dragonking!bkg 2

dragonking!bkg x tinkerbell!reader

barbarian!bakugo 2 3 4

prohero! au:

prohero!bkg 2 3 4

interview but he's down bad 2

preschool!teacher reader

kidnapped!reader

domestic au:

4:25 a.m

family errand running

interview with his daughter

6:21 a.m

mini you.

girldad!katsuki

nanny!reader

random drabbles:

mini me

katsuki thinks it's cute how you adopt his habits, calling you his mini-me.

he's a scaredy-cat.

is he proposing or...?

childhoodfriends

shy!reader

back kissing him</3

nerd!bakugo

physical touch

muscle-kisses

boyfriend!bakugo

only shy to him

racer!katsuki

comfort

the one who got away..

hypotheticals

drawing him

drawing on his hands

makeup on him

-todoroki shoto

*marry me! (f)

in which a royal prince and a witch get married to dethrone the king.

death is inevitable, but why you?

summary: each boy has to live through their horrors, the horror of losing you.

random drabbles:

is he proposing or...?

-tamaki amajiki

random drabbles:

shy!reader 2

sfw alphabet

timeskip!tamaki

period comfort

-kirishima eijiro

lucky me.

you always seemed to attract bad luck, yet you think your life might be turning around as you reconnect with light itself.

random drabbles:

is he proposing or...?

-midoriya izuku

death is inevitable, but why you?

summary: each boy has to live through their horrors, the horror of losing you.

random drabbles:

is he proposing or..?

-denki kaminari

random drabbles:

is he proposing or...?

-neito monoma

random drabbles:

shy!reader

-hitoshi shinsou

i'll love you, even from afar.

random drabbles:

period comfort

-touya todoroki (dabi)

better 4 u

summary: touya didn't deserve you, he knew there was someone out there better for you.

#bakugo #bakugo x reader #mha x reader #mha bakugou #my works✧ミ★#bnha #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki

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mika-writes-fanfics · 2 years ago

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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

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kingtomura · 9 months ago

Text

Deja Vu | 1 | January Embers

summary: Your best friend died years ago. He went up in flames until there was nothing left... so why does it feel like you can still see him sometimes? content: touya todoroki x female reader, childhood friends au, reader has a quirk, flashbacks, childhood memories, fluff, heavy angst, bullying, eventual smut, eventual meaning next chapter, soft touya, hurt/comfort, tragedy, mdni wc: 4.5k | Chapter 2 | m. list | read on ao3

You meet Touya Todoroki when you are four years old.

He was a redhot firecracker that demanded the attention of you and all those around him.

Touya Todoroki was also the first in your class to have his quirk maifest. It was the talk for about a week, everyone expecting nothing less from the son of the flame hero, Endeavor, himself.

You would watch him some days, flaunting his newfound power on the playground in front of others, knowing he would be some great hero one day. Even better than All Might, he would yell to anyone that would listen. It was a decent dream, you believed. Maybe someone could actually be better than All Might.

It didn’t seem like that would be in the cards for you, as it became more apparent as the days went by that you may not have a quirk. The excitement of watching every other child’s quirk manifest began to fill you with a pit of dread.

Quirkless.

It’s something you never thought you would have to think about. The realization hadn’t caught up with the rest of your class yet and you could only thank the stars.

But it was only a matter of time before a group of three noticed.

They cornered you while you tried drawing shapes in the sanded area of the playground.

“Hey,” one kid dragged, horns proudly peeking out of his head. “What’s goin’ on with you?”

You spared him a glance before going back to your sand, gliding the stick you found through the yellow grains. “What do you mean?”

One girl behind him pipes up, curly pigtails bouncing with the tilt of her head, “Where’s your quirk? Aren’t you turning five soon?”

The emphasis on five makes you jolt a little and you try to play it off — offering a little shrug to the trio. “I dunno. Mom says I'm a late bloomer.” you pray they will be satisfied with your answer and leave you alone.

The third kid finally speaks, sporting a new pair of bat-like wings. “No way, I bet you’re gonna be quirkless!”

The other children erupt in a loud laugh that calls the attention of your other classmates — much to your dismay.

“That’s so sad for you!” the girl yelled, grin on her face showing not an ounce of pity.

“Yeah, really!” The first boy laughs, taking a step forward and kicking the sand you were drawing in towards you, effectively ruining your picture and your day.

You go to stand, brushing the sand off of your dress before the girl rushes forward to push you, sending you down to land flat on your bottom. Your bottom lip wobbled as you tried to hold back the tears and humiliation threatening to spill over and out.

The bat-winged boy pointed to you, “Look, guys, she’s gonna cry!” Yelling out to anyone who could hear, only causing you to dip your head in shame, now unable to stop the warm tears from trailing down your cheeks.

And you thought today couldn’t get any worse.

“Hey! Knock it off!” You hear a voice yell, familiar. “Flashfire fist!”

You feel the heat before you see it, hot and swift.

The screams make you look up. Its Touya, red hair and fist aflame, standing in front of you and effectively blocking you from the trio of bullies before.

“Ouch, Touya! You could have really hurt us!” the girl with pigtails cried, holding her own wrist as tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

The boy who kicked sand at you spoke up next, voice wavering on the verge of tears as well, “Yeah, you jerk!”

Touya shrugged, flames dissipating and points a finger at them, “I don't care. Bullies’ feelings dont matter!”

You could only stare with wet lashes as the trio ran off — no doubt to tell the teacher. Touya didn’t seem to mind, as a matter of fact he seemed proud as he turned to you and reached out a hand to help you up. He was all smiles and warm eyes, “Are you alright?”

You take his hand, noting how warm it still was from his previous quirk use and nod, “Mhm, thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” he helped you to your feet before continuing, his smile almost blinding, “I’m Touya Todoroki, the next number one hero.”

You nod and introduce yourself, cheeks warm and smile dancing across your face. His mood is infectious. “Nice to meet you, Touya, next number one hero.”

Later that day you realize Touya does get in trouble for improper quirk use and can’t help but apologize.

“It’s fine!” He returns, not bothered in the slightest. “I’d do it again and again, if I had to.”

After the incident Touya insisted on being by your side the rest of the day. During lunch, arts and crafts and even nap time. He would go where you would go and you couldn’t say you minded. Once school had finished for the day and it was time to break apart Touya insisted you both hang out more.

Even going as far as to introduce himself to your parents as they came to pick you up.

His foot tapped in excitement as he told them about your days and how you should hang out more.

That’s how you both find yourselves in some forest on the weekend, walking together through the fresh snow, because Touya just had to show you this cool training spot.

“But, don't you think we’re going too far, Touya?” You ask, nerves trembling as you look around the forest. You wouldn’t know your way back without him and you’ve never been this far out alone.

“No,” he singsongs, “C’mon– don't be such a baby,”

You puff your cheeks, running to catch up with him, “Don’t call me that, but okay!”

He grabs your hand once you are by his side and it's warm. Touya is always warm.

“We’re almost there, anyway!”

This special place looked the same as any other place in these woods, but you wouldn’t let Touya know. He’s so excited to show you what he came to do.

“My dad and I train here sometimes.” He starts, smiling as he backs away from you to show you a flame in his hand. “He thinks my flames will be hotter than his one day.”

You can’t hide the way your eyes fill with sadness as you look to the ground.

“I don’t think I’m gonna get a quirk, Touya.”

The boy’s smile drops instantly, as he rushes over to you, taking your face in his tiny hands. Still so warm, like always.

“Hey, don’t say that! Maybe you aren't trying the right things.” He dips behind you before you could turn to stop him, “Maybe you can see in the dark!” His hypothesis being tested by covering your eyes.

You bite back a laugh, “No, Touya, I don't think it works like that.”

The boy lets you go and runs to a rather large, fallen log – climbing atop it and looking down to you. “Well, maybe you can fly. Have you tried that?”

You shake your head, unable to hide the worry in your face. Touya was up pretty high. “Hey… you shouldn’t be up that far.”

“What do you mean? It’s fine!” he reassures, continuing his musing while walking along the fallen log. “Besides, it’s not like I'm clumsy or anything—!”

The boy’s words were cut short by his shoe stepping down and slipping on the ice below it, sending him crashing down to the patch of snow and debris below.

In that moment, your hand shoots out before you can think and there’s ringing in your ears. Your eyes squeezed shut as you wait for the impending crash. But it doesn’t come.

You slowly open your eyes and see… Touya. He’s okay. Better than okay because he’s floating above the snowy patch of grass below, debris and everything brushed away. Your hand is still out as you meet Touya's wide eyes.

“Whoa!” You finally pull your hand back and watch his feet gently touch the grass below. “Dude, you have mind powers! So cool!”

You will your breathing to go back to normal as you take in the new information. You do have a quirk. All hope was not lost.

The feeling of warm liquid creeping down your nostril catches your attention. Bringing a finger to your nose, you pull back and see the crimson drop. Blood. The sound of Touya’s steps through the snow breaks your focus.

“Hey, what happened? You're bleeding.” He takes your finger in his hand, red brows furrowed and cerulean eyes filled with worry.

You shrug, taking your hand back and wiping your nose with your sleeve, unaware of the tiny smear of blood you left across your face. “I dunno. I’m not hurt, though.”

At this, Touya smiles, bringing his own hand to your face to wipe the remainder of what you smeared. “You better not be! We’re gonna be heroes together — you and me!”

It’s so infectious, the way he lights up with a smile, you can’t help but return it. “Yeah, we sure will.”

—----------------

The first time you think you see Touya it’s while you are on your way home from the bustling area of downtown.

The shops are crowded with people trying to get their last minute gifts for the holidays and you promised your parents you would be home hours ago. It’s a flash – so quick you almost miss it.

Almost.

Through the crowd there's a glint of white hair and blue eyes. You stop, sending the people behind you nearly barrolling into your backside and profusely apologize, half heartedly hearing their grumbles as you make your way through the flurry of people.

The snow white hair is a little further ahead, but you can see bits and pieces where the sea of heads will naturally move.

Was that…

It couldn’t be. Your heart picks up as you nearly chase your way through, mumbling faint excuse me’s and pardon me’s to those around you as you lock onto the moving person. It's becoming harder to keep up and you break out in a light sprint.

The person takes a sharp left into an alley and you follow behind, only to be met with the emptiness of a damp back alley.

There was no way it could be him. Your mind was playing tricks on you.

You shake your head, hoping you could physically shake those thoughts from your brain and turn to head home. It had been a long day.

There is a battle raging in your mind — one that you are not sure is formed from grief or from anxiety. it is an all consuming inferno of blackened dust in your heart and you cannot stop yourself when you bring it up to Fuyumi.

You both have been sitting in silence for a while, wrapping gifts for the upcoming holidays. She has been in her own little world, humming christmas tunes, while you have been in a fit of inner turmoil.

“Hey, Fuyumi,” you start, instantly catching her attention in the otherwise quiet home.

“Hm?”

Your nerves are eating your confidence and you start to second guess yourself. Only the warmth in her gray eyes gives you the resolve to continue. “Something weird happened at the market the other day.”

She tilts her head, flowing ponytail following the direction, “What’s that?”

“I was walking and,” you stall — unsure if bringing up your friend's dead brother before the holidays would be a good move. “I swear, I thought I saw Touya. It was a flash, but the guy had his white hair and,” unwanted tears are blurring your vision, “and his eyes were so much like Touya’s i don't—” you're choking up, tears fighting their way through your throat, “I thought i was going crazy.”

Surprisingly, Fuyumi takes it well, reaching a hand out to touch your shoulder, a comforting motion you’ve grown to know over the years.

“Hey, it’s okay. That could have been anyone, you know?” She smiles, and it’s bittersweet like the flowers at a funeral, “it’s the holiday season so everyone is out right now.”

You nod, reluctant, but logical. “Yeah, yeah you’re right. It was pretty crowded in that area.” the tears would force their way through your resistance whether you fought them or not, so you give up – letting them flow down your cheeks. “I’m sorry for bringing it up, Fuyumi.”

“No, it's okay! Don't worry about it." She looks to the side. “It’s only been three years since it happened, and the anniversary of his death is coming up too. It's harder around this time of year. For all of us.”

You can only nod as Fuyumi brings you into a tight hug. Your resolve melted away in her arms as you cried, it felt like things would never get easier.

A life without Touya wasn’t a life you could see yourself living happily in.

You wished and prayed for him everyday — unwilling to believe your best friend was really truly gone. It felt so surreal. Like something that happens in movies and not to you.

Fuyumi said nothing as she held you and rubbed soothing circles on your back. She has been a pillar for you in these times and you couldn’t be more grateful. Only wishing you could show your gratuity in a more effective form than just sobbing into her shoulder.

There is an anguish in your heart that will not go away. A part of you died when Touya did, there was no denying that.

Fuyumi pulls away, holding you by the shoulders as her eyes meet yours — she's started crying too and it's enough to make you shake with sobs again.

“Hey, hey,” Fuyumi starts, her voice unwavering despite the tears. You wish you were strong like her. “We’ll get through this, okay? We just have to be strong.”

You give her a pathetic nod, one more for her sake than yours, and try to sit up straighter.

You knew that Touya wouldn’t want to see you like this.

—-------------------

When you are five years old, you notice there is a change in Touya.

You gasp when you see him again, “Touya! Your hair!”

His eyebrows scrunch at your pointing and then widen in realization. “Huh? Oh, don’t worry about that.” Touya huffs, “were you even listening?”

The question startles you and you quickly nod your head, knowing you didn't hear a word he said. “Mhm!”

Touya keeps talking, now bringing a hand to his hair, rubbing a lock between his forefinger and thumb, “Okay, so what’s the deal?”

You can't stop the confused look in your eye as you watch him, cheeks rosy from the cold. It snowed again yesterday, and Touya never seemed bothered by the cold. You were freezing though.

Somehow you let him bring you back to this forest — it’s become your go to hangout. A place where the both of you could practice your quirks in peace.

“Do you like All Might or something?”

You shrug, indifferent to the well known hero. Your parents weren’t heroes and neither was anyone in your family. He seemed more like a comic book character than an actual person.

“Well, it doesn't matter. My dad told me I’m gonna be even better than All Might! So he better watch out.”

You smile, seeing his eyes light up, “Oh, yeah? How are you gonna be better than him, Touya?”

You don’t know why but it makes your heart dance when he gets this way. Stars in his eyes and world in his hand. He’s your hero, you absently wonder if he knows that.

Touya shrugs, scrunching his nose in thought, “I dunno. I haven’t gotten that far yet.” He snaps his fingers and turns to you, “I know! I’ll look it up. It can’t be too hard, right?”

You laugh now. Of course he doesn’t have a plan.

“Don't you think if it were that easy he wouldn't be the number one right now?” You test, and Touya gives you a look, pout strong on his face.

“Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Yours! So, I don't want you to waste your time on silly stuff.” You offer, looking at the leaves you're making dance in your hand.

He groans, the frustration evident in his voice, “Whatever! I’ll figure something else out.”

In that moment, there’s a great gust of wind — whistling and blowing the leaves in your hand away. It’s chill makes you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering.

“Touya, don’t you get cold?” You ask, arms doing little to warm yourself as you continue to shiver.

The boy looks at you, brows furrowed and eyes confused. “No, do you?”

“Yes!” You shout, “all the time! It’s so c-cold out here. I don’t know how you do it.”

He walks over to you, pondering and examining your face. “Yeah, your nose is all red. Rudolf.”

He takes your face into his hands and closes his eyes, rubbing his nose against yours back and forth. It’s warm and it makes you flush. Your cheeks burn when he pulls away, stunned at the smile on his face and stars in his eyes.

“Better?” He asks, innocent question ringing in your ears and you realize yes, you do feel better, but you also feel warm and fuzzy like there are butterflies dancing around in your belly and you can’t get them out — so, you just nod instead, slow smile creeping on your face and Touya grabs your hand again.

“Good! Now let’s keep going! There’s this cool new move I wanna try.”

And you follow behind him. He was your best friend after all. You feel as though you would even follow him through the icy storms of Antarctica if you needed to.

—-------------------

Christmas with the Todoroki’s has always been interesting. For one, half of them were not present during the dinner. Rei being sent to the facility, endeavor choosing to work on his hero duties and little Shouto desperately trying to eat with all of you without Enji coming home to find him out of his room.

The silence is eerie – other than the sounds of metal clinking against porcelain plates.

You couldn’t help but break the tense air, words sounding loud in the quiet of the room, “Thank you all for inviting me over. The food is really good, Natsuo.”

At this, Natsuo perks up, a smile so wide on his face it makes his eyes squeeze shut. “We love having you around! You’re like the big sis we never had!”

“Hey!” Fuyumi squawks, ready to scold her little brother, “I’m the one who knows where you sleep Natsu, so watch it!”

You can’t help but laugh at the threat, knowing Natsuo has been a victim to many of Fuyumi’s pranks. Shouto only watches on, eating as much as he could before he would inevitably go back to his side of the home. There wasn’t much expression to his face, but he seemed content to watch his older siblings bicker back and forth.

Times like these were nice, you decide. It pulls your mind away from the reality and into the more lively parts of growing up.

After the dinner was done, and the gifts were passed out, there was a somber air growing about you all once more.

Shouto went back to his room and Natsuo found his place in the living room, playing video games and insisting that since he cooked most of the meal, he shouldn’t wash dishes as well.

Much to Fuyumi’s dismay, you agreed with Natuso, but offered to help her with the dishes. It was something to prolong the inevitable walk home.

“What did you get for him this year?” Fuyumi asked, passing you another plate to dry.

You glanced at her, noting how she avoided your gaze, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth instead. “It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. A necklace — with charms and things I think he would like.”

She nods, bringing an arm up to wipe her eyes with her wrist, “Yeah, I’m sure he would love that. He always liked your gifts.”

It’s impossible not to find yourself tearing up.

Once you were done washing dishes with Fuyumi, she went to join Natsuo in the living room, offering unwanted tips on the current game he was playing and receiving groans of irritation in return.

You take that as your cue to leave and make your way to the place you’ve dreaded all night.

Touya’s shrine.

His memoriam stared back at you as you dropped to your knees, lowering your head in prayer and then placing the small decorated box onto the shelf of his shrine.

“Oh, Touya… it’s been three years.” You say to his photo hanging above the shrine. It’s his school photo. You were both in the same class, already talking about what high schools you would be choosing in the upcoming years.

It doesn’t feel like three years. It feels like everyday is the same — you wake up and he’s not there. Like a day you’re doomed to repeat until the reality of it all finally sets in.

What would he look like now, you wonder. Would he have gotten taller? He had always been smaller than the other kids. Would he still have dreams of being a hero? You didn’t know. You wished you knew.

Your fists clinch in your lap and the tears flow freely from your eyes. Even with your head bowed you can’t stop seeing his picture etched into your brain. Those blue eyes staring into your eyes.

A sob escapes your lips and it all comes crashing down after that.

“God, Touya..!” Your words break down, sending your resolve with it. It feels like your heart has been ripped out of your chest and you’ve been openly bleeding out for three years.

You are only sixteen years old and expected to spend the rest of your life without the boy who would put the moon in the sky for you.

Unthinkable.

You’re not sure how much time has passed once you’ve calmed down, but you know it’s late now.

It was time to head home, and you wished Fuyumi and Natsuo well as you hugged them. They wave you off, faces somber and words tight. If they heard you crying, they didn't mention it and you’re thankful.

The trek home would not be not a long one, but you couldn’t stop yourself from taking a detour.

The forest where you and Touya always hung out was nearby and you can't stop your feet when you make a sharp right turn and head that way.

It was getting dark and snow was beginning to fall, but you felt at home.

There's a river you like to walk along. It's such a small little stream that never seems to freeze over, no matter how cold it is outside. It is where you find yourself trailing beside. The water being the only noise breaking through the quiet of the forest.

It kept you company until you reached the familiar open patch of grass, which was currently covered in snow.

Some trees were still charred from the incident, but others were still standing proud. It’s strange how that works — some things can remain the same through adversity while others are damaged beyond repair. You wonder if things could ever grow back from such tragedies.

Maybe the growth of something new could come from the ashes of the old. Like a phoenix.

The snapping of a twig snatches you from your thoughts.

It's a forest, yes, but this area doesn’t have much food for the animals. You stand to your feet, absently wondering when you had taken a seat in the first place, and look around. Maybe it was a trick of the wind, or something falling.

The snow crunches under your feet as you begin to take your leave — you’ve been out long enough.

You make your way through the thick of the trees until something brings you to pause.

Your steps were not the only steps you were hearing.

“Hello?” You call out into what you hoped had been an empty forest, only to be met with silence. It is not a comforting quiet, it was a quiet that crept underneath your skin and gave you goosebumps.

It felt like you were being watched.

“This isn’t funny!” You yell, taking cautious steps backwards, preparing yourself for a sprint in the opposite direction.

You turn, ready to take off when a glimmer of silver catches your eye, the flicker making you halt your movements.

Your heart hammered against your chest.

There was no way.

It was so faint, but you knew the necklace you crafted like the back of your hand.

“Hey! Stop fucking around, whoever you are!” You don’t know where this brave face is coming from, but you aren’t backing down. You could fight if need be.

Against your better judgment, you take a few steps forward, and like you thought, whoever was around took those steps with you. Your breath hitches when you see it.

A flash of white hair.

You break off into a sprint, and the person is already off, having a headstart and leaving you behind.

You couldn’t see as well through the snowfall, but you didn’t need to. White hair and the shimmer of a necklace around the person’s neck has you chasing them deeper into the woods.

“Stop..!” You cry out, reaching a hand forward in an attempt to activate your quirk.

The force of it causes branches to fall from a tree further ahead of the person and he only changes direction.

You follow behind, lungs burning as you struggle to keep up. There was another attempt, bringing an already leaning tree down in front of the running man. It still did not work, he simply jumped over it and continued on.

You were approaching your limit with your quirk and desperate. If you let this slip through your fingers it would drive you mad.

“Wait!” You try again, reaching both hands forward and focusing all you had on the man before you. It was hard to ignore the blood trickling from both nostrils with your quirk use, but you had to, this was your only chance. “Touya..!”

And in that moment, the man stopped — whether it be from your quirk holding him in place or his own will, you weren't sure. All you knew was that the man stopped, and turned.

Your vision began to blur as your head pounded from the overexertion — your quirk was difficult to use on a living being, but it didn’t matter. You would know those eyes even in your darkest hour.

The cerulean blue was the last thing you saw before your world went dark.

And in your final moments, only one thought rang in your mind.

Touya is alive.

#todoroki touya #touya todoroki #todoroki touya x reader #touya x reader #dabi x reader #dabi #touya todoroki x reader #my works #mha x reader #dabi x you #todoroki touya x you

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deusvervewrites · 2 years ago

Note

Double Expulsion X KEM X TA Fuyumi X Springtime for Todoroki

Todoroki also sticks up for Midoriya and gets expelled (his plan after seeing it happen to Bakugou) only to get renerolled because Aizawa's expulsions were undone and now Fuyumi is there to keep him in check and he doesn't want to disappoint her!

#asks #double expulsion au #king explosion murder au #teacher assistant fuyumi au #springtime for todoroki au

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broccoliboix5peepeeman · 2 years ago

Text

Midoriya-sensei AU

Part 13: Kacchan

Part 12 | Ao3 | Part 14

Look... these past few manga chapters have really fucked with me and some parts of this fic and I'm super mad about it, but alas canon can go fuck itself. Also unreq tdbk lost the poll *sad trombone noise* Anymoo, happy Mido-sensei Monday [is actually tuesday now bc I fell asleep proof-reading] - I hope you enjoy ❤️ TWs for this chapter include: -PTSD -Breakdowns and dissociation -Self-loathing -Accidental injury

'Honey? What time are you going out?'

Upon hearing his mother's question, Izuku removed his headphones and turned to face her.

He was currently cluttering the dining table with his hero analysis notebooks, along with his laptop. Shoto had hired a new sidekick recently—who could adjust the temperature of anything they touched—so naturally, Izuku had spent the morning analysing the quirk in detail. He was heading to Himura Agency soon to visit Shoto, so he wanted to finish up so he could take his notebook with him.

'In about fifteen minutes.' He double-checked the time, confirming his response. 'Why?'

'Do you not want to start getting ready?' She tilted her head to the side with concern. 'I don't want you rushing.'

'I'm nearly done, it's okay.' He assured gently, albeit he could definitely understand where she was coming from. Once he got into his flow state, it was difficult emerging from the other side. 'I'm just gonna finish this page, and then I'll clean up. I've already got my bag ready, and I don't need to get changed.'

He patted his yellow backpack, situated under the table, and smiled. 'Satisfied?'

'Yeah, alright.' She huffed, good-naturedly. 'I just don't want you stressing. I know what you're like. Plus, last time, you rushed out so quickly that I had to clean the table for you.'

'That was one time!' He cried dramatically. 'And I said I was sorry! When will the suffering end?'

'Never.' His mother flashed him a serious expression, before her joking smile resurfaced. 'Anyway, I'm going to the library to return a book for one of my patients. Have fun!'

'You too! If you see Himura-san, tell her I said hi.' Izuku picked up his pen and resumed writing.

'Oh, Todoroki-san's mother?' She paused, stroking her chin, before seemingly realising something. 'Wait, the nice lady with the white hair is their mother? Why didn't you tell me sooner?'

'I assumed you'd figured it out by the fact that Shoto's agency is named after her?' Izuku answered slowly. 'And that she and Fuyumi look really similar.'

'You hush now!' She pouted, walking past him to go put her shoes on. 'I can't believe we could've been sharing embarrassing childhood stories together this whole time. I should go to the library more often. Better make up for lost time.'

'Wait, hang on-'

'Byeee!'

Izuku grumbled as the door shut behind his mother, but didn't dwell on it too much. In truth, he didn't mind what the two women spoke about—he was old enough now where he wasn't affected by people knowing about his All Might obsession, which was his mother's main go-to when it came to embarrassing him—he was just glad they had the opportunity to maybe become friends.

He continued his analysis for another five minutes, before using all of his self-restraint to call it a day and tidy everything away. Once packed up, he grabbed his bag, put on his red shoes, then left the apartment.

It was a decent walk to Himura Agency—around thirty-five minutes—but Izuku wouldn't begrudge a little exercise. The streets weren't particularly busy, a normal amount of bustle for a Sunday, so he weaved through the crowds with relative ease. Once the agency was in his sights, he felt a small smile grace his face, glad of the familiarity.

However, just as he was about to enter, his path was blocked by someone else leaving.

Izuku stepped to the side politely—using the time to quickly type out a message to Shoto, to let him know he was here—but the person continued to shadow over him. He pointedly didn't make eye contact, but frowned at the inconvenience. Why were they standing in the way?

'Deku.'

Instinctively, Izuku flinched so violently that he dropped his phone and jumped a couple of steps backwards.

That voice.

He finally looked up at the person he'd been patiently waiting to pass, only to find spiked blonde hair, familiar red eyes, and an orange and green hero suit that was featured on so many sports brands throughout Japan, he'd have to be living under a rock to miss it.

The hero Dynamight was a household name, after all, but it wasn't him who was addressing Izuku at that moment.

'K-Kach-chan?' The way his voice broke was humiliating, as was the way his body immediately began shaking. For years, he’d been conditioned to react a certain way under the scrutiny of his childhood bully; it made him sick to know their decade apart hadn't changed that in the slightest. ‘W-W-What are you doing here?’

A stupid question. There was a clear reason why the number five hero was just leaving the agency of the number two. ‘Ah, you don’t have to answer that. Of course, it’s obvious why you’re here. In fact, you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, as that’s certainly more out of the ordinary. It’s just, I didn’t expect to see you as it’s been years and I’ll stop talking now. I’m sorry.’

Kacchan sighed. Izuku closed his eyes with a wince, anticipating a hit. However, it never came.

‘It has been a while.’

Hesitantly, he opened one eye to find Kacchan regarding him with a mixture of emotions; his eyes were squinted in his usual displeased manner, albeit the anger that had typically manifested when they were children was absent. Izuku wasn’t sure whether that made him more or less nervous.

The silence was agonising, yet he kept his lips sealed. He knew better than to start talking and risk suffering Kacchan’s wrath. Wistfully, he hoped Shoto would read his message and come out to meet him before anything could get out of hand.

Kacchan sighed again. ‘I was actually hoping to run into you at some point. I could’ve reached out sooner, but it would've been weird tracking you down.’

Izuku tilted his head to the side.

‘What?’

‘Don’t sound so shocked.’ As soon as he said it, it became evident that Kacchan knew that what he was ordering was unreasonable. He shook his head. ‘Look, we need to talk. Are you free now?’

Izuku’s head thudded and his stomach dropped with anxiety; he could feel adrenaline pulsing through his body. In the past, he'd learnt the hard way that going somewhere alone with Kacchan was never a good idea—not that he'd ever really had much of a choice in their teen years. Now, he was being given a choice, yet it still felt like an illusion: he knew Kacchan well enough to know that “no” wasn’t an option.

‘I’m just about to see Shoto-kun.’ He pointed towards the agency, hoping that an excuse would be met better than an outright rejection. ‘I don’t really want to keep him waiti-’

‘You know Half n Half?’ Kacchan frowned for the briefest of moments, before bending down to pick up Izuku's discarded phone. ‘Doesn’t matter. Look, it won’t take long. Come on.’

Before he could protest further, a large hand grabbed his tricep and guided him past the building and down the side alley. Izuku tried to level his breathing—in, two, three, four, and out, two, three, four—to prevent him hyperventilating and entering a panic attack. He couldn’t show any weakness right now; he had to be brave.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. He can’t hurt you, he’s a hero now. He tried to reason, desperately trying to ignore the other voice that reminded him of everything Endeavour had done to his family whilst working as a hero; of everything that had happened when they were children in the name of Kacchan wanting to be a hero.

He yearningly eyed his phone, still grasped in Kacchan’s hand. There was no calling for help. He was stuck.

After they passed some bins, he was finally released. 'That'll do.'

Izuku's back faced the wall, and he stared up at his old bully. He never did grow much taller; he still had the same colour trainers, and a backpack containing hero analysis notebooks. And of course, he was still quirkless, whereas Kacchan still defined himself through his explosions. Sure, he wasn't as over-excited and sadistic as he used to be, and his face had matured, but that didn't change facts.

Izuku was afraid.

It felt reminiscent of their middle school days: backed into a corner with nowhere to run, while Kacchan threatened to use his quirk on him. The only differences now were that they were older and one of them had a hero licence; and while he was hesitant to admit it, Izuku was also a lot stronger than he had been back then. Briefly, he entertained the thought that maybe—maybe—he could take Kacchan in a fight…

If the latter didn't have a quirk at his disposal.

'You wanted to talk?' He prompted, hoping the other would take the hint and explain, instead of just staring at him. 'What is it?'

'I can't just come out and say it!' Kacchan snapped, albeit there was little bite in it. He rubbed his brow. 'I just… Give me a sec.'

Izuku didn't have much of a choice, so he stayed where he was—body poised and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice—as Kacchan gathered his words.

'I did a lot of thinking over the years, about the way I treated you.' He started, slowly. 'I fucked up. I was a piece of shit.'

Izuku said nothing; he frowned, confused.

Where is this going?

Kacchan let out a frustrated groan.

'I realise now—why I did everything that I did. It's just, you were obviously meant to be behind me... but in a lot of ways, it also felt like you were ahead of me too.' Kacchan paused. 'I didn't like it. I didn't want to see you, so I bullied you to get away from you; to feel superior. I was scared… scared of you. Not in a prissy way obviously, but I hated how… stupidly heroic you were. You'd put yourself in stupid situations to try and help people and it made me mad, because it was supposed to be me whose body moved without thinking. I wanted to protect you from yourself, put you back in your place before you went and killed yourself, but I was wrong for what I did.

'I got my way back then, you failed at becoming a hero, yet I failed in my own goal. I wanted to be on top—I still do—but in order to do that, I have to get better. I have to recognise my mistakes and atone.

'So, that being said. Dek- Izuku… I wanted to apologise.' Kacchan hung his head. 'For everything I did to you.'

Izuku's body shook, whilst his heart pounded against his chest—so violent it hurt; his nails dug into his palms from how hard he was clenching his fists. He didn't know what to think—which probably reflected in his dumbfounded expression—it just didn't make sense. All these years, he'd had nothing, then suddenly… this? Kacchan was… sorry?

'Ha. Good one, Kacchan.' He laughed hollowly, then quickly slipped past the blonde with the intention of leaving. If this was some kind of elaborate prank, then he wanted to get a head start before he became the punchline. 'You almost had me. Anyway, nice seeing you, but I really have to go.'

'I mean it.' Kacchan didn't shout, but his voice carried; firm. 'I'm sorry.'

Izuku stilled, throat swelling as he forced his emotions to remain at bay. At first, he wouldn't—couldn't—believe it, but now he was faced with reality: Kacchan was actually apologising.

He wanted to ignore him. He wanted to keep walking. He wanted to forget this ever happened.

He didn't do any of that.

'You're not serious?' Izuku murmured, lips feeling foreign, as he turned around to face him. 'Is this a joke?'

Kacchan met his eyes and growled.

'Do I look like I'm fucking joking?!'

Izuku's arms shot up to protect himself, but the threat never came.

'Shit.' Kacchan at least had the decency to look guilty. 'Calm down, I'm not gonna hit you, and I'm not joking. I mean it.'

Izuku slowly lowered his arms.

He was conflicted. He knew he should be happy with the apology—it should be cathartic and he should admire how much Kacchan had grown. The right thing to do would be to forgive him, but as compassionate as people thought him to be and as much as he tried to be kind, resentment sprouted from the pit of his stomach.

'Why?'

'Why?' Kacchan echoed, sounding physically pained. 'I just told you why! It was a whole speech!'

Izuku's pulse drummed against his temples; his jaw clenched. Distantly, he heard a vibration.

'Cut the bullshit.' The words were out of his mouth before he could comprehend them.

'Hah?!' Kacchan started to exclaim, then caught himself, lowering the volume. 'It's not bullshit.'

'It is. It's all excuses.' Izuku gripped his hair and shook his head, surprised by his own nerve. He wanted to tell his brain to shut up. He wanted to forget this interaction all together—what was he doing? 'If you're s-sorry, then just say it. Don't try to justify it.'

'But I need you to understand why.' Kacchan argued, like it was obvious. 'I was trying to-'

'You've had a long time to think about this, to try and rationalise it.' Izuku interrupted, eye twitching from barely-repressed anxiety. He couldn't get his voice to stop trembling. 'But at the end of the day, Kacchan, y-you bullied me because I was- am quirkless.'

This time, it wasn't him who flinched.

'That's… that's not…'

'Isn't it?' He smiled wobbly. 'It wasn’t because I was useless D-Deku who couldn't fight back?'

His throat closed up, betraying him. 'I was an easy target. You say wanted to protect me from myself? You were my worst nightmare, and we both know that if I had a quirk, you wouldn't have done what you did.'

He had so many scars, so much mental baggage that he was still unravelling with his therapist after several years. He might not look after himself as well as he should sometimes, but that was irrelevant right now; it was always the same insults being thrown at him.

Useless, quirkless Deku.

'You d-don't need to pretend you did it with honourable intentions.' He shook his head slowly. 'If you genuinely regret what you did, just tell me. I might not have much self-preservation… but I don't think I deserve excuses.'

He bit his lip, waiting for a reaction. Initially, Kacchan remained silent, staring at him. Izuku wasn't sure if he was thinking of a response or waiting for something. Again, he could hear an indiscernible vibration.

'Okay.' Kacchan finally responded. 'No excuses… I- I'm sorry.'

A beat passed, then another. Izuku wanted to feel something, yet his mind—despite the adrenaline going through his body—felt numb.

'I accept your apology.' He forced his mouth to move, keeping his resolve. 'Th-'

'Midoriya?'

His head whipped around so fast his neck clicked. Shoto was walking towards them, slightly rushed and phone in hand. The first aid supplies on his belt clicked together from the momentum, as did his boots against the concrete.

When he came to a stop in front of Izuku, those dichromatic eyes scanned him carefully. 'Are you okay?'

He nodded, not trusting this voice.

Shoto's shoulders slumped with relief, then looked past Izuku to see who he was with. His eyes immediately narrowed. 'Bakugou? What are you doing here?'

Kacchan scoffed.

'Dek- u- Izuku and I were just having a private conversation.' He answered brashly. 'None of your fucking business, Half n Half.'

Shoto stepped past Izuku, putting himself between him and the blonde. It was almost a defensive shield, which he had to admit, he was grateful for.

'Then why have you got Midoriya's phone?'

Izuku's eyes widened—the vibration sound he had been hearing on and off—Shoto had been ringing him this entire time?

'Because he dropped it.' Kacchan stepped forward, holding out the device, which Izuku hesitantly took. 'Fuck off with the interrogation, Todoroki. I thought you hated cops, so stop sounding like one.'

'I don't need to be a pig to worry about my friend.' Shoto quipped, before switching his gaze to Izuku. 'Midoriya, are you ready to go or should I give you another few minutes?'

The idea of spending another few minutes alone with Kacchan was enough to make him feel nauseous, but he also didn’t want to convey that in his answer.

Don’t cry. Be brave. Don’t show them how weak you are.

‘Yeah, I’m ready now.’ He spoke quietly. ‘We’re done now, right, Kacchan?’

Crimson eyes regarded him carefully, before he waved his hand dismissively.

‘Whatever. I’ve said everything I needed to say anyway. I’m going home.’ Kacchan strode past them, towards the main street. However, before he could disappear completely, he called back. 'I've changed, Izuku. I won't ask you to believe me, but just… watch me, and I'll prove it to you.'

Izuku didn't reply, other than a slight nod of acknowledgement, and Kacchan made his exit with a grunt. Now that they were left alone, he felt a new sense of numbness wash over him; his eyes glazed over; his muscles refused to move.

Panic consumed him briefly. He didn't know what was happening. He didn't feel in control of his own body, yet instead of fighting it, all he could do was succumb to the way his senses slowly shut down. His mind soon followed after, rescinding the last of his perceived independent thoughts.

Powerless. Useless Deku. Weak-

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ Shoto was in front of him again, but Izuku couldn’t focus. It took several seconds of silence before his friend cursed. ‘Shit, okay. Let’s get you up to my office… Can you still hear me?'

He couldn’t speak, but he did manage a slight nod.

'That's good. Okay, one more question: are you comfortable with me carrying you?’

Izuku nodded again, eyes falling shut of their own accord. He wasn't sure why he was acting this way—his episodes usually manifested into hyperactivity—but he couldn't even begin to analyse his behaviour right now. All he could do was focus on Shoto's body as the hero guided him into a piggyback and lifted him up with a slight grunt.

His arms rested on Shoto’s shoulders, while the strong hands under his legs held him up. Izuku's chest pressed against his friend's back—he tried to concentrate on the temperature contrast, which manifested into him resting his forehead against the left crook of Shoto's neck.

The warmth felt safe.

Had he not been stuck in his head, Izuku would have definitely panicked over their proximity. Instead, his body welcomed the touch with open arms; it was grounding. It also helped that Shoto didn't stiffen or reject him. He encouraged Izuku.

'I won't drop you, but try to hold on.' He murmured gently. 'Ready?'

When Izuku nodded, Shoto bent his knees, then jumped into the air, using fire from his left foot to send them higher. It didn't take long before they landed on the agency balcony, and Shoto slid open the door to his office.

Izuku kept his face firmly pressed against his friend's neck, until he was gently coaxed to sit down on the tatami floor and shed his backpack from his shoulders. He felt significantly lighter without it—his body had gotten used to the weight—but he didn't let the uncanny feeling linger for long, before he returned to nothing.

'I'm still here.' Shoto assured him gently. 'Just give me one second.'

The world was bright when Izuku tried opening his eyes in response, and he winced. Before he could squeeze them shut and resign himself to darkness again, Shoto pulled the hanging curtain framing the balcony door half-shut, bathing them in a dimmer, manageable light.

Izuku exhaled—the closest he could come to conveying his thanks—then watched as Shoto moved around the room, looking in drawers, on shelves and even Izuku's own backpack. Eventually, when his friend approached him once more and knelt in front of him, his arms were full.

'I've got some things that I know help me when I have a catatonic breakdown.' He shuffled slightly. 'I know this probably isn't the same, but yeah. And I know it's rude, but I also got some stuff from your bag because you've mentioned before that you have comfort items in there. Try to let me know if you're uncomfortable with anything.'

Shoto waited a moment, before taking two large pillows, placing them behind Izuku and switching on a remote, which made them start vibrating softly—like a purring cat. He then picked up a fluffy cream blanket and wrapped it around Izuku's body like a cape, making sure to cover most of his front too.

Izuku found himself leaning back against the materials, which cushioned the wall behind him, as Shoto started playing rain sounds from a portable speaker. He then handed Izuku his favourite All Might-themed stress ball that he always carried with him.

It was practically a reflex, the way his hand closed around it and started squeezing.

‘Th-Thanks.’ He spoke, matching each syllable with his wrist movements. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. ‘Helps.’

‘I’m glad.’ His friend replied. ‘Do you want to stay like this for a while, or do you want to try some grounding exercises?’

Izuku was aware enough to recognise that he wanted to escape this feeling as quickly as he could, but realistically, he knew that he needed a little longer.

‘F-few minutes.’

‘Okay.’ Shoto slowly got to his feet. ‘I’ll just be at my desk doing some paperwork. I'm not on-call, so take as much time as you need… unless there's suddenly a national emergency.’

On a normal day, Izuku would've laughed.

For the next half an hour, the office was quiet, if not for Shoto's fingers on the keyboard and the tropical storm playing from the speakers. Izuku, for the most part, clung onto the mindlessness—not wanting to acknowledge what had happened nor what was currently happening—but soon, his internal monologue started to resurface; it never liked being quiet for long.

He supposed he'd have to face everything sooner or later.

‘Shoto?’

His friend looked up from his computer, then locked the screen and approached him once more. He sat down in front of Izuku, crossing his legs and tucking his hair behind his ears.

‘You ready to do some grounding exercises?’ He waited for Izuku’s nod, before continuing. ‘Okay, you probably know this one, but can you tell me five things you can see?’

He did know this exercise—he’d applied it to both himself and his students in the past—so the familiarity was comforting.

‘Y-you.’ He started with the obvious. ‘Bookcase… bonsai tree… computer… charred table.’

‘Good job, but don’t worry about the chabudai.’ Shoto’s cheeks darkened slightly. ‘Four things you can feel?’

Izuku had always been sensitive to touch, despite what his high pain tolerance might've implied, so he felt more confident with this one.

‘Stress ball, blanket, pillows… tatami.’

‘That was a lot quicker.’ Shoto furrowed his brow. ‘It’s good touch, right?’

‘Yeah.’ The corner of Izuku's lips quirked up for a moment in an attempt to be reassuring. 'Thank you.'

His friend nodded his head in acknowledgement.

'Three things you can hear?'

'Your voice.' He began, without giving it much thought. 'The rain noises… and my own voice.'

He was slowly starting to feel more like himself—his movements became fluid as he squeezed the stress ball, and his eyes were more focused than they had been. It wasn’t like being trapped in a bubble, it was more like a viscous liquid had been clouding his surroundings and was finally starting to evaporate.

'Two things you can smell?'

'Peppermint.' Courtesy of the teapot next to him. 'And you. The room smells like you.'

He desperately wished his filter would return before he could embarrass himself further. Luckily, Shoto didn’t seem to mind the comment.

‘That makes sense. After all, I’m the only one who works in this room.’ He paused for a few beats. 'Okay, last one: one thing you can taste? Don't worry if you can't think of anything. You've done really well.'

Usually, when Izuku was the one asking, he skipped that final sense. After all, most people would just reply with a confused “the inside of my mouth?”, but he supposed it was worth acknowledging.

'I…’ He paused as his taste buds identified iron. ‘I can… I can taste blood?'

Ignoring Shoto’s concerned look, Izuku poked his tongue around his mouth, until he found a freshly bitten wound. 'I must've started chewing the inside of my cheek at some point without realising… It happens a lot, I just don't usually register what I'm doing till after the damage is done, but it's nothing to worry about.'

His friend’s worry didn’t seem to dissipate upon hearing that, but after a few moments, he ultimately decided to let the issue slide.

‘That’s a conversation for another day.’ Izuku wasn’t sure which of them Shoto was promising that to. 'At least you're more vocal now. How do you feel?'

That was a loaded question. How was Izuku supposed to begin answering that?

Shoto seemed to read his thoughts. ‘That was a bad question. I’ll be more specific, what’s the first thing that comes to mind when I ask, “how do you feel”?’

‘Shit.’ Izuku snorted without mirth. However, that seemed to be the gateway for an elaboration. ‘I’ve never reacted this way before. It’s always been more erratic, not… yeah. I hated it. I couldn’t control my body.’

‘I can understand that.’ Shoto was earnest. ‘The first time it happened to me was during a training session with Endeavour when I was a child. The stress was too much, so my body shut down… only okaasan could get me out of it, but it took hours. I barely remember it, only that I was scared.’

‘That sounds awful.’ Izuku lowered his eyes.

‘Yeah, but my point isn’t to gain your sympathy, it’s to show that you’re not alone.’ Shoto paused. ‘You can talk to me… about anything.’

Izuku gnawed the inside of his cheek, before forcing himself to stop damaging the already wounded area.

He trusted Shoto—he really did—but he didn’t deserve to listen to Izuku’s turmoil; his friend had gone through so much worse that his own struggles paled in comparison. However, he remembered some of their earlier conversations, and how Shoto never flinched when he’d explained his failed dream of becoming a hero. He thought about all the times his friend had been open with him and accommodating when he spoke.

Izuku trusted Shoto… so maybe he should trust that he knew what he was signing up for.

‘I just… seeing him again after so long and with no warning.’ He began, trying to piece his words together. ‘I told myself to just get through the interaction, but I didn’t expect to spiral like this.’

‘I should’ve told you he was at the agency.’ Shoto pursed his lips, guilty. ‘It wasn’t scheduled in or anything, but when he showed up, I should’ve messaged you.’

‘It’s not your responsibility—you didn’t know I’d react that way. Plus, if I’m your friend then I guess I should’ve been prepared to run into him at some point.’ Izuku was quick to argue, but when he took a breath, he couldn’t help but sigh. ‘As you’re probably aware, we weren’t exactly best friends… Well, we used to be, before his quirk came in and I was diagnosed as quirkless.’

Shoto nodded deliberately, prompting Izuku to continue.

‘I used to follow him around a lot—he was familiar, and I didn’t really understand that I wasn’t wanted anymore—and soon, Kacchan started to make it more obvious that he didn’t want me around. He had a lot more friends—ones with cool quirks that would obey him—and I was… pushed around a lot.'

He intentionally omitted the specific details: verbal taunts and physical attacks. He didn't want to incriminate Kacchan more than he already had. After all, it was in the past now.

Izuku pressed his palms to his eyes. 'I just… I admired him so much—he had a great quirk and the bravery of a hero, and we both loved All Might—but… but I hated him.'

His voice turned into a whisper. 'I really did, and that somehow made everything worse because I really tried not to. Heroes aren’t meant to hate people… But I kept trying to placate him, hoping that he’d leave me be, but when it came to applying for high schools, I just couldn't simply make him happy.’

'He told you not to apply for UA, right?' Shoto asked, albeit it was obvious he knew the answer.

'Yeah.' Izuku replied anyway. 'Things got unbearable when I refused. The things he'd say, the things he'd do.' He swallowed thickly. 'It doesn't matter. When he got into UA and I didn't, that was it. Everyone laughed at me, because I never stood a chance in the first place. After we graduated, I never saw him again… until today.'

Ten years…

It had been so long, and as much as he tried to forget, he couldn't. He still had nightmares; he still flinched at loud, sharp noises; he still struggled with his self-worth.

He still had the scars.

His throat prickled, but he persevered, pulling back and staring at his hands instead of Shoto; he couldn’t bear to see his reaction just yet. 'He took me down that alley—I didn't want to, but I felt like I didn't have a choice—and I thought he was going to hurt me; follow through with one of his old threats- I shouldn't say that.'

He sighed, frustrated at himself. 'Anyway, instead… he apologised to me. Actually apologised. Like, it wasn’t a joke! I should've been happy. I should've forgiven him.'

Izuku dared not continue that sentence. Admitting it out loud would just solidify that he was a bad person.

'But you couldn't forgive him.'

Izuku broke.

For the first time today, tears built up, breaking the surface tension and running down his face without restraint. An accompanying sob escaped his lips and Izuku finally allowed himself to cry. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, like his reputation implied: he brought his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms to muffle his already quiet sounds—just like when he was little and tried not to draw attention to himself.

Part of his mind was screaming that even this was too much; he couldn't cry like this in front of anyone, not alone Todoroki Shoto. What would he think of him? How could Izuku show just how weak and pathetic he really was?

Yet those thoughts only led to more tears; more baggage to throw onto the already crushing pile.

He held his breath then, trying desperately to quell the crying, but it was futile. He only succeeded in making himself lightheaded and congested. His nose started to run and saliva built up in his mouth.

'I don't know how best to help you.' His friend admitted, just loud enough to be heard over Izuku's own thoughts. 'But I do know that it's okay to cry. I'm not judging you.'

How was he supposed to respond to that? Shoto was so kind; so understanding. He wasn't disgusted or disdainful.

But he should be….

'Would you-' Shoto hesitated. '-erm, like a hug… or something?'

Izuku's eyes immediately shot up to stare at him, exposing his gross face in all its glory.

'W-w-what?'

Shoto didn't seem put off by the snot and tears, albeit he did rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

'A hug, would you like one?' He clarified, confirming that Izuku had indeed heard him correctly. 'It's just… I'm not good with words, but I know physical contact can help alleviate pain. So I thought I'd offer.'

If this were a typical day, Izuku would turn bright red, stutter so much that he couldn't get his words out, and probably overthink to the point of exhaustion. However, this wasn't a typical day; while his face was blotchy and his mind was both overthinking and exhausted, he couldn't fathom his awkward crush right now.

In front of him was his friend—whom he adored in a way so unique—offering comfort, and Izuku was starving.

'Please.' He whispered, blinking as more tears stained his cheeks. He then wrapped his arms around his thighs and rested his forehead against his knees.

He could hear Shoto shuffle closer until they were side-by-side. After a moment, he shifted the blanket to accommodate them both, and slowly wrapped his arms around Izuku; one hand splayed out across his back, while the other reached around the front to cup the side of Izuku's head. Shoto then gently guided him to lean against his chest.

Izuku's entire body moved with him, putting all his weight against his friend, who willingly shouldered the burden with ease. In fact, he even rested his cheek atop his curls.

The relief was instantaneous: his body relaxed—basking in the positive touch—and a fresh sob escaped his lips. Shoto rubbed his shoulder with encouragement; repetitive, but soothing.

Izuku wasn't sure how much time they spent that way—quiet if not for his muffled sniffling—before his friend spoke again.

'I won't pretend to know what you've been through.' He murmured, each word careful. 'So feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I think, if you can't forgive him now, that's okay.'

Reactively, Izuku opened his mouth to counter, albeit Shoto beat him to it.

'And if you can't forgive him in a few months, a few years or never, that's okay too.'

Izuku's words died on his tongue and he swallowed heavily. It was like the entire concept was new: he never even considered a scenario where it was acceptable not to forgive Kacchan. After all, it was what the world preached—forgiveness was part of being a hero.

A sudden thought emerged.

'Have you forgiven Endeavour for everything?' He asked quietly. 'Not that you need to tell me.'

Shoto didn't answer straight away, contemplating the question first.

'No.' While the answer was firm, his tone sounded thoughtful. ‘And that’s okay too. It doesn't make me less of a hero.’

‘You don’t think you’re a bad person because of it?’ Izuku’s eyes widened, and he shook his head, almost jumping out of Shoto’s hold. ‘Not that I’m implying that you’re a bad person! You’re a very kind person and I think you’re amazing! Just… that was a pointless question.’

Shoto blinked once, lowering his arms.

‘He’s changed, which I accept and welcome, and we've moved on, but that doesn’t erase the past and the damage he's caused. I’ve forgiven myself, and that's enough for me.’ He scratched his cheek. ‘So, no. I don’t think I’m bad.’

Izuku nodded slowly. It made perfect sense—it was similar to his situation Kacchan—but convincing himself and rationalising his thoughts was still arduous.

‘I think I understand.’ He wiped away his tears, feeling more at ease. ‘Sorry for being like this.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ Shoto was adamant; unyielding. ‘I’m just glad I could help.’

His small smile ignited a fresh wave of emotion through Izuku—his usual flustered affection for Shoto returning in full force. Mentally, he kicked himself for pulling out of their hug sooner than necessary.

‘Y-you did. Thank you.’ He flashed his own wobbly smile. ‘You’re…’

Perfect, amazing, I think I’m fall-

‘A great friend.’ He finished, admiring Shoto’s reddening ears.

‘You too, Midoriya.’

Falling...

🔥🔥🔥

Me [1740]: Just fyi next time I see you I am going to personally ram my foot so far up your arse you’re shitting icicles for weeks

Bastard Gremlin [1742]: Fuck off Icyhot

Me [1743]: Like I knew you were an asshole but really?

Bastard Gremlin [1749]: Deku told you everything then

Me [1751]: Left out some finer details but yh

Me [1751]: Enough for me to piece together the rest

Bastard Gremlin [1752]: Why do you even care?

Bastard Gremlin [1752]: How do you even know him?

Me [1753]: He's my friend. That's all you need to know, so dont bother replying.

Shoto stared at the screen a moment longer. In truth, he wanted to say more, maybe even follow through with his initial message, but Midoriya would get upset, so Shoto reluctantly put his phone away. However, as soon as it was secured in his pocket, it buzzed again. Rolling his eyes, he took out the device, expecting a snarky retort.

Instead, he was met with a pleasant surprise.

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1754]: Thank you for today, really

Me [1755]: You don't have to keep thanking me

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1756]: I know but I want to

Shoto's lips twitched with fond amusement.

'Texting Midoriya again?' Fuyumi commented dryly, not even looking up from the homework she was marking next to him. 'You're both insufferable.'

'You started it.'

Me [1758]: You can thank me by relaxing and going to bed at a normal time tonight

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1759]: I take it all back I hate u

Me [1759]: You love me 😇

Shoto paused then, cheeks heating up as he stared at his message. Why was he suddenly so warm? Why did anxiety pool in his stomach after he sent that message? Why was he getting more nervous the longer it took for a reply to come through?

He was just making friendly banter, like his old classmates taught him, yet it felt more significant when he was saying it to Midoriya.

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1802]: I guesssssss 🙄

Shoto immediately felt himself relax; his stomach fluttering in a way that had started to become a common occurrence around his friend. He wasn’t sure if it was a bi-product of his quirk, now that he was using his fire more often, but it was strange that it was only when Midoriya was around.

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1804]: Hey, I thought Id ask,you don’t have to or anything, but the HQA information session at the school is on tues and I was wondering, if you’re free, it’d be good to see you there? Even if you wore a disguise or something. Totally okay if not though!

Shoto tilted his head to the side, processing the message. He and Fuyumi had spoken about the session a lot over the past few weeks, but they'd given no indication that they wanted him there—why the change of heart?

'Fuyu-nee, Midoriya's inviting me to the HQA session.' He told his sister, not really sure what he was expecting her to say. 'Should I go?'

'I mean, you can if you want.' Fuyumi shrugged, albeit not dismissively. 'Whether it's supporting him or advocating your own knowledge, it might help. I certainly have no problem with it.'

Shoto nodded slowly in thanks, then turned back to his phone. He supposed in asking his sister, he was really just looking for validation, because of course, if Midoriya was inviting him to something, then he'd happily accept; he was just glad Fuyumi thought he was making the right choice.

Me [1807]: I'll be there :)

#tododeku #todoroki shoto #midoriya izuku #todoizu #izushou #todomido #dekutodo #midoriya sensei au #AgarJelly writes #teacher au #teacher midoriya izuku #quirkless midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #tw: self deprecation #tw: past bullying #tw: breakdown

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satancopilotsmytardis · 3 months ago

Text

Till the Last Drop

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Mature

Summary: Commissioned by @dahvampire. Enji kicked him out on the street when he was eighteen, and Dabi was lucky enough to make good friends who helped get him back on his feet. But he can't help thinking every day that he will lose it all again, thoughts that only get worse when he starts dating Tomura Shigaraki. He doesn't know if he's had anything that has made him so happy, and the fear of it falling apart never ebbs.

Contents: Coffee Shop AU, No Heroes/Villains, Yes Quirks, mentions of Sexual Content

Wordcount: 8,327

The Last Drop Cafe is probably the only reason Dabi hadn't wound up in jail after his father kicked him out of the house. The fact that he'd set himself an a mountain on fire at twelve trying to just get his father to pay even a scrap of attention to him after his quirk proved to be so unstable, wound up in a coma until he was fifteen, and then needed to spend the following three years resuming his education and getting expensive treatments just to keep him alive, made him the disgrace of the Todorokis and a black spot that Enji wanted out of his house and away from his name as quickly as possible. On his eighteenth birthday, he had called Dabi into his home office offered him a single backpack, ten thousand yen, and the ability to leave that night while his siblings were setting things up for his birthday party, because if he left then and never contacted his siblings again, then Enji wouldn't also cut them off when they were of age. Fuyumi was already applying for colleges so she could become a teacher. Natsuo wanted to be a doctor. Sho was too young to have things worked out yet, but he didn't want to be the one responsible for him knowing that he would be penniless and on the streets the day he turned eighteen. He didn't even take the money. He just left with the clothes on his back and tried to make it work. His phone worked for a couple of days after he'd been kicked out, and he looked up every place that said that they gave help or housing to people who needed it. He sold his bricked phone at an electronics shop and followed some guides on what necessities to get upon being made newly homeless, and spent six months floating around trying to find something.

Last Drop was on the list of places that would give people a free sandwich and drink each afternoon. Magne had been working the first day there and had given him the meal and he'd slunk out of the building, not wanting to have to have people looking at him in broad daylight when he knew his scars had worsened so much, the coloration getting darker and more purply now that he was not getting the medicine he'd been using before to try and keep them light and healing. Atsuhiro, the owner, had been there the next when he'd come back, and he'd asked Dabi to sit in one of the corner booths with him and talk. He hadn't been too pushy, but when he knew how old Dabi was, how abruptly he'd found himself like this, he'd told him about the apartment above the shop. It constantly smells like coffee and pastries, and was barely up to code, but it could be his. A job could be his too if he wanted it, until he figured out everything else. Dabi didn't have any other options, so he agreed. Magne had taken him out to get some new clothes and sheets for the air mattress that they'd pulled out of the closet for him, and he'd been able to shower and sit on the bed alone and safe for the first time in a three months and he finally burst into tears as he let himself actually feel what he'd lost.

He hasn't spoken to his siblings since he left. He knows that Enji sent Fuyumi to a good college, one that she'll never be able to pay back on her own on a teacher's salary. He knows that Natsuo is in college now too, guesses that he's going to med school as soon as he can. Maybe someday he'll be able to sever ties with their father, but Dabi doesn't know for certain. He doesn't know what's going to happen to Shoto, but he was always Enji's favorite. He won't ever be able to take his claws out from his skin. Dabi does his best to not look into how their lives are going, because even now, even six years later, he still wants to go back to them. He still wants to tell them that he's still alive, that he didn't just run away and abandon them for no reason. So he can't look, because he doesn't want to ruin everything they are.

Besides, Atsuhiro, Magne, and Jin are good to him, good friends. He's been working at Last Drop since the day that Atsuhiro let him in, and things are different now. He didn't feel like he belonged here, like he was anything other than a lucky charity case for three years. He got good at this job, he knows how to make almost every strange coffee or tea that's requested of him just from practice and memorization alone, but then he'd taken some of the money he'd been making and bought the ingredients to try and make his mom's black sesame cookies from scratch. He hadn't thought they would be worthy of selling, he was mostly just missing his siblings and wanting to give something back to Atsuhiro for taking him in. But he liked them. He asked him to make another batch and he'd had him do it down in the cafe's kitchen instead of his own. He'd made two dozen and they'd put them in the display case with the other pastries, and by the end of the day they were gone. Dabi thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. Atsuhiro showed him how to make scones and asked him to make another batch of his cookies. They sold out faster than they did the first day, and slowly but surely, Dabi took over working in the bakery, taking the early to mid-morning shift to get all of their pastries ready, and being in charge of developing new ones as their menu expanded over time.

Last Drop is a home, a better one than he could have asked for coming from the one he'd had, and one that he doesn't mind also being his job-- even if that means he has to get up at four AM every day to start baking.

///

Dabi is usually getting the last tray of baked goods into the case as Atsuhiro finishes grinding the beans for the day fifteen minutes before opening. After that it is a mad rush of the two of them moving around the space to keep up with orders through their morning rush. And then the lull going into the afternoon. Dabi's shift technically ends at noon, but he usually sticks around in the cafe anyway after Magne and Jin come to relieve he and Atsuhiro, mainly because he doesn't have anything else better to do.

He usually drags a stool over from one of their tall tables and sits next to the dessert case so that he's mostly out of the way and chit-chats with the others, and that's what he's doing again when the bell over the door rings and in comes a high school girl. She's probably a first or second year, wearing a pale pinkish coat and red scarf, her hair tied up into two messy buns. She goes up to the counter, tucking her nose down into her scarf, and speaking up so that Magne can hear her through the fabric.

"Hi,"

"Hello, what can I get for you, hun?" Magne asks.

"Can I have a small latte and a raspberry danish, please?"

"Sure thing, for here or to-go?"

"Uh, here, please." She pays, and Dabi is sitting right next to the case so he grabs the plate and puts the danish on even though it earns him a swat across the back of his head since he's not technically supposed to be working. The latte is quick to make and the young lady has selected a booth in the far back corner, facing away from the door. She's practically invisible to the rest of the bar, and when Magne looks back up from making her drink, she almost misses her. Another customer comes through the door, and Dabi takes the saucer and plate from her before she can protest, and heads over to the table.

"Here you go, enjoy." He sets them down in front of her as she jumps, looking up from her backpack. "We have free wi-fi too, the login is on that card," he gestures at the miniature menu board that is pushed up against the wall.

"Oh, thanks," She pulls her scarf up as she speaks, but Dabi lets it go. Maybe her mouth is affected by her quirk. It's not like he can't recognize being self-conscious about something like that. He leaves her be, and she covers her mouth whenever she eats anything, staying for a few hours as she does her homework. It's after dark by the time she goes home, but they don't comment on it, just keeping an eye.

She comes back the next day, and the day after that. She orders a different pastry every day, gets her coffee, and then goes and hides in the back booth to do her homework. It takes two weeks before he, Magne, and Jin rock-paper-scissors to see who's going to go and actually check to see if she's alright, and Jin loses. It's probably a good thing it's him. He's got a massive scar across his face from a motorcycling accident, but it's not as gruesome or scary as all of Dabi is, and Magne, while she's a big teddy bear, she is still a bear and her anger is truly something to behold. Jin is a golden retriever, and he sits down, ready to ply her with a fresh pastry, and within the next hour she's laughing, and by the time she's left for the night they know that her name is Himiko Toga and that her quirk has made her an outcast. Her family is always happier when she's not home, and she doesn't have any real friends because they think she's strange no matter how she acts at school. She wants to go to high school in Tokyo. One of her neighbors who had similar problems but was three years older than her just finished his last year at a good school where he didn't have the same problems, but she has to be able to pay her way there because her parents won't help her. She's been studying hard to get a scholarship, but her test scores aren't good enough for that. So instead she's starting to look for jobs.

Atsuhiro meets her the next day, and by the following weekend, she's behind the counter with him and Magne learning the ropes.

///

Toga has been working with them for about a month, usually coming in right after her classes end and staying for four hours on weekdays, and six hour shifts over the weekend. She wants to get up to eight hours, but they want to take it up slowly. It does mean that Magne and Jin actually get a little more time off now that they have someone else working here, and Toga is actually taking to the work incredibly well. She talks to more people now than she ever did at school, and seeing how many people don't even notice her teeth so long as she's giving them their coffee, means that she is coming out of her shell more and more. She's a ray of sunshine, just as loud and bright as the others, and able to toe-to-toe with him in viciousness and trading insults when they're in the mood for it. She fits in perfectly, but she is not supposed to come in early for her shifts on the weekend.

"Oy," he says as he takes out the tray of scones from the oven, "You're early."

"I'm going to sit on my ass and eat your cooking fresh until it's time to clock in." She tells him brightly, not punching her time card, and hanging up her coat and scarf. She's practically bouncing on her toes.

"What's got you so excited?"

"My friends have a tournament in town this afternoon, so they said they would come by to see me during my break!"

"That's not going to be for hours," he says with moderate exasperation as he smacks her hand away from the tray of croissants before she burns her fingers into nothing.

"I know!" But her spirit isn't dimmed so he just rolls his eyes and keeps on with his prep as she starts up a stream of chatter.

///

It's at their eleven thirty lull when their bell rings again. Dabi is pulling a double for Magne because she had to move her doctor's appointment for today if she wants to stay on schedule for her estrogen, and it's not like he doesn't live here. So he's chatting with Toga, leaning against one of the counters and debating if he's going to have his third espresso shot of the day, when the bell rings and two guys, maybe a few years younger than him, walk in. The heteromorphic reptile-person with purple hair and green scales stands out immediately, but the guy behind him isn't bad to look at. Long white hair that's half tied back from his face, pale skin, bright red eyes, and interesting markings around his eyes and lips that Dabi is guessing are from his quirk. They barely get in the door before Toga is practically hopping the bar and rushing over to them.

"You're here!" She nearly knocks them off their feet when she tries to hug them both at once without having slowed down before reaching them at all.

The lizard grunts and the pale one yanks his hands back and away from their bodies, a flicker of panic going across his face, his thumb curled in tight against his palm. "Toga, be careful, I don't have my gloves." Must have a quirk that is touch activated then.

"Oh, sorry, Shiggy. Why not?"

"New rules. They want to check them to see if they meet regulations." The guy says, his voice a low rasp.

"That's stupid."

"It is. But we thought you were working?" The lizard guy says. "Come on, can't be at peak performance without having more caffeine in our veins than blood."

"Right!" Toga turns back to the counter, pulling the two older men along with her. "Welcome to Last Drop, what can I get you? We don't have energy drinks," she says very pointedly to them. They both get an Americano with a double shot of espresso, and Dabi lets her ring them up as he goes over to start on the actual coffee. She's already going a mile a minute as she starts to ring them up. "You should try a pastry! Dabi makes them fresh every morning."

The lizard picks out his sesame cookies, and the other guy declines, "You know I don't like sweets."

Dabi can't help snorting at that as he turns back with the first coffee. He doesn't mean to catch red eyes watching him.

"I'm sure they're good--" he tries to backtrack, clearly guessing who he is.

"No, it's funny because I don't like sweet things either."

"He's just weird." Toga agrees. "Dabi, this is Tomura Shigaraki and Shuichi Iguchi."

"Nice to meet you."

"Hey, man."

She gets their money, both of them dropping nearly the same amount in their tip jar, and she plates the cookies as he finishes with their coffee. As soon as she's passed over their order, she turns to him, "I'm going on my break!"

"Go clock out you little gremlin!" He orders. She sticks her tongue out at him but does actually duck into the kitchen to do as she's told. He rolls his eyes and finds that he's not the only one, though he's a little surprised to see Iguchi doing it at his friend before he goes over to one of the empty booths. Dabi's not entirely sure what he did to warrant that response, but he goes back to work as Toga comes out from the kitchen to go sit with her friends. He's glad that she has friends other than them. It's pretty quiet today, so he makes her a cappuccino with way too much extra sugar and syrups in it, and gets her one of the miniature strawberry cream cakes that they're going to be retiring until strawberries are back in season. He also brings three forks.

"Thanks Dabi!" Toga beams at him, because she doesn't hide her teeth anymore, and Dabi deliberately sets down the forks too, meeting red eyes with a smug smirk. Sure it's probably a bad look to mock a new customer, but on the other hand, it's very, very fun to poke so harmlessly at someone.

He leaves them to catch up for her break, Toga taking her lunch while he deals with whatever trickle of customers come in and out until Jin's shift. When he gets in, Dabi goes and clocks out, hanging up his apron. He comes back out to, not sure if he wants to just spend all of his time hanging out up in his apartment this weekend, and finds that Toga is getting back to work, and that only Shigaraki is still inside, Iguchi waiting outside of the cafe doors as he taps on his phone. Toga giggles as soon as she sees him, which tells Dabi immediately that he's in danger, but before he can do anything about that, Shigaraki is coming up to him.

"I hope this isn't too inappropriate," He braces for something wildly inappropriate to be said to him. "But I was wondering if I could get the recipe for that cake?"

"Oh," Dabi blinks, "Oh, uh sure. God, that was not what I thought you were going to say."

"That's because I chickened out about asking you on a date halfway through." Shigaraki gives him a rueful smile, and that is definitely not the smoothest way to ask someone out, but Dabi is pretty sure he would have done worse since he's never asked anyone out or been asked out before.

It's probably not the correct response for him to let out a snort of laughter though. That probably doesn't do the other man's ego any favors. "Did you even like the cake?"

"Not even remotely, which is no reflection on your baking skills. As far as I can tell, it was the perfect cake. But perfect is always going to be mediocre if you don't like whatever it is in the first place."

"Okay, so what do you like?"

"Video games, my friends, people watching, getting a more direct answer when I ask someone out so I know if I should be making a swift exit."

"Ask me a direct question and I'll give you a direct answer."

Shigaraki doesn't get annoyed with his attitude, his lips curling up into a smile that makes his whole face softer. "I have a tournament to get to, would you like to come watch if you're not already busy for the rest of the day? And afterward, when I win, I would like to take you out on a date if you're interested?"

"That sure you're going to win?"

"More sure about that than I am your answer."

Dabi isn't sure about his answer either. This is a first, and he doesn't know if he should have his first date with one of Toga's few other friends. If it goes badly, he doesn't want her to end up caught in the crossfire. But... he's having fun bantering with Shigaraki. And he's never been to a sporting event before. He doesn't even know what he plays, he definitely doesn't look very imposing in his black skinny jeans, long-sleeved black shirt, red tennis shoes, and red coat.

"Yeah, okay. You still want to pretend to want that cake recipe so I can go change?" He is never going to say that coffee and pastries smell bad, but he does typically try not to walk around radiating that smell in all directions once his shift is over.

"No, but I can give you my number. We have to be at the venue early for registration and check-in, our part of the tournament doesn't start for another four hours. Toga's heading over after her shift, if you want to join her for the walk. And that way, if you change your mind, there's no obligation."

Dabi appreciates that and hands over his phone so the other man can put in his number. "Okay, you better win though, because I'm not into cocky guys who can't deliver."

He sees a little heat go into those red eyes, something that makes Dabi think that maybe this guy will be able to hold up against his attitude. "I always deliver."

"We'll see about that. You should probably go, your friend's waiting." He hands back his phone.

"Yeah, any dietary restrictions I should know about, other than being a baker who doesn't like sweets?"

"I don't do fish."

"No fish, no sweets, got it. I hope that I see you later." Shigaraki doesn't linger after that, turning to go meet his other friend outside, and Dabi watches him go, a little surprised with himself for handling that and agreeing to go out with him.

And then out of the corner of his eye he sees Jin and Toga leaning against the display case and counter respectively, both of them with shit-eating grins.

"Aww, ain't that cute," Jin mocks.

"This is so exciting! You should wear your leather pants, oh and the fishnet shirt, and you should wear the nipple rings instead of the studs!"

"One, fuck you, two, you're fifteen, stop having an opinion on my body jewelry."

"Eyeliner too! I'll do it for you! It makes your eyes look so pretty!"

"I fucking hate you."

///

Dabi goes for his favorite boots, a distressed pair of black skinny jeans, a dark wash gray shirt tucked at the front to show one of his studded belts, and his favorite tattered leather duster that he got in a charity shop and has been holding onto no matter how badly frayed the ends keep getting, fixing any wear at the shoulders and elbows to keep it looking artfully worn even though he's pretty sure the coat is older than him. He does wear his eyeliner though. Toga's right, it makes his eyes pop.

When her shift ends, she's practically bouncing as she gets him out the door and into a taxi to drive them to the... concert hall? He's about to ask what the hell kind of sporting event this is, when he sees the banner that has been posted above the doors. An esports tournament. Dabi has never been asked if he thinks that esports are a sport or not, but he supposes that it doesn't matter when he's here now. Besides, Toga knows where to go and brings them to a much, much shorter line to get in, Dabi half-stunned by the lines that have formed to get in, massive screens already set up outside of the building playing highlight reels of the games that have already happened to keep the people who haven't gotten in yet entertained as they wait. But they go right over to the VIP line and she hands over her ID and tells them that they're special guests of Iguchi and Shigaraki.

It takes all of five minutes for them to have VIP wristbands, badges, a gift bag provided by a few of the sponsors, and an escort inside because they're allowed into a special viewing booth if they don't want to sit right down in the front row by the stage. They opt for the stage and when they're shown to their seats, whatever game was happening before Shigaraki and Iguchi's is still going on, so they sit and start to watch that, Dabi turning to Toga and saying,

"I do not know shit about esports. What the fuck do I need to so that I don't embarrass myself?"

Toga gives him the basics of the game that Shigaraki and Iguchi will be playing as they wait for things to get started. Teams of two, essentially virtual capture the flag, getting killed doesn't mean they're down for the count, it just means that they have to wait to respawn and after three kills, they're out of the game completely. If they get all the way through this tournament then they'll get two million yen. And this won't even be the first one that they've participated in, having done two before this that earned them enough money to pay through their first year of university and rent a substantial apartment near the campus.

Dabi can't say that he fully knows what's going on throughout the many games that they watch, staying for nearly six hours as their team wins match after match. He barely gets it, but he's as on the edge of his seat as Toga is when the last match comes and Shigaraki's avatar dies and is eliminated when he blocks the other team's shot so that Iguchi's avatar can hold the point for the last couple of seconds that he needs to in order to secure it and win the match. Toga jumps up, pulling him with her, as the announcers start to rattle off their things and the crowd cheers. A massive thing of confetti goes off and showers the stands and stage with bits of the colorful paper.

When the stands start to clear out, and Shigaraki and Iguchi have disappeared for their other post-tournament obligations, he and Toga are taken into a VIP lounge to wait for them. She's bouncing, thrilled that her friends won, and he's wondering if he should have worn something less casual for a dinner date with a guy who can make two million yen in a day. But when Shigaraki and Iguchi come to find them, they accept their congratulations from him and hugs from Toga, before Shigaraki turns to him and says,

"I know a great tsukemen place near here, if you still want to get dinner."

"How can I say no? You backed up the cockiness flawlessly." It earns him another smile, and Iguchi only rolls his eyes as Toga waves them off with a grin.

///

Dinner is at a little hole-in-the-wall place with a cozy atmosphere where Dabi is served the best tsukemen that he has ever had in his life. They spend the entire meal chit-chatting, just getting to know each other. Dabi finds out that Shigaraki was adopted at age five after an earthquake leveled his family home, he's been gaming since he was seven, when a console was the first Christmas present his adoptive father got him once the papers were finalized, that he's actually pretty pessimistic about society as a whole, and that he literally destroys anything he touches with his quirk. Dabi tells him that he doesn't have any family he’s in contact with, he started baking and cooking when he was around five because it was the only chore he did that actually made him feel useful, that he thinks that the world is kind of shit too, but there are a few good people who make it worth it, and that he can burn anything to a crisp-- even himself. Most of it is pretty casual first-date kinds of things, and it's going well enough. They can talk to each other, it's even kind of fun. It's just that Dabi feels out of his depth and isn't about to own up to his inexperience. When they're finished, Shigaraki offers to take him home, and Dabi accepts that, the two of them grabbing a taxi and going back to the cafe.

He invites the other inside with a slightly sadistic, "Come on, we skipped dessert," and unlocks the cafe. There are only a few things that he saves between days, and biscotti is one of them. Shigaraki has no fear of caffeine this late, and Dabi makes them both a cappuccino to enjoy with it, before they're sitting at one of the booths.

"So why engineering and business?" He never went to college of course, but it does seem less exciting than making money streaming, going to tournaments, and apparently starting to do sponsorship ads the way Shigaraki does in his free time.

"My father. When Spinner and I wanted to enter our first tournament, we wanted to go in on one of the bigger, more established ones, not the ones for amateurs. The one we wanted had an entry fee of three hundred thousand yen for teams without managers or an agency, which we couldn't get unless we auditioned, entered a training program, and all of this other shit that we didn't want to do and didn't have time for before graduation and our college entrance exams. Spinner wanted out of his family's house because his quirk was a random heteromorphic mutation and they never treated him very well, and I wanted to help, but my father doesn't believe in 'charity'."

"So I made a deal with him, he would spot us the entry fee and in exchange he could pick my major and minor that I would get regardless of if we won, and give me a month of not meddling so that we could get our shit together so we could actually get past the qualifiers." He shrugs. "We won, but I'm locked in for four years, and Spinner used his cut of the money to come with me."

"Kind of a dick move-- on your father's part, if you ask me."

Shigaraki shrugs, "He wants me to succeed and be happy, but he doesn't always get that how he wants me to do it isn't going to work for me. Was your dad shit?"

"Absolutely. Kicked me out at eighteen without warning and told me that if I ever caused him trouble he would--" he tries to remember what he told the others when they took him in, "Destroy someone I care about."

"Absolutely a dick move." Shigaraki echoes his sentiment. "Did you ever get back in contact with them?"

"No, he could still do it, and he will. They're better off without me around. I hope they have a good life." It's a little too heavy for a first date, he thinks, so he picks up one of the biscotti and dunks it in his coffee, letting them defuse the tension as Shigaraki follows his lead. They both take a bite once it's softened enough to not break their teeth, and when their mouths aren't full, "What do you think?"

"It's not as sweet as the cake." Shigaraki says with true, perfect neutrality that makes Dabi laugh.

"I'm going to find something that you like. Everyone has something."

"Does that mean that I get to see more of you?"

Oh. Dabi feels a flush trying to rise to his cheeks, but he's not about to be cowed or fumble this again. "You might get to see all of me tonight if you don't have any problems being kicked out at three AM, or sitting down here while I bake. My shift starts at four." He doesn't know what the etiquette for dating is, but he does know how to have a memorable hookup.

"Maybe we should hold off then," Disappointment slips in. He had almost forgotten about his scars from how openly and readily Shigaraki had been flirting with him before. But maybe he needs more time to work himself up to see more of his fucked up skin. "I don't want to keep you up all night and have you burn down the cafe during your shift."

Relief goes through him as he snorts. "Cocky."

It earns him more smoldering red eyes and a small smile that screams with his overconfidence. "I've already proven once today that I can live up to it."

"It's a coffee shop." Dabi says, pushing himself up from the table. "I'll have a drink if I'm sleepy."

Shigaraki doesn't protest any as he stands as well, following Dabi upstairs to his apartment.

Dabi didn't anticipate how no sleep, three orgasms, and being sore from taking the biggest cock up his ass he's ever had was going to affect his shift the next day, but Magne and Atsuhiro have a very, very good laugh over it when they see Tomura leaving just before they clock in.

///

Tomura was Dabi's first date, but he's also his second, third, fourth, until it's really really obvious that they're dating. That he has a boyfriend now. He didn't think he'd ever have a home, friends, security, or companionship in his life, but he has all of them.

And throughout the first month and a half of his and Tomura's relationship, he's expecting them all to disappear.

It's a thought that comes to him the first time he's over at Shig and Spinner's apartment in the mid afternoon, when Duster comes back between classes, Spinner's still at his, and they fuck with the lights on for the first time. It's when he's certain that no matter what else they've done in the dark, that the moment that Tomura really sees him like this, that he's going to realize how disgusting he is and dump him. But he doesn't. He kisses his skin the same way he always does, teases him for how sensitive he always is, makes him cum so hard that he accidentally sets off the smoke alarms. They go out to dinner later and he heads back to the cafe since his shift is so early, half expecting him to block his number and ghost him completely.

But Tomura comes by in two days while he's running around-- he and Spinner are actually getting sponsors and management companies who want them now-- to let Dabi make him try one of his other desserts, and to ask if he wants to go to a crane game place that Toga is dragging them all to later.

"I don't think I've ever played a single crane game in my life." He tells the other, but agrees anyway. The group of them have been having a good time hanging out together, and he wants to hold onto that for as long as he can.

When they go to the crane game place that night, it's him, Tomura, Spinner, Toga, and Jin, and they all agree to a max spending cap of five thousand yen. Whoever comes back with the most prizes wins will get to pick where they go for dinner, and whoever has the least will be the assigned pack mule for the night. Dabi's spirits are slightly cheered by the fact that Jin says he's never played either. They get to the building and find two floors of the crane games, and Dabi immediately regrets what they've signed up for. They change their bills to coins and he and Tomura break off from the others to go down the rows, looking for any prizes that they might like.

"Here, you should try this one, firefly." Tomura settles him in front of the game, the prize for which is a rabbit that is designed to look like a strawberry mochi. It's a standard claw game and Dabi at least knows how it works in theory, and Tomura shows him the controls. "This machine always grabs tighter after the third coin, so just try to get it into a good place before then."

Dabi puts in his coin, "How often do you two come here?"

Tomura guides his hands on the controls as the game starts, "Whenever we have to decide who's doing laundry or if I want the apartment for the weekend."

"Yeah, how many times have you kicked him out for the weekend?"

The question gets him a kiss against the back of his neck. "The only time that matters is this one, because when I win, we're going to your favorite soba place, dropping the others off at karaoke, and then you and I are going back to the apartment, and I'm going to fuck you in the tub the way you always want to until you're boiling the water." In his defense, their apartment is massive and the tub is no exception.

"You are a terrible roommate and the only man on the fucking planet who is excited over the thought of getting third degree burns on his dick." Dabi lets Tomura guide his hand so that he positions the claw above the stuffed animal. He hits the button to lower it when it's in place and the machine whirrs. The claw closes around the bunny's soft body, but only carries it about an inch towards the prize drop before it slips out from the pincers.

"A good boyfriend though." He gives Dabi a kiss on the cheek and puts in one of his own coins so that Dabi can try again.

He gets lucky, and manages to get it up to the plastic partition in the machine, and the rabbit bounces against it and into the hole. Dabi is absolutely not expecting the rush of joy that he gets seeing it drop inside and realizing that he won something.

"Perfect, firefly!" Tomura praises, giving him another kiss before letting Dabi reach into the slot to take the toy out. It's soft as a kitten, but it does have a plasticky smell to it that he hopes will go away.

"Yeah, well, it'll be more impressive when I manage to do it on my own. Go make sure that you can deliver a good weekend."

Tomura smiles and Dabi accepts the peck that he gets before he parts, saying, "If you're struggling at a machine, you can ask the staff to reset it, you can only win one of the big plushies per machine, and there are bags by the coin exchange if you need them to carry things. I'll stay on this floor until you're ready to go upstairs, just come find me when you're ready."

"Okay," he lets the other leave and picks up his coin cup. Tomura moves down the row and turns a corner, disappearing, he's guessing to go to his favorite machines. He turns and starts to look at the other machines, other versions of claws, ones where he thinks he has to pull on the plastic tabs that have been attached to boxes, trying to find any that look interesting. It's a total waste of his coins, but he sees a box of assorted chocolates that he knows Tomura will hate, and that Toga will love, and he immediately stops at that machine and feeds it a coin.

It takes him ten tries before he actually gets the box to fall into the slot, and after it does, he doesn't get that same flicker of happiness that he was before. Because that flicker has been fighting its way through his doubt since the first night that they spent together. Tomura likes him, he's good to him, but it's hard not to notice that he's going to make something of himself. He's going to be a proper pro at some point, probably some point soon, and he's going to graduate college, and then he's going to be able to get whatever job he wants after he has his esports career, if he doesn't make enough money to retire on it. Dabi isn't going anywhere. He is incredibly grateful for what he has, but he's not going to make more of himself than a barista and a self-taught pastry chef. He's lucky he even became that. He's not going to get any prettier either. When they go out, he still has people see his face and gasp, or turn away from him and whisper. He still gets stopped by cops when he's just going to the grocery store because they think he looks like a criminal.

He's always going to be the person who doesn't fit in, who scares people, who is too prickly to make them feel comfortable. He's never going to be as smart as them, won't ever be able to afford to go back to school even if he wanted to, and he's never going to have a lot. He's been happy with what he's had so far, he's been happy with how things worked out when he didn't think he would ever get anywhere near any of this. Dabi knows that his job at Last Drop isn't going anywhere. He would have to fuck up astronomically for Atsuhiro to fire him, and they're not about to go under or anything. He knows that Magne, Jin, and Atsuhiro are his friends first and foremost, and even if things fall apart with Shigaraki, they aren't going to abandon him, while Toga might have to pick between them and her old friends. He knows he has enough money squirreled away that he won't end up homeless again if something unforeseen happens.

But he doesn't know how he's supposed to handle the fact that Tomura could choose to leave him as soon as he realizes that Dabi isn't worth his time. That he's just going to weigh him down, smearing soot all over the bright future that is stretching out in front of him. He's never been in the position before where he had to decide if he was going to give up on something instead of waiting for it to end, but neither option makes him feel particularly good.

Dabi's fingers hit cool plastic and he blinks, looking down at his coin cup. Two hundred yen left. He didn't mean to do that, absolutely didn't mean to wander around playing game after game as his mind whirled. Definitely lost. It feels like a horrible signpost from fate that he's going to lose Tomura too, even though he wants so badly, and so selfishly to keep him all for himself. He looks around for a single machine that he thinks that he might be able to get at least one thing out of, desperate to hold on for a chance--

"There you are," Tomura comes up to him, one hand with two large bags of prizes hanging off of it. "Are you ready to head upstairs?"

"Uh, yeah," he feels his face heat, his stomach in knots. "I'm almost out-- guess you made this look way easier than it was."

Tomura just smiles, "It takes practice. Besides, you have two things? So does Jin, last I saw. Toga's only got four. She wasted all her money trying to get a My Melody strawberry plush for some girl she's got a crush on." He looks into his coin cup and then whispers to him, "Let's sneak upstairs before the others notice. The gotcha games are up there, and you can get at least one more prize and beat Jin."

"Okay." His chest hurts. He doesn't want to lose this. They go upstairs and Tomura shows him the line of gotchas that range from one hundred yen to play to two thousand. He can play two of the games and come out with the same amount as Toga, but he's still leagues behind Tomura. He's always going to be behind him, weighing him down.

He looks along the row and finds one that costs two hundred yen to play. He should just get this over with. It's a mystery gotcha that says that it's stocked with classic arcade items like sticky hands and novelty erasers, to 'higher end' prizes like headphones, fidget toys, and possibly a voucher to play one of the expensive game machines. He puts in his coins and cranks the wheel, listening to the capsules inside shift around. One drops into the slot and he grabs it. It rattles in the capsule so he figures that it's not the voucher and pops it open. On top of the prize is a little piece of paper that shows it's an insect shaped phone charm, and that he could have won a grasshopper, cicada, rollie pollie, butterfly, or... firefly. Dabi isn't expecting the way that makes his heart start to race as he picks up the black plastic pouch the charm was stored in and tears it open.

He doesn't know why he feels like he might cry for the first time in years when he sees the little black body, its wings spread open to show its yellow butt, which the paper says will glow in the dark. But Dabi has to take a second to figure out how to compose himself before he turns to find Tomura. The other man hasn't gone far, staying in the row of machines that Dabi will have a clear line of sight to. He sees him bend down to pick up his new prize and Dabi thinks about just... leaving. He could go first, and then it will be his fault in a more direct way when this all falls apart. Everyone will be mad at him for being a dick, and they won't ask him why he can't just let himself be happy for as long as he can hold on to this.

But Tomura turns around and immediately spots him and smiles. It's such a good smile. It lights him up from the inside out. Dabi doesn't want to ruin that for him, not now. He can wait. He'll let Tomura shatter his heart into pieces if it means he doesn't have to break his instead. His boyfriend comes over to him, "What did you get?"

"Here, you can have it," He says before he can reboot his brain to say anything smarter than that.

His heart fucking breaks a lot sooner than expected when Tomura takes the charm out of his hand and laughs. "Oh, firefly, that's perfect. I got you something too." It's a miracle he reaches into his bags, digging down towards the bottom, taking his eyes off of him as Dabi has to blink back the slightly red mistiness in his eyes from how in his head he's gotten over the past... however long they've been here. "Something so that you can keep me close even when we're apart." He pulls out a little moth plush, just big enough to fit in his palm with a fake fur ruff around its neck, big red eyes, and soft flappy wings on either side of its body. His chest warms and takes it.

"Thanks, Duster."

Tomura puts the charm on his phone, and then pulls him close for a kiss.

"If it comes down between Spinner tying with you, or me and Jin tying, tell them you got the charm too. I want to take a bath in the tub the two of you are fucking wasting." Tomura laughs,

"Very underhanded, firefly. Absolutely." Tomura still has five more coins, so he cranks through five of the one hundred yen gotchas since it's starting to get late, and they know at least two of the others are also already finished.

He's wearing his gloves, always does when he's going to be in crowds where someone could bump into him outside of his control, and he puts the bags all on one arm so that he can lace their fingers together before they head back downstairs to find the others.

"If you guys come here so often, what do you do with all the prizes?" Dabi asks as he tries to pull himself out of the heavy doubts that have been clinging to him so violently all night.

"Toga gets to pick through all of the plush to find ones she likes, then we donate the rest of them to a charity that gives them to kids in hospitals as a part of their 'buddy' program."

"Oh, that's sweet."

"Don't start thinking too highly of us, all of the figures and other stuff we take to a resale place and put that money towards our practice tournament prize. Whoever has the best score at the end of the month gets to spend it on whatever they want."

Dabi snorts as they make it downstairs and spot their friends standing off to the side of the exit. Toga is beaming, holding her plush close to her chest, and Jin looks defeated. Spinner's bags look smaller than Tomura's but that doesn't mean much when the size of the prizes range from the capsules to plushies the size of Dabi's torso. They count up the prizes, Spinner and Tomura absolutely sweeping the rest of them with ten actual prizes and then Spinner snapping,

"Oh fuck you! Gotchas don't count!"

"We never said that." Tomura snarks right back, unwaveringly. It's an underhanded way to win, and Tomura doubles down, saying that he'll win something with four hundred yen if the money he spent on the capsules doesn't count. He manages to win the prize that pushes him over the edge with one coin, and then just because he is such a cocky asshole, he also wins a second one with the last three coins.

They go to get soba, ditch their friends at karaoke, and go back to Tomura's apartment.

When Dabi's curled up against his chest, looking at the firefly charm glowing away on the nightstand, and Tomura presses a kiss against his hair and murmurs,

"Love you, Dabi," He can't manage to make his throat work to say it back, but he holds onto him tighter, leans up to try and kiss him harder. He doesn't know how long he'll get to have this, any of the good things in his life. But Tomura is the best, and he is going to hold on for as long as he can and savor every second of it.

Thank you so much for reading!

#shigadabi #my writing #mha fanfiction

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