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Todoroki Enji never would have expected his life to end up like this. When he was young, he used to be so proud, so confident in his inevitably glamorous future. There was little he couldn’t do. Strategy, physical combat, detective skills, business management, charm… Enji was practically flawless in every way. Sure his temper got the best of him sometimes, but whose didn’t? It wasn’t until his second year in U.A., the semester he met Yagi Toshinori, that he realized his quirk lacked just enough potential for the title he knew he deserved.

Thankfully, he was still young when he accepted that truth; it gave him an early opportunity to try creating the perfect heir to his name. One that would surpass him and seize that title as the Number One Hero. It seemed to be the most logical route to take.

Regrettably, not everything follows perfect logic. Sacrifices and adaptations have to be made along the way in order to obtain the ultimate of goals.

Enji never really wanted to do this. It isn’t like he created his children solely for the purpose of fucking them. It simply became a necessary evil when Shouto became unruly and resistant to control. It wasn’t a tactic he used on Touya, which is probably why he became a failed project. Natsuo never required it, either. His weak quirk and weak constitution made him intolerable for Enji to even look at. But with tight control of Shouto’s body, control of Shouto’s promising mind followed suit.

And as for Fuyumi… well, Fuyumi had to be good for something.

(It’s too bad it’s less enjoyable than it used to be; her mood swings are too much for him to tolerate sometimes. Little reward is reaped for what effort he puts in. It is truly lamentable how much she is like her mother.)

Becoming more independent was a necessary part of Shouto’s development; Enji had hoped a war of jealousy would’ve driven Fuyumi and Shouto apart. Both of his children have always been attention-starved and it was never difficult to feed them what they craved. Unfortunately, pitting the two against one another was less fruitful than he had expected.

Fuyumi had been easier to draw in quickly, but became too difficult after her guilt overrode her desire for reassurance. Shouto, on the other hand… Shouto took much longer to groom into submission. Child fought him every step of the way. Enji had to resort to drugging him to make him pliable enough to behave. Shouto was ensnared for quite some time before Enji’s temper got the best of him. It’s been back to square one ever since.

Sometimes he misses that pathetic, sniffling version of his son. It comes out every so often. But most of the time, Shouto is angry, defiant, and hard-headed. Ever since that night Enji tried to drown him, he’s become so much more of a handful.

“I’m only doing this to surpass you,” Shouto says now during training. “One day I’ll kill you, old man.”

Enji appreciates his enthusiasm.

 

They called his work phone today, Shouto’s principal informing him of a likely-inevitable failing grade in one of his classes.

His two children are sitting across from one another in the dining room when he arrives home, both sharing a dish with their own bowls of rice. As soon as Fuyumi notices his presence, she hunches her shoulders and diverts her gaze. The same reaction every time without fail. Shouto pretends not to notice him as he walks to the table.

“Two weeks until you graduate, Shouto,” Enji chides, crossing his arms. “It is two weeks until you graduate and you put your eligibility on the line like this. You know better than to slack off.”

“Sorry,” Shouto says, insincere. He doesn’t bother looking up from his bowl.

“I’m going to call your school tomorrow and insist you have extra time to complete your assignments.”

“Don’t bother,” Shouto insists with a wave of his hand.

Enji knots his eyebrows in response. Fuyumi’s chopsticks stop moving.

“Excuse me?”

“I said don’t bother.” Shouto shrugs before bringing another bite of rice to his mouth. “I’m getting into U.A., so who cares? Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t test me, boy,” Enji growls, low and threatening. “I’m in no mood to be putting up with your shit today.”

“Sorry,” he quips back in a mocking tone, “not my problem.”

Physical threats have become much less effective. Shouto seems much more tolerant of anything Enji can inflict with his hands. It’s difficult to walk the fine line between scaring him and gravely injuring him, so Enji has lost interest in willingly using his brute strength.

Sometimes, his temper gets the best of him, though. Enji is lucky he hasn’t done any permanent damage to the boy’s body.

The easiest way to punish Shouto is through sex or through threats. Threats are easiest; an ultimatum involving his sister always does the trick. Enji derives little pleasure out of hurting Fuyumi, finding her inability to fight back repelling and boring. Good for occasionally letting off steam after a hard day of work and little else. So while threatening Shouto is the easiest way, it often feels like a chore.

Sex is certainly the more enjoyable option. It draws out the most defiance from his son, gives Enji a reason to push him further. Fucking him serves to harden Shouto’s resolve while teaching him to obey authority. Enji doesn’t really need a justification for what he does, but if he did, that’d certainly be it.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy Shouto’s obvious conflicted feelings towards it, however. Because no matter how much he protests, Shouto gets hard. Always. All that “special training” Enji put him through was not entirely in vain.

Patience stretched thin at the obvious disrespect, Enji stomps over and grabs Shouto by the back of his school jacket collar. He shoves Shouto down with ease, pinning him down perfectly with one hand while the other grasps his son’s waistband.

“Get the hell off me!” he shrieks as he kicks his legs. His son has grown so much in the past year, but his strength is certainly no match for Enji’s own. The ineffective flailing gets Enji hard every time.

Fucking Shouto in front of Fuyumi isn’t a new tactic. It gives Shouto immediate awareness of the repercussions of his actions when he’s able to witness it firsthand. Doing so always seems to traumatize Fuyumi, breaking her down despite every valiant attempt to remain unfazed. She cries, she whimpers, she has passed out twice now. It never fails to shut her brother up quickly. Never fails to wrangle him into submission.

“Disgusting, you’re disgusting!” Shouto yells as Enji spits onto his ass. “Get off me, get off-”

Enji tears through him with one forceful thrust of his hips and Fuyumi stiffens. The whimper that rises from Shouto’s throat hasn’t changed since he was a child. A pitiful sound that somehow makes Enji’s cock twitch, makes him want to fuck him raw until he’s a shrieking, blubbering mess. It takes heavy restraint to keep himself in check.

Thick fingers disappear beneath the mess of Shouto’s hair, raking nails against his scalp before taking a firm hold on the locks. Enji yanks, forcing his son’s neck to strain until he is facing his sister. His hips slam hard but slow, nearly pulling out before ramming in to the hilt.

“Look at Fuyumi,” Enji demands, noticing his son’s face scrunched tight as he shuts his eyelids.

“No,” Shouto snarls.

“Tell her what you did wrong.”

“Fuck you.”

The arrogant taunt is rewarded with a particularly hard thrust that makes Shouto whine. His ass clenches down on Enji’s cock like a vice, drawing out a deep groan from the pit of his chest.

Fuyumi’s eyes are wide, fixated on the floor, shoulder hunched. Her arms tremble as she brings a bite of rice to her mouth, trying so hard to remain unfazed. Fuyumi is twenty years old now but her behaviors have barely changed since she was a child. She’s been trained not to question a thing. She’s aware of the consequences.

“You’re making your sister cry,” Enji says softly as he leans in to Shouto’s ear. The statement makes Fuyumi sniffle louder. She has never been good at hiding her emotions.

“I… I’m failing math…” Shouto finally admits as he opens his eyes, words pushed through gritted teeth.

“And why is that?”

“I don’t have time to study!” Shouto suddenly shrieks. “If I didn’t… have training all the goddamn time, I’d… I could… would…”

Blaming Enji, how typical. The boy never takes responsibility. Never really has. He lands a sharp, hot slap across his ass at the disrespect and Shouto stifles back a cry.

“Please take your grades seriously, Shouto,” Fuyumi pleads, voice hushed and weary, her blue eyes glazed over with tears. She plays the shaming role so perfectly. Enji didn’t even have to teach her.

“Are you paying attention, boy?” he growls, yanking on Shouto’s disheveled hair until his neck looks ready to snap. “What did your sister say?”

“To take… my grades…” Shouto pauses, his teeth still grit in a deep grimace. “To take my grades seriously…”

Enji’s orgasm is already building, spurred on by his son’s expression of obvious defeat. His cock rams into his ass at a brutal pace, stretching him wide, sweat-slick skin slapping against skin.

“Are you going to behave yourself?”

“Yes…”

Close, so close. He wants to hear the fear in his son’s voice, feel the desperation. Give him the satisfaction of knowing Shouto’s arrogance has been thoroughly fucked out of him. Enji created him, Enji owns him, and Enji can tear him down whenever he goddamn pleases.

“You can do better than that,” he chuckles while slamming into him. “Come on, Shouto. Are you going to be good for daddy? Do you promise to make your sister proud?”

“Yes, dammit! Yes!” Shouto cries. “Yes! Yes! Yes! I promise!”

There is that facade of his cracking. Perfection. Enji pulls his cock out of his ass, shoves Shouto onto his back before jerking himself to completion. His cum steams as it dribbles on his son’s wincing face, drips down his cheek like tears, pools on the table beneath him. Enji looks up at his daughter as he basks in the afterglow. Her eyes are fixed to the floor, trembling hands folded neatly in her lap.

Shouto looks pitiful lying there on the table, chest heaving, Enji’s cum splattered across his face. Such a stark contrast to the defiant child he was earlier, spitting that ill-mannered drivel. It will get beat out of him eventually; Enji is more than happy to keep trying.

“If you fail out of school, that U.A. acceptance letter is voided,” he scolds him as he tucks his softening cock into his pants. “For both of your sakes, you’d better not screw this up.”

There’s a spark of anger that still dances behind Shouto’s eyes, kindled defiance that refuses to snuff out. He wipes his cheek with the back of his sleeve, smearing the cum across his face.

“Have more faith in me, old man,” Shouto hisses.

“Give me a reason to have faith in you, then, because you continue to fail at doing so.”

Not another word is spoken as Enji leaves the room, tucking his shirt back into his pants when he enters the hallway. He’ll be calling that school tomorrow. And Shouto will submit whether he wants to or not.

Digging his heels in while Enji yanks him through his destiny is needless; there’s no doubt Shouto realizes it. But if he wishes to fight the entire way through, Enji will continue to put him in his place. By absolutely any means necessary.

Because when you are born into this world with a purpose, all the other details are meaningless.

 

 

 

Chapter Text

 

 

“That… that never gets any easier,” Fuyumi sighs, voice soft and trembling.

Shouto rolls back onto his stomach with a wince. He yanks his pants up to his waist before sliding off the table, settling awkwardly into a seiza position.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he groans, stifling a cringe when he feels his father’s cum leak out of his ass. It burns down the back of his left thigh as it dribbles, dampening the linen of his school pants. Disgusting.

“Why do you antagonize him like that?” she asks for what feels like the three-thousandth time in his life. If Shouto didn’t know his sister any better, it would come across as putting the blame on him.

(Not like she’d be wrong.)

“I don’t know,” is what he settles on as he wipes the sweat that has settled along his hairline. It’s Shouto’s default answer to every question he doesn’t feel like answering. Everything is too complicated for her to understand.

“Are you bleeding?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to give you a hug?”

“No.”

Fuyumi remains silent. The tension in the air thickens.

“Do you want to give me a hug?” he finally asks.

She nods before breaking down into tears. Shouto has become an expert of reading what his sister wants, even when she says nothing.

“I’m sorry,” she cries as she throws her arms around him. There’s really no need for Fuyumi to apologize for anything. Her hug is chilly and tight but it does little to comfort him; the gesture is more to comfort her, if anything. His sister has made an effort to be more protective and motherly towards him over the past few years, doting on him even as Shouto has tried distancing himself from her care. She once admitted it’s because she feels guilty (even though Shouto insists she has nothing to feel guilty about).

“It’s okay, Fuyumi.” A deep hum rises from his chest while he puts his hand on the back of her head, pulling it into his shoulder. “It’s okay, really. I’m used to it by now.”

The comment gets no response. Shouto knows she’s still not used to it. Shouto doubts she ever will be.

 

 

“Can I take a picture?”

Shouto freezes as he is sliding his foot into his shoes, looking up to see his sister standing at the threshold. Her fingers are pinched along the corners of her phone that she holds horizontally in her grasp.

“A picture?” Shouto repeats, cocking an eyebrow. “Why?”

“It’s your first day of high school!” she exclaims. “It’s a special day, you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Shouto nods. It’s hard to recognize the milestone when his mind is reeling; anxiety is brewing in his chest, his heart already thumping wildly against his ribcage. But if Fuyumi wants a photo, he’ll oblige. She doesn’t really ask for much, after all.

“Stand there, stand there,” she says while pointing to the front door. “Push those shoes out of the way, fix your tie. Try to look happy, come on…!”

Brushing stray hair out of his face, Shouto straightens his frown as he puts his arms tight against his sides. The phone makes an obnoxious shutter sound three times as she rotates it.

“Okay, okay, one sec, stay still, don’t move.”

Her feet barely make a sound when she patters over. Shouto knots his brow as Fuyumi stands next to him and holds the phone out in front of them both.

“Fuyumi, no, that’s st-”

“Come on,” she whines. “Just one more. Please?”

Shouto sighs before looking up at the screen. Fuyumi flashes a wide grin when she glances up, flashing a victory sign with her fingers. The shutter sound triggers one more time. She brings the phone down, meticulously tapping away at the screen.

“I’m gonna be late,” he groans. She grabs his sleeve when he tries to head towards the door.

“Wait a sec,” Fuyumi insists. “Look! It’s perfect!”

The photo pulls up on her phone. Shouto can’t help but notice the genuine smile on his sister’s face. Usually, her smiles seem forced or pained, but he can see her happiness shining through in the picture. Shouto can’t remember the last time he noticed it. The anxiety that was swelling in his chest seems to dissipate. No longer is his heart racing and making him feel nauseous.

“I’ll send you a copy,” she declares, that smile spreading across her face once more. “Have a nice first day, okay? You’re gonna be a great Hero.”

Her cold arms wrap around his body in a tight, sincere embrace. She’s so much shorter than him now; Shouto vaguely remembers a similar hug when he had to change elementary schools, remembers his face being awkwardly squished between her breasts when she bent over. They saw eye-to-eye his first day of junior high. Now, her head rests against his bruised sternum. Thank god she doesn’t know the extent of what he goes through to keep her safe. It’ll all be worth it in the end.

...Right?

No, no, doubting it is stupid. Of course it’ll be worth it. All that hard work he stomachs because of his father can’t be for naught. Shouto wants to show the world that the top Heroes don’t have to be cruel to maintain their title. They don’t have to use their status in order to gain selfish things. Getting away with manipulating grades on a report card, getting away with taking kickbacks from corporations, getting away with hurting people, with hurting family. Shouto will never hurt anyone, especially his family, in pursuit of some noble title. He’ll earn it fairly and show everyone that it’s possible.

Above all else, he wants to show Fuyumi what he’s capable of. Shouto wants to prove to her that he was able to endure everything. That with her help, he overcame every brutal obstacle without a scratch or wound on his constitution. The scars on his body were inevitable, but his father never left any scars on his mind. Shouto has to prove that to her. Prove to her that what she suffered through wasn’t in vain.

He can do this, he decides. If not for himself or for his father, then for Fuyumi. He owes her for everything.

 

 

He’s one of the last students to get to his classroom. Shouto keeps his head down as he walks towards a seat in the back of the class, hoping to avoid any interactions with his peers. It works well enough. The kid next to him also remains silent for the period before class. Judging by the lively discussions around him, Shouto lucks out with his placement.

His homeroom teacher, Mr. Aizawa, seems strict yet disinterested. Quite a change from his father’s detail-oriented bullshit. There’s no doubt he knows who Shouto’s father is, but he hasn’t brought it up and doesn’t act like he’s going to give Shouto special treatment. It’s refreshing, really. The past ten years of school have been nothing but a constant reminder from the people around him about how much his identity is tied to his father.

Maybe Shouto can keep it a secret. Keep up the boring facade for as long as possible. The less people know about his circumstances, the better. Shouto loathes the clamoring attention.

(No doubt his old man would find some way to make it known, though. Always has to be the goddamn center of attention.)

 

They are thrust into an initial challenge shortly after homeroom. A series of trials, his teacher explains, to test their capabilities. His classmates groan as they’re given instructions.

Shouto decides not to use his quirk. They’ll figure it out sooner or later, but he doesn’t want to reveal too much about himself yet. He figures if he maintains a distant, aloof air, his peers will leave him alone.

“Hey, I’m Ochaco!” a chipper girl says while they line up, grinning ear-to-ear. Her enthusiastic smile reminds him of Fuyumi’s. “Crazy first day, huh?”

“Have a nice first day, okay? You’re gonna be a great Hero.”

Shouto only nods. He’s not quite sure what to say.

“This is so different from junior high,” she continues. “Using my quirk for these trials is kinda weird…”

Small talk. That reminds him of Fuyumi, too. Can’t anyone just enjoy silence without having to fill it with meaningless blather?

“I can change gravity with my quirk. I dunno how I’m gonna use it to make this any easier, though.” Ochaco points at the other students running the 50-meter dash. “Ugh, it makes me nervous… what about you? What’s your quirk?”

“I’m not using my quirk for this,” he replies. “I don’t need it.”

“O-Ohh, gotcha.”

There is a long pause; she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, looking down as she picks at her nails. It’s the same exact thing Fuyumi does when she’s trapped in the room while Shouto argues with their father. She’s too scared to run away after that time their father burned her. Now she just sits, listens, holds back tears while she picks at her nails.

“Please don’t fight,” Fuyumi practically whispers. Shouto is eleven. He has earned the blossoming bruise on his cheek after refusing his training for the third night in a row.

“Shut up, Fuyumi,” their father snaps. She hunches her shoulders and ducks her head down, still scraping a nail beneath her thumbnail.

“Don’t be mean to her,” Shouto demands. “She didn’t do anything!”

“It’s time for training.” His father speaks slowly through gritted teeth. “Now, Shouto.”

“I said I’m not going.”

A hot hand grabs him by the forearm, another shoving into his back until he is on the floor. He feels his pants and underwear yanked down in one angry, fluid motion. Fuyumi jumps straight back from her seat and hits the wall, sliding down slowly as she covers her eyes.

This is the first time it happens. The first time she has to watch.

Shouto tries not to make a sound while his father fucks him but it’s hard, it’s so hard. His eyes are glued shut, lips tucked between his teeth as he bites down, bears the thickness in his guts that threatens to tear him in half. The pain is excruciating but goddamn is his dick hard, rubbing raw against the rough tatami flooring.

“Look at your sister, Shouto,” he hears above him as he feels those familiar fingers weave through his hair. “Look at her and tell her what you did wrong.”

No. No, he doesn’t want to. Why does his father play these games? Why does he want to humiliate him in front of Fuyumi? It only makes him want to be more defiant. Shouto wants nothing more than to kill his father, wants to kill him and take his sister and run, run far away, away from this cruel, unnecessary bullshit that’s wrecking them both, to just grab Fuyumi by the hand and run and run and run until there’s nowhere else to possibly g-

“Five point four-three seconds.”

Shouto nearly trips as he finds himself passing the finish line of the 50-meter dash, stumbling to reduce his sprinting speed. He digs his heels into the dirt beneath his feet. Another student runs past him after completing the trial and slows with perfect control. Shouto’s vision is blurry as he looks around him.

What… is he doing here? He is in the living room, isn’t he? Getting his ass split open by that fucking bastard?

“Geez, and you didn’t even use your quirk?” a girl cheers from the sidelines. She looks familiar. “That’s amazing!”

Ahh, the trials. School. Of course.

Nausea bubbles in his stomach as he readjusts to the world around him. His clothes are already soaked in sweat and he has barely exerted himself at all. Shouto balls up the fabric at the hem of his shirt and pulls it up to his head, swiping it across his forehead. He watches his classmates as they complete the 50-yard dash, feeling too dazed and exhausted to pay close attention to the usage of their quirks. He’ll figure them out soon enough, he guesses.

After everyone has completed the first trial, the students line up for the second assignment. Shouto watches as his classmates participate in the grip strength test; so many of them still seem to struggle utilizing their quirks efficiently.

Shouto still doesn’t need his quirk to beat them. He’s easily the strongest in his class.

“All right, Todoroki, it’s your turn,” Aizawa finally says as he hands him the dynamometer. “You look like you’d be good at this.”

“Your sister was always good at this,” his father says, voice low. “I’d take her over you, if you want.”

Shouto doesn’t respond. His heart is suddenly pounding in his chest.

“Go ahead. It should be easy for you.”

His hands wrap around it. He cools his mouth down just enough, applies pressure beneath his balls, glares up at his smug face the entire time. Sucks him off until every last drop of his scorching cum burns at the pit of his stomach. It makes him want to vomit.

All for Fuyumi. All to keep her safe.

“Don’t tell your sister,” his father says even though Shouto knows. “You’d break her heart, you know.”

Does Fuyumi know he goes through all this trouble? Shouto could never tell her, could never make her feel guilty, but… sometimes he wishes she knew. That he could get recognition for it. He doesn’t need his ass patted constantly, but just acknowledgment every once in a while would be nice, would make it easier to stuff his father’s stupid cock into his fist or down his throat or up his ass, would make it easier to tolerate all that verbal abuse, all that extra quirk training as punishment for him speaking out of line and not trying hard enough and all the other shit Shouto does just to piss his fath-

“Oi! Oi, Half-and-Half!”

Shaking his head, Shouto’s gaze lifts from his feet.

“You gonna jump or what? Hurry the fuck up!”

Shouto looks down again and sees the dirt beneath his shoes, a field of sand in front of him. He rolls onto his toes for a moment and feels the ground give slightly beneath him. His skull feels like it is stuffed with cotton.

“What… what do I do?” Shouto says dumbly as he brings a hand to his head, suddenly forgetful of the task at hand. He’s knows he’s in class, doing… a trial of some sort. But what… what is he suppo-

“You stupid or something? Get out of the way and I’ll show you, dumbass!”

Turning behind him to the source of the voice, Shouto sees a blonde-haired boy running towards him, a fiery cloud of smoke shooting from his palms. He moves out of his way just in time before the boy leaps at the threshold between the dirt and the sandy ground. Another classmate is quick to run towards him with a measuring tape.

Ohh yeah, the long jump.

Weird.

“Don’t worry about it,” the smiley girl from earlier says, standing at the sideline. What is her name again? She sticks her tongue out and winks. “I think he’s just got problems…”

“He just has problems.”

Fuyumi puts her cold hand on his forearm and pulls him into a side hug at the dinner table. It is his twelfth birthday; she made him a strawberry cupcake.

“It’s not your fault,” she assures him. “And don’t worry. Everything’s gonna be okay in the end. Everything is gonna be normal.”

How can she say that? How can she dismiss everything? She isn’t doing it on purpose, but… how else is he supposed to interpret that…?

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You’re right.”

“It’s okay to feel confused sometimes. Things are changing, but change can be good. It helps you get stronger.”

But change is scary. Even when things in the present are hard, the idea of change is still scary. They might get better, but they might get worse. Shouto doesn’t want things to get worse. He couldn’t bear things getting worse.

Is that… is that what’s going to happen?

What if things do get worse? What if he’s kicked out of school? If he fails out of school, if he fails his trials, if he gets into a fight with a student or doesn’t prove himself well enough or god, what if he kills someone? Could he do that? What if he somehow lost control of his quirk and killed a classmate? The fallout would be horrible, so so horrible, his father would kill him, everything w-

“Impressive.”

Shouto nearly stumbles when he finds himself in an awkward pose, his arm straight out in front of him, his legs spread wide. His classmates stand in a messy semi-circle around where he is standing. Aizawa flashes him the distance reader machine.

“That’s quite a strong throw without using your quirk,” Aizawa says with the tiniest hint of a grin. “Been training hard, huh?”

Straightening himself up, Shouto suddenly winces as a sudden twinge of pain arises from the scar on his face. Shit, that hasn’t happened in months. Is he getting a migraine? Does he have a migraine now?

Keeping a straight face, Shouto walks off the field in a stupor. Each step he takes feels so light that he swears he’s weightless.

...What the fuck is going on?

 

Results of the initial training are posted. Shouto places second beneath a girl with a creation quirk. He’s not sure how someone with a quirk like that could beat him in a physical endurance test, but he wasn’t really paying attention. He actually doesn’t remember most of what happened during the trials at all.

Third place is some kid named Bakugou Katsuki. Who is Bakugou? Maybe that guy with a bunch of arms? There’s no doubt he outperformed Shouto in the strength trials.

“Hey, asshole. Hey. Hey, I’m talking to you!”

Shouto doesn’t realize he is being spoken to until he feels a finger poking at his shoulder. The contact makes him cringe in response but he stifles back a flinch.

“How the hell’d you manage to place a spot ahead of me?!” the blonde boy shouts as he shakes a threatening fist.

Well, that answers his earlier question.

“You didn’t even use your quirk! You cheatin’ or something?!” Bakugou continues to yell. “I know you got in on recommendation. You payin’ off the teacher for these scores?!”

“No,” is all Shouto says in response, flashing him a shallow glare.

Bakugou growls, snarls as he bears his teeth like an animal. He exaggerates his steps as he stomps away, grumbling to himself under his breath. God, what an asshole, getting bent out of shape by something so trivial. Shouto didn’t see him approach that girl who came ahead of both of them. Why is he so pissed off at Shouto and not her?

That cheery girl from before was right. He does have issues.

 

 

“So how was school?” Fuyumi asks, stirring an egg into her bowl of rice. “Tell me everything. I was thinking about you all day.”

Shouto hums. He really isn’t in the mood.

“It was okay,” he says while he readjusts his sitting position. “Nothing special.”

“Did you make any new friends?”

“No.”

Fuyumi frowns before taking a bite of her dinner.

“Did you try, at least?”

“Why does that matter?” he snaps, sounding more irritated than he intended. “I don’t feel like dealing with that. Having friends would just make everything more complicated.”

“Hmm. Did he tell you that?”

His chopsticks freeze mid-air. The sticky rice droops, then drops back into his bowl.

She’s right. Dammit. Shouto hates when he catches himself thinking those poisonous thoughts his father has drilled into his head. Fuyumi tries to point them out when she notices them. He appreciates it because he wants to change, but it never fails to make him feel like a complete screw-up.

“There’s nothing wrong with making friends, Shouto. It would probably help with your Hero training, if anything.” Fuyumi reaches down to pick up a piece of pickled radish. “It would be good to hang out with some other kids your own age. You could go out and have fun and stuff. You deserve a break every once in a while, you know? Just try not to be so cold.”

Making friends is so much easier said than done. Still, Shouto considers her words carefully.

Shortly after their conversation, their father walks into the dining room, trademark glass of whiskey in his hand. Shouto and Fuyumi both straighten their backs and continue eating. Fuyumi is already staring at the floor.

“How was your first day at school, Shouto?” his father asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Ugh. Having to answer the same question twice in a row pisses Shouto off.

“Okay,” is all he says. Shouto brings a large helping of rice to his mouth.

“How did you score in the preliminary quirk testing?”

Nausea is building. The rice between his chopsticks are suddenly unappetizing. How does he father know that was part of the curriculum? Does he seriously remember that far back in his life, or did he snoop around and find out some other way?

“I came in second,” Shouto admits. There is no use lying. Shouto wouldn’t be surprised if his father called the school and checked ahead of time, making this into some sort of sick test of his honesty.

His father flashes an expression Shouto cannot read.

“I’ll see you at seven o’clock training,” his father says before turning around and leaving. Fuyumi looks up at Shouto with concerned eyes. She bites her lip, corners of her mouth curling into a frown.

Fuck.

“Thanks for dinner,” Shouto says quickly as he stands up, gathering his dishes still half-full of food. Fuyumi says nothing. She probably finds their father’s words as ominous as Shouto does.

Tossing his dishes into the kitchen sink, Shouto groans and runs his fingers through his hair. He opens a bottom cabinet and pulls out one of his father’s liquor bottles, uncapping it with frantic hands. Three deep swigs should be enough; he gulps it down without a second of hesitation. It feels like fire as it hits the back of his tongue, but Shouto endures. It’s really nothing new.

The sensation of his throat burning is one Shouto has become very accustomed to.

 

Chapter Text

 

Three mouthfuls of whiskey are just enough to calm Shouto’s nerves as he sets foot in the training room. His father is already standing in the middle of the room, lips curled in a snarl. Those obnoxious flames are dancing along his shoulders; his usual attempt to look intimidating.

Shouto’s not scared of him, though. He has become an expert on what that asshole expects.

“Show me how you used your quirk in school today,” his father says as he crosses his arms. “I want to see how you managed to screw up.”

“Can’t we just skip all that?” Shouto groans, rolling his eyes. “I know why you wanted me to come in here.”

His father raises an eyebrow as if he doesn’t know what Shouto’s talking about. But Shouto knows his father knows exactly what he’s talking about.

“I did my best during those trials. I dunno what else you’d want from me.” Shouto’s knees make a subtle thud as they hit the floor. “You want a blowjob, right? Come over here and I’ll suck your dick.”

“You’ve been in that school one goddamn day and you’ve become this much more arrogant?” His father stomps forward and approaches him, his flames shooting up towards the ceiling. “What gives you the right, boy?”

The grip Shouto suddenly feels on his hair is violent, determined to tear it from his scalp, but Shouto keeps a straight face. It always pisses his father off when he doesn’t flinch.

“I came in first when I was your age,” he snarls. “I expected you to do the same.”

“Yeah, well,” Shouto says as he rolls his eyes again. “That didn’t happen.”

“What were the quirks of your peers?”

Shouto shrugs.

“I don’t remember.”

A forceful blow knocks Shouto backwards and he falls flat on his back. Before he has time to scramble to his feet, a heavy foot rests between his legs, pressing against the stiffening cock in his pants.

“You’d best remember,” he warns in a growl.

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit. Why is Shouto getting hard already? What about this is arousing at all?

“Get off,” Shouto seethes, irritated but still resisting the urge to press his hips into the contact. His demand is rewarded with his father’s heel digging into his balls, grinding against the tender skin of his sac. Pain shoots up from his groin and through his spine, but his cock still twitches in response.

It’s so easy to control his quirk, why can’t he control this?

“Tell me, Shouto,” his father says, pressing the front of his foot further into his cock.

“A girl came in first,” he replies through gritted teeth. “She had some kind of creation quirk or something. I dunno. I didn’t pay attention.”

“A girl? A female classmate outranked you?”

Of course his father would find fault in that. No surprise considering how he treats Fuyumi. His father once told him that he didn’t even test Fuyumi’s quirk when she was young to determine if she was a worthy successor. “Women shouldn’t be Heroes,” he says. “There’s a reason so few are in the top ranks.”

Does that mean every time his father works with a female Hero, he thinks less of her by default? What a fucking asshole.

“Who was beneath you?” his father demands.

“Some dick with an explosion quirk.”

“Beneath him?”

“I told you I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention.”

His father rubs his foot down Shouto’s cock, pulling back the foreskin and exposing the sensitive head. Shouto writhes beneath him while biting back a moan.

“You need to pay attention. They’re your competition.”

“School isn’t a competition, dumbass! Now get the hell off me!”

Without warning, Shouto directs blood flow to his right side, generating immense pressure that he blasts up in sharp icicles towards his father’s face. As his father pulls back to dodge the attack, Shouto jumps to his feet. He pants slightly as he spreads his legs for better stability. His father smirks.

“Well done,” he says. “You’re able to react more quickly to threats. It’s too bad that your ice is so weak against my fire.”

Sparring with his father is practically impossible using only his ice, but Shouto adamantly refuses to use his left side. It’s incredibly difficult to fight the impulse of summoning fire when he’s being attacked, however. The room heats up; Shouto’s left fist tightens to ward off the temptation as he pulls back, evading a strong blast of fire his father summons towards him.

“You can’t just dodge attacks forever, you know. You have to fight back sooner or later.”

Sweat builds at his temples and drips down his jawline while his father approaches, launching attack after attack of heavy flames. Shouto’s legs move uncoordinated, threatening to give out as he backs up and veers away. Every shot of ice he manages to launch at his father produces steam as it melts instantly in the air.

Why does Shouto even bother? These one-sided fights are obviously started just to humiliate him.

“Are you going to just run and hide while other Heroes pick up your slack?” his father taunts. “What good are you then, Shouto?”

It’s not fair, Shouto laments when his back hits the wall. Even if he does use his flames, it’s no match for his father’s strength. Fighting back is futile; it always has been. The only thing he can ever contend with is his father’s physical strength, and even that is-

“Fight back,” his father growls when he takes Shouto by the wrists, pinning them against either side of his head. His hands heat up until Shouto’s right side is steaming at the contact. When Shouto looks up, his father is wearing that horrifying, ugly sneer of triumph. It makes Shouto sick.

But he obeys. Shouto does try to fight back, gritting his teeth and pushing against those fiery hands despite his father pressing all 260lbs of his body weight against him. His father budges but barely falters. He slides Shouto’s wrists up until they are pinned together above his head, then releases one of his own hands, holding both of Shouto’s wrists back in one hot, determined grip.

“Fight back,” he commands again, more demanding this time. Shouto knows he’s just showing off. There is a sense of accomplishment seeing his father’s braced arm shake as Shouto pushes against him, but it’s still not enough to force him off. Shouto can feel the top layer of his skin being eaten away as the heat of his father’s hands becomes more intense.

Fuck, his father is strong. He can’t imagine how Fuyumi feels with his hands on her. Bet he could crush the bones in her skinny arm with one heavy squeeze. No wonder she’s so terrified of him.

It comes as no surprise when Shouto feels fingertips against his abdomen. One of his father’s punishments. Of course. Of course.

“Get your hands off me,” Shouto demands.

Shouto twists and thrashes against the contact, attempts to kick him in the stomach with little avail.

“Then show me power that proves you deserved that number one spot,” his father says.

“How about you show me proof you deserve the number one spot?” Shouto sneers with a crooked grin, landing another futile blow against his stomach.

It’s practically suicide but Shouto doesn’t care. That look of absolute stupor that appears on his father’s face makes it worth whatever punishment Shouto will inevitably suffer through.

His father’s fists always move so fast that Shouto never sees them coming. He only feels the blow against his temple and the subsequent impact when he hits the floor. Dark spots dance in the corners of his vision as he attempts to push himself up, groaning while holding his head.

“Don’t move,” his father snarls, voice dark and sinister. Shouto recognizes that tone; it’s the one he uses before he threatens to hurt Fuyumi.

Shouto instantly lets himself go slack, not wanting to hear his father’s sick threats. He doesn’t want his mind to betray him, to flash him mental images of the sick things his father claims he will do to her if he doesn’t listen. His father has carried out his threats only once, but it was more than enough to convince Shouto to never disobey again.

Defeated, Shouto stays on the floor, his hands tightening to furious fists as his arms shake. He continues gritting his teeth when he is rolled over onto his back. Ice builds on his right arm in response to the sudden sinking feeling of vulnerability. That stupid sly smile looking down on him, taunting him, no doubt a sign of the horrors to come.

Goddammit fucking shit Shouto fucking hates his father. Hates him with every possible ounce of his being. Able to get him to comply with a simple, sinister threat, to force Shouto to obey him like a trained dog. Shouto despises how effortlessly he is rendered useless.

If he was stronger, he could protect himself. Could protect her. It’s such a shame Shouto has been through so much harrowing training, yet has still learned so little. He’s so disgusted with his own failures.

“Now pull down your pants,” Shouto is told.

His trembling arms reach to the waistband of his sweatpants, sliding them down with little hesitation. Cock still hard, it springs out from the confines of his underwear, twitching when it is exposed to the air.

“Why are you so hard?” his father teases, smiling. “Does getting put in your place really get you off like that?”

“F-Fuck off,” he stutters, voice void of conviction. “This has nothing to do with you.”

Shouto shuts his eyes when he sees his father lean down, expecting a hand to wrap around his aching cock as some faux gesture of care. He tries to anticipate his father shoving his careless fingers up his ass, stretching him much too fast before stuffing him full of that wretched cock. Nausea brews, his heart rate picks up; it feels like it has happened hundreds of times now and yet he is still not used to it.

Shouto’s rage has always kept him from dissociating during his punishments, leaving his mind to experience every gory detail of his assault every single time. Down to the last drop of sweat running down his neck, down to the tell-tale change of pitch in his father’s grunts. No doubt this time will be the same.

But those familiar hands never touch him. Shouto’s eyes shoot open when he feels a hot, wet sensation envelope his dick all at once. His back arches taut and his eyes roll into the back of his head; only after taking a few deep breaths can he contain himself enough to look down.

His father is sucking his cock.

Never, ever in his life has his father’s mouth come anywhere close to his cock. That was always Shouto’s role, getting on his knees to have a cock stuffed down his throat, being forced to gag and retch on the disgusting thing. Receiving a blowjob was always something Shouto imagined while he was jerking off, but never did he actually expect to experience it.

(It was never his father, though. Always a pretty girl, looking up at him with a shy smile as she wrapped her lips around his cock.

One or twice when he drank too much, it was Fuyumi, but that is much too sick for him to ever admit.)

Shouto’s hands instinctively reach down, running his hands through his father’s hair. Eyes the same color as his own gaze up, predatory and hungry while his father’s flat tongue traces up and down his cock. Shouto can’t stifle a moan when he feels a flick against the sensitive ridge beneath the head; his hips shudder and buck, desperate and instinctive and needy.

Fuck, it feels good. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The lewd sounds of wet sucking fill his ears as his father continues to move. It sounds so filthy, so wrong. A deep moan reverberates over his cock and Shouto’s orgasm nearly peaks; his balls tighten and draw up, ready to empty into his father’s hot mouth.

“I…” Shouto wheezes, “I’m… I’m g… gonna…”

He thrusts his hips forward for more contact but the heat around him is suddenly gone; his father pulls off his cock and sits up, never breaking eye contact with Shouto. A loud yelp escapes Shouto’s lips and he smacks his hands back against the floor. He bucks and writhes, shakes, yearning for the sensation to return.

“What are you doing?!” he cries. “W-Why did you stop?! D-Don’t…!”

The sound of his own voice sounds so pitiful but any inhibition and defiance is lost. All Shouto can think about is cumming. He’s so close, so goddamn close, how could his father stop? What would possess him to just stop like that?

“Don’t touch yourself,” his father growls when he sees Shouto reach down towards his aching cock. “Don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”

“F-Fuck you!” Shouto yells, his body jerking, back arching. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Tears form in his eyes but he shuts them tight, determined to keep them at bay. God, he’s still so hard, it aches, it hurts.

“Think about what you’ve done, Shouto. I want you to lay there and think about what you’ve done.”

Shouto slaps his hands over his reddened face and rolls over onto his side, out of breath, trembling. His body is so desperate to cum that he can’t think straight. Teeth sink into the tender flesh of his bottom lip, determined to fight the sickness building in his stomach. He writhes and whimpers, hips gyrating on their own.

“F-Fuck…!” he whines while curling up into a ball, vainly attempting to fight the feeling. Nails dig into his palms to ward off the instinct to wrap them around his cock. It’s torture.

“Are you sorry, Shouto?”

“Yes!”

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry!”

With a satisfied smirk, his father walks over to the table, grabbing a towel and wiping his mouth. He folds it up and stuffs it into his pocket.

“Don’t you dare touch yourself after I leave,” his father commands. “I will know. There will be consequences.”

The sound of the door sliding closed reaches his ears and Shouto rolls onto his knees. He crosses his arms over his stomach and leans forward, resting his forehead on the floor. His cock is still throbbing, begging to be touched. Tears roll down his cheeks; it’s the first time he has cried in what feels like years.

He suddenly misses his father fucking him as punishment. The pain of being split in half pales in comparison to this.

 

The next morning, Shouto wakes up in a daze. The night before weighs heavily on his mind; it felt like an eternity before his cock stopped being hard. What unbearable agony. He hates himself for being so obviously distressed, for having given his father another cruel punishment for his arsenal. Shouto can’t screw up again. He can’t bear to suffer through that torture in the future.

Holy shit, though. His father sucked his cock. Shouto always assumed his father would find that too humbling or degrading or… something. Who knows. He’s such a proud bastard. There is something about it that excites Shouto though, getting that pompous jerk to wrap his lips around Shouto’s cock, diligently working his tongue to suck the cum straight from his balls… it makes him feel powerful. His father, groveling between Shouto’s legs as he blows him. If he hadn’t been blueballed so painfully last night, Shouto would’ve choked him with his cum and given him a taste of his own medicine.

Dominance and revenge. What a thrilling combination.

Shouto has to stop thinking about it. He already feels his dick filling out and he’s barely crawled out of bed. Jerking off to the thought of his father is not how he wants to start his day.

After getting himself dressed, Shouto pads down the hallway to eat breakfast. Fuyumi is in the kitchen and standing at the counter top, diligently making a sandwich for her lunch.

“Sorry, can’t make breakfast,” she says. “Internship’s early.”

He doesn’t reply, just digs in the pantry in search of bread.

“Hey, remember when I used to make you a bento?” Fuyumi asks, cutting the sandwich in half and giggling. “You used to hate those little animal toothpicks so much.”

Of course Shouto remembers. What a hassle it was, dealing with his father’s stupid dietary restrictions and demands. As Shouto sticks a piece of bread in the toaster, he recalls what a pain in the ass it was to stop by the convenience store when Fuyumi forgot to make him his lunch. Shouto was irritated with her back then, but he kind of understands now. Things were really tough back then. It really took a toll on her.

(Still does, no doubt.)

“Have a good one,” Fuyumi calls to him as he slips on his shoes.

“You too,” he says back before sliding open the front door. The sun beats down, practically blinding him while he heads towards the gate. Another day suited for outdoor Hero training.

Anxiety suddenly brews in his stomach. What sort of bullshit is he going to be subjected to today, he wonders?

 

As Shouto digs in his desk between class periods, he hears the grating sound of metal against flooring. He looks up to see that kid from yesterday, Bakugou, sitting backwards on a chair. Legs spread, Bakugou crosses his arms over the backrest. He leans in so close that Shouto can feel the heat of his breath on his face, ruby eyes fixed with his own. Shouto blinks and pulls back, his upper lip curling in disgust. Was this jerk trying to kiss him or something?

“The hell happened to your face?” Bakugou says while leaning back again, pointing his thumb towards Shouto’s eyes. Shouto knew it was only a matter of time before someone would ask about his burn scar.

“None of your business,” Shouto replies shortly.

“Damn dude, chill! I was just asking!” Bakugou puts his hands up in exaggerated surrender. “Looks like you got a fuckin’ fist to the face. You must’ve really pissed somebody off.”

Huh? Ohh, that’s right. His father had broken a few blood vessels under his eye and along his cheek when he struck him in the face. This guy’s pretty observant.

Wait. Would it hurt to tell the truth? Shouto pauses for a moment to consider it. “Just try not to be so cold,” he remembers his sister saying last night. Is this one of those moments he should behave a certain way?

Ugh, damn Fuyumi. Now he’d feel guilty if he didn’t listen to her advice.

“I got it while training,” he admits. “Just hit my head a little too hard on the ground.”

“What, your old man land a blow?”

Shouto’s eyes widen; he furrows his brow. Did he mishear him?

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about, dipshit. You’re that asshole Endeavor’s kid.”

The mention of his father’s name catches Shouto off guard. He clenches his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping.

“How… how did y-”

“Strawberry shortcake.” Bakugou flicks his wrist, geturing at Shouto’s hair. “You’ve been in magazines, yeah? I remember. Never forgot that stupid dye job.”

Magazines? Shouto has been in the press in the past; his father frames articles about himself in his office, that pretentious asshole, and Shouto remembers being in a few as a child, but… has he been in any recently? Hopefully not…

“Said you had two quirks, too. Half fire like him and… something. I dunno. Isn’t fucking-”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Shouto interrupts, a plea sparking in his shallow glare. The hands on his desk squeeze into fists, nails digging into the skin of his palm. If this dick can keep his mouth shut, Shouto can avoid that irritating attention for as long as possible. It’s delaying the inevitable, but it’s certainly worth a try.

Bakugou blinks, then stares off to the side.

“All right, whatever,” he grumbles. “It’s not like anybody would give a shit.”

Pushing himself up, Bakugou spins the chair around and slides it back under the desk in front of him.

“Has anyone told you you look fuckin’ stupid, by the way?” Bakugou says with a crooked grin. “How the hell do you manage to dye your hair like that?”

“It’s not-”

His sentence trails off when he sees Bakugou turn away, clearly uninterested in hearing the answer to his rhetorical question. Bakugou yanks on his sagging pants before sliding back into his seat near the window. Shouto watches closely, expecting him to say something to the boy behind him that he is constantly talking to.

Thankfully, Bakugou remains silent until Aizawa calls the class to attention. He keeps his word. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Shouto straightens up in his chair.

Why is Bakugou so obnoxious? That girl — Ochaco, was it? — definitely read him correctly yesterday. That kid has some serious issues.

(So does Shouto, though. He can’t really judge.)

 

Shouto stands silently at his locker before Hero training class, ignoring the idle chatter from his classmates around him. His curiosity is piqued when he opens the suitcase containing his Hero costume. It is neatly folded with a piece of paper sitting on top, a list of costume features written under his name.

He had received something in the mail a few weeks ago requesting his measurements and specifications for his first costume. After getting Fuyumi to help with the measurements, Shouto sealed up the return letter, not bothering to request anything specific for his costume. He was unfortunately caught by his sister, who snatched the letter out of his hand.

“Costumes are important!” she said in a joking scold. “Give it to me, I’ll do it!”

The costume is a white, two-piece jumpsuit with matching white boots stuffed in the bottom of the suitcase. And some kind of backpack thing for… what? Shouto looks over the paper that had been sitting on the new clothes; apparently, it heats his body to prevent frostbite when using his quirk.

Huh. Not bad. He expected worse considering how Fuyumi likes to dress.

After donning his new costume, Shouto examines himself in the full-body mirror. It looks fine, fits all right, but there’s something bothering him about his appearance.

His left side. The crimson of his hair and the mottled skin around his eye seem so much more apparent when juxtaposed with the white of his costume. Shouto grinds his teeth; his father seems to haunt him wherever Shouto goes, his presence being known even when he’s gone.

Putting his hand over his heart, Shouto generates ice along the fabric, the crystals slowly covering the entirety of the left side of his body. It crackles as it creeps up his neck, spreading across his face until his burn scar is completely covered. The last of it conceals the red strands on his head, encasing his side in a frigid layer of ice.

He’ll erase every part of himself that he attributes to that man, every little reminder and similarity. If Shouto becomes a Hero, it will be by his own will. He’ll become so famous and admired that everyone will forget the haughty Hero name “Endeavor.”

Shouto will be infinitely more heroic than that villain ever was.

 

The assignment during Hero class is simple enough. They are split into pairs and assigned the roles of Heroes or Villains, the Heroes given the task to steal a target while the Villains are on defense. The first teams called include that kid Bakugou, who is assigned the role of a Villain. Shouto was able to see his quirk used yesterday; he’s curious how he handles it while fighting.

As Shouto watches the battle begin, he is impressed. Bakugou is even more obnoxious than he is in class, spouting boastful bullshit while violently attacking without restraint. His classmates watch in awe as he fights that kid who sits behind him in class, muttering to each other as they gawk at his strength.

There’s an odd feeling that wells in his chest. It’s not admiration, not intimidation… maybe it’s respect? The bastard refuses to back down even when faced with imminent threats. The other kid seems so weak but Bakugou continues his unrestrained blows, utilizing his quirk in ways Shouto has never seen before.

His classmates question his devious techniques, but All Might does not disapprove.

“It’s a viable strategy,” All Might declares as he watches them fight. “He’s playing the part. Acting like a true villain would.”

“He acted like a true villain would,” his father says. “It was a good test of your strength.”

Shouto blinks and he’s suddenly in the training room standing in front of his father. He had gotten in a fight after school and it was less one-sided than fights tended to be; the other kid had a quirk that turned his skin to metal, rendering his ice quirk practically useless.

“That boy you fought. How did you beat him while still managing to get a black eye?”

The hot grip on Shouto’s jaw is vice-like as his father turns his head from side to side, examining the damage to his face. Shouto winces as a bruising finger grinds into his cheekbone.

“It’s nothing,” Shouto insists, glaring up into those familiar, angry blue eyes.

As soon as his face is freed, Shouto feels a harsh sting when his father slaps him with an open palm. His wide stance keeps him from falling over, but he still wavers, flinches.

“I asked you a question,” his father growls.

"He didn't… he didn’t seem like he knew what he was doing, but... but he...”

“Huh?”

Three of his classmates turn when they hear Shouto speak, his whisper cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their gazes feel heavy on his skin; Shouto freezes, attempts to reorient himself when he realizes where he is.

Suddenly, a deep tremor wracks the building, the floor beneath them violently shaking. Everyone turns to the broadcasted battle.

“What was that just now?!” his red-haired classmate yells, reacting to a loud explosion on the television screen. The smoke on the screen clears, revealing the green-haired boy wincing as he clutches his smoldering back. The fight almost seems one-sided now.

“He doesn't seem like he knows what he was doing,” Shouto repeats with more conviction, “but he's actually pretty smart.”

The rest of his peer turn to face him.

“What are you talking about?” asks the boy standing near the television.

“A feint attack like that requires an extreme amount of precision,” the girl to his left explains. “He had to calculate the physics and demonstrate control over his quirk.”

Shouto nods his head despite comprehending so few of her words. He hears and recognizes them, but the meaning behind them is lost.

It doesn’t take long to realize where he actually is, but… has Shouto been watching the fight this entire time? How did he know what was going on during the battle when he could’ve sworn he was just standing in the training room?

He reaches up and touches his jaw, a twinge of soreness running along his gums. There is a stinging on his cheek that throbs in time with his heartbeat, too. Still, the battle between Bakugou and his classmate seems incredibly familiar. Is it possible to be two places at the same time? That is certainly what it feels like.

Watching the rest of the fight proves difficult; Shouto has trouble paying attention as he watches the screen, still feeling like cotton is stuffed in his ears. The other kid — goddammit, Shouto still can’t remember his name — manages to defeat Bakugou at the end of the simulation. An outcome he definitely didn’t anticipate.

Shouto wishes he had paid better attention. Any strategies to defeat those two would be viable information to have.

 

He’s assigned the role of Hero during the assignment. The guy with a bunch of arms is his partner; his quirk is a little off-putting, but he’s definitely powerful. Shouto was able to witness his strength first-hand during the testing yesterday.

"One's on the north side of the fourth floor,” his partner says after using some sort of listening technique. “I think the other is on the same level somewhere. Both are barefoot."

Barefoot? That makes things easy. Freeze them in place, take the target. He can do this all on his own.

"You should leave,” he warns, placing his right hand on the wall. Ice spreads quickly across the metal wall and flooring.

The guy doesn’t have to be told twice. He turns around and exits while Shouto effortlessly covers every surface of the building in a thick sheet of ice. When he’s sure the entire building is encapsulated, he heads towards the stairwell, his boots squeaking as he walks across the ice.

When he was very young, Shouto used to dream about encasing his home in ice. It would’ve served little purpose, but the very idea that he was capable of it always fascinated him. He used to spread ice across his floor and his siblings would slide around on their slippers. Natsuo would always laugh when Fuyumi lost her footing.

Shouto now dreams about setting those walls alight. Burning every beam to charred splinters. Sometimes, he imagines his father trapped inside, unable to escape before succumbing to the smoke. Probably impossible considering his quirk, but it didn’t stop Shouto from imagining it.

Sometimes, those dreams involve the rest of his family, too. Everyone caught in the flames, even himself. He much prefers the dreams where his gaze is fixed on his own hands, watching as his flesh blisters and cracks, peeling off and exposing the muscle. His bones crumble like dust. Turn to ash. Flutter away in a scorching gust of wind.

That version of his dreams is much less unsettling than the ones involving his mother or sister. Watching them burn to death while they scream, while they cry out his name, while they look so so scared wh-

Shouto stumbles on a stair. He braces his arm against the wall, stopping to catch his breath. His hand instinctively reaches up to his chest.

Goddammit, why is he thinking about that now? Why can’t he keep his attention on such simple tasks at hand?

Deep breaths in through his nose, out through his mouth. He gains the clarity to continue his ascension up the stairwell, managing to pass the door frame of the fourth floor with a straight, determined face.

Just as he anticipated. His classmates are cemented to the floor, their feet encased in ice. As he walks by, he notices the boy with the tail squirming in place. He’s determined, Shouto’ll give him that.

All Might’s voice rings over the loudspeaker when Shouto puts his hand on the fake bomb. An easy victory. Even using his left side to melt ice makes him uneasy; after biting back a growl, Shouto releases heat into the air, melting the cave of ice until the air is thick with humidity.

The other team stood no chance against him. He has been practicing scenarios like this since he was young, learning ice techniques to subdue people without injuring them. His father might be an asshole, but Shouto has certainly learned a thing or two from him about helpful rescue tactics.

"It's not your fault,” Shouto says when he notices the intimidation in his classmate’s eyes. “We're just playing on different levels."

Is that rude to say? Shouto doesn’t have the mental energy to worry about it anymore. He’s out of fucks to give for the day. Fuyumi’s advice can stand to wait until tomorrow.

It’s not like it’s a lie, anyway. School may not be a competition, but he can’t help but feel overly-compelled to prove how much stronger he is than the rest of his inexperienced peers.

 

Shouto stares at the sidewalk while he waits for his driver after school. He can’t stop thinking about those bizarre episodes of disconnect that he seems to be having. While he’s experiencing them, it feels so real that he has trouble distinguishing them from reality. He’s aware they’re memories after they’ve faded, but his brain always feels so fuzzy when he realizes what has happened… this has occurred before on rare occasions when he was young, too. It never seemed this bad, though.

Could it be happening more often than he’s aware of? Is that possible? What a terrifying notion, being disconnected with the present. He wishes he could figure out why these feelings keep happening, or what seems to trigger them at the very least.

His phone buzzes. Shouto slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, opening it with a flick of his finger.

 

fuyu [4:13pm]: I’m at the grocery store do you need anything?

 

Of course. Who else would it be? Thank god his father is too stupid to know how to send text messages.

 

Shouto Todoroki [4:13pm]: No

fuyu [4:14pm]: K

fuyu [4:14pm]: Are you home yet?

 

Shouto snorts. Fuyumi knows school gets out at 4pm. How the hell would he be able to get home this early? He stuffs his phone back into his pocket, not bothering to answer.

Three minutes later, his phone vibrates again against his leg. Shouto ignores it; he doesn’t feel like dealing with Fuyumi’s nagging right now. He takes a deep breath, attempting to lose himself in the scent of the blooming sakura trees above him.

Another three minutes tick by and like clockwork, his phone buzzes. Shouto climbs into the back of his family’s escort car, not bothering to check the message. As soon as he sits down his body relaxes, flops over limp until he is leaning against the window. The traffic seems bad today; bet it would’ve been quicker if he’d have just taken the train.

That annoying vibration goes off again, again, again in rapid succession. Groaning, Shouto finally opens his phone. What could his sister possibly want?

 

fuyu [4:17pm]: did you get my last message?

fuyu [4:20pm]: Why arent you answering?

fuyu [4:20pm]: Are you ok???

fuyu [4:20pm]: please text me when you get this!

 

Another vibration.

 

fuyu [4:21pm]: Shouto text me please!!!

 

Shouto rolls his eyes so hard they become sore.

 

Shouto Todoroki [4:21pm]: shit I’m fine calm down

fuyu [4:21pm]: Ok thanks! I’m making soba for dinner 

 

God damn, she is so paranoid and annoying. Shouto is thankful his sister still lives at home while she goes to college, though. He isn’t sure he’d be able to take care of himself otherwise. Who’d make him food? Maybe she can teach him? He can barely make himself toast in the morning…

A heavy sigh rises from his chest when he remembers Fuyumi popping up in his memories today. Maybe he’s just stressed about all the change happening and it’s wearing on his mind. It seems like everything has happened at once; new school, new peer groups, new routine. Fuyumi has constantly said that change can be a good thing, but it’s difficult to expect good things when there’s no guarantee.

Shouto has always been a pessimist. Having zero expectations means you can never be disappointed.

 

“What’s up, Shouto? You’re barely eating.”

Shouto shakes his head, snapping himself out of a daydream. His head has been feeling more and more like this, his attention wavering, his thought processes sedated. If he isn’t thinking about the past, his mind exists in limbo, blank and weary. It’s infinitely better than dwelling on hurtful memories, at least.

“Ahh, sorry,” he replies, reaching down with his chopsticks. “Long day, I guess.”

That typical skeptical, uneasy expression flashes on her face.

“You make any new friends yet?” she asks.

Is Fuyumi going to ask him this every single damn day until he graduates? Fuck, he sure hopes not.

“I dunno,” Shouto says while dipping his soba into his cup of mentsuyu. “I learned somebody’s name. I guess that’s a start.”

Fuyumi nods her head in acknowledgment. She brings her cup of sauce to her mouth to keep it from spilling.

“He knew who I was,” he continues. “He knew I was Dad’s son.”

“Huh. Interesting.” The dripping noodles on her chopsticks disappear into her mouth. “How did he know? Did he say?”

“Something about seeing it in a magazine. I dunno.” Shouto shrugs. “He must have a good memory or something, because I don’t remember being in one since I was like, eight.”

“Weird.”

A sudden jolt of pain shoots through Shouto’s temple; he hisses and grabs his head, dropping his chopsticks in the process.

“Are you okay?” Fuyumi asks him.

“Yeah, just a headache…” he says, looking down at his dinner.

“Can I get you something? Do you need some medicine? You drugged him with mom’s medicine when it happened with you too, didn’t you?”

Shouto deeply furrows his brow, turning to her.

“What… what are you talking about?” he stammers.

Fuyumi looks slightly bewildered.

“Medicine. Like, aspirin or something? It’s obviously screwing him up if you have to give him medication to calm him down.”

What?

“I don’t need medicine to calm down,” he responds, his words wavering. “I’m just… I’ll be okay. It’s no big deal.”

“No, not to calm down. This isn’t just panic anymore and you can’t just punish that out of him. There is something seriously wrong with Shouto. I mean for your headache.”

What the hell she saying?

“There’s nothing ‘seriously wrong’ with me,” Shouto snaps as he clutches his head. “Don’t… don’t say that. I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say he’s obviously close to losing it again that. Probably for good. Are you sure and when it happens, all your effort to create ‘your masterpiece’ or whatever it’s just a headache you call him will have been for nothing?”

“Fuyumi, stop trying to confuse me,” Shouto groans, sitting up on his knees, leaning on the table to stand. His knees feel unstable and weak. He takes deep, ragged breaths and clutches his head tighter.

Isn’titob viousto what’s youthatyou’ recausing all these is  sues in going him? Ordo y ou just notcare?What  on ex cusecould youposs ibly haveto bedo ing Shouto this toh im?”

Shouto stands to his feet, hobbling towards the kitchen. Fuyumi sits up on her knees. She’s calling his name, but her words sound distant and muddled, as if spoken underwater.

Arms shaking, he reaches into the familiar bottom cabinet, frantically unscrewing the lid off a bottle of whiskey. He tips it back and chugs, his throat igniting as he swallows four mouthfuls this time.

His vision steadies. Brain clears. Things feel… normal again. Shouto stashes the bottle back into the liquor cabinet, hoping Fuyumi doesn’t hear the clink of the glass hitting against the other bottles.

“Shouto, what’s wrong?” Fuyumi cries as she enters the kitchen, bringing her hands together. “Is everything all right? You’re sweating!”

Ugh, she’s right. Shouto leans over the countertop, wipes his brow, feels sweat dampen his sleeve. Pants rise from his throat as he puts his head down, relishing the coolness of the marble surface. He feels the strong burn of alcohol through every breath.

“I’m fine,” he assures her, words pushed through his fiery throat. “Really, I’m fine. I’ll be okay.”

“Please go lay down. You don’t look well at all… maybe try getting some sleep and take something in the morning. Can I get you something? Water? You sure you don’t want some medicine?”

Fuyumi’s nagging makes him grit his teeth but at least her words are making sense now. He lifts his head up, fighting the dizziness when he turns around.

“I’m alright,” he says with a nod. “Thanks for dinner, sis.”

She still wears that bemused expression when he walks past her, heading towards his bedroom in a confounded stupor. Shouto doesn’t bother removing his uniform as he collapses onto his futon, staring up at the ceiling while he relishes the blankness of his mind.

It’s only the second day of school and Shouto feels so defeated, but he’ll prove himself and overcome this weakness. He just needs to try harder. Become stronger. Prove himself to everyone.

“Everything’s gonna be okay in the end,” she promised on his twelfth birthday. “Everything is gonna be normal.”

 

 

 

Chapter Text

 

There is a dull ache along Shouto’s brow when he wakes up the next morning, his body covered in sweat, school uniform he slept in now askew and wrinkled. As the heavy haze clears from his brain, he starts to remember last night. Remembers Fuyumi trying to trick him, bringing up old things she had said to her father years ago when she thought Shouto wasn’t listening… What was the point of all that? Some words sounded distant, some clearly coming straight from her lips. It may have been his memories acting up again, but it’s doubtful that was the only thing he was hearing.

Ohh well. Whatever. Maybe today will be better, he considers while taking a clean blazer out of his closet. Maybe a long night of sleep was what he needed.

After getting dressed and brushing his teeth, Shouto heads down the hallway towards the front of the house. The smell of fried eggs lingers in the air. As he approaches the kitchen, his father steps out of one of the spare rooms and blocks his path.

“What the hell?” Shouto mumbles. “Were you just hiding in there waiting for me?”

“You avoided me yesterday,” his father says. “You disobeyed me, didn’t you?”

There is a brief silence; it takes Shouto a moment to realize what he is even talking about. He must mean two nights ago when his father stopped sucking him off just as he was about to cum. Shouto was told not to finish himself off, that he had to let his straining cock soften and suffer through the feeling of being unfulfilled. It was so agonizing that his brain must’ve wiped that memory clean.

(If only Shouto could do that with all those other memories he longs to forget.)

“No I didn’t,” Shouto quips. “I followed your stupid rule. Not like it’s any of your business, but I never jerk off, anyway.”

“Then why did you avoid me, boy?”

“Because you piss me off. Is that a good enough answer for you?”

Shouto is taken by the collar and pulled forward.

“Get on your knees,” he commands him with a snarl. “You were so eager to suck my cock that night. Now you’ve got my permission.”

There is the subtle scraping noise of silverware against a pot in the kitchen. The shuffling of foam slippers across wooden flooring. Fuck, here? His father is doing this here?

He obeys immediately; he can’t take any chances. Not when Fuyumi is so close, such an easy target for his father’s wrath. Shouto crouches down and diligently unbuttoning his father’s pants. The quicker he can get this over with, the better.

“Still eager, I see.”

“Fuck you,” Shouto sneers while turning his head, hopeful the hallway remains deserted.

“You’d better hurry or she’ll see.”

Shouto isn’t sure if it is luck or misfortune that he knows just how his father likes his cock sucked. He takes the half-limp dick into his mouth, sucking hard, grasping his father’s balls with the other hand. The bitter taste of soap still lingers on his skin and makes Shouto nearly gag. That strong scent, the same as his obnoxious cologne… Shouto hates every moment he smells it on his father, reminding him of moments like this, moments when it’s overpowering his senses from being way too goddamn close to him.

His father’s cock fills out quickly in his mouth. Shouto’s jaw aches as he works up saliva beneath his tongue, easing the friction against his lips. Spit gathers at the corner of his mouth and dribbles down his chin.

“That’s it,” his father groans. “Take it all.”

The sudden jab against the back of his mouth makes Shouto’s stomach lurch. His father is thrusting into his mouth, the head of his cock slipping past his tonsils and nearly sliding down his throat. Tears build in Shouto’s stinging eyes as he fights the urge to choke. Thank fuck Shouto hasn’t eaten yet; he’s positive he would’ve thrown up all over his father’s cock.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Sick bastard always looks so smug whenever it happens.

Shouto silently prays his sister is still in the kitchen. He couldn’t bear to let her see his mouth stuffed full of his father’s cock. He also couldn’t bear to let her see his own erection straining against his pants, tucked against his thigh. It happens every. Single. Time. Disgusting.

“Look at me, Shouto.”

He obeys, glaring up into the bastard’s half-lidded eyes. That infuriating grin of conquest makes Shouto growl even as he struggles to breathe. His father loves watching Shouto squirm and choke, loves watching his “masterpiece” down on his knees with his cock down his throat. Asshole is lucky Shouto hasn’t tried to bite the damn thing off by now.

“Swallow it,” he is told mere moments before he feels thick, hot cum hit the roof of his mouth. Shouto tries to cool the inside of his cheeks but it barely helps; he sputters, struggles to breathe while swallowing it down. There’s so much, always so much. Burns like fire as it slides down his throat.

His head snaps back as a forceful hand shoves him at the forehead, pulling the cock out of his mouth. Shouto watches as his father grabs his softening dick and rubs it against his blazer lapel. It leaves a streak of cum and spit in its wake.

“Leave it.” His father tucks himself back into his pants. “It had better be there when you come home tonight.”

Marking his things. How humiliating. Just another thing to add to the growing tab of secrets Shouto has to endure. Bet his father laments that Shouto is so diligent about hiding all the blemishes he has left on his body, wishes he’d parade those hypertrophic scars in the shape of giant fingers and handprints. It was always constantly on Shouto’s mind whenever he’d change his clothes at school. When his father left a particularly nasty fresh burn on him, he’d give Shouto a note requesting he be excused from participating in gym class. The bastard never gave Shouto an excuse to tell the other kids, so he’d have to think of half-assed responses to their questioning.

While his father walks away, Shouto looks down at his blazer and cringes. In such an obvious place, of course. What sort of excuse could he give for this if people ask? Maybe they’ll be too fearful of being rude to say anything. But if they did say something, what excuse could he give for not wiping it off after having it pointed out to him? Shouto is a lot of things, but a slob is not one of them.

If he didn’t have to spend half the mental energy he already depletes coming up with excuses and lies, he’d have so much left over to sleep, do homework… hell, maybe even pick up a hobby? What a thought.

“Are you ready for breakfast?”

Shouto flinches when he hears his sister’s voice. He turns and sees Fuyumi standing there in the hall and fuck, she’s looking at his lapel, fuck, he can see it in her eyes that she’s trying to figure out what it is, fuck, fuck!

“I’m not hungry,” he mutters under his breath as he storms towards the front door. “Sorry, sis. I gotta go.”

“Are you sure? I bought some of that strawberry jam you really like.”

Damn, Shouto does really like that stuff. Why does his father have to ruin everything with his stupid dick?

“Yeah,” Shouto insists, rushedly slipping on his outside shoes. “I’ll have it tomorrow.”

“But I really think you should eat something, you were a-”

Her voice goes muffled as he slides the front door closed behind him. Shouto digs into his backpack and removes his water bottle, taking a sip to wash down the taste of his father’s cum still lingering in the back of his mouth. The spot on his lapel has already dried.

What a miserable start to his day.

 

Morning classes are uneventful. There’s an election for Class President that Shouto has little interest in; he votes for the girl who beat him in the first day trials. Out of all his classmates, she seems to have her head on the straightest. The entire process seems to last so much longer than necessary. He doesn’t understand how his classmates can dedicate so much energy to the most trivial of things.

At lunch time, Shouto sits by himself at the end of one of the tables. He yawns and takes small bites of his meal while watching his peers interact around him. His father always hyped up this school as being for the best of the best, but so far, most of his classmates seem inexperienced and timid with their quirks. His father used to insist that quirk training was part of every future Hero’s daily regimen when they are children, too, though that clearly is not the case, either.

Shouto has been told so many lies throughout his life in efforts to control him. His father especially, but even Fuyumi as well. And they have the nerve to question why he’s so bitter and untrusting… surely, they aren’t that stupid? Maybe they assume he’s unaware.

“Yo, Strawberry Shortcake, you eat that every day?” a familiar voice asks him. Bakugou is standing next to the table, tray in hand, his eyebrow cocked in a judgmental stare.

“It’s my favorite food,” Shouto replies, looking down at his meal.

“Tch, you’re like a fucking child.”

“Says the guy eating sweet curry.”

“Watch it, dick!” Bakugou snarls. “They were out of the spicy shit!”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

There is a loud clatter as Bakugou drops his tray onto the table; he plops down into the seat across from Shouto, angry fists resting on his own thighs.

“The hell is your problem?!” Bakugou shouts, arms literally quivering in rage. Shouto nonchalantly dips his soba noodles into the cup of mentsuyu sauce.

“Could ask you the same thing,” he says simply before bringing the noodles to his mouth. “Pretty obvious you get pissed off when you’re intimidated.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!” Those threatening fists strike the table, trembling so hard that the lunch tray clangs.

Is this bastard gonna hit him? Shouto almost wishes he’d try.

“That guy you fought yesterday. The green-haired kid. You lost to him because you couldn’t control your anger.”

Bakugou stands up, pointing a stern finger in Shouto’s face.

“That’s not what happened at all, you ass!”

“That’s what All Might said. He’s never wrong.”

Enraged red eyes drop momentarily as Bakugou goes silent. He’s looking at his blazer lapel. Fuck. Shouto tucks his arm against his chest, hoping to hide it from view.

“Your quirk is strong,” Shouto interjects, “but you’re gonna be a shit Hero with that attitude.”

“Nobody asked for your fucking opi-”

A sudden, loud screeching echoes through the cafeteria. Shouto drops his chopsticks and slams his hand over his ears, deafened by the overpowering noise. Everyone around him freezes in place.

“Warning. Level three security breach,” a voice booms over the loudspeaker. “All students please evacuate the building in an orderly fashion.”

There is instant anarchy as his peers stampede towards the exit, the cacophony of yells and shrieks only adding to the horrific shrill in Shouto’s ears. He covers them tighter, squeezes his eyes shut to try to ignore the chaos.

“Oi, Half and Half! Hey!” he hears Bakugou bark. “Quit fucking around. We gotta get out of here!”

“Warning. Level three security breach. All students please evacuate the building in an orderly fashion.”

Security breach? What does that mean? Is there a threat to their safety? Shouto has prepared for situations like this countless times in training, but there’s something about the siren that’s overloading his senses, causing his heart to spasm in his chest and his muscles to go rigid. He suddenly can’t move, can’t think.

“It’s so loud,” Shouto manages to yell back.

“No shit! Come on!”

A hand clasps around his wrist and he yanks back, his skin temperature flaring in response to the touch.

Wait, did he just use his fire?

“Warning, level three security breach.”

“Fuck, man, we gotta go!”

“Go without me,” he demands.

“No, dumbass! I’ll get detention or something!”

All he can think about… all he can think about is-

“Worthless. You’re worthless.”

But why is this bringing that up?

“You want to keep up this childish tantrum? Fine. I’ll beat it out of you soon enough.”

It makes no sense at all; that loud siren, blaring, screeching, vibrating him down to the core, it’s all he hears, all he can process, but-

“I don’t need you. You are replaceable. Do you understand?”

Shouto cries out as he clutches the scorched skin of his left side, overheated from his father pushing him past his limits. He pulls his hand back when his fingertips brush over the blisters, fluid rupturing from the wounds.

“What are you gonna do?” Shouto quips. “You gonna kill me? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Yeah, I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t get off the goddamn floor and get outta here!”

“Warning. Level three security breach.”

“I put your mother in that hospital. I can just as easily drag her out of it and have her make me a replacement.”

“Go ahead,” Shouto growls, bearing his teeth. “I want to see you try.”

“Will you stop being so difficult and get up?! Jesus Christ!”

An unrelenting grip on his upper arm. It’s pulling him up, yanking with brute force.

“WARNING. LEVEL THREE SECURITY BREACH.”

“I could always have your sister bear me your replacement. Would you prefer that, Shouto?”

“You’re such a sick fuck,” Shouto snarls.

“Stop fighting against me!”

“WARNING. LEVEL THREE SECURITY BREACH.”

That siren is so loud, it’s so irritating, it sounds like that voice is being screamed right into his ear. Shouto feels his muscles weaken as he falls limp, held up only by the unyielding hand around his arm.

“Stand up.”

“Stand up!”

“I’m warning you.”

“I’m warning you!”

“WARNING. LEVEL THREE SECURITY B-”

Shouto can’t reach his hand up fast enough to cover his mouth before he retches, vomiting all over the front of his shirt, grimacing as he feels it soaking into the fabric against his thighs. Bakugou lets go of him instantly, pulling back on reflex.

“Holy shit!” Bakugou shrieks. Shouto hunches forward, grabbing his stomach. He coughs, dry heaves, chokes. Wheezes escape his lungs as he struggles to breathe. Seconds ago, he wasn’t even nauseous; why the hell did this happen?

That strong grip returns to his arm again. Bakugou yanks him to his feet and practically drags him towards the exit. The siren seems to have stopped, the cafeteria eerily deserted. Shouto stumbles as he is pulled, keeping his head down to hide his reddening face.

“Come on,” Bakugou grumbles, tugging on his arm so hard it feels like it’s going to dislocate from its socket.

“Come on,” his father mutters under his breath, jerking on his wrist as he is led into the training room.

Without warning, Shouto wilts and vomits once more, bile dribbling down his chin when he tries to lift his head. The yanking on his arm seizes. God, this is so gross and humiliating. Thank fuck his classmates aren’t around to see this.

“Todoroki, what the fuck?!” he hears as he crumbles to his knees, legs suddenly feeling too weak to support his body. It’s all over his blazer, his pants, his shoes. Disgusting, absolutely disgusting. Was it something he ate? Is he ill?

“Dude, stand up! You’re getting it everywhere!”

“Wait,” he manages to choke out, struggling to his feet. Shouto teeters and sways. Colors blur across his vision when he tries to focus his eyes.

It’s only a few more steps to the bathroom; Bakugou pushes him towards the sink and pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket. He dampens it under the sink, rubbing the liquid hand soap into a corner of the cloth.

“Fuck, man,” Bakugou groans, wiping his thigh. “You got it on my pants! The hell did you eat?! Ugh, and it’s all over you!”

He reaches up as soon as the spot on his pants is gone. Bakugou’s hands are rough yet meticulous as he scrubs at Shouto’s blazer, placing a flat hand under his lapel while grinding the cloth into the tweed. He grits his teeth and growls as he concentrates. Everything is always so violent with this guy.

...But why is he even bothering?

“Dad pushed you that hard again? Here Shouto, let me help clean you up.”

The touch suddenly feels like needles, like electric shocks that singe the hair on his arms. Shouto puts his hands up to Bakugou’s chest and shoves him away, half-anticipating to see sparks coming from the other boy’s palms.

“Get off me,” Shouto growls.

“Holy shit, fine! Geez!” Bakugou looks him up and down, upper lip twitching. “You just gonna go to class covered in your own puke? I don’t give a fuck. Go ahead.”

Without asking permission, Shouto reaches out and snatches the wet handkerchief from Bakugou’s hand. He pinches the fabric of his pants taut while vigorously rubbing at the stains, desperate to erase every trace of evidence. If he can just remove his blazer for the rest of the day, maybe nobody will even find out. Bakugou already wiped his blazer clean, so it shouldn’t be a-

Fuck. That stain his father left before school. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Exasperated, Shouto throws the cloth onto the sink and puts his hands over his face, groaning so loud it practically echoes off the bathroom walls.

“Dude, you seriously need to chill,” Bakugou snaps. “Just go home. You’re fucking sick. You puked in the goddamn cafeteria. Nobody’ll argue with you.”

“I can’t go home,” Shouto spits through gritted teeth.

“Then quit acting like a little bitch and clean yourself up!”

Shouto locks his elbows as he leans over the sink. He looks into the mirror in front of him and goddamn, he looks like shit. Reddened face, sweat literally dripping from his temple. He’s usually apt at regulating his temperature, but he feels so stiflingly overheated.

“Get me some barley tea,” Shouto says, splashing water onto his face.

“Excuse me? The fuck do I look like to you?!”

“You look pretty useless just standing there,” he barks back.

Bakugou grits his teeth, fists tightening.

“Shut up, asshole! I’ll kick your ass!”

“That’s not a very Heroic thing to say,” Shouto says sarcastically.

That hits a nerve. Bakugou groans, running his fingers through his hair.

“Fine, I’ll g-”

“The tea in my water bottle,” Shouto interrupts. “In my cubby in the back of the classroom.”

“What? The fuck kind of snob are you? Cafeteria’s tea not good enough for you?”

Shouto doesn’t know what to say; he stands there, blank-faced, lips tightly pursed together. There is a brief moment of silence as Bakugou stares back, flashing him an impatient glare as if waiting for a response.

“Fine,” Bakugou finally huffs, shoving the door as he exits the bathroom. Shouto returns his gaze to his face in the mirror. He runs his fingertips idly along the border of his scar.

This is… not good. This weird memory shit, literally hearing voices spoken to him that clearly are not there. Is Shouto going insane? Is that what this is?

No, if he knows it’s happening, then he can’t actually be going crazy. Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. In the moment, he doesn’t realize it’s not real, but it’s usually pretty clear after the fact. Kind of. Maybe not with Fuyumi. Wait, was everything she said a hallucination? Or none of it? Some of it? It was all in her voice, not like… not like…

Bakugou. His voice. His voice sounded… just like his father.

What the fuck?

“Here, take your fancy asshole tea.”

Blinking, Shouto turns to see his classmate standing in the doorway. A water bottle filled with dark-brown liquid is reached out to him. After opening the bottle with a shaking hand, Shouto brings it to his mouth. The smell is overpowering and familiar as he tips it. One swig, two, three, not pausing between gulps. It should be enough to make it stop.

“What, that shit brewed by hot naked chicks or something?”

“Maybe,” Shouto replies humorlessly.

“Here.” Bakugou runs a clean towel under the sink. “You can keep this. I don’t want it back after you get your nasty puke all over it.”

Shouto takes the towel from him and stands still, brows tightly knit.

“What, are you deaf?” Bakugou barks. “You know how to use a fucking towel?”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Shouto asks, looking up at him with genuine interest. Bakugou scoffs and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“I ain’t being nice!” He’s pointing that obnoxious finger in Shouto’s face again. “You a masochist? You fucking like being yelled at or something? You’re a real freak, you know that?”

Dabbing the damp cloth against his pants, Shouto snorts. He almost wants to smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shouto grumbles. “Believe me, I’m well aware.”

 

 

Chapter Text

 

Ice crackles against skin when Shouto summons his quirk on his right side. The tips of his fingers go slightly numb, hair standing on end as the ice spreads beneath his foot and envelopes the floor. It creeps up the Villains’ legs and quickly encases them in a frozen prison. The temperature regulator against his back engages, warming him enough to return bloodflow to his tingling limbs. He can feel their heartbeats thumping through the ice; they’re rapidly picking up speed.

He takes steps forward, examining the men more closely. Ugh, just when Shouto thought this day couldn’t get worse, this shit happens. This is definitely not how the afternoon was supposed to go; they were all bussed to a facility for rescue training, but wound up face-to-face with a crowd of Villains instead. Shouto had been separated from his peers and transported to the landslide simulation zone. The group of Villains who approached him now stand before him like statues, feet bolted to the ground, panic painted across their faces. They never stood a chance.

“He’s not a kid, he’s a monster!” one of them cries to the other.

“Your mother thought you were a monster.”

Ahh, there’s that memory. Shouto feels little from it. If anything, it just pisses him off.

(Probably because they aren’t wrong.)

A Villain runs at him from behind with a spear. Shouto puts his hand out and grasps it, freezing it solid in an instant. Pathetic. They’re all pathetic. His entire life, Villains were talked up to be practiced, merciless people that Shouto had to stand stoically against. It’s no surprise his father lied.

There’s a foreign feeling rolling inside him, one he hasn’t felt in many years. Subdued like this, these “Villains” are helpless and trapped, showing their true constitution. Every one of them has terror etched into their features. They behaved so confidently when they felt they had the upper hand, but now that they’re backed into a corner, now that they’ve been the victim of violence, those facades are gone. How fascinating.

Shouto used to be like that, but he’s not anymore. He’s not afraid to be backed into a corner, to be put in a vulnerable position. In fact, he welcomes it. He wants to prove himself, to show that his true constitution isn’t weak. There is nothing Shouto wants more than to show everyone - especially his father - that he can conquer anything he sees as an obstacle.

It’s… kind of interesting to impose that violence on others, he realizes. The kind that shows people’s sincere character. But Shouto isn’t a Villain; he would never indulge in that whim without warrant.

“You’re gonna get frostbite, which’ll slowly kill all the cells in your body," he warns. "Luckily for you, I wanna be a Hero, so I don’t really want to hurt you. But I might have to if you don’t tell me your plans.”

There are tears in one of the men’s eyes. Shouto walks up to him, putting his outstretched hand in front of his face. The heavy flinch as Shouto casts frost from his fingertips ignites that gratifying sense of victory, one so satisfying that he has to fight a smile from curling up his face.

“That's the only way you'll survive.”

“We were hired by some guys to… to help k-kill All Might,” the man stammers, lips quivering from the cold. “They… they offered us cash upfront. They had some monster they were gonna use, too. P-Please, please don’t kill me…! That's all I know, I swear!”

Shouto releases heat into the air to melt the ice encasing the Villains, keeping his promise. To his surprise, none of them bother to fight back once they are granted freedom. Guess they truly are afraid of him.

(As they probably should be.)

 

Shouto manages to get through the training area in time to help his classmates and All Might, finding All Might in the middle of fighting a monstrous Villain. He acts quickly, freezing the creature with a blast of ice as cold as he can manage; it travels along the ground, encasing the Villain’s left side in an immobilizing prison. Shouto manages to control his ice with just enough finesse to stop at its grasp on All Might’s side.

The simulations he has run with his father certainly prepared him physically, but he hopes he’s strong enough to fight with this growing sense of dread.

As he looks to his left, Shouto sees Bakugou on the ground, pinning down a Villain with a smoke-like body. That familiar grin of victory is plastered on his face. Impressive. Has Bakugou had similar training to Shouto as well?

(Was it as terrible as his own? …Worse?)

"Don't move,” Bakugou sneers, tiny explosions erupting under his fingertips against the Villain’s armor. “You try anything funny and I'll blow your ass up right here."

"That doesn't sound very Heroic," Kirishima laughs. Shouto is proud of himself for remembering his name.

Bakugou wrinkles his nose as his snarl widens, turning his head to glare back at Kirishima. There’s a spark of irritation Shouto has seen in his narrowing eyes before, back when his classmates were comparing him to a Villain during the rescue simulations. Seems like a touchy subject.

The monster from before is being sucked into a black hole in the floor. It reemerges, its frozen limbs breaking off like twigs from its massive body. But Shouto watches in horror as its left side regenerates, muscles and tendons and skin re-wrapping into fully-functioning, new limbs.

That sense of dread is building. Shouto wonders if the others feel the same. Maybe not… goddammit, why is he suddenly so petrified? His hands are starting to tremble, sweat gathering at the base of his neck.

“Wipe that look off your face,” he remembers his father saying. “Never show weakness. Never show weakness to anyone. You need to learn to not even feel fear. What good are you, cowering in the face of evil?”

Before Shouto can even attempt to regain his composure, the terrifying Villain is charging towards Bakugou, body so agile that Shouto can barely catch a glimpse. But when the cloud of dust clears, Bakugou is sitting on the ground besides them. He looks stupefied, a bit fearful.

If that typically-cocky asshole is showing apprehension, maybe it’s okay for Shouto to feel it, too.

“Kacchan!” the green-haired kid exclaims. “Whoa, that's awesome! You dodged him!"

"No I didn't, dumbass!"

Is his classmate stupid? There’s no way any of them could’ve outran that monster; it’s obvious All Might rescued Bakugou before he was struck by it. Shouto briefly wonders if his father would be able to dodge an attack with that insane speed.

Wait, why does that matter? Why can’t Shouto stop thinking about his father for two goddamn seconds?!

“These are kids and you didn’t hold back?” All Might growls, a thin dribble of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

“One of those kids tried to kill me. What kind of 'Hero' does something like that?” The man leans forward, wide eyes bulging from beneath the hand across his face. “You think you can get away with being as violent as you want if you say it's for the sake of others.”

Shouto’s blood runs cold.

“Why do some people get to decide that some violent acts are heroic and some are villainous?” he continues. “Casting judgments as to what’s ‘good’ and what’s ‘evil’.”

He’s… he’s right. He is absolutely right. Shouto’s father is violent in every facet of his life, subduing criminals with the same vigor and ruthlessness that he uses against his children. Goes home after a long day beating villains and beats his kids like they’re one and the same. It makes Shouto sick to think his father views Fuyumi and him and Villains all in the same light, as if they are all equally deserving of punishment. Sure, Shouto is fucked up, Shouto certainly gives his father reasons to view him like a Villain, but Fuyumi? She hasn’t done a villainous thing in her entire goddamn life.

“You think you’re the Symbol of Peace?” the Villain jeers with a chuckle. “You’re just another government-sponsored instrument of violence. And violence only breeds more violence.”

‘Government-sponsored instrument of violence.’ Shouto doesn’t think he has heard a more apt title for his father in his entire life.

Is that really what Shouto wants to become?

“You're nothing but a lunatic,” All Might declares. “Criminals like you always try and make your actions sound noble. But admit it, you're only doing this because you enjoy it.”

Even so, even if these Villains are doing this without purpose… Shouto can’t deny the logic. He simply can’t dismiss it.

“You’ll love the fame, Shouto. You’ll love having people recognize you for all your hard work. For my hard work.”

No, no. Another memory? Is it seriously wearing off this quickly?!

Shouto does want recognition, though. He wants people to reassure his self-worth. Spending the entirety of his childhood being told how worthless he is gave him a complex and he is well aware of the fact. Rescuing those in danger is the main goal, of course, but it sounds so sweet to finally have someone appreciate all the torture he has gone through to become a Hero. Hell, the torture he has gone through just to survive, even. Shouto doesn’t want his sacrifices to go unnoticed like they have been for his entire pain-riddled life.

Still… does that make him a hypocrite?

His classmates get in offensive stances, chattering to one another about providing backup. The dread is creeping back at the idea of facing such an overpowered Villain, even with the support of the Number One Hero.

“Don’t attack,” All Might insists. “Get out of here.”

Maybe his classmates would be better off leaving, but Shouto isn’t afraid to push through his fear. This is the perfect opportunity to face it head on.

Shouto clenches his fist, ice crystals already gathering in his palm. “You would've been in trouble earlier if it weren't for me, remember? You need my help."

"I thank you for your assistance, but this is different.” All Might makes a determined fist. “It's gonna be okay. Just sit back and watch a pro at work."

“Everything’s gonna be okay in the end.”

Shouto has grown to despise those words. It’s a lofty promise impossible to guarantee.

Still, he knows better than to question All Might. He’s the Number One Hero for a reason. Even if Shouto hadn’t grown up watching videos of his power with wide, fanatical eyes, his father’s disdain for the man was enough to speak volumes of his credibility.

His classmates and he watch as All Might fights the Noumu with unmatched strength. Not once does All Might’s drive and determination falter, the sheer force of the blows between the two generating shock waves powerful enough to send gusts of wind through the air. The awe Shouto felt as a child lingers in him now as he watches his childhood Hero fight in the flesh. Landing punch after punch with an unwavering grin, refusing to fall to a force of pure evil.

The Symbol of Peace. The most apt of titles for a man able to devastate such a mighty monster.

He truly is the best.

 

In the end, the monstrous Villain is no match. Pro Heroes eventually storm the facility and the Villains retreat, obviously outmatched and defeated. Shouto and Bakugou stand near one another as they watch their injured classmates receive care.

Jesus, what a day. Shouto needs a freaking nap.

“I wonder if they attacked the school,” Bakugou says quietly.

“If all the Pro teachers gathered here, that means the rest of the school is safe,” Shouto replies. “The villains attacked this facility, but not the rest of the campus.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, dumbass.”

“Then who were you talking to?”

Bakugou hums, cocking his hip as he glares at the ground. He looks lost in thought, still slightly shaken.

As Shouto looks over at his peers, he recalls how he discovered his invisible classmate in the previous zone. Only her shoes and gloves gave her away when he walked past her. She was thankfully unharmed, but it sprung up a rather intrusive thought: What if he had accidentally frozen her, too? Would he have killed her? Holy shit, what would the repercussions have been if he had killed an innocent bystander?

Would he have been no better than a Villain, then? No better than his father?

“Hey, what do you think about what that Villain said?” Shouto asks him, trying to stifle that poisonous notion. “The stuff he said about Heroes being hypocrites and whatnot?”

“That guy was full of shit.” Bakugou slams his hand over a tight fist, smirking. “You can’t take down Villains with hugs. They need to get their asses beat. I like thinking about it like a punishment. You break the rules, you pay the price.”

Shouto shivers at the word punishment. He bites his lip, tries not to dredge up any memories. Presses his toes against the floor, feels the resistance, anchors himself in the present.

“Why you ask?” Bakugou quips. “You thinking about becoming a Villain, Icyhot? ‘Cause I won’t hesitate to kick your ass.”

“Don’t be stupid. If anyone wound up a Villain, it’d be you.”

“Excuse me?!” Bakugou yells with a heavy growl.

Did Shouto misinterpret the situation? He could’ve sworn Bakugou was joking. Half-joking, maybe, or… whatever Bakugou seems to do with that bizarre way he speaks. Shouto didn’t mean for his reply to be taken so seriously, but judging by the fiery red glare currently directed towards him, his comment dug at a wound.

“Just saying you’re always pissed off. It doesn-”

“How about you say that to my fist, asshole?!”

To Shouto’s utter astonishment, Bakugou generates miniature explosions in his hand almost instantly, pulling his fist back and hurling it towards his face. It’s fast, but Shouto is used to dodging blows much faster; he veers left, out of the line of Bakugou’s trajectory. Bakugou stumbles and flails as he attempts to regain his footing.

That bastard just took a swing at him. An honest-to-god attack bent on injuring him.

Shouto is intrigued.

“That’s kind of a sore subject for you, isn’t it?” Shouto says as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

Bakugou stares at him and then back down at his hands, obviously stupefied by his lack of contact.

“How the fuck did you do that?!” Bakugou yells. There’s rage in his voice but something else Shouto can’t decipher. It almost sounds like… fear, maybe?

Shouto can’t resist.

“Obviously because I’m better than you.”

When Shouto sees Bakugou pull his arm back for another swing, his muscles suddenly lock up. He is barely able to blink before he feels an explosion-backed blow slamming directly into his left cheek. The impact nearly knocks him over; he widens his stance to keep himself on his feet, instinctively reaching a hand up to where the punch landed. He presses against the blooming bruise, feeling mottled scar tissue beneath his fingertips. Bakugou struck him across the cheek. His cheekbone right beneath his eye.

Right where his mother burned him.

Right where his sister used to remove the painful dressing.

Right where his father countlessly slapped him with the back of his wrathful hand.

“If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll kill you!”

“Open your mouth or I’ll kill her.”

Shouto feels his cock start to harden. It makes him want to die.

“You’re a dick, you know that?” Shouto grumbles as he clutches his sore face, clenching his thighs together to try to hide his growing erection. Gross, gross, gross, what the hell is wrong with him?

“I’m not the one making shitty accusations!”

“Why do you even ca-”

“Hey! He said for all of us to head to the entrance!" he hears someone call.

Both boys turn to them. It’s that guy Kirishima, waving to get their attention.

“Asshole,” Bakugou spits as he walks towards the entrance to the facility. Shouto takes advantage of the moment of privacy to squeeze his cock through his pocket, praying it’ll go down before someone sees.

That Bakugou kid isn’t like the others in his class. He’s arrogant, testy, hides his obvious insecurity behind a mask of boastful energy. Always eager to prove himself, but in ways that seem excessive and violent. It’s completely unnecessary. Intimidating others just to put himself on a pedestal.

Sounds like someone else he knows.

Still… Shouto should’ve been able to dodge that punch. He brings his hand up to his throbbing cheek again, remembering the impact. There was no holding back on Bakugou’s end. Bastard intended to hurt him, to scare him, to prove to him he was the best. And by taking that punch, Shouto gave him what he wanted.

(Still… did he hesitate on purpose?)

 

When Shouto finally leaves school, the media and police are swarming outside the gate. He dodges the microphones jabbed against his mouth and the barrage of questions. It’s something he knows he should get used to if he wants to become a Pro Hero, but it just seems so irritating and banal. It’s not like he has anything particularly interesting to say. Thank god his classmates are more willing to speak than he is.

The sun is already low in the sky; dismissal was much later than usual. He checks his phone for new notifications. There’s little doubt in his mind that his sister has messaged him, but when he-

fuyu [4:41pm]: are you ok??? 

fuyu [4:41pm]: please answer!

fuyu [4:51pm]: omg I saw the news!

fuyu [4:56pm]: please shouto! !

fuyu [5:13pm]: Im soworried please answer!

fuyu [5:22pm]: please!!!!!!

fuyu [5:31pm]: Shouto!

fuyu [5:55pm]: Shouto!!!!

fuyu [5:57pm]: dad wont asnwer his phone

fuyu [5:58pm]: please…….

 

Holy. Shit.

He taps out a quick response, receiving a reply almost instantly.

 

Shouto Todoroki [5:59pm]: I’m fine

fuyu [5:59pm]: oh thank god!!!!

fuyu [5:59pm]: I’ll tell dad!!

fuyu [5:59pm]: please be safe getting home!!!

 

No doubt he’ll get an earful when he gets back.

 

Shouto barely takes three steps into the house before he feels his sister’s face pressed into his chest, his waist enveloped by two unrelenting arms. He looks down, gets a face full of her unruly hair. Fuyumi breathes a deep sigh of relief.

“Ahh, Shouto, I’m so glad to see you’re okay!”

“I told you I was okay.”

“But still! God, are you sure you’re okay? Are you hurt?” She releases her tight embrace and grasps his arms. “They didn’t hurt you, did th- ohh my god, what happened to your face?!”

“Fuyumi, stop,” he groans, pulling away. No matter what he ever says, Fuyumi never stops doting on him. Shouto knows he should be used to it by now, but it still gets on his nerves. It’s like she has no faith in his ability to take care of himself.

“Your face! That bruise! You’re not okay…!”

Why is it such a big deal? Their father gives him much more severe bruises all the time and she never makes a big deal over it. Rarely ever mentions it, even.

“I’m hungry,” he replies, dodging the topic.

There’s a chill against his cheekbone as she reaches up and touches her fingertips to the bruise, no doubt trying to reduce the swelling. Shouto can easily do it on his own, but he knows how much she likes to help. He indulges her in these familiar acts of care. Lets her try to feel useful.

“You’re not dizzy, are you? Do you have a concussion?”

“Fuyumi, I’m hungry,” he repeats.

She groans, mouth stretched thin in apprehension.

“Okay, I’m making dinner,” she says. “You should really rest afterwards, though. Especially after how you felt last night and whatever you got yourself into today...”

As she scurries off to the kitchen, Shouto reaches into his backpack and grabs his water bottle. He unscrews the cap and takes two long gulps, wincing slightly before tucking it back into his bag.

Wonder what the old bastard will say tonight.

 

“There were a bunch of Villains! Like, hundreds of them! Maybe even thousands!”

Shouto rolls his eyes as he eats his dinner, the sound of the television behind him distracting him of all thought. Fuyumi has her eyes glued to the screen. Her brows are still knotted in concern as she watches intently, grimacing at every exaggerated detail from his practically hysterical classmates.

“If All Might wouldn’t have shown up, we’d all be dead. Those guys totally wanted to kill us.”

“I was pretty scared… we all did our best, but if All Might hadn’t come, I dunno what would’ve happened…”

“How awful,” Fuyumi bemoans. “Thank god for All Might…”

“The attack on a U.A. High School training facility has many people asking questions. How safe are these Hero programs for our youth? What security measures are being taken?”

“Do you feel safe there, Shouto?” she asks.

“I guess,” he shrugs, taking a small sip from his water bottle.

“I think they need to hire security or something. Villains shouldn’t be able to get in like that. You really could’ve gotten hurt…”

Ugh, no shit she thinks that. Shouto wishes she’d just drop the subject already.

He’s almost thankful when he hears the front door slide open, indicating that their father has returned home from work. Both of them stiffen and sit up straight at their seats. The booming of their father’s footsteps can be heard over the sound of the television; Fuyumi quickly scrambles to turn it off.

“I saw the news,” his father says with a smile as he enters the dining room. “Well done, Shouto. I’m proud of you.”

His father is actually praising him? Something in his chest flutters while something in his stomach sinks. God, he remembers being younger and literally getting hard when his father commended him. Thank fuck that habit fizzled out.

Shouto takes a quick glance over to his sister. The tension in her shoulders is obvious, but she’s still eating. Guess that’s a good sign.

“I did it all with my right side,” Shouto responds. “It was no big deal.”

“With techniques I taught you, no doubt.”

“Yeah.” He separates a piece of tuna off the filet, brings it to his mouth. “All Might seemed pretty impressed.”

That stupid smile falls somewhat. Shouto knows how much of a sore subject the man is for his father. So childish.

“I’m sure that bastard was intimidated, seeing someone so young exhibit so much power. No doubt he knows you’re my creation.”

His faltering smile widens again. Shouto desperately wants to wipe the entirety of it off his face.

“Hey old man, how do you justify it?” he asks.

“What?”

“Violence. The public calls you a Hero because you beat on Villains. What do you think they’d call you if they knew you beat on Mom?”

“P… Please don’t…” Fuyumi whispers loud enough for them both to hear.

“It doesn’t matter because they’ll never find out,” his father replies, ignoring her.

“You realize I could expose you.”

“You could, but you won’t.”

His father is right. Shouto never could. It’s been a few years since Shouto has used that threat against his father, never failing to earn him a punishment. It was the threat behind so many incidents when he assaulted his sister, not to mention that harrowing time where he practically tried to kill Shouto.

Guess the threat no longer holds any bearing. A shame.

“You fuck me,” Shouto says, changing the subject. “Do you fuck Villains sometimes, too? What about the police? You seem to be such good friends with them.”

“If you’re trying to rile me up, it’s not going to work.”

“It’s so obvious you became a Hero because you like hurting people,” he continues. “And your inferiority complex. You just want everyone to kiss your ass all the time.”

“In front of your sister, Shouto?” his father tsks. “You know how much she hates this.”

“I bet she thinks the same goddamn thing I do.”

Hands over her ears, Fuyumi viciously shakes her head. That comment might’ve gone a bit too far.

“You sound like you’ve been drinking,” his father says, cocking an eyebrow.

There’s no way. Shouto barely drinks alcohol at all and only ever to calm his mind when he loses control of his thoughts. It’s not like he gets intoxicated. There’s no way his father could know, either; Shouto makes sure to only take small amounts from the open liquor bottles. His father is probably just trying to confuse Fuyumi with his comment.

“I don’t need to drink to face my problems,” he sneers back, making sure he enunciates each syllable. “I’m not like you. And I never will be.”

Something about what Shouto says makes his father hum, the expression on his face unreadable. He turns and leaves without a rebuttal, his heavy steps quickly fading as he walks down the hallway towards his office.

Shouto got in the last word. Shouto won the argument.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Fuyumi cries as soon as they are alone.

“I don’t care,” he says with a shrug.

“I care!”

Shit, Fuyumi is pissed. That hasn’t happened in a while.

“It’s fine,” he insists, taking another bite of his tuna. “He can’t afford to kill me.”

“What would stop him from killing me?!”

‘He can’t afford to kill you, either,’ Shouto thinks to himself. ‘Then he’d have nothing to hang over my head.’

Ohh god, he can’t say that. How can he even think that? The guilt creeps in, eats into his chest, deflates his lungs. Shouto remains quiet.

“You haven’t even been in school a week and so much has happened!” She looks down as her hands come together, picking at the cuticles around her fingernails. “I’m so worried about you, Shouto. I’ve been so worried…!”

“I’ve handled it fine, though,” he says. “You just worry too much.”

“But you know I can’t help that!”

“Glad you aren’t denying it, at least,” he jests.

Her lips purse in a melodramatic pout, but tears are still threatening to overflow from her eyes.

“You promised last year you would stop trying to make him mad on purpose,” she says wearily. “But you just keep doing it. Even after he… hurts you, you still keep doing it.”

“I know, I know.” Shouto stands up, picking up his clean plate. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?”

Shouto freezes, looks down at his sister with wide eyes. Wow, he was not expecting her to say something like that. The stern stare Fuyumi flashes him makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

It’s… a good question, actually. Is Shouto sorry?

“Yeah,” he insists, though he’s not sure how genuine he’s being. “Stop worrying, Fuyumi. Everything’s gonna be okay, remember? You’re always telling me that.”

She sighs, looking down at her half-eaten meal.

“Did Natsu text you, by the way?” she asks, irritation gone from her voice. “He messaged me about you today. Even he’s worried about you.”

“I don’t think so.”

Digging into his pocket with his free hand, Shouto pulls out his phone.

 

KTSKBKG [5:37pm]: Thank fuck you didn’t go home today, huh? You would’ve missed out on me kicking your ass!!!

 

Well, it’s obvious who this is. Did Shouto give him his number? Evidently so. He doesn’t remember.

Shouto places his plate in the sink when he gets to the kitchen. Looking behind his shoulder to check that he’s alone, he kneels down and opens the liquor cabinet. After unscrewing a bottle, he takes one swig, just enough to calm him down. Enough to help him sleep tonight and nothing more.

After a quick shower, Shouto slips on his pajamas and curls up in his futon. The room is dimly lit by what remains of the sun in the sky. He’ll indulge Fuyumi just this once. Maybe she’s right; going to bed early may serve him well. It kind of did last night, at least.

As he drifts off to sleep, Shouto remembers that Villain and his prattling. The words have been lingering in the back of his mind all day.

“You think you can get away with being as violent as you want if you say it's for the sake of others.”

“Why do some people get to decide that some violent acts are heroic and some are villainous?”

“Violence only breeds more violence.”

Shouto rolls his eyes before he shuts them, determined not to dwell too much on the words’ implications.

He’ll prove that Villain wrong soon enough.

 

Chapter Text

Shouto sits at the breakfast table alone, shoveling rice and furikake into his mouth. As much as he hates to admit it, his sister was right. The full night of sleep did wonders; his brain feels pretty clear today, the usual muddle of anxiety lifted from his spirits. Maybe the fact that he has the day off is helping, too. Classes were canceled thanks to the attack at the USJ yesterday.

Despite the clarity, Shouto still feels that familiar ache across the left side of his face. It’s been happening every day for weeks now, coming and going. Guess sleep isn’t the ticket to clearing that up.

“Stop being such a selfish asshole, Shouto.” His sister’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade. “You don’t care about me at all, do you?”

Shouto blinks hard, lifting his head.

“Huh?”

“There’s extra rice in the rice cooker if you want some for lunch,” Fuyumi says cheerily before disappearing from sight. “I gotta go, sorry! Be back at like, six!”

As he hears her scurry to the door, Shouto looks back down at his breakfast. What was that about? Is she really that pissed off about what happened yesterday? It’s not like he can deny her accusations, but Fuyumi is the last person to ever say something like that. He can’t remember if she has ever even cursed in front of him.

Ohh wait, there was that one time when he was like nine years old when she called their father an asshole. Not to his face, of course. Fuyumi gave Shouto permission to say it too, just that once. Heh, the Fuyumi back then would be clutching her pearls over how he speaks now.

Weird. Girls are fucking confusing.

The house is eerily silent when he finishes his meal. As much as the presence of his sister and father gets on his nerves, there’s something about being alone in the vast maze of halls and rooms that makes him uneasy. Shouto takes quiet steps down one of the wings of his home that he barely ventures through. It seems so dark despite the wide windows that divide the hall from the courtyard, the subtle warmth of the sunlight tingling at his toes as he walks by.

The hell is the point of all these rooms? It’s so excessive. It’s not like anyone besides his immediate family and the occasional maid ever visit. Shouto slides open a random door; the room is furnished with a table, seats, even decorations on the wall. Despite the room never being inhabited, it is immaculately clean. It’s absurd, his father paying people to clean rooms that’ve never served a purpose. Shouto can’t imagine the salary his father earns to warrant such gratuitous things.

‘A government-sponsored instrument of violence.’

Ahh, yes. His father runs around beating people within an inch of their lives, so the government dumps tax money into funding stupid shit like this. How discouraging. And it’s not like the public doesn’t know his father blows his money on such a superfluous home; it sticks out like a sore thumb even in their wealthy neighborhood. They truly must not care.

Maybe it is true. No matter what the public knows about the famous Flame Hero Endeavor, there’s likely little anyone could say that would bring him down. Shouto wishes he would’ve realized this earlier. Could’ve saved himself the pain of punishments whenever he’d threaten his father with exposing him. Civilians probably wouldn’t be surprised to hear about his private life, even… his public image isn’t exactly immaculate.

The entire system is fucked then, isn’t it? Everyone knows his dad is a complete dick but they continue throwing money at him because of his Hero role. And Shouto somehow wants to be part of all that, the glory and politics and moral ambiguity.

Rescuing people, though. That’s what’s most important, he reminds himself. Politics are just an inevitable side effect, something he needs to learn to accept lest he constantly dwell on its ethical dilemmas.

At the end of the hall stands his father’s office. Shouto hasn’t been in it for years now. In some sick kind of curiosity, he slides open the door to the enormous room, taking in the obnoxious sight with an unamused stare.

There are dozens of framed articles and covers on the walls of the room, each meticulously hung in rows. Nothing but pages of interviews and write-ups and photographs. The biggest frame holds the cover of one of the most famous magazines, a photo of his father with his arms folded gracing the cover, the bold words “Hero of the Year” plastered over it.

Yeah, Shouto remembers that year. It was something his father didn’t shut up about for months and months and months, finding every opportunity to bring it up in what little conversation they held. Still does, actually. Even his classmates talked about it in homeroom, the year before he switched schools. That would be… sixth grade. Four years ago. Shouto definitely remembers it.

He also remembers his father fucking him in the courtyard that year, leaving abrasion scars on his forearms from being held down against the gravel. The last day Shouto wore short sleeves during training.

There are a few articles that feature Shouto, too. All of them were from when he was much younger. It looks like the most recent one was published when he was eight; the photo of them both together is laughable, his father standing in full costume, his hand placed on Shouto’s shoulder in a mockery of pride. He remembers his father bribing him with the promise of no quirk training for a week to get that photo taken (and only held up his side of the bargain for four days). That was back when he was naive enough to trust his father’s word.

Shouto was much more timid at that age. Still pretty fucking unstable, though. That never changed.

His father’s massive desk sits in the center of the room. Clear of papers, pens neatly stored, that pretentious marble coaster where he rests his glass of liquor. How can someone with s-

“Get up on the desk.”

“Shit,” Shouto curses aloud, holding his head. No, not this, not this agai-

“There are consequences when you don’t listen. You know this.”

He’s getting hard. His dick is getting hard just thinking about his father touching him, abusing him, raping him. What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Stop crying and spread your legs wider.”

His cock throbs against his boxers. Shouto reaches his hand down to his groin, squeezing it in a vain attempt to make it stop.

Ohh god, he can’t be in here any longer.

The hardwood creaks under his rushed feet before he slams the door behind him. Shouto pants, grabs his stomach as he feels it lurch. He should’ve anticipated that, why is he always so stupid?

“I told you to stop crying.”

Taking a step backwards, Shouto leans up against the wall, eyes frantically darting around him. His fingers run through his hair, yanking at a handful until his scalp burns, trying to root himself in the present. He hisses through clenched teeth.

“Shut up,” Shouto huffs between shallow breaths. “I’m not crying. Leave me alone.”

The hallway is totally deserted. There is no one in the house but Shouto and he knows it. But that voice… it sounds so close, so real. Every time his father opens his stupid mouth, Shouto can barely hold back a snide response. He needs to learn to start differentiating these delusions from reality lest he make an ass of himself in public.

A deep vibration rattles his thigh and Shouto stiffens again, snapping out of his confusion. He thanks God that it’s just his phone and not some bizarre hallucination.

 

KTKBKG [9:53am]: Hey asshole

KTKBKG [9:53am]: When’s the sports festival

 

Seriously? This guy tries to kick his ass yesterday and now he’s texting him like it never happened? After a slow inhale, Shouto snorts as he pulls up the calendar on his phone. He had put important dates from the class schedule the first day of school. That jerk Bakugou scored higher than he did on their first class assignment, shouldn’t he be more on top of things?

 

Shouto Todoroki [9:54am]: April 18th

Shouto Todoroki [9:54am]: Why?

 

The silence feels more tolerable as he sits, staring at his screen, waiting for Bakugou’s response.

 

KTKBKG [9:55am]: The hell you mean why? Because I didnt know, that’s why!!! 💢

 

Shouto puts a hand over his mouth as he chuckles.

 

Shouto Todoroki [9:56am]: Did you just use an emoji? I thought only girls did that.

KTKBKG [9:56am]: SHUT UP I’LL USE THEM WHENEVER I WANT 💢💢💢💢

KTKBKG [9:57am]: I wish your busted ass would use them! Even typing you sound dead inside!!

 

Well, he isn’t wrong, but Bakugou really shouldn’t be judging Shouto’s emotional range. Not when he rarely ventures out of the spectrum beyond “really fucking pissed.”

The way Bakugou responded to Shouto’s taunts was unprecedented. That guy has a short fuse already, but the way he became violent so quickly is borderline fascinating. In a way, Shouto is jealous. It’s as if Bakugou has zero qualms about outwardly expressing his frustrations. Shouto, on the other hand, keeps a heavy lid over his own and forces them to boil under the guise of control. What would it be like to let them bubble over, he wonders? It’s kind of scary to think about.

Shouto’s softening dick twitches in his pants again, chafing against the fabric of his boxers. God, it’s like the thing has a mind of its own. He reaches down into his pants, pulls it out. A thin drizzle of precum runs down the back of the head.

Attempting to relieve some of the pressure, Shouto wraps his fist around it, yanks the foreskin up over the head before pulling it back down. The tugging sends a subtle jolt up his spine.

Losing control of his emotions would be… very bad, he realizes. It hasn’t happened in years. Sure, he has blown up a few times at his father, once or twice at his sister (which he has always regretted afterwards), but what’s it like to just snap? Maybe that’s how people become Villains. They just can’t handle life’s bullshit anymore; Shouto really can’t blame them for that.

A low groan rises from this throat while he tugs harder on his cock. Beading precum smears along the length as he jerks, rolling his wrist. He’s never beaten off in the hallway before. It’s pretty weird. Shouto scoffs at the sudden thought of his father discovering him like this, leaning against the wall next to his office door, furiously fucking his own hand.

A sudden burst of courage fills him; Shouto slides his father’s office door open, walks back up to that obnoxious desk, cock still in hand. It’s not bringing up wretched memories anymore. It’s just a gaudy piece of furniture now, one that symbolizes all the power his father thinks he possesses over Shouto.

Heh. He’ll show him.

Shouto sits down at his father’s chair, sliding it forward while he jerks off at his desk. He leans over and spits onto the head. Lounging back, Shouto’s eyes roll into the back of his skull as he beats his dick harder. The room is void of all noise but the sound of wet skin on skin, his foreskin slick as it glides under his palm. It feels like an eternity since he has masturbated. He’s been so busy with school that he barely has time to shower, let alone touch himself.

Bet that bastard does this all the time. Thinking about how great and strong he is, laughing about how he has everybody fooled. Leave it to his father to jerk off to the thought of himself. Eugh, what if he thinks about Shouto? No doubt he thinks about Fuyumi. Remembers all the times he stuck his stupid cock in her, made Shouto watch. Made Shouto help. He still has nightmares about that time he was commanded to touch his sister while his father fucked her. Remembers the noises she made, the chill of her skin, how soft her tits were under his fingertips, fuck it was sick, so fucking sick-

Choking on a gasp, Shouto rises to his feet as he orgasms, cum dripping down his cock and over his knuckles. It overflows onto the carpet, splatters one of the desk drawers. Shouto leans over the desk and braces himself on his arm when he feels his knees grow weak. He pants, rides the afterglow. Hasn’t had one this good in a while.

After regaining his composure, Shouto wipes his softening dick against the desktop. He runs his knuckles and back of his hand along the hardwood. It leaves a thick trail of cum in its wake. Shouto can’t stifle a triumphant, dazed laugh when he stands back and examines the mess he’s made.

Maybe this is how his father felt when he did the same thing to Shouto yesterday. What an epic “fuck you.” As sick as it is, he sees the appeal.

Tucking his softening dick back into his pants, Shouto leaves the office and heads down the hallway. With the Sports Festival coming up, he figures he should start training today. It’s so much more tolerable when he does it alone. Might as well take advantage of the quiet while he can.

 

The day passes in the blink of an eye; Shouto practices control of his ice, attempting to direct it towards small targets with precision. Raw power has always been easy for him, but concentrating hard enough to use it sparingly is still a struggle. It shouldn’t really be an issue during the Sports Festival, though. No doubt all he needs is his sheer strength.

Late in the afternoon, Shouto enters the kitchen. He was so engrossed with training that he nearly forgot to eat. Fuyumi said she’ll be home a little later than usual, so he figures it wouldn’t hurt to have something. Her dinners usually aren’t enough to fill him up anyway.

After shutting the refrigerator, Shouto hears heavy footsteps behind him. Goddammit. Is it seriously that late in the day already? He could’ve swore it was only three o’clock. Bastard gets home after four on Fridays.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice your blazer was clean yesterday,” he hears his father say behind him. “You’re lucky I didn’t punish you right then and there in front of your sister.”

Shouto rolls his eyes so hard they hurt. It’s not worth trying to explain why his father’s disgusting stain was gone, even if it was an accident. It’s not like it would stave off whatever his father has planned.

“I stand by everything I said,” Shouto snarls as he sets a pitcher of water onto the counter. “You can’t tell me you don’t use excessive force when capturing Villains.”

“Violence is excusable if it’s for the greater good,” his father says, approaching him. “Those who break the rules need to be punished. It’s only fair, isn’t it?”

Bakugou said the same thing. Something tells Shouto that his father’s idea of excusable violence is much more cruel than Bakugou’s, though. The ugly scars that litter Shouto’s body can attest to that.

So can the hand wrapping around Shouto’s upper arms, squeezing hard enough to make his bones creak. Fuck, can’t his father ever exchange pleasantries and then leave him alone? Maybe Shouto does kind of deserve this after what happened last night.

“Your ego,” Shouto growls, biting back a wince as he glares back at him. “Your stupid fucking ego is what makes y-”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve solved more criminal cases than anyone. It makes no difference why I do it. The public only wants results.”

Shouto generates ice along his right side, sharp icicles encompassing his upper body. They melt instantly under his father’s heated touch. If only he could make his ice cold enough to linger in the presence of the bastard.

“If you burned your fire hot enough, you could scorch my hand,” his father says with a snide grin. “Fight violence with violence. Wouldn’t that be justified?”

Probably. No, certainly. Shouto hates to admit it, but his father has a point. It’s too bad he has sworn off ever using his left side.

“No,” Shouto lies, glaring daggers, “it’s hypocritical.”

Shouto is shoved hard and he loses his footing. His vision blurs as his father pushes him forward, slamming him against the stovetop. A loud bang vibrates in his ears as the kettle on the burner grate rattles. His father’s huge hand clasps over his left wrist, temperature rising beneath his rough fingertips.

“If you burn me, I’ll let you go,” his father says, leaning over him.

That tone is unambiguous. Sweat begins to bead under Shouto’s bangs as he realizes the inevitable, but he says nothing, stays still. That growing heat against his skin threatens to scorch.

“I forgot you prefer threats over bargaining.” His father’s other hand reaches around and lingers over the waistband of his pants. “If you don’t use your fire, I’ll make you regret it. How does that sound?”

His heartbeat is racing, pumping blood through his veins so quickly that Shouto swears he feels it in his limbs. He grows sick when he feels his pants slid down. There is so much his father has reason to punish him for; no doubt this could get brutal. Still, it’s probably inevitable. How can Shouto even guarantee that he’s telling him the truth, anyway?

Before Shouto can spit out a response, he hears a familiar melody, the pocket of his pants vibrating against his leg. His father reaches into his pocket before Shouto can do it himself. Shit, if it’s late afternoon, that definitely means-

“It’s your sister.”

Shouto’s hands turn to fists. Of course. She calls practically every day off when he doesn’t answer her text messages. All the messages Fuyumi sent him today were irritating; he didn’t have the mental capacity to reply to her nagging.

“Answer it, boy,” his father growls. “You know how your sister worries.”

“I’m not a-”

There is a subtle beep as his father accepts the call, shoving it in front of him. Shouto snorts as he snatches it away. He brings it up to his ear.

“Shouto!” Fuyumi cries. “Shouto, are you okay? You didn’t answer my texts!”

Fuck. His father’s hand runs along his ass, teasing, threatening. No doubt the bastard is already hard.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, attempting to sound unfazed. “Fine.”

“How was your day? Were you able to relax at all?”

Why small talk? Why, out of all the times to do this to him?

“Y-Yeah.”

Heated hands grasp his ass, spreading him wide, putting him on full display. Shouto feels his face flush; he bucks his hips in a vain attempt to free himself.

“I wanted to ask… I was gonna pick up dinner. Is there something you want? Katsudon? One of those kitsune udon p-”

Her voice is drowned out by a jolt to his senses; something slick and hot presses against his ass and Shouto goes rigid, nails digging into his palms as he anticipates his father’s fat cock press into him. But instead of that familiar pain, the wetness runs up his crack, stops, returns to circle around his hole.

“I know we had curry last night so I wasn’t sure. I’m kinda tired of tuna. We’ve had that twice this week. It’s ki-”

Shouto can’t hold back a squeak when it sinks deeper and penetrates his ass. He instantly bends his elbow and sinks teeth into his forearm to keep a moan at bay.

Ohh god. Holy fuck. His father is eating him out.

“Though I guess if I tried a different sauce, it would be better. Or maybe I can get one of those filets that aren’t meant to be cooked… What do you think? What do you want?”

A slick line traces just beneath his balls, runs along his taint, lapping back and forth. It’s so much feeling that tears build in his eyes. His cock leaks and throbs pressed against his stomach, so close to cumming even while untouched.

“Shouto?” Fuyumi says.

“Y-Yes,” he manages to squeak out.

“Huh?”

“Yes,” Shouto responds with more conviction. His father seems to double his efforts in response and Shouto’s knees threaten to give out beneath him.

“That… wasn’t a yes or no question. Are you listening?”

It’s painful to hold back the whimpers that build in his throat. His father’s tongue runs flat and firm along his twitching ass, tracing along the sensitive muscle, pushing through to lap against his guts. It’s so disgusting but fuck does it feel good, fuck he wants to cum, he wants to cum so b-

“Shooouto…”

“What?”

That came out angry but Shouto can’t help it, not when his father is fucking his ass with his tongue. He bites down so hard on his arm that he feels flesh give beneath his teeth.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Y-Yes.”

A pathetic whimper manages to pass through his lips when his father pulls away. Shit shit shit, there’s no way Fuyumi didn’t hear that.

“Shouto, if you’re not safe, say ‘okay,’” she whispers into the phone. This isn’t the first time she has done this. Shouto will give her credit; it’s a clever way to avoid suspicion when there may be others overhearing.

But Shouto remains silent. His father is listening intently as he rests his cock between Shouto’s cheeks, rutting along the slick path. Shouto prays he won’t punish Fuyumi for even asking.

“I can leave my internship early,” she insists despite the silence. “I can make up an excuse if you need me to.”

Even if she did, what can she do but get in the way? Fuyumi obviously offers to ease her guilt of being powerless.

“No,” Shouto finally says. “Everything’s fine.”

As if on cue, his father impales Shouto on his cock, bottoming out in one heavy thrust. It’s fast, nearly painless with all that preparation. Shouto releases a lewd groan into the crook of his elbow in a pathetic attempt to keep quiet. His father chuckles so loud that there is no way his sister didn’t hear it on the other line. A large hand pulls the phone from Shouto’s grasp, a soft beep indicating the call is hung up.

“Good boy, Shouto,” his father purrs, voice deep. “Do you want me to fuck you like it’s a punishment or a reward?”

Shouto’s cock feels so heavy beneath his legs, painfully stiff and aching. It takes everything in his power not to reach down and jerk himself off to release the building pressure. He’s not sure how his father got such filthy new ways of tormenting him, but Shouto is positive they’re working. Disgust and desperation are such a harrowing combination.

“Neither,” Shouto growls. “I want you to leave me alone.”

A heated grip wraps around Shouto’s cock and he keens. He’s so close to cumming already, his balls drawing up, ready to empty. The huge cock stuffed in his ass starts to move at a laggard pace.

“Come on, boy. Indulge me just this one time.”

‘Just this one time?’ As if this hasn’t happened a hundred times before? The nerve.

“I want to hear you say that you want a reward.” He squeezes Shouto’s cock. “Just once, Shouto. Just once and I’ll let you cum. You know how to do it correctly.”

If… if he just gives his father what he wants, Shouto will get what he wants. Getting off is worth the sudden dip in his pride. It’s not like anyone has to know; if he can just cum, just relieve some of this ache, whatever punishment his father inflicts will be much more tolerable. Shouto can get out of this without having to endure any more brutality.

“I want a reward,” Shouto grumbles, pressing his eyes more firmly against his arm to hide the shame. The comment is honored with deeper thrusts, but his cock remains untouched.

“Come on, boy. Better than that.”

Agh, so close… what’s all the sick shit his father likes to hear? Shouto tries desperately to remember.

“I want a reward, Daddy,” he manages to spit out. Shouto is fucked more thoroughly, the heated hands around his cock squeezing tighter.

“What kind of reward do you want, Shouto?” his father sneers.

He’s so close, if his father would just jerk him off he could cum, he could finally cum-

“I want you to make me cum,” Shouto finally whines. “Make me cum, Daddy, please…”

Shouto’s voice cracks when his father finally starts to jerk Shouto off, hand pumping in perfect rhythm to the vicious slam of his hips. His whines intensify as his orgasm tears through him. Fingers and toes go numb, legs quake as he rides through it, his father fucking him hard even as Shouto’s ass clenches down on his hot cock. He’s in such a daze that he barely hears a beep and the sound of his phone hitting the countertop when his father tosses it aside.

The bliss is short-lived; his father continues to tug on his softening cock and Shouto groans.

“Too much,” he complains. “Stop, it’s too much…”

But his father doesn’t stop. He continues thrusting into him, jerking his cock until it begins to harden once more. There’s so much sensation that it hurts, it overrides the hum of satiation of his intense orgasm. Shouto feels ice gather beneath his fingertips and begin to spread along the stovetop. His father is going to rub his cock raw at this point.

“S-Stop, it… it doesn’t feel good…!” Shouto cringes at how childish he sounds.

“What makes you think this has anything to do with your pleasure?” his father replies between grunts. “Don’t think that being good for me just this once overrides all that defiance you’ve shown lately.”

The ice beneath him melts beneath his father’s heat, leaving Shouto pressed against a shallow pool of water. He bites his lip to keep from screaming, fingers curling until his nails scrape along the metal. The wetness on his skin, his father fucking him, it suddenly remin-

“I’ll bring your sister in here. I’ll drown her and make you watch.”

No. No no no no no no. Shouto coughs, sputters, feels his lungs fill with water. He tries gasping for air but chokes on the liquid trapped in his windpipe. There’s water in his ears and in his mouth and being sucked into his stomach as he screams. His attempts to push himself away from the tub are fruitless.

He hears the kettle on the stove. It’s beginning to whistle.

“T-Take it out…!” Shouto cries. The water trapped in his sinuses bubbles as he speaks. It seems to slosh around in his skull with every brutal thrust his father makes.

“You’re in no position to be making demands.”

Shouto retches, attempts to expel as much water as he can from his stomach. It’s trapped. No matter how hard he coughs and snorts, he’s still drowning. His father continues pumping his cock with brute strength. It’s so much, it’s too much.

The kettle whistle screeches. The lid clatters against the spout.

“Why can’t you just be a good boy, Shouto? I don’t like hurting you like this. It pains me.”

Liar.

“I only I told you want what’s you weren’t best for ready you. You but have you were so much so potential goddamn for insistent greatness.”

He has no choice but to hold his breath. His lungs are on fire, ass raw from the assault. Shouto holds back his coughs and desire to vomit; it’s impossible with his head underwater.

It’s also impossible to think with the kettle screaming so loud in his ear.

“You were supposed to be my masterpiece,” his father laments, running his hand across Shouto’s forehead, pushing the hair out of his face. “Why must you constantly give me reasons to punish you?”

“It’s okay to cry, Shouto. Go ahead and cry.”

Water hits Shouto’s face along his hairline and he screams. White overtakes his vision while the boiling water eats away at his face, searing through the skin and thin layer of fat along his cheekbone.

“I can’t… I can’t take it anymore…”

“Mommy, stop…!” Shouto cries, clawing at the stovetop. Nails scrape pathetically against the smooth surface.

“His left side is unbearable…”

“It hurts, Mommy, it burns…!” His fingers find purchase in the stove grates and desperately cling to the metal. “You’re burning me! Stop!”

He opens his mouth to take a deep breath but he’s still choking, still drowning.

“Every time I look at Shouto, I see him and I-”

An unfamiliar warmth radiates between his legs, spreading across his pelvis, a dampness soaking the fabric of his pants. It travels down the inside of his thighs and runs along his ankles. A puddle quickly forms beneath his feet, liquid settling into the space between the floor tiles as he shrieks in pain. His father seems unfazed by the fact that Shouto literally wet his pants in terror.

Shouto can’t see. Can’t think. His brain is full of static. He hears his father groan as he comes in his ass, but the usual burning in his guts is absent. When his father finally lets go of him, he limply crumples to the floor. All he can make out when the haze leaves his vision is his father’s feet as they leave the kitchen.

It’s silent. Cold. He’s wet but no longer drowning. Scared but without reason.

He’ll be good from now on. He’ll behave.

 

Shouto doesn’t know how much time passes before he sees his mother walk in. She freezes in place when she sees Shouto on the floor lying in a puddle of his own piss. Rushing over, his mother’s hands pull back and ball into fists as she frantically examines his body. It’s like she’s afraid to touch him. Afraid of touching something so unbearable.

“Mommy,” he whimpers, grabbing her by the front of her shirt. “Mommy, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

“Shh, it’s okay, Shouto,” she soothes. Her chilly hand rubs the back of his head and runs through his hair. Sobbing, he shoves his face into her chest.

“I didn’t mean to mess up… I’m doing my best…!”

“I know, honey. I know.”

Shouto desperately hyperventilates from his mouth, unable to inhale through his clogged nose, his head swimming from lack of oxygen.

“I don’t want you to go, Mommy! I’ll be good from now on! Please don’t go away!”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry, but I have to.”

“He’s mean, Daddy is so mean to me and Yumi and I hate him, Mommy, I hate him so much and I hated it when he hurt you too but I’m stronger now, I can protect you! I protect Yumi, I can protect you too, I promise…!”

There’s a wetness against his shoulder where his mother has her faced pressed against him. Mommy is crying. Shouto is making her cry.

“I miss you,” he sniffles, voice softening to barely a whisper. “I love you and Yumi and I… I miss you a lot…”

“Fuyumi loves you too, Shouto,” Mommy replies. “Fuyumi loves you very much. I’m sure of it.”

Her chilled fingers pull him forward, pull him closer. Shouto can feel her heart pounding through her flesh.

“Everything is going to be alright.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

 

“Okay, rinse done! You can open your eyes now.”

Shouto’s eyelids flutter open but a harsh light nearly blinds him, has him quickly snapping them shut. He rubs his face for a few seconds and tries again. Squinting, Shouto takes in his surroundings through a heavy daze, trying to figure out just where he is.

He’s in the bathing room. Sitting on a stool. And he’s… naked? He hasn’t showered like this in- wait, why is Fuyumi here?!

“What the hell are you doing?!” he shouts, shoving his hands into his lap to cover his dick. Fuyumi tilts her head slightly, a strand of her pulled-back hair coming loose and drifting over her shoulder. A towel is tied across her otherwise-naked body. It slides down a fraction of an inch when she leans over and Shouto catches a glimpse of her pink nipples. He stifles a yelp, quickly turning away.

Ohh fuck… Please don’t get a boner, please don’t get a boner…

“I offered to help you wash up and you said yes,” Fuyumi says as she tucks the stray hair behind her ear.

“Why?! I’m too old for this, Fuyumi!”

The look of concern deepens across her face.

“You needed help,” she replies softly.

“Why?!”

She doesn’t seem to want to respond to his question. Her eyes narrow.

“You have a lot more scars than I thought,” Fuyumi says as she looks away, changing the subject.

This has to be some sort of feverish hallucination. Maybe he pushed himself too hard during training and made himself sick. It’s possible, it has to be possible, right? This feels like one of those wet dreams that make Shouto wake up despising himself, grumbling and craving death while he shoves his sheets in the wash. He pinches his wrist hard in hopes of waking himself up.

“Do you not remember what happened?” she asks him, blinking hard.

Shouto frowns.

“When?”

“A couple hours ago, I guess. I’m not really sure. I wasn’t here.”

“Why are you asking?” he demands. “What happened?”

Fuyumi goes quiet, diverts her gaze again. That always means the answer is too painful for her to say outright.

“I… I got a video message from your phone,” she finally tells him.

Video?

Her sentence trails off when she sees him rise to his feet. Shouto hears his name called but he slams the bathing room door shut, bolts down the hallway. The wet heels of his feet slip along the polished wood flooring. Shouto doesn’t even realize until he gets into his bedroom that he forgot to wrap a towel around himself.

What the hell kind of video could’ve been sent from his phone? Shouto doesn’t really want to know, but he feels like he should probably find out.

After haphazardly throwing a yukata over his shoulders, Shouto searches for his phone, shoving books across his desk and flinging bedding off his futon. His kicks his pillows out of the way, checks in his chest of drawers. It’s nowhere to be found. Shouto threads his fingers through his hair. Where else could it be?

As soon as he slides his bedroom door open, he sees Fuyumi standing in front of him. She’s wearing her nightgown, damp hair sticking to her face and neck.

“What are you doing?” she cries, crossing her arms over her chest. “Shouto, wh-”

“Where is my phone?” he demands, glaring. Fuyumi flinches.

“P-Probably in the kitchen, but… I really don’t think you should be looking at it right now…!”

Why the kitchen?

He stomps down the hallway, ignoring his sister calling his name behind him. When Shouto arrives, he sees the phone face down and askew on the countertop. He snatches it and types in his simple number code. It unlocks, opening to his messenger app, a tiny window resting next to his name with the words “Read 4:13pm” next to it.

Ohh god. Ohh fuck, fuck, fuck. He bites his lip, praying to find anything but the worst possibility.

“I want a reward, Daddy,” Shouto says, disingenuous.

Shouto’s eyes widen in horror as he watches his father’s cock slam into his ass from behind. He hears the sounds of his own gasps, his father’s soft grunts.

“What kind of reward do you want, Shouto?” his father asks.

The brutal pace picks up. So does the intensity of Shouto’s lewd moans. The phone rattles in its case as he starts to tremble, too panicked to look away.

“I want you to make me cum,” he finally whines, looking back at the camera. “Make me cum, Daddy, please…”

Hearing the familiar yet unsettling sound of his deep breaths during orgasm makes Shouto’s stomach clench. The phone slips out of his shaking fingers; Fuyumi flinches when it collides with the tile, a deep crack shooting across the edge of the screen like a bolt of lightning.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” she mumbles, practically a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Shouto. I’m so sorry.”

Shouto doesn’t know what to say. To think things like this happened and he has no recollection of it… what happened? Was he drugged or something? And ohh god, what other sick shit happened before the video was taken?!

As much as he wants to fight it, his brain tries to piece his shattered memories back together. It feels like half his mind is attempting to dig the memories up, the other half trying to suppress it. Shouto doesn’t want to remember. He grabs his head as a splitting pain zaps through his skull.

“Why can’t you just be a good b-”

NO.

Shouto sprints towards the hall, running past his jolted sister and towards his bedroom. He runs so fast that his steps feel weightless. Desperation drives him. No matter what he has to do, Shouto can’t allow himself to remember whatever happened earlier in the evening.

The door slides shut and locks. A trembling hand grasps the water bottle on his desk. He desperately brings it to his mouth, taking deep, eager gulps. Fuck, he hates this. Hates how much he relies on this.

But it’s the only way. The only way he knows how to make it stop.

Three, four, five, six to be safe. Shouto gasps when he slams it back down onto the desktop, enduring the fire that ignites in his throat.

“Shouto!” Fuyumi calls from the other side of the door. “What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he replies.

“Do you… want to talk about how you’re feeling?”

Shouto scoffs. How he’s feeling? He feels nothing now, not after taking such heavy sips. All he feels is numbness and exhaustion. Fuyumi always acting like a fucking therapist, wanting to know what he’s thinking about, why he’s thinking about things. Always suggesting reasons why he feels the emotions she assumes he feels. Joke is on her; Shouto never feels anything.

He splays out on his futon. The room spins around him and he chuckles.

“No, Dr. Fuyumi,” Shouto responds flippantly. “I’m going to bed. ‘Night.”

Fuyumi pauses.

“Sleep well,” she says softly.

Ohh, he will. Because for once, his mind is quiet. Static under control. Calm. Shouto will sleep through the night without being interrupted by any dreams or nightmares.

What happened today? Who cares. Shouto doesn’t possess the energy to care anymore.


The next morning, Shouto sits alone at the table while he eats his breakfast. The room spins slightly; he feels dehydrated and dizzy. Shouto takes large gulps of water, shoveling huge helpings of rice into his mouth, tries to feel full enough to stave off his nausea. Yesterday was mostly a blur, but Shouto is almost thankful. He’s glad the day is over with and he can try to move on.

That… starts to seem impossible when his sister enters the room, setting down her breakfast plate. He knows he’s about to get an earfull. The way she wrings her hands together is a tell-tale sign of it.

“I want to talk to you,” she finally says.

Yep. He was right. Fuyumi is so damn predictable.

“About what?” he asks.

Fuyumi sighs.

“Ever since you started school, you’ve been acting a lot more… unstable. Maybe not unstable, but like… erratic. Maybe that’s a better word.”

If Shouto was as sensitive as she is, that would’ve probably hurt his feelings. Instead, he subtly rolls his eyes and takes another bite of rice.

“Shouto, it’s only been a week. You can’t sustain this.” She’s staring straight at him but he pretends not to notice. “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”

Not really.

“Yeah.”

“This is the worst I’ve seen from you. A lot worse than when you were a kid. It’s scary to see how much everything has worn on you.”

“Stop being so scared all the time,” he says. “I’m just a little stressed out.”

She isn’t buying it. The air feels thick when she picks up her chopsticks, tries to pick up a bite of her food with a shaky hand. Fuyumi finally gives up and puts her chopsticks back onto the table.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks.

He really has no choice.

“What?”

There is a brief pause as Fuyumi looks down, her mouth hanging open as if the words are stuck in her throat.

“Sometimes, it’s hard for me to look at my students because they remind me so much of you when you were younger, and it makes me remember how I couldn’t help you.” Her knuckles turn white as she squeezes her hands more tightly together. “It makes me so nauseous. It’s like everything reminds me of all that’s happened. Like every little thing someone says to me or things that happen during the day… they all remind me of stuff that’s happened in the past.”

Shouto doesn’t know what to say. He isn’t sure why she’s even confessing this, but it makes him shift uncomfortably on his cushion.

“Does that ever happen to you?” Fuyumi asks, grimacing as though she is afraid to hear the answer to her question.

Every day. Every single day.

“No.”

Fuyumi’s eyes narrow as she sighs.

“You’re a lot stronger than I am, I guess.” Her frown deepens. “But I still think it’s affecting you more than you realize.”

A chilled hand reaches out and touches his fist that rests on the table, causing Shouto to flinch. Sometimes her touch is soft and soothing, but there is something about it now that is more intense, more off-putting.

“If there’s anything I can do for you, Shouto. Anything. Please let me know. I’ll do anything to help you through this.”

He yanks his hand away and out of her grip as if it is suddenly scorching.

“Thanks,” is all he can think to say.

It’s a lot to digest. Fuyumi goes through similar shit he does? Sounds impossible to believe. She’s definitely had her moments of instability, but she has always seemed so calm and level-headed, rarely retaliating against anything inflicted upon her. Shouto knows Fuyumi’s cheery demeanor is her weird brand of coping. Annoying sometimes, but it could certainly be a lot more difficult to tolerate if she was constantly screaming or lashing out. Guess he just wasn’t sure exactly how much she’s coping with. It’s much worse than he assumed, it seems.

Ugh, he should make a mental note of that. He’s definitely too snippy with her sometimes.

“You done with your bowl?” Fuyumi asks as she stands to her feet and picks up her dishes, food barely touched. He nods, resting his chopsticks over top of the empty bowl before she picks it up.

The room is so quiet when she leaves. Shouto sighs, eyes fixed on the cushion where his sister always sits.

Despite her desperate plea to allow it, there’s no way he could ever ask for her help. It’s not worth the risk of her getting hurt in the process.

“Hold her arms down, Shouto.”

He learned that the hard way.


On Monday, the class is told about the Sports Festival. Many of Shouto’s classmates seem to be caught off-guard. Shouto has been training for it even before he got to U.A.; It’s all over the television every year, how did they just forget? He stays quiet after class as everyone discusses the news.

While waiting in line during lunch, Shouto hears Ochaco talk to Iida about their classmate, Midoriya. The same kid who fought Bakugou last week, the one Bakugou seems to especially hate.

“I wonder what All Might wanted with Deku,” she says.

“I’ll bet it has to do with that Villain battle,” Iida replies. “That intense power he and All Might have is so similar. He’s amazing!”

All Might, huh? Shouto has been curious about Midoriya ever since he watched him fight Bakugou. Midoriya’s quirk strength is unmatched, able to pulverize targets with ease, but he is severely limited by how much harm it inflicts on his body. It’s pretty obvious that he has had little training. Still, this isn’t the first time he has heard of Midoriya spending time with All Might. There’s an odd connection between the two that Shouto can’t help but be suspicious about.

Guess they aren’t so different, Midoriya and him. Shouto studies under the Number Two Hero, Midoriya studying under Number One. Both of them have mentors who people seem to think are the best of the best. All Might has certainly earned that title, but his father deserves nothing as far as Shouto is concerned.

But… if his father is a piece of shit, is it possible All Might is, too? The public only sees All Might in his Hero role; Shouto can’t think of a time when he has heard about his private life. It’s a bit suspicious considering many Heroes are open about themselves in both their careers and off-duty. Tabloids swarm them constantly, discuss their relationships, photograph them in civilian clothes. Endeavor is one the tabloids have barely touched thanks to his father’s obsessive security measures bred from paranoia. Most people assume he’s just a private man, but it’s much, much more than that.

If All Might is the same way, going to great lengths to only exist to the public as a Hero, maybe he shares similar characteristics with his father. Bad characteristics. And who is to say that All Might isn’t Midoriya’s father? That would mean… Midoriya could… could be going through the same thing Shouto is going through.

Suddenly, Shouto is no longer hungry. His guts feel like they’re tying into knots. He leaves the lunch line, sits down at an empty table in the back of the cafeteria, rests his chin on his hand.

The thought of All Might hurting Midoriya is nauseating. Shouto barely knows Midoriya at all, but the mental image of him being held down by All Might… he’s so small, so much smaller than him. And Midoriya hasn’t mastered his quirk at all. He’d have reason to be punished.

“You earned this, boy. If you aren’t going to put effort into your training, you have to suffer the consequences.”

Shit. Shouto puts his fingers in his ears in hopes that memory fades. He can feel his father’s huge hands around his torso, squeezing him until it feels like his ribs will shatter under his grip. A quake racks his limbs. Sweat beads beneath his fringe, soaking his hair until it sticks to his forehead.

“Are you listening? Are you listening to me?”

Shouto has lived through all that mistreatment, still does constantly. It makes him sick to think Midoriya may be experiencing that same fear he felt as a child. How does he cope, Shouto wonders? How can he let that burning determination still flicker in his eyes? Shouto no longer can. Shouto is weak.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you.”

“No,” Shouto grumbles.

“What do you mean ‘no’? Stop fucking ignoring me!”

A subtle smack across his head snaps him out of those memories. He’s back in the cafeteria, eyes fixed on the table in front of him, ears still plugged by his trembling fingers.

Ahh, he recognizes that voice.

“For the last time, what the hell are you doing?” Bakugou asks, holding his lunch tray.

“Nothing,” Shouto snaps back. “Just thinking.”

“Don’t think too hard. You might hurt yourself.”

Bakugou lets out an obnoxious laugh. Shouto rolls his eyes.

“You finished lunch already?” Bakugou asks, though there’s no true concern in his voice.

“It’s none of your business, but I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t skip meals, Half ‘n Half. You think I’m going to go easy on you in the Sports Festival because you’re sick or whatever? You’re training to be a Hero, so put the fucking work in.” He tilts his head to one side, his face going into an even uglier scowl. “Besides, it won’t be fun to kick your ass at the Sports Festival if you’re not giving it your all.”

“I don’t enjoy hurting your sister, you know. It’s not satisfying when she doesn’t fight back.”

His nose wrinkles as he glares up at Bakugou.

“We’ll see what happens,” Shouto sneers.

“You really are a masochist.” Bakugou gives him a sarcastic smile. “You sure you wanna embarrass yourself in front of thousands of people, Icyhot?”

“Train harder. Don’t embarrass me in front of all those people, Shouto.”

“I’ll prove you wrong,” Shouto insists, his eyes darting to the side.

‘I’ll prove you both wrong.’

Bakugou leaves with a huff, heading towards the opposite end of the cafeteria. Shouto sighs heavily before cringing, looks down between his legs. Takes a deep sip from his water bottle.

What the hell is it about that guy that makes his dick so hard? All Bakugou does is yell at him. Shouto gets weird random boners all the time, but never like this. Goddamn, it’s getting painful.

Shouto looks around the cafeteria. The table he’s sitting at is in the back corner of the room, two sides walled off. He’s only visible from the front and side. Most people don’t sit back here so he’s pretty isolated. Nobody really pays attention to him, anyway.

He unzips his pants, adjusts his cock against the side of his leg, and grasps it with one hand. His other elbow rests on the table and he places his chin in his hand, staring out into space to not draw suspicion to himself. Shouto slowly strokes his cock that rests against his thigh. Rubs his thumb against his slit while yanking the skin tight around the shaft.

It’s bold, he knows. What happens if he gets caught? Would they suspend him, expel him? His father would be so pissed. It’d probably be no different than when he got kicked out of that elementary school.

‘Do you want to explain to me why you were expelled from school?’ his father would say, just as he did before.

Shouto wouldn’t be afraid this time, though. He wouldn’t bother trying to reason with that asshole.

“Fuck you,” Shouto whispers, jerking his dick harder. The thick fabric of his pants is rubbing against the head and it feels so fucking good. Reminds him of how he used to dry hump his pillows as a kid, skinny legs straddling the plush fabric, his tiny cock and balls rutting against the pillowcase.

‘What did you do, Shouto?’ his father would ask him.

He tucks his chin, resting his forehead against his hand so that no one can hear.

“I jerked off in the cafeteria,” he mumbles. “I did it because I knew it would piss you off.”

Ahh, his father’s brow would catch fire at that comment. Would ignite along his shoulders and shoot from his pores. He’d have that same twisted look of rage that Bakugou wore just before he nearly knocked him out.

So close already. He feels a tightening in his balls as he jerks his cock harder.

‘Stop, dad! Stop! You’re going to kill him!’

Ohh. Ohh, that’s right. Fuyumi tried to intervene that day, didn’t she? Her voice sounded so determined and firm.

‘I don’t care if you hit me, but if you touch him one more time, I’m calling the police.’

Shouto is such a weak piece of shit compared to his sister, so reckless and angry while she keeps her cool. Hah, and here he is thinking it’s ballsy to rub one out in the cafeteria. There’s nothing more ballsy than standing up to their father when he’s got that murderous look in his eye.

Wait… if he got caught here, if his father found out, if that entire scene happened all over again, then that means s-

‘You ruined your brother, Fuyumi. You ruined my masterpiece. He’s broken. Look at him.’

Fuck, fuck that’s right, ohh fuck Shouto is so fucked up, how could he risk getting caught when his father could punish his sister instead of punish him, just like last time when she kept begging and pleading to spare Shouto the trauma, enduring it for him, acting like a fucking martyr all because he’s too selfish not to think of anyone but himself, it’s always about him, never about-

‘D-Don’t make him watch… I won’t fight back, dad, I swear I won’t, just let him go, please…’

A gasp is forced into a cough as Shouto cums in his pants, a tacky wetness filling his boxers as he jerks himself to completion. It hits him about halfway through his now-ruined orgasm that this was a very poor, messy idea. What if it seeps through his pants? The light fabric would definitely stain, leave an obvious sign of what happened. Shouto’s reputation would be forever tarnished and no one would ever talk to him again.

(It’s what he would deserve.)

This is… the second time that memory has gotten him off in less than two weeks. Shouto bites his lip and fights the urge to cry as reality sets in. He has little idea of what “normal” is, but he is fucking positive it isn’t this. Sitting alone in a room full of people while beating off to the thought of his dad raping his sister.

God damn, Shouto hates himself.


The next day, Shouto still can’t stop thinking about Midoriya and All Might. He’s utterly convinced they’re related. Their quirks are similar, their attitudes are similar, their features are… kind of similar…? Shouto can see the resemblance if he looks close enough, he’s sure of it.

And if they’re father and son, there’s probably a higher chance that All Might hurts Midoriya just like Shouto’s father hurts him.

“It’s not… normal,” he remembers Fuyumi telling him when he was young. “What he does to you, that’s… not what dads are supposed to do.”

Ohh, right. Why does he still normalize it in his head? Guess it has felt so commonplace throughout his life that he sometimes forgets fathers aren’t supposed to fuck their sons.

From what Shouto observes from the back of the class, Midoriya is fidgety and high-strung. He’s constantly mumbling to himself and chews on his pens. When Bakugou spews his constant verbal abuse, Midoriya clams up, puts on an awkward smile, acts like it doesn’t bother him. No doubt the reaction is forced.

Midoriya is a lot like his sister, he realizes.

(What does that make Bakugou?)

As fucked up as it is, Shouto has gone from being sickened at the thought of Midoriya being abused to being… curious. Maybe even hopeful. He has heard rumors in school about other kids getting smacked around by their parents, but never has Shouto felt like someone may understand exactly how he has suffered. The closest he could ever hope for is Fuyumi, but her experiences have still been so much different. She insists he never laid a finger on her until she was fifteen.

No one else trains under a national Hero, has to endure the pressure of filling those impossible shoes, has to suffer the wrath of someone infinitely stronger than them. Has to put up with hardwood bruising their cheeks as they’re held down and assaulted. Of swallowing fear for so long that it has eaten through their stomach and consumed everything inside them, devoured it all until they’ve been rendered hollow and apathetic and numb.

Except maybe Midoriya. Maybe Midoriya knows what that’s like.

Shouto dwells on it for the next few days. He watches Midoriya with a careful eye, watches his mannerisms and habits. All Might isn’t spared from his scrutiny, either. It doesn’t take long to realize that All Might does give special attention to Midoriya. Touches his shoulder, whispers to him, holds meetings with just the two of them. And many of their interactions bring out an overwrought grin and redness to Midoriya’s cheeks.

They have to be related. And Midoriya mimics the same idiosyncrasies as Fuyumi, which leaves little doubt that he’s living through the same bullshit that Shouto lives through. It makes perfect sense.

Finally, he isn’t alone. Shouto has never felt so disgusted and relieved at the same time. The Sports Festival will provide the perfect opportunity to examine him closer before pulling Midoriya aside, cryptically extracting the information he needs while maintaining Midoriya’s trust.

It should be enough to give Shouto all the reassurance he needs.

 

 

 

Chapter Text

On the morning of the Sports Festival, Shouto is rudely awakened to something heavy smacking against his face. He jolts awake, his hand groping wildly in an attempt to figure out what the hell is on top of him.

“Shouto!” his sister sings. “Are you ready? I washed your gym uniform for you!”

So that’s what that flowery smell is. He grabs the fabric of his uniform currently laying on top of his face and tosses it back towards her.

“My alarm didn’t go off yet,” he grumbles, pressing his hands against his eyes.

“You need to get up early and eat extra for breakfast! I made you eggs and fish. Dad said you need the protein.”

He’s only been awake for ten goddamn seconds and he’s already hearing about his father. A dramatic groan rumbles in his chest.

“He already left,” she continues. “But he said he’ll be there today to watch.”

“Figures.” Shouto sits up, yawning as he stretches his arms out wide. “Hope he likes watching me win only using my ice.”

“I wish you weren’t so hard-headed,” Fuyumi pouts. “Just do your best, okay? Show off all that hard work. They’re gonna be broadcasting it in the teacher’s room today, so I’m hoping I can see some of it. I know you’re gonna do great.”

A deep sigh escapes his lips. It’s nice to hear that she has faith in him — and honestly, Shouto knows he’s better than most of his classmates — but such a big part of him feels like his heart isn’t in this. Being paraded around like a performing animal in order to impress Hero agencies… it’s disheartening. Sounds like he’s feeding into that political Hero bullshit he can’t stand, all the appeasing of superiors and following traditions and sucking metaphorical dick to rise to the top.

"Isn't it kind of stupid, though?" he says as Fuyumi heads towards the door. "It all feels kind of meaningless."

"Everything's kinda stupid if you think about it too hard," she replies with a light-hearted shrug. "You've just gotta try not to be so cynical all the time."

"Easy for you to say," Shouto snaps back, a little more harsh than he intends. Fuyumi doesn't acknowledge the comment when she leaves.

(Maybe it's not as easy as he assumes.)

 

 

After a quick homeroom meet-up, the class changes into their gym uniforms and heads to the school stadium. They sit and chatter among themselves, expressing their anxieties and excitement. Shouto sits by himself in the corner; their banter doesn’t interest him in the slightest. He looks around the room and notices Midoriya sitting with his peers, those suspicions and obsessive thoughts coming back to him immediately.

There’s a nagging in the back of his mind he can’t shake. It gnaws at him, drowns out every other thought he tries to distract himself with. But as much as Shouto wants to address Midoriya directly about his speculations, he holds himself back. It’s too dangerous to do so in front of so many people.

Still… Shouto wants to shake him up a bit. Get a better feel for his reactions to a challenge. Maybe that will give him more clues on whether his paranoia is warranted.

“Hey, Midoriya,” Shouto calls as he approaches his classmate.

“O-Ohh, Todoroki,” Midoriya replies, eyes wide, almost frightened. “What’s going on?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious I’m stronger than you, but I know you’ve also got All Might helping you out.” He glares down at him, carefully examining Midoriya’s subtle changes in expression. When he sees those green eyes widen, Shouto feels accomplished.

He is right about Midoriya. It’s all so clear now.

“I don’t care what kind of relationship you two have,” he continues, “but I want to tell you that I’m not afraid of you.”

“H-Hey, don’t pick a fight when we’re about to start!” Kirishima insists as he reaches out and touches Shouto’s arm. Those rough fingertips against his skin feel like fiery pokers, glowing white-hot, bent on branding him. He yanks away from the painful contact.

“I don’t give a shit," Shouto insists. "I’m not here to pretend I’m anyone’s friend.”

Midoriya looks down at the floor, makes tight fists at his sides. His expression reminds Shouto of Fuyumi’s face when she tries to find the right words to a difficult question.

“I’m not sure why you felt like you needed to say that, Todoroki,” he finally says. “You’re definitely stronger, all of the class is probably stronger than me, but… I’m still gonna do my best.”

His voice holds conviction but there’s still intimidation in his body language. God, Midoriya truly is just like his sister. Shouto is almost jealous of them both, fooling everyone around them while Shouto acts so damaged and cold. He tries, he tries so hard, but he’s beginning to accept that he’s a lost cause.

“Alright,” Shouto replies as he leaves the room. There’s nothing else to really say now, not in front of a room full of people. He can’t risk outing himself in this entire process. Has to keep his composure, act aloof, pretend he doesn’t care.

Later, he decides. Maybe he’ll talk to him later.

 

 

Participating in the obstacle course event is barely a challenge. The cavalry battle initially doesn’t seem like a challenge, either; he takes care in choosing the classmates on his team, so their performance dominates their peers. It isn't until their team goes for the winning blow that things don’t go the way Shouto had planned.

In a carefully-calculated move, Shouto manages to steal the winning headband from Midoriya’s team. But when he makes direct eye contact with Midoriya, Shouto feels a shudder wrack his muscles, makes him freeze in panic. His heart rate doubles in his chest while his hands become damp with sweat, a panicked response he swore had been beat out of him.

There is a flash of resolve that flickers in Midoriya's eyes. A determination, almost desperation; Shouto recognizes it but it still seems so foreign. It feels… haunting. Enviable. Like an unobtainable emotion he hasn’t felt since he was very, very young.

That drive he sees in Midoriya is similar to All Might’s, is the tenacity that his father wishes Shouto possessed. It’s what Shouto has spurned for years and years and years, pushing aside and rejecting his father out of spite, letting his desire to be a Hero snuff out. And here Midoriya is, overcoming the same abuse that he lived through, not letting it stop him from chasing a sincere, heartfelt victory.

Shouto hates how much he questions himself now. He used to be so ambitious before he let his father take that away from him.

(If only there were a way to fix him.)

Shouto should’ve anticipated Midoriya charging towards him, but his hesitation makes him unable to decide on a viable strategy. Staring into those fiery eyes as Midoriya comes closer makes him flinch. When he puts a defensive arm out, bracing against Midoriya’s outstretched hand, a heavy heat rises from his pores. The brightness of the flames nearly blinds him as they blast skyward and dissipate into the air.

Holy shit.

Holy. Shit.

He... he used his fire. Not only did Shouto break his long-standing vow, but it was uncontrolled, reckless, dangerous. He could’ve killed his classmates in the process. The first time he ever used his fire against someone else was triggered by nothing more than a determined stare. Not a threat, not an attack. A look. 

But why?

Midoriya manages to seize a headband from Shouto but a subtle trick causes him to snatch the wrong one, allowing Shouto's team to maintain first place. That idea of turning the headbands around should make Shouto feel clever and victorious. There’s nothing victorious about winning like this, however. There's nothing gratifying in knowing he broke that enduring oath to himself, especially over something to trivial.

That’s it, Shouto decides. He has to talk to Midoriya.

 

 

Immediately after the event, Shouto tells Midoriya to meet him outside one of the stadium exits. He obliges without protest. When Shouto faces him alone, that steadfast determination he saw in Midoriya's eyes before is gone. Now, all Shouto sees is anxiety, intimidation. This guy seems to only exist in two polar extremes.

(Not unlike Shouto, really.)

“You overwhelmed me,” Shouto says, face resting in a glare. “Enough to make me break the pledge I made to myself.”

A bead of sweat drips down the corner of Midoriya’s cheek. Shit, is Shouto really that frightening? That his mere presence causes that sort of fear response?

“Please don’t be like him, Shouto. Please don’t be like him.”

Shouto grits his teeth, fighting back that memory of him trying to choke his sister.

“I see you interacting with All Might all the time, having meetings and stuff alone,” he continues. “I wanted to ask you something.”

He has to choose his words carefully, say this with as much tact as possible so that he doesn’t reveal anything about himself. Maybe Shouto can pull the answers out of Midoriya with the right things to say. It shouldn't really be that difficult. He just has to use finesse and grace, has to get Midoriya to trust him. 

“So," Shouto begins, "are you All Might’s secret love child or something?”

Ahh, shit. There was nothing graceful about that.

Midoriya vehemently denies it, fumbling over his words while he waves his hands in front of his face, obviously shaken by the question. The explanation he gives is flimsy, alluding to a mentor relationship and coincidence of quirk similarity. It’s convincing, but not convincing enough. Shouto has to pry further.

“You know my dad is Endeavor.” Shouto bites back a cringe when his father’s Hero name leaves his mouth. “I’ve been training with him for a really long time. I’m sure you realize that you and I are pretty similar.”

There’s a blank look on Midoriya’s face as he cocks his head slightly. Still playing dumb, still trying to maintain that ignorant facade. Perhaps Shouto is still being too subtle. It feels like an impossible task, trying to figure out what to say in order for Midoriya to understand without just outright asking.

‘Does your dad fuck you like my dad fucks me?’ is what he wants to say. If only he had the courage.

“He used to hurt my mom when she’d try standing up for me as a kid. Bastard drove her to lose her mind and she threw boiling water in my face.” Shouto puts his hand up to his scar. “She said I looked too much like him and that I was unbearable.”

That blank expression turns to horror. Midoriya’s eyes look ready to tumble out of their sockets.

“I’m sorry,” is all Shouto can get out of him. There's no satisfaction in his half-assed response.

Ugh, is this how Fuyumi feels whenever she tries to pry information out of Shouto? How exhausting.

“I’ve been training with him ever since I was five, practically every damn day,” he confesses. “He’s pretty… brutal. I wonder if you can relate.”

“Todoroki, is… is everything okay?” Midoriya asks, still wincing. “I’m sorry to ask, but uhh… is your dad hurting you or something? I know you don’t know me all that well, but you can talk to me if you need to.”

Shouto panics. It’s like that day when Fuyumi called the fucking police despite him torching her phone in the process. This time is different, though; the question is so much more direct. He is suddenly more intimidated than he was at ten years old and being stared down by three police officers.

“Fuyumi, dear, did you call the police?”

His gaze shoots down to the floor as he waits for his sister’s response, the urge to vomit rising in his throat. They’ve been given the opportunity to confess everything, but Shouto… doesn’t want to. He’s too scared. He’s too scared to say anything and he’s scared that his sister isn’t.

The brief pause they linger in is only seconds long. Despite, it feels like hours.

“Y… Yes,” Fuyumi lies. “I dialed my friend’s number wrong. 119 instead of 116 at the end of it. I hung up as soon as I noticed. I… didn’t know it would bring you all here.”

Thank fuck. She is smart enough to know how inevitable this all is. Maybe they’ll receive praise from their father for lying to the police, receive a reward instead of a brutal punishment.

Though now that he thinks about it… Shouto may receive a reward, but Fuyumi did call them, going against their father’s wishes. She wanted to out him as the monster he is. All she was trying to do was save Shouto and instead she’s going to… she’s going to be…

“I want you to punish me.”

“You used to be such a good girl. Are you jealous of your brother getting all the attention?”

“I said harder! Fuck me harder, daddy, please...!”

“So everything is okay?” the police officer asks him. The tension in the air is so thick, it’s sickening, it’s unbearable.

Shouto feels his courage suddenly swell. Anything to make it stop.

“No… it’s not,” Shouto responds with conviction. “No, it’s really not.”

“Uhh… no, it’s really not okay? Or no, your dad really doesn’t hurt you?”

His neck jerks so hard he feels his brain jostle inside his skull. Midoriya is standing there and wringing his hands together, lip trapped beneath his top teeth. The hand clutching his scar moves to his chest as Shouto feels his heart racing beneath his ribcage.

“T-Todoroki?”

“I get knocked down sometimes in training, but nothing really serious,” he says, trying to control his breathing. “What about you, Midoriya? Do you ever get hurt?”

Holy fuck. Those words fell out of his mouth without a second thought. It was way too forward. He screwed up, he screwed up so badly, goddammit shit fuck-

“I get a little banged up during training too,” Midoriya replies sincerely. “All Might is good about teaching me how to recognize my limits, though.”

What… what does that mean? What the hell does that mean? Is he being cryptic? Is he being genuine? Is Shouto just being paranoid or is there seriously an underlying message Midoriya is trying to convey? Is there any way to confirm it? Is there any way Shouto can figure out that he’s being told the truth?

“My old man never lashed out at me, but I’ll still never forgive that asshole for what he put my mom through,” Shouto declares as his hands curl into fists. “I made an oath to never use my fire because I reject his side of me. So when you made me unconsciously use it, it really freaked me out.”

“Sorry Todoroki, I don’t know what to say…”

Neither does Shouto for a moment. A sudden feeling of regret washes over him, probably guilt. Maybe… maybe Midoriya is telling the truth. The way he speaks, the way he looks at him, Shouto can tell he’s being genuine right now.

How could he have suspected All Might, the Number One Hero with such an uplifting presence, to be hurting Midoriya like a cruel Villain?

It’s Shouto who is being villainous, then, thinking such poisonous thoughts about the world's Symbol of Peace. No one thinks his father radiates that energy. The public can tell Endeavor is an asshole because of his attitude, that fiery temper he fails to keep in check while he’s on the job. But never would anyone have reason to believe that All Might would doing something so heinous.

…And all that aside, Shouto had been hoping it were true? He’s such a disgusting human being, hoping harm against his innocent classmate. Wanting Midoriya to suffer just because he himself is suffering. He's no different from his father misdirecting his insecurities.

“Sorry for wasting your time,” Shouto finally says, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walks away. “Just know that I’m going to beat you using only my right side.”

“Todoroki, I…” Midoriya trails off. Shouto stops walking and turns around. That look of resolve has ignited in Midoriya’s eyes once more.

“My whole life, I’ve always had help,” Midoriya continues. “And I want to become a Hero like All Might so I can repay them for it. That might sound like a stupid motivation compared to yours, but… I’m not gonna lose.”

Shouto can relate, actually. Spite is the main reason he has pushed himself through all this, but his sister is definitely part of that equation as well. He wants to prove to Fuyumi that all the sacrifices, all the terrible bullshit he has made her endure wasn’t for naught. She doesn’t deserve to feel like a victim; that feeling is why she’s constantly offering to help him if he needs it. Shouto knows that. He knows it pains her to see him suffer while she is completely powerless to stop it.

It’s… practically the only reason why Shouto bothers continuing on living at all. How could he selfishly leave his sister behind with all that inevitable guilt?

“I guess this is my own declaration of war,” Midoriya proclaims. “I’m going to beat you, Todoroki.”

Fair enough. As Shouto walks away in silence, he can’t help but consider the motivations behind the strongest in his class. Midoriya is driven by a desire to repay those who paved his way. He overheard Ochaco mention that she wants to help her family and Iida no doubt wants to follow in his brother’s Pro Hero footsteps. Shouto’s motive is lowly in comparison to them all, being driven by resentment and a hint of guilt.

At least it’s better than his father’s. Bastard only wants glory so he can jerk off to his perceived greatness. He wants nothing more than to crush those he considers inferior, use them as stepping stones to glory. Probably trying to ease a deep-rooted inferiority complex trying to prove he’s the best. Shouto’s nose wrinkles at the thought of such selfish motivations.

(Now that he thinks about, though… what the hell is Bakugou’s?)

 

There is a break for lunch but Shouto has no appetite. As he walks to the waiting rooms inside the stadium, he can’t stop dwelling on how much he’s fucked up. All the things his father has spat about All Might over the years must’ve rubbed off on him more than he expected. Ugh, how could Shouto let himself become infected with that hateful, sensationalizing rhetoric? Even after idolizing All Might his entire childhood, his father still managed to scar his values.

(That’s not his father’s fault, though. It’s Shouto’s fault for allowing it to happen.)

The hallway seems warmer when he approaches the corridor of waiting rooms. It isn’t until he turns a corner that he realizes why.

It’s his father, flames dancing around his shoulders while he leans back against the wall. He’s wearing that stupid, childish pout that Shouto is incredibly familiar with.

“You’re in the way,” Shouto says, freezing in place.

“You disgrace me, Shouto.” His father crosses his arms. “You would’ve crushed both of those events if you had used your fire.”

Is he serious? Shouto won the cavalry event, why does it matter how he did it? The bastard will never be happy no matter what Shouto does. He wants to snap back at him so badly but he stays quiet; the silence often pisses his father off more than his irritated rebuttals.

Shouto starts walking, eyes fixed forward, no longer bothering to look at his father.

“All that training you’ve stumbled through has been for this moment. You’d better not screw it up and make a fool out of me.”

If Shouto were more spiteful, he’d throw the last event as a giant ‘fuck you’ to that bastard. He imagines the outrage on his father’s face as Shouto loses in the first round. Getting so enraged but having no outlet, having no ability to beat on Shouto or his sister while he’s standing in the public eye. His father has thrown embarrassing tantrums in public before, but if Shouto willingly conceited in a match? Oh boy. He’d lose his goddamn mind.

The punishment that would ensue from that, though… he doesn’t even want to consider it.

Shouto grits his teeth, keeps walking. Hears heavy footsteps following behind him soon after.

“You need to grow up,” his father snarls. “This tantrum of yours has gone on long enough.”

Five years. He’s been keeping it up for five years… until Midoriya somehow yanked it out of him, that is. Shouto is willing to keep it up forever; it’s not like it’s difficult. Melting his ice with that side is one thing, but using the full-blown fire he inherited from his father? The same fire he has used to brand everyone in his family, that he has used to scare them into submission? As a source of threats?

“I’ll burn this house down. I’ll kill everyone inside.”

Never. Shouto would never.

“And don’t think I didn’t see you use it during the cavalry battle,” his father says with a snide chuckle. “Your resolve is breaking. I know you recognize it too.”

Shouto tightens his fist so hard that his nails embed into his palms. Of course he recognizes it. And it’s absolutely terrifying that his father notices as well.

“Stop following me,” Shouto growls. When he reaches the door, Shouto opens it quickly, tries to slam it shut behind him before his father can enter. But despite barring the door with all of his weight, Shouto is knocked off his feet and stumbles forward. His father enters the room with little effort.

“I get tired of lecturing you about this, Shouto.”

“Nobody asked you to in the first place,” Shouto snaps back. As soon as he reaches his designated locker, he frantically swings it open. He shuffles through his bag, shoving his extra clothing out of the way while he searches. It should be here. It’s the first thing he made sure to pack.

Found it. Shouto downs half his water bottle in one go, drinks until he chokes through the burn. He swallows back the urge to vomit while he leans over. Rests his forehead against the chilled metal of the locker door. Waits until he stops giving a shit.

“So what now?” Shouto turns his head to look up at his father, taking special care to enunciate each syllable so he doesn’t slur. “You just gonna keep fucking me until I give in? That’s such a flimsy excuse… just admit you’re just a fuckin’ pervert already.”

An angry hand grabs Shouto by the wrist and drags him to the last short row of lockers, pressing him against the wall. The temperature of his flames intensifies, heat so stifling that it makes even the left side of Shouto’s body begin to sweat.

“What’d you gonna do, asshole? You gonna make me? You can’t make me do anything. I could lose this whole stupid fuckin’ competition if I wanted to and you can’t stop me.”

What… what the hell is he doing?

His father grabs him by the chin. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll make su-”

“You’re not in any position to be making ultimatums with me. I should be making ultimatums with you.” Shouto glares up at his father. “How about if you don’t leave me the fuck alone, I’ll throw my matches. How about that?”

Ohh god, this is dangerous. This is so dangerous and stupid. This newly-found confidence is going to get him killed.

(Shouto’s not afraid even though he knows he should be.)

“On your knees,” his father commands, voice sinister, foreboding.

“Make m-”

Violent fingers thread through his hair and shove him so hard that his knees buckle beneath him. Shouto looks up, grins with a toothy smile. His dick is getting stiff in his pants just from the look on his father’s face. If he weren’t so shitfaced, he’d be hating himself right now.

“You want to run your mouth? Put it to good use, then.”

Shouto has no idea how his father manages to get turned on so fast; he’s already half-hard when he pulls his cock out of his costume. It’s probably all that scolding, telling Shouto off. What a sick asshole. If this impromptu punishment hadn’t happened, no doubt he would’ve gone and beat off to their little exchange in the hallway.

(Why is Shouto turned on, though? Is he getting off on being scolded?)

As much as he tells himself he loathes it, Shouto shoves his father’s cock down his throat immediately, resolute and driven. Shouto builds saliva beneath his tongue and lathers his cock in it, gets it nice and wet like that fucker likes. He’ll prove to his father that he’s not afraid of him. Show him he won’t be intimidated into bending to his whims so easily.

It isn’t long before Shouto is knocked back by a blow to his forehead, his neck snapping back as his mouth detaches from his father’s cock. His ears ring, vision goes hazy. The drab colors of the room streak past his eyes when he’s shoved against the lockers.

His pants are dropped to the floor and Shouto doesn’t protest. Every one of his muscles contract when his father’s hot cock slide between his legs, carving out a space just beneath his balls. Shouto looks down to see the thick cock tucked between his thighs, just below his own dribbling erection. Grinding down onto the slick rod elicits a growl from deep within his father’s chest. The head of his father’s cock disappears between his milky thighs, poking back out when he thrusts forward.

“How fortunate for you, needing to stand upright the rest of the day,” his father grumbles. “I’d tear your ass in half otherwise for all that misbehavior.”

‘I dare you,’ is what Shouto wants to say. How perfect would it be, him having to forfeit his matches because his father was too horny to keep his dick in his pants?

A heated palm wraps around Shouto’s cock and he keens. It feels so good, fuck he hates how much he’s enjoying this. He tries to ignore who that cock belongs to, that huge thing between his legs that's burning the flesh of his inner thighs, pretends it’s someone else's. It's anyone's but the man who made him. Maybe someone who would fuck him and leave him alone forever, who would just use him up and never bother harassing him again.

Somebody cruel like his father but maybe a little different. One who would berate him and slam his head into the floor and fill him with cum and then berate him some more. Spit words that would sting but ones that were shallow, preyed on Shouto’s insecurities just enough to make him cry but not make him want to kill himself.

“You break the rules, you pay the price.”

Shit, is that weird? Bakugou of all people, that kid who punched him and gave him a boner? Fuck, his voice is so pissed and gravely, it’d probably sound hot whispering that nasty shit in his ear. Shouto tries to imagine Bakugou’s sweaty hands around his dick replacing his father’s. Threatening to blow it off with that quirk of his, telling him all the horrible things he wants to do, holy f-

Shouto shoots his load hard enough to splatter against the locker. His thighs lock up tighter as he cums, drawing another deep groan out of his father as he continues pumping in and out between his legs. Slouching forward, Shouto struggles to keep himself upright, the heavy haze returning to fill the inside of his skull. He suddenly feels unbearably nauseous.

“Todoroki Shouto?” a voice suddenly rings out as the door opens. “Todoroki Shouto? You’re up next.”

That cum-covered hand smacks across his mouth so fast that Shouto barely has time to process what is happening. His father stills for a brief moment before pulling his cock back and slips it out from between his thighs. It ruts along Shouto's ass as the footsteps get closer, smearing what remains of his saliva across his heated skin.

Why won’t his father stop?

“Todoroki? Are you in here?” the man calls.

A sudden, excruciating pain fills his lower half when he feels his father’s cock slip into his asshole, stretching him much too wide, much too fast. The hand clamps around his mouth harder as Shouto tries his damndest not to cry out in pain.

The footsteps sound louder, then softer as the man paces.

“Where did he go?” the official mumbles. Papers rustle against a clipboard, a pen clicks sounding impossibly loud in the otherwise silent room.

Shouto winces when he feels molten hot cum fill his ass. His father pulls out, pushes back in, nearly tearing muscle from the searing friction. The skin along his bottom lip threatens to give beneath his relentless bite.

God, please leave, please leave, don’t let him get caught like this… what the hell is wrong with his father, risking everything just to get off on tormenting Shouto? The risk of being spotted probably turns him on; it reminds Shouto of that morning a few weeks ago when his father made him suck his dick when Fuyumi was mere feet away in the kitchen.

This is so much riskier than that, though. The mere thought of the fallout for both of them makes Shouto want to be sick.

Thankfully, the feeling dissipates when he hears the door close, footsteps gone, silence returning to the room. A plug is crammed into his abused hole before his father’s cum can dribble out. It makes him feel so full, cum scorching and filling his guts with nowhere to go. His father smacks his ass once before stepping away to readjust himself.

“You just carry that around with you?” Shouto scorns, half-surprised even though he probably shouldn’t be. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“I knew you were going to misbehave today.”

“More like you were gonna look for a reason to ‘punish’ me,” Shouto retorts while making quotation gestures with his fingers.

“You gave me one, didn’t you?”

His father flashes a victorious smirk as Shouto pulls up his pants.

“Fuck off, old man.” His words come out slurred and laggard but his father does not react.

“Don’t make me have to keep putting you in your place, Shouto. Stop behaving like a child and use your full power.” The booming of his father’s boots colliding with the floor as he leaves makes Shouto flinch. He fights the urge to cover his ears; an ache is developing along his temples, making every sound amplified to an unbearable degree.

“Who knows,” his father continues, swinging the door open. “You may even get a reward.”

Shouto groans when the door slams shut. He looks down, sees his cum streak as it slowly runs down the locker towards the floor. The skin of his thighs sears when the raw flesh rubs against the fabric of his pants.

“For Fuyumi,” his says out loud to himself as he rests his head against the locker. There’s nothing else motivating him to participate anymore but the knowledge that his sister may be watching. Shouto’s got to prove himself to her and absolutely nobody else. 

Even if his father gives up on him, if the public gives up on him, if every other soul on this godforsaken planet gives up on him, he knows Fuyumi never will. She has said it herself multiple times.

It’s the only thing that keeps Shouto’s dying hope in himself alight.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

“Your dad talked to me before the match.”

Shouto blinks hard when he hears Midoriya speak. Despite the roaring crowd around them, his words seem like the only sound in the stadium.

“What?” is the only thing he can think of to say. He widens his stance to maintain his balance, suddenly feeling as if he’s going to topple over. Ugh, he’s so dizzy… The audience’s wide array of colors is blurring into one obnoxious smear of gray.

“Your dad told me to fight you with all my power,” Midoriya explains. “He realizes I’m connected to All Might and that this is gonna be a good test of your potential.”

Fucking asshole, meddling with his match. Why was that even necessary?

"Both of these competitors have won top marks in the festival so far!" 

“What’d you say back?” Shouto asks before slowly walking backwards to his designated spot, taking great care not to trip over his own feet.

“That I’m not All Might,” Midoriya says. “And you’re not him.”

Yeah, no shit.

“Good,” Shouto scoffs. “That probably pissed him off.” 

“But there's only room for one of these greats in the finals!”

Midoriya looks down at his feet, taking a stance at the line drawn in the dirt.

“It doesn’t matter. I was planning on giving it my all, anyway.”

“Midoriya versus Todoroki!”

“Fair enough.”

Despite his trembling hands, Shouto feels no fear. In fact, he is eager to fight, eager to blow off some steam. Getting fucked in the locker room before the match only served to fuel the burning urge to be violent. It’s not often that Shouto gets that desire, but when it strikes, he struggles to direct his rage appropriately. Punching holes in the wall and tearing up pillows rarely does it for him anymore. 

(Thank fuck he hasn’t physically lashed out at others. Not in a long, long time.)

“START!”

There’s no doubt Midoriya isn’t holding back once the match starts; he dodges every wall of ice initially thrown at him. Shouto’s attacks are pretty poorly aimed, but the velocity of his ice is backed by enough fury to make them formidable obstacles. A few destructive flicks of Midoriya’s fingers tear through the barriers with ease.

“Stop wasting time,” Midoriya calls to him from across the arena. “I want to fight all of you, not just your ice!”

All of him? This is all of him. If anything, not using fire makes Shouto a more genuine version of himself. He shifts his weight, launches another blast of razor-sharp ice towards Midoriya, attempts to calculate the correct trajectory based on how he’s moving. It’s difficult with the dizziness; the mass of ice misses his opponent completely. 

“Come on, Todoroki! You’re already getting sloppy!”

This was supposed to be an easy win. Shouto didn’t anticipate Midoriya could handle such long-range attacks. Guess it doesn’t really matter when the projectiles fail to reach him. Goddammit, Shouto is a failure… given a pair-up where he has an obvious advantage and yet still can’t secure a victory. He’s tempted to blame it on his father, but he knows this is all because of his own shortcomings.

“I see you clenching your fist!” Midoriya yells. “Am I pissing you off? You’re fighting the urge to use it, aren’t you?!”

The comment makes Shouto freeze, looking down to see his left fist squeezed tight against his thigh. Shit, Midoriya’s right. He even feels the heat in his palms, threatening to flicker, ready to burst out through the space between his fingers. 

Shouto remembers the day his father discovered that his quirk becomes stronger when he is upset. 

Some of his fondest memories involve watching All Might cartoons before going to kindergarten, eyes wide as a tiny version of the Number One Hero performed audacious feats in technicolor. Dramatic explosions, overstated facial features, brash sounds as All Might punched Villains hard enough to send them soaring through the air.

But real life isn’t like the shows he’s seen on television. His father’s fists never made a sound when they collided with his mother’s body. The only sound he ever heard were whimpers, hushed as if she were gritting her teeth, as if she was trying not to let Shouto know how much it hurt.

Shouto knew how much it hurt, though. He knew all too well.

“He can take it. Get out of the way.”

While he doesn’t see the initial blow, Shouto looks up and watches Mommy fall to the floor, grabbing one side of her face. The skin beneath her fingertips is already swelling. Tears gather at the corner of her lids as she shuts her eyes tight, wincing as she turns away from Shouto. 

“M-Mommy?” he whines, practically a whisper. 

“Why?!” Midoriya demands with his teeth bared. “Why won’t you use your full power?!”

The day Shouto swore off using his left side completely was that night his father tried to drown him. That was… five years ago. He was ten years old. It was a near-deadly punishment for Shouto’s misbehavior, for his entitled attitude that developed from being too “spoiled” by his father. He had been groomed to crave and seek validation from his father’s abuse up until that terrifying day. 

(...Did that conditioning ever truly disappear?)

Sure, he was young, but Shouto still feels like he should’ve known better. His father went from hurting him for years to suddenly being tender, and Shouto knows that people never change. Once benevolent, always benevolent; it’s why he forgave his mother. Once sadistic, always sadistic; it’s why he’ll never forgive his father.

(If it’s true, though, that means there’s no hope for Shouto to ever become a good person.)

“You need to stop interfering,” Daddy demands. “He has no choice.”

“You’re being too hard on him!” Mommy cries, woeful. “He’s just a child, Enji! He can’t take this…!”

Daddy’s foot collides so hard with Mommy’s shoulder that her arms and legs give out from under her. Her forehead smacks against the wood floor with a noise that makes Shouto jump. Still, she barely makes a sound. Mommy tucks her knees under herself, hands covering her entire face, arms trembling.

“S-Stop,” Shouto whines, louder this time. “Stop hurting Mommy…!”

Reaching his left hand across his body, Shouto grabs his right elbow to immobilize it. He extends his fingers and locks eyes with Midoriya for a split-second before summoning ice from his fingertips. A powerful blast of ice flies through the air and strikes Midoriya with enough force to nearly send him out of bounds.

Still, it’s not enough to secure a victory. Watching Midoriya stand up after the attacks makes him panic. Shouto growls, widens his stance, spreading a thick layer of ice across the ground. But Midoriya is only immobilized for a moment; he places his hand towards his feet and simply flicks a finger, the force of the intense blow causing deep fissures in the ice. It shatters beneath Shouto’s feet in mere seconds.

Midoriya grasps the tip of his bruised finger. “You can do better than that.”

“You can do better than that.”

Shouto’s hair isn’t very long, but he can still imagine how much it hurts to have it all tangled up in Daddy’s fist like that. Mommy’s eyes are shut so tight that there are deep wrinkles etched into her face. She still doesn’t say a word.

He has to save her, defeat that Villain, but there’s so little he can do. Shouto vomited from exhaustion mere minutes ago; how can he possibly use enough of his quirk to take that monster down?

“Stop it!” Shouto cries like a child. “I’m… I’m doing my best, I swear…!” 

“Liar!”

“Liar.”

“Show these people your power!”

"Show me your true power."

No, goddammit! This was supposed to stop! He did everything he could to prevent this, what the fuck, why is his brain st-

It’s finally too much. Mommy can’t hold back anymore. She cries, grabbing at Daddy’s wrists when he yanks on her hair again. Tears keep falling from her eyes but Daddy still won’t let go.

A weird heat tickles the skin of Shouto’s left arm.

“P-Please,” she begs, “Enji, just let him go, d-”

“He has to learn,” Daddy growls as he pulls harder. Mommy’s tears fall more and more and more. Shouto hates this, he hates Daddy so much, he hates how he makes Mommy cry. Seeing Mommy cry makes Shouto so sad and so… so angry. 

“Stop hurting Mommy!” Shouto finally yells. Goosebumps run up his arm as it gets hotter. It’s so hot that Shouto can’t take deep breaths. He feels like he’s choking on smoke.

The heat within his hand swells; Shouto tightens his fist until his fingernails dig into his palms, desperate to make it stop, desperate to control it. 

“You going to stop me, Shouto?” Daddy smiles but it looks so mean. He pulls even harder and Mommy won’t stop crying.

“I will,” Shouto spits. “I’ll kill you, you bastard.”

“Use it, Todoroki!”

It’s getting hotter and hotter and he can’t make it stop. Shouto bites down hard and shows Daddy his teeth.

“I’ll make you stop!” he screams. “I’m gonna make you stop being so mean!”

Daddy is laughing. Laughing like it’s funny.

“Shouto, don’t…!” 

“Do it, Shouto!”

“STOP HURTING M-”

A solid punch lands straight into Shouto’s stomach and his words are lost in a forced exhale. Despite being hurled backwards, nearly bent in half, he doesn’t feel a thing. Every inch of his body is numb when he makes harsh contact with the dirt. Dust and soil are strewn through his hair, fill his ears, gather on his eyelashes. The ground is oddly cool against his skin.

Shouto lays with his arms outstretched and doesn’t bother trying to stand. His gaze remains unfocused, blankly staring up into the brilliant sky.

“Mommy, why don’t you fight back?” Shouto asks as he clings to her.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she replies, a chilly hand rubbing the back of his head. “You’re not supposed to hurt the people you love.”

He pushes away, looks up at her with knotted brows. The giant bandage over her forehead looks silly beneath her bangs.

“Then why does Daddy hurt you?”

Mommy looks so tired when she sighs. Her eyes are half-closed, hazy, as if she hasn’t slept in days. Nevertheless, she manages a tiny smile. A tiny, insincere smile.

“I’m not sure, Shouto.” Mommy looks away. “I’m not really sure.”

At least she didn’t lie. Make up some sorry excuse. 

A harsh tug pulls Shouto off the ground and he is shoved forward. He scrambles to his feet, stumbling as his vision struggles to adjust to the sudden movements. Midoriya stares him down while he clutches his mangled hand. Why does he look so angry? Why does he care?

“If you’re serious, you’ll use both halves of your quirk! Do you even want to be a Hero?!”

“You still want to be a Hero, don’t you, sweetie?”

Shouto’s muscles lock up and he goes rigid. The crowd suddenly goes quiet as people mutter to one another, likely confused by the sight of the two boys standing so close, yet not attacking. For a split second, Shouto’s mind goes blank while he ponders the question. 

Does he? Does Shouto even want to be a Hero? Does he want all that power and fame and responsibility? For people to depend on him to keep them safe? To put all their trust in his abilities?

He… does.

He does want to be a Hero.

If not for his sister, if not for his father or his mother… for himself. To try to turn the curse of his existence into something worthwhile. Learn how to become more empathetic and weaponize it for good instead of evil, to keep others from suffering like he has suffered his entire life. Shouto desperately wants to learn how to create positivity through all that he has endured; the negativity that overpowers him is so exhausting. 

(Is that even possible, though? Can he learn how to undo a lifetime of conditioning?)

Shouto redirects his blood flow to his right side, conjures ice along his trembling arm. There is more confidence in the icicles he launches at Midoriya, more determination, more speed. Still, they are shattered with one flick of a mutilated finger. The frustration plastered all over Midoriya’s face only grows.

What would his mother have thought if she witnessed those embarrassing moments of his past? No doubt disappointment in Shouto for ever letting himself get into those situations with his father. Disappointment in how easily Shouto let himself be manipulated, how easily he dropped to his tiny knees with the promise of shallow praise. Disappointment in Shouto being so depraved despite being so young, cumming with his father’s cock in his ass while his head was held underwater or smashed against a desk.

“Fight with everything you’ve got and stop holding back!” Midoriya screams. “It’s your power, Todoroki! Not his!” 

But possibly… disappointment that he’d let that bastard upset him so much that he abandoned such an important part of himself. Literally half of himself.

She’d hate all of this, wouldn’t she? Watching her son be forced into submission just like she was. No doubt she’d be disappointed but she’d also be saddened, disturbed, angry. Angry that he has given up every opportunity to put his father in his place. Angry that Shouto has failed to prove himself to his full potential, that he has let his drive be snuffed out. All because his asshole of a father tries to force him into submission with his mind games and manipulation, preys on the weakest part of Shouto just to satisfy his own twisted goals. 

Because his mother… believed in him. Despite seeing so much of his father in him, despite all the fear she harbored of Shouto and all the abuse she endured because of his very existence, she never gave up on him. Always gave him support. Pushed him to chase his dreams despite his father’s incessant rambling about glory and egotism and pride and the importance of his blood ties.

“It’s your quirk! Your power, Todoroki!”

It would be disrespectful of the sacrifices his mother made if he let his father still dominate him like this. All those obnoxious, defiant acts pale in comparison to the control Shouto could take over his father by breaking those binds. 

“You really want to defy him? Own your fire! Prove it’s yours!”

If Shouto is rejecting his fire… that means he is admitting defeat. He’s admitting that his father is a part of him and controls him and owns him. It’s the last strand of confinement Shouto hasn’t consciously severed. 

One he is now fully prepared to incinerate.

“Stop being so goddamn stubborn and prove you want to be a Hero, Todoroki!”

“Stop behaving like a child and use your full power.”

“You decide who you become, Shouto. No one else but you.”

The heat in his palms flickers, swells, ignites into a brilliant ball of flames. The stadium is filled with what sounds like one long, giant gasp as the crowd simultaneously inhales and holds its breath. When the fire spreads up his arm and shoots up towards the sky, Shouto is nearly deafened by the overwhelming dissonance of screams and cheers.

Despite the shrieks of the crowd, Shouto swears he can hear his father laughing that obnoxious cackle of triumph he heard so many years ago. Unlike then, however, Shouto now feels nothing but satisfaction. Because this wasn’t brought on by rage or fear or desperation. This was brought on by sheer, unending drive.

A victorious grin flashes across Midoriya’s face and Shouto feels himself unconsciously mirror it. He hasn’t felt this powerful in years, perhaps even his entire life. For once, it doesn’t feel like a shallow, temporary win, like when he gets in the last word in an argument or manages to piss his father off into silence. It feels like the victory of a battle Shouto has been waging every goddamn second of his life. 

And that power feels good. Really, really good.

 

As Shouto walks through the stadium tunnel to return to the waiting area, he is not surprised to see his father there standing in his path. No doubt he left the second the match was called in Shouto’s favor. An intense fire flickers around his shoulders, so vibrant that it’s practically blinding. Looks like he’s pleased for once. His father can be so easy to read if you pick up on the right signs.

Ugh, and there’s that cocky, crooked grin on his face. The same exact one he makes when Shouto gives in and begrudgingly spreads his legs. 

“So you're not going to tell me to get out of your way this time?” he snickers, opening his arms. “Seems like you’ve realized your true purpose. I'm glad to see you've stopped throwing that childish tantrum.”

Hah. Shouto snorts.

“You think that’s what this is?” he snaps back as he stands in place. “You’re such an idiot.” 

His father cocks an eyebrow as he recrosses his arms. “What made you give in? Was it something that boy said, or did I fuck that defiance out of you?”

It’s difficult to read the tone of his father’s voice, but something tells Shouto that he’s not being facetious. Shouto says nothing in return. 

(Maybe because he’s not actually sure what the truth is.)

“You’d better use my fire in your final match,” his father warns. “Give that audience a show and prove yourself as my creation.” 

“Your fire, huh? You honestly still think this is about you?”

It has always been so satisfying to watch that smile wipe from his father’s face. Unlike the times before, however, there isn’t an inkling of apprehension this time. Shouto isn’t afraid of the repercussions of his words. Maybe it’s what he drank, his memories, Midoriya’s encouragement, some odd mix of all three. 

Whatever the source, Shouto is grateful. It’s about goddamn time he gains some leverage.

“When I unleashed those flames, for the first time in forever, I forgot all about you,” Shouto says as he looks down at his left hand. “And that felt really, really good.”

Shouto receives no rebuttal. He continues walking once more, passing by his father, reveling in the silence between them. As he reaches the end of the hall, he looks behind him one final time to see his father glaring at him. That satisfying smirk has turned into a childish pout.

It feels so good to be confident again.

 

Ohh shit. Shouto is not nearly as confident as he thought. 

He comes to this haunting conclusion the second he finishes off the rest of his water bottle. What the hell is he doing? Using his fire, letting his emotions get the best of him, losing his cool in front of thousands upon thousands of people? Sure, he wants to be a Hero, but… maybe this wasn’t the best course of action after all. 

It’s so exhausting to try to determine if what he did was the right thing. His father seemed happy, which is irritating… but he also seemed intimidated… but he also seemed… proud? Which felt good, but should it feel good? Shouto doesn’t want that bastard’s approval… or does he? 

God, Shouto hates this. He wishes he’d sort out all these feelings he has about his father so the right path forward would seem more obvious. It’s a shame his sister isn’t here to knock some sense into him, give him one of her naggy yet logic-driven speeches. When Fuyumi isn’t being overly emotional, her opinion he usually the one Shouto needs to hear.

A sudden crashing noise makes Shouto nearly jump out of his seat. He looks over and sees the door wide open, the obvious source of the noise standing in the door frame with a dumbfounded look on his face.

“The hell are you doing here?” Bakugou says. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the other room?”

A deep sigh escapes Shouto’s lips.

“What’d you want?” Shouto grumbles.

“I’m looking for Waiting Room B, but apparently your dumb ass got confused and is in the wrong place.”

Shouto points to the large sign on the wall.

“This is Waiting Room A.”

Bakugou grimaces for a split second before slouching, cocking his hip to one side.

“Yeah, well… that doesn’t matter,” he insists, trying and failing to not look stupid. “You ready for our fight, Half ‘n Half?!”

Wait, Shouto is going up against Bakugou? He feels like he remembers somebody telling him that, but it had completely slipped his mind. These memory problems just keep getting worse and worse. If Shouto gave a damn, he’d probably feel anxious about the fact that he is forgetting things more often.

“Your act is embarrassing, you know,” Shouto replies.

Bakugou tilts his head. “Excuse me?”

“The way you act so tough all the time. It’s embarrassing as hell. Everybody knows you’re just insecure.”

The words seem to just fall out of his mouth without a second thought. There’s something about Bakugou that makes him want to keep pressing his buttons, to piss him off enough to break that tough guy act and have him actually follow through. And judging by the shaking fists at Bakugou’s sides, it’s working perfectly.

What else did his father used to say to him?

“You look scared,” Shouto continues. “Fear is weakness. People don’t put their faith in the weak.”

Wow, word-for-word on that one. It feels good to willingly dredge up those memories. Makes him feel a bit more powerful.

“You gonna cry? Go ahead, prove my point.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou growls.

“Make me,” he quips.

That look in Bakugou’s eyes is so familiar. That roaring flame of rage, of vengeance, bent on retaliating ten-fold. There is something so alluring about watching it swell until it reaches its limit, explode from the pressure. It leaves Shouto holding his breath in anticipation. Just what does Bakugou have in store for him?

The table is flipped over and Shouto jumps to his feet. He holds back a smile when he watches Bakugou approach him, a disgusted sneer painted across his face. 

“You gonna hit me?” Shouto taunts. “Hit me, asshole. I dare you.”

“Shut up.”

“I want you to.”

“Shut up!”

There is a firmness in Bakugou’s tone that Shouto has never heard from him before. He’s not fucking around. It’s a stiff warning, a thinly-veiled threat of something dark and violent to come.

Shouto’s dick twitches in his pants. He can’t wait.

“Coward.”

Yep, that does it. An explosion-backed blow lands him square in the chest, the impact of the punch so forceful that Shouto is sent flying back. He slides to the floor after colliding with the lockers, dizziness intensifying, room spinning. Goddamn, that is the second gut-crushing punch he’s taken today… Bakugou definitely hits harder. Maybe Midoriya was holding back after all.

After coming up to his hands and knees, Shouto stumbles as he crawls towards Bakugou. His breaths come out ragged and hoarse. 

“You really want me to hit you, asshole?” Bakugou scoffs. “I’ll fucking kill you this t-”

Bakugou doesn’t finish his thought. Shouto reaches up, grabs hold of the elastic waistband of Bakugou’s uniform with fumbling hands. He manages to yank his pants and underwear down in one awkward motion, exposing Bakugou’s flaccid dick right in front of Shouto’s face. 

Ohh damn, it’s… pretty big. Nowhere near the size of his father’s, but that’s probably a good thing. 

Before he can take it into his hands, a vice-like grip entangles in his hair and Shouto is yanked up off the floor. As Shouto struggles to his feet, Bakugou pulls his pants back up with a harsh tug. 

“What the fuck?!” Bakugou curses, his enraged snarl widening. “What the fuck is wrong wi-”

Shouto manages to cut him off again. This time, it’s with his lips shoved firmly against Bakugou’s mouth.

He hasn’t done this in months but it doesn’t keep Shouto from trying. Determined, he runs an eager tongue along the seam between Bakugou’s lips, licks against his teeth in a silent request. Shouto wants to taste him so badly, he wants to know what he tastes like, wonders if he tastes as sweet as he smells. 

Those teeth clamp down onto his tongue suddenly; with a yelp, Shouto yanks back, tastes the coppery tang of blood as the top layer of skin is torn out of his mouth.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Bakugou shrieks, wiping blood off his lips. “You’re such a fucking freak, Todoroki, you know that?! You trying to psyche me out or something?!”

“Yeah,” Shouto lies with a wide smile. “It’s working, isn’t it?”

His filter is completely gone. If Shouto was in a sober state of mind, he’d be cringing at how embarrassingly bold he’s being. But goddamn is he desperate. It’s the perfect opportunity to get Bakugou to kick his ass and berate him without the pressure of a crowd keeping him check. Shouto doesn’t give a shit about their match, about the prestige and fame and whatever-the-fuck else this vapid event is about. All he wants is to see Bakugou’s true nature emerge and suffer its wrath. 

“I swear to god Todoroki, if you play dirty during this match, I will murder you,” Bakugou threatens, that dark tone returning to his voice as he grabs hold of Shouto’s shirt. “I don’t give a shit about your damage or your fucked up family. If anything, it makes me want to kick your ass even more.”

Shouto tries to stifle his reaction but fails miserably. He blinks hard, pupils dilating while pulling back. How… how does Bakugou know about his family? 

“You scared? You should be.” His ruby eyes narrow. “I’m gonna kick your ass in front of all those people and I’m gonna win and show everyone that I’m the best out of all you losers. I’m gonna beat the ever-living shit out of you.”

“I wanna see you try,” Shouto retorts, regaining his composure. 

(It’s not a taunt, though. He’s being serious.)

With a huff, Bakugou storms out of the room, slamming the door shut on the way out. The room goes quiet once more. Shouto doesn’t have time to appreciate it; a sudden wave of nausea rolls through him and he runs to the nearest trash can, dry heaving until his throat feels like sandpaper. He manages to spit up the blood that has gathered along the insides of his cheeks. The taste would’ve brought back so many memories if he was sober, but for now, it’s just an annoyance.

Maybe he’ll get lucky and Bakugou will murder him. It’d be a shameful way to go, but he’d definitely deserve it.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

When Bakugou said he wasn’t going to hold back, he was telling the truth.

Midoriya gave it his all during their match, but there is something different about Bakugou. The faces he makes while attacking Shouto seem so angry, bent on destruction, almost vengeful. It’s probably appropriate considering all the terrible shit Shouto has been saying to him. 

Shouto deserves it, really. As much as he accuses Bakugou of behaving like a Villain, Shouto has no room to talk.

“Come on, Half ‘n Half!” he yells over the sound of the roaring crowd. “Stop stalling and attack me with all you got, you coward!”

God, this is tiring. Shouto has lost all the will to fight anymore. His brain feels like it’s full of static, so exhausted that it has given up on forming thoughts even remotely coherent. His muscles ache, his ass hurts, his head feels like it’s trapped in a vice. The shrieking of the audience suddenly seems deafening. Shouto brings a hand to his face as his scar begins to throb. 

“What the hell?!” Bakugou demands, ceasing his attacks. “Don’t just stand there, asshole! Attack me!”

Panic is setting into his chest; his heart rate skyrockets. Adrenaline pumps so fast through his veins that he swears he feels it spread from his heart, rushing to his limbs, numbing his fingers and toes. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

Shouto doesn’t want to fight. Shouto wants to run.

What are the rules again? Either someone is unable to fight or is knocked out of bounds? Bakugou won’t attack him, so the only option is… if he can just step out of bounds, it’ll… it’ll be…  

His knees buckle before he can take a step. The impact of the hard ground against the back of his head makes his teeth rattle.

Suddenly, Shouto is looking up at the bright sky, feels the heat of the sun on his sweat-covered face. His eyes burn but he can’t manage to close them. The throbbing of his scar is getting worse.

The crowd has gone nearly silent. The only thing he can make out is the shushed sound of whispers and mumbling, of chairs folding as people stand to their feet. 

“The hell are you doing?!”

He tries to move his arms but they lay useless and splayed against the ground. At least, that’s what he deduces when his eyes glance to the side; Shouto can’t actually feel them at all.

“Get up, asshole! Come on!”

Something grabs the front of his uniform, yanking until he senses his body suspended, dangling by his shirt. His eyes dart back and forth without control. All he can see is blue, blue, blue.

“This isn’t funny! Stop fucking around!”

That’s… Bakugou, isn’t it? Where is Shouto again? Every attempt to move his limbs is fruitless, his arms and legs weighing him down like lead. He is shaken, jerked back and forth. Words are being yelled at him in the tone of Bakugou’s voice but he doesn’t understand what he’s saying. 

There’s a woman’s voice, now. A woman’s voice and Bakugou’s… maybe. Is that who that is? Shouto’s vision shifts and he’s on his back again, still staring at the same brilliant sky. Doesn’t really remember hitting the ground. Doesn’t remember how he got here at all.

What a bizarre feeling this is. He can’t move, can’t understand anything being said to him, can’t really think at all. Maybe he’s dying. Maybe this is what dying feels like. It’s not that bad, actually… there’s an odd calmness in him that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. Contentment, even. His lashes flutter while his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

Shouto assumed death was scary (even if he thought about it all the time). Perhaps because of the unknown, the lack of understanding. 

This isn’t scary, though. Not at all.

“Shouto, please! Please wake up!”

His eyes shoot open, sitting up from his futon and immediately grabbing his throbbing head. He was just… somewhere a second ago convinced that he was dying. Now he’s looking up at someone’s face above him, someone kind of familiar but he can’t put a name to their features.

Wait, was it a dream? Did he imagine all that? How much of it was real? 

Something squeezes Shouto tight and he smells that gross floral perfume Fuyumi always wears. The surroundings become more in focus as he blinks, scans the room. Everything seems so foreign.

Ohh wait, this isn’t his futon. It’s a bed. A springy, uncomfortable bed that’s digging into his sore ass. The sound of his sister sniffling in his ear is deafening.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” she cries. “I saw what happened and I came over here as fast as I could…!”

“What the hell happened?” Shouto asks, putting his hands on her shoulders to push her away. Her muscles tense beneath his fingers. Fuyumi yanks back immediately, clutching a fist to her chest.

“I… I don’t know,” she replies, voice wavering. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“What day is it? Did the Sports Festival happen yet?”

“It all happened during the Sports Festival. You were in your match against your classmate.”

Well, that’s kind of a relief. At least he didn’t imagine what happened. Still, Shouto feels a rush of embarrassment. Did he seriously pass out in front of thousands and thousands of people? Good god, he’ll never hear the end of this for the rest of his life.

Another more lucid sweep of the room has Shouto realizing his father is here. How did he miss him earlier? Shouto grits his teeth, glares daggers when he remembers that his father likely witnessed what happened. No doubt he’s going to throw a tantrum about it. Arms crossed against his chest, his father makes no reaction.

“We’re not exactly sure what happened,” Recovery Girl finally replies, rolling towards him on her chair. “It seemed like a seizure from when you hit your head, but we did a quick scan and there’s nothing abnormal going on in your brain.”

“What?! A seizure?!” Fuyumi cries, bringing a hand to her mouth. “Shouto, how do you feel now?!”

“Okay,” he says. “Just a little confused, I guess…”

“It could’ve just been stress-induced,” Recovery Girl continues. “When we can’t find a biological reason why something happened, that’s usually what we fall back on. Is there anything weighing on your mind, dear?”

Shouto’s eyes dart to his sister. She’s wringing her hands together, lips pursed, eyes freakishly wide. A quick glance at his father reveals his typical, stony expression. It’s kind of funny how different the two are. 

“Is there a problem, son? Did you call us?”

Fuck no, not this again. That memory of the police popped up earlier today, too. Shouto’s hands ball into fists to try to distract himself from how eerily similar this situation is from that one years ago. His stomach is suddenly tying into knots.

“No,” he responds.

“Are you having issues adjusting to your new school? I’m sure it’s been hard on you. Changes can be stressful.”

The sound of Fuyumi cracking her knuckles is so gross. 

“No.”

Recovery Girl turns to Shouto’s father and sister. “I’m sorry to impose, but would you mind stepping out for a moment? I’d like to give our budding Hero a private pep talk.”

“Certainly,” his father replies. He exits the room, Fuyumi following behind with hunched shoulders.

The hell is this about? 

Recovery Girl rolls her chair over to the bed, so close that Shouto can hear her breathing. She speaks low, almost a whisper.

“Shouto, are you having feelings about hurting yourself? Or is someone hurting you?”

“Has anyone ever hurt you?” the man at school asks while looking over his clipboard. “Maybe hit you? Grabbed you?”

Why is his life so goddamn cyclic? And why does his brain have to remind him of it constantly?

“No,” Shouto says. He wants to ask why she’s asking, but he bites his tongue. It’d be too suspicious.

“You getting along with your friends okay? No issues at home?”

‘I have a plug in my ass holding my dad’s cum inside me, does that answer your question?’ is what he wants to say. Ohh man, how would she even react to that? Now he just wants to laugh.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Good, I’m glad,” she says while rolling back to her desk. “I have to ask when students come to me with possible mental health issues. Just part of protocol.”

“I don’t have mental health issues,” Shouto insists, aggravated at the notion. His mother does, his brother and sister probably do, his father might (though Shouto prefers to think he’s just evil). But Shouto is an exception to the Todoroki family curse of insanity. He’s the sanest one out of all of them, at least. 

(What a crowning achievement.)

“Well know that I’m always here to help if you feel like things are getting difficult. That’s what I’m here for.”

Shouto rolls his eyes when she turns her back. 

Fuyumi and their father are invited back into the room. Recovery Girl excuses herself and leaves, insisting she needs to assess the other students. The tension in the room increases ten-fold when the three of them are left alone, glancing at each other with judgmental eyes. 

Fuyumi finally breaks the silence.

“I’m… I’m glad that you’re okay, Shouto,” she says while walking over to the bed. “I think I’m gonna head home. I’ll make something special for you, okay?”

Her chilled hands lay on top of Shouto’s and he pulls back, the touch feeling like needles against his skin. The way she looks down on him with hazy eyes makes him feel uneasy; Fuyumi’s anxiety is painted all over her face and it always feels so infectious.

Dinner tonight is going to suck. No doubt he’s going to get another earful of unsolicited “advice.”

She holds her head down while she leaves, walking past their father without acknowledging him. The tension becomes so thick it feels difficult to breathe when Shouto is left in the room with only his father. Shouto glares, lip twitching in disgust.

“What do you want to say, old man?” Shouto finally sneers. “I didn’t come in first. What are you going to do now, fuck me in this room as punishment?”   

“This used to happen to your mother,” his father says, an oddly somber tone in his voice. 

“Maybe it’s a byproduct of being tormented by you,” Shouto snaps back.

“She was weak, though. You have no excuse.”

“Fuck y-”

“She had a flair for the dramatic, too.” His father’s arms tighten across his chest as he takes a few steps forward. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you, Shouto? They said there was no discernable reason why this happened. Sounds like an accusation of malingering.”

Is he being serious? He seriously thinks he’d fake a seizure to get out of a quirk match?

“No!” Shouto insists. 

“It was a creative way to throw the match, I’ll give you that. You knew better than to make a fool out of yourself, giving up blatantly in front of all those Hero agencies.”

“Why would I do this on purpose?” Shouto demands. “If I wanted to concede, I would’ve. I would’ve stepped out of bounds on purpose or something, not put on some embarrassing act like this!”

Shouto doesn’t mention that he had planned on throwing the match, nor does he mention that that was how he planned on doing it. He’s still disappointed he didn’t get to watch his father’s face while he did it. It was going to be the ultimate act of revenge for all the shit he had put him through today, worth any and all punishments Shouto would’ve received for it.

His father sits down on the rolling stool next to Shouto’s bed. When he places his hand on his stomach, Shouto immediately grabs his wrist.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Shouto warns.

“If you burn me, I’ll let you go.”

This game again? 

“It should be easy for you,” his father says. “You put it to good use earlier.”

If Shouto uses his fire, it would be disobeying his father’s wishes but still giving in to his demand. Not using his fire will bring an inevitable, sick punishment. How the hell is Shouto supposed to choose? When he was sparring with Midoriya, his mind suddenly became so clear, the decision to use his left side no longer blinded by spite. But facing his father, Shouto feels so uncertain again.

“I’m not scared of you,” he finally says.

“No, but your sister is.”

Motherfucker. Shouto lets go of his father’s wrist.

Heated hands dip below his waistband, press against the sensitive space between his hip bones. Shouto grabs the sheets beneath him and squeezes tight. The anticipation is a nauseating jumble of fear and arousal; it makes his cock fill out quickly, aching to be touched despite his utter disgust at the situation.

“I spoil you, you know,” his father sighs as his hand runs down to touch Shouto’s cock. “I’m sure your classmates don’t receive such special treatment from their fathers.”

“How unlucky for them, not having a fucking rapist for a dad,” Shouto hisses. His father squeezes his dick a little too tightly in a silent warning, but it only serves to make Shouto even harder. 

Shouto hates how good his father is at this. All that attention that started at an early age has made his father an expert on getting Shouto off quickly. He knows just how hot to make his hand, how tight to make his fist, what kind of motions that tug on his foreskin just right. Shouto grits his teeth, grasps at the sheets with more fervor. As hard as he tries to distract himself, his body betrays him.

“You’re always such a good boy for Daddy, aren’t you?” he coos, leaning in close.

“S-Shut up,” Shouto whines. His father gives a particularly harsh jerk and Shouto keens.

“Such a good boy lying to your teacher. You’ve always been so good at lying.”

It’s an odd compliment but Shouto can’t help but find flattery in the statement. Shit, he’s getting close to cumming already. His father’s hand moves faster as if he can tell.

“You wouldn’t let me get in trouble, would you? You’d lose all this attention.”

That’s… That’s not true. That’s not true at all. Shouto hates this, he swears he hates this, why does his father continue to insist he doesn’t? It pisses him off so much but it barely registers in his mind. All he can think about is cumming. He begins to thrust into his father’s fist, losing all inhibition and sense of pride.

Suddenly, there are footsteps outside the door. Immediately, his father pulls his hand away, leaving Shouto moments away from orgasm. Shouto whines, bucks his hips in desperation. His fists let go of the sheets and bang against the mattress.

“No!” Shouto whines before smacking his hands over his mouth. His eyes clamp shut when the door opens, utterly horrified at the idea that they had just been caught.

“Is everything all right?” 

For a split second, Shouto’s heart leaps out of his chest. It isn’t until he notices the sorrow on Recovery Girl’s face that he breathes a sigh of relief. Thank god his reddened face probably makes him look upset and nothing more.

“Ohh dear,” Recovery Girl sighs. “Have you considered counseling for these issues, Todoroki?”

Ahh yes, counseling. Counseling for his dick being three jerks away from cumming in his pants. Why didn’t he think of it before?

…Damn, his sarcastic sense of humor isn’t helping. It’s only fueling the fire of rage and frustration, pulling temptation to say ‘fuck it’ and beat off in front of this poor old woman while his father watches. 

“I can look into it,” his father replies, placing a faux-caring hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t realize how difficult the adjustment to high school was going to be for you. I should’ve been more supportive, Shouto.”

Shouto attempts to scowl at his father through tears, biting back every urge to writhe his hips in search of friction. 

“Nonsense,” Recovery Girl insists while turning around. “I’m sure you’ve done all that you can, Endeavor.”

As soon as Shouto sees the back of her head, he shoves his hand into his pants, tucking his erection between his legs. The last goddamn thing he needs is for her to notice it beneath the sheets. Even the pressure of his thighs against his cock is teasing, though; a few heavy flexes of his quads could easily get him off.

“I need to head back to work,” his father says before rising to his feet. “Thank you for caring for my son. He’s reckless, but I know he’ll make me proud.”

Why the hell did Shouto just feel his dick throb at that final statement? There has to be some way to distract him from being so on-edge. After hearing the door open and shut, he wipes the tears from his eyes, giving an exaggerated sniffle. Maybe some awkward, unwanted attention will get rid of the burning pain of needing to cum.

“Your father cares about you a lot, young man,” Recovery Girl declares, grinning. “Don’t be upset. It sounds like he has your best interest in mind.”

Shouto wants to scream. He despises how much he stands up for his father, lying and manipulating others to divert attention away from a very obvious problem. Hearing Recovery Girl praise his father right after he assaulted him makes his skin crawl. And the fact that Shouto doesn’t argue with what she said pisses him off; he hates how weak he has become, bending to his father’s whims.

Using his fire during his earlier match suddenly seems like a waste. It’s not like it will change anything. Shouto is still chained to that bastard in one way or another, ensnared by all his “teachings” and mind games. How stupid he was to think anything good would come of it.

A fresh tear tumbles down his cheek. He rubs his cheek so hard that his skin is nearly raw.

“Are you sure you’re okay to head out?” she asks. “Any dizziness or numbness anywhere on your body?”

“I’m fine,” he assures her. “I just want to go home.”

“Alright,” Recovery Girl says, opening up a file on her desk. “Please get checked out by a family doctor as soon as you can, though. And remember what I said about counseling. Just try to take it easy.”

After crawling out of bed, Shouto looks down and sees that his dick is still very much hard. He groans, shoves his hand into his pocket, holds it down the best he can while leaving the room. Maybe he can duck into a bathroom real quick and take care of it before going home. 

As he walks with his legs spread awkwardly apart, Shouto glances around for a clock. How long was he out? He can still hear people out in the stadium, so he must not have been unconscious for too long. The closing ceremonies are probably over. No loss there. Okay, okay, if he just keeps thinking about menial stuff, maybe he won’t even have to jerk off, he can just go h-

“Oi, Icyhot! What the hell did you do?!”

Ohh god. Shouto turns around, eyes wide in horror. An angry Bakugou stomps towards him with clenched fists. He stops mere inches away from Shouto’s face, shoving a finger against his chest. 

“I… I don’t know,” Shouto replies genuinely. “Recovery Girl said I might’ve had a seizure or… something. It wasn’t clear.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows raise for a moment before knotting into his signature scowl. That homicidal glint in his eye as blinding as ever.

“Yeah right,” he spits. “You faked some freak-out just to let me win, didn’t you?!”

There is a throb against Shouto’s thigh. It’s another one of those perfect opportunities to set Bakugou off. If Shouto was thinking logically, he’d talk himself out of his poor choice immediately, but there is something about Bakugou that makes him feel… different. Different than anything he’s ever felt. A weird mix of horny and interest and the burning desire to piss him off. It’s a feeling Shouto is becoming more and more obsessed with pursuing. 

(His dick being this hard probably isn’t helping.)

“Yeah,” Shouto smirks. “I faked it. I faked the whole thing. What are you gonna do, tell somebody?”

Watching Bakugou’s cheeks flush four shades darker almost makes Shouto laugh. It’s like he can see the rage swelling up, building momentum, preparing to bubble over. He squeezes his cock more tightly through his pockets.

Shouto’s so close, so close. 

“I could’ve beat you if I wanted to,” Shouto continues, trying to keep his breaths in check. “I just wanted to humiliate you.”

“Fight me, then,” Bakugou says, voice low and sinister. “Right here. No quirks. Fucking fight me and prove all that bullshit you’re spouting.”

“No,” Shouto responds immediately. “I don’t need to prove myself to you.”

“Goddammit!” Sparks shoot from Bakugou’s palms as he approaches him. His grabs the front of Shouto’s shirt, twists until they’re face-to-face, noses nearly touching. Bakugou’s pupils are so dilated that his eyes look pitch black.

Shouto’s dick feels like it’s about to explode.

“You fucking asshole,” Bakugou growls. “You’re good for nothing, you know that?!”

Yes. Of course Shouto knows that. He needs to be told again though, told over and over and over, told about how fucking worthless he is from someone who isn’t his father, who doesn’t have ulterior moti-

The punch to the face does it. Shouto cums the second Bakugou’s fist makes contact with his cheek, shallow breaths rising from his bruised chest as he is knocked over. The static in his brain intensifies, then fizzles. A dampness smears along his stomach and thighs. 

“You’re lucky I don’t use all my strength,” Bakugou warns him. “I could send your brains through your skull if I wanted to.”

“Go ahead then, Villain,” Shouto taunts him through ragged breaths, head still swimming from his orgasm even as he spits blood from his mouth. Shouto wishes he’d stop threatening to kill him all the time and just commit. Sooner or later, he’s going to have to cave, right? All the empty threats are just giving Shouto ammo to use against him. 

A brief glance down indicates that the cum has soaked through Shouto’s pants, leaving a dark splotch along his crotch. There’s no way he could explain his way out of this one if Bakugou noticed. Shouto grabs the edge of his shirt, trying to yank it down while being inconspicuous. 

“I don’t know what your problem is, Todoroki,” Bakugou spits, pointing down at him, “but I’m getting really fucking tired of your shit. You talk like you’re better than me and then go throw a match? You’re a pathetic coward, you know that? Sooner or later, you’re gonna get what’s coming to you, and I’m gonna fucking laugh.” 

Before Shouto can form a rebuttal, Bakugou turns around and stomps away, his hands unceremoniously shoved back into his pockets. 

Shouto can’t remember the last time he was this terrified and this turned on. It’s a weird mix of feelings he’s grown accustomed to over the years, but Bakugou’s brand of torment is so much more satisfying than anything his father can inflict on him anymore.

 

“What did that other guy say to you during your first match?” 

The breaking of silence catches Shouto by surprise. The entirety of the meal up until this point had been quiet between the two of them.

“Huh?” 

“That green-haired kid,” Fuyumi says. “He was yelling something but we couldn’t hear it on TV. That was before you used your fire.”

“Ohh.” Shouto pokes at his food for a moment before trying to decide whether or not he should lie. “He told me that my fire was mine, not dad’s. I don’t know why he cared so much.”

“It’s really kind of him to have tried to encourage you like that.”

“I guess,” he replies with a shrug.

“And he’s right, you know. Your quirk isn’t ‘mom’s quirk’ plus ‘dad’s quirk.’ It’s yours.” 

Elbow on the table, a delicate swirl of frost floats above her outstretched fingers. She looks up with determined yet sorrowful eyes. 

“My ice quirk is pretty useless, but I try not to think of it as just a weak version of mom’s quirk. It’s mine. It makes me feel a little better about it, at least.”

Unsure of what to say, Shouto just nods his head once while taking a bite of his omelette. 

“I always hated being compared to mom,” Fuyumi admits. “I always kind of felt like I was her second-rate replacement when she left.”

Ohh no, it’s therapy time with Fuyumi again. 

“That sucks,” he mumbles, trying his hardest to validate how she feels without sounding like he cares too much. 

“Don’t you ever feel that way about dad? Like you’re constantly being compared to him?”

Shouto stops eating for a moment. His sister isn’t wrong. It feels like his entire life has been about being compared to his father, being expected to live up to his extraordinary achievements. Even as a child, people never shut up about how he was “Endeavor’s son.” Hardly ever was he just “Shouto.” His identity has been permanently entwined with his father’s from the damned day he was born. It’s something he has always resented, though it took Fuyumi mentioning it to make him remember just how much it pisses him off.

“No,” is all he says, not feeling like delving deeper into his thoughts. He cuts a large piece of his omelette and pops it into his mouth.

The tiny ice crystals at Fuyumi’s hand drop as she gives him an exaggerated scowl. They make tiny pings as they bounce off the tabletop.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she grumbles with fake annoyance. “Most people wouldn’t put up with you being so testy all the time.”

“I’m not testy. You just talk too much.”

“Hey!” Fuyumi crosses her arms in a dramatic pout. “I don’t have to make you dinner, you know!”

Uh oh. He’d better shut up if she’s going to threaten to stop feeding him.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Shouto concedes. “Sorry. Just don’t feel like talking.”

“You never feel like talking.” Her lighthearted pout melts into a sigh, suddenly forlorn. “I think you’d feel better if you talked to me more.”

Shouto stands from the table with his dishes. “Maybe next time. Thanks for dinner, sis.”

As much as he enjoys his sister’s cooking, sometimes it just doesn’t feel worth it. Sitting while she babbles about herself is one thing, but when she tries to include him, Shouto gets so uncomfortable. Does she not notice how awkward he gets? Even if she’s right about everything, it’s still stu-

“Bakugou’s going to be a better Hero than you, you know.”

He freezes in place, blinks hard, turns around.

“Huh?”

“Did you like the omelette?” she asks with a hopeful smile. “I tried a different dashi this time.”

Shouto cocks an eyebrow.

“I, uhh… yeah,” he replies dumbly. Without another word, he turns and continues walking towards the kitchen.

How the hell does Fuyumi know about Bakugou? They were in a match together so maybe she remembered from that, but it’s so bizarre for her to say something so diminishing. As Shouto puts his dishes in the sink, he cringes remembering what happened hours ago. To think he came just from getting his ass kicked… Shouto is beginning to realize that Bakugou’s influence on his emotions and his dick is too alluring to keep away from.

Bakugou hates his guts, though. He absolutely despises Shouto and would never let him get anywhere close to his dick. 

It’s… it’s not fair. It’s just not fair. The perfect opportunity presented itself earlier in the day and Shouto could’ve touched it, jerked him off, even blew him and drained his balls right down his throat. No doubt he could’ve gotten him off fast, too. He has had plenty of practice, after all.

Bakugou wouldn’t have had to touch Shouto. It isn’t about Shouto. It’s about submitting himself to someone who actually deserves to abuse him, someone who isn’t afraid to degrade him. The mistreatment Shouto suffers from the hands of his father is calculated but stale. It’s always the same kinds of punishments. If Shouto is going to be treated like shit, he at least wants to be surprised by it.

(His father has been surprising him lately, though… never in his goddamn life would Shouto have guessed he’d get his ass eaten out by that bastard.)

He can’t get his mind off Bakugou’s cock. Shouto feels his own getting hard in his pants at the mere thought of it, trying to remember what it looked like, wondering what kind of sounds would come out of Bakugou’s mouth as he sucked him off, what kind of terrible things he’d spit at him, calling him a slut and a whore and a useless human being, fuck his dick is getting hard, fuck fuck fuck! 

The cabinet door creaks as he swings it open with shaking hands. Fuyumi could walk in at any second but he can’t make himself care. As he brings a bottle to his lips and chugs, all Shouto can think about is how utterly hopeless this entire situation is. He’ll never get a chance to touch Bakugou. Never ever ever would someone like Bakugou let someone like him touch his body. No doubt he hates him so much that he wouldn’t even bother berating Shouto like he craves.

Even as his head begins to swim, he can’t shake the feeling. What Shouto wants is improbable. Impossible. Bakugou will never give enough of a shit to even waste time fucking him. Fighting back tears, Shouto grasps his cock, rubbing his thumb along the slit. He feels nothing. Absolutely nothing.

What a stupid thing to be upset about. He’s such a fucking idiot. Freaking out just because a classmate won’t let him suck his dick and yell at him? There’s no way that’s normal. The hell is wrong with him?

(So many things. Sooo many things.)

The bottle is shoved back into the cabinet and Shouto sways down the hallway. Everything in this godforsaken house looks the same and yet he feels like he has no idea where he is. The floorboards are wiggling beneath his feet, the walls tremble whenever he moves his eyes. He stumbles up the stairs while clinging to the railing. It’s a miracle he doesn’t slip; it was an embarrassingly common occurrence when Shouto was a kid.

He grabs the handle of the door and slides it open, stumbles into a bedroom. His father sits at the edge of his bed, hand resting on his bare thigh, hazy smoke drifting off a cigarette pressed between two fingers. Exhausted blue eyes look up and peer right through him. 

Shouto doesn’t bother closing the door.





Chapter Text

“What do you want, boy?”

Stumbling over his feet in his father’s bedroom, Shouto approaches him, an arrogant grin plastered across his face. He knows just what to say. Just what to say to set his old man off.

“I came in second place,” he says. “Aren’t you gonna punish me for it?”

There is a brief silence as his father draws on his cigarette. Billows of smoke drift from his lips as he exhales, cocks an eyebrow up at him, frowns. The malice his father’s eyes typically hold is absent. Seems like only exhaustion now.

“Why would I do that?” he asks.

“I’m Number Two, just like you.” Shouto gives a dramatic shrug. “And Number Two isn’t good enough.”

No reaction yet. Shouto is already running out of patience.

“You were right, by the way,” he continues, lies. “I faked that seizure thing today. I did it to piss you off. I’m surprised everybody bought it.”

Shouto takes a step forward and straddles his father’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. His father does not protest. The heat of his breath warms his skin, but Shouto feels an odd chill run through his body.

“You smell like alcohol,” his father growls.

“So do you,” Shouto bites back.

The frown on his father’s face deepens before he takes another drag of his cigarette. Shouto begins grinding his ass against his father’s crotch, desperate to get a reaction out of him. The gesture is rewarded by a face full of smoke as he exhales.

“Come on, old man,” Shouto teases. “I can feel your dick getting hard. I know you want to punish me.”

Still, his father ignores him, acts like he’s not there. Shouto becomes increasingly desperate. All the other goddamn times in his life, his father wants to fuck him when he doesn’t want it. The one time Shouto throws himself at him, his father isn’t interested. What the hell is wrong with him? 

“Do you want me to pretend I’m scared? Is that your favorite?” Shouto taunts. “Or I can pretend I’m a little kid. You’re such a sick pedophile. I remember the first time you fucked me, do you? Or were you too drunk to remember doing it?”

‘Punish me, asshole. I want it. I want you to hurt me.’

(But why?)

“We can pretend it’s my first time again. I can fight back this time if you want.” Shouto’s reaches behind himself, cups his father’s cock through his pants. “Unless you prefer me screaming and crying?”

“Open your mouth.”

Victory.

Hesitating for a coy second, Shouto lets his jaw go slack, sticking out his tongue in invitation. He nearly cries out when he feels the embers of a lit cigarette grind to ash against his tongue. The smell of burnt flesh and tobacco nearly chokes him; Shouto’s eyes water as he fights the urge to slam his lids shut, hellbent on accepting his gesture with little hesitation.

Judging by the raised eyebrows on his father’s face, Shouto succeeds in impressing him.

“You talk too much.”

“Shut me up, then.”

Moving his tongue while he speaks is agony, but Shouto can’t allow his father to know that. He wants to push him to his absolute limit, make him completely lose control, nearly kill Shouto in the process. It has happened before. No doubt he can make it happen again.

(And if it kills him, well… so be it.)

His father throws Shouto onto the bed with little effort. He goes limp, allows himself to be moved like a doll. His father is so strong, hands so hot as he turns Shouto onto his stomach and props his ass in the air. Shouto rolls his hips when put on display.

“If you truly wanted to be punished, you wouldn’t have left this in your ass like an obedient little slut.”

The plug is removed from Shouto’s ass with careless hands. He feels his father’s cum run down his taint, drip off his balls. A hot tongue laps the wetness between his thighs, licks around his ass, penetrates with fervor. It’s revolting but it makes Shouto’s cock ache with need; a lewd whine rises from his throat as his head falls. 

If his younger self could see him now, he’d be horrified. All the terrible things his father did to him on this bed, all the pain and fear and conflicted feelings… and here he is now wanting it. Bent over on the bed he was conceived in while his father eats him out. 

Did his father do this to his mother, too? Give her attention, or did he just take what he thought was his? Shouto likes to think that his parents loved one another at some point in time, that his father just suddenly snapped and lost control. But the way his father talks says otherwise. It was arranged, chose her for her quirk, likely forced her to bear his children.

Did his mother even want Shouto? Did she think about being assaulted every time she looked at him? Being reminded of laying on her back, legs spread, his father fucking her like he does Shouto?

...Why the fuck did his cock just twitch?

“I’m gonna drop out of school,” Shouto pants, empty threats pouring from his lips. “I’m gonna quit and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” 

Bet Bakugou would like that. Maybe Shouto should quit. Give him what he wants since Shouto can't give him anything else. What good is he if he's not being fucked, anyway?

A firm slap to his ass makes Shouto keen. He wants more, he’s aching for punishment.

“It would be all your fault. All the shit you’ve done to me would’ve been a waste. Would you like that, Daddy?”

Wet fingers are forced against Shouto’s mouth and he parts his lips, stretching them around the thick digits. His hips buck against his father’s face when Shouto tastes the familiar flavor of cum on those fingers. It’s so lewd, so disgusting, disgraceful that he could react to such filthy ministrations. But never in his life has Shouto been this desperate for anything. 

His father’s cum always burns when it floods his guts. Shouto knows Fuyumi is sensitive to heat; maybe his mother is, too. God, how much must it have hurt when he came inside her?

Stop thinking about her, what the fuck, why the fuck is he thinking about this, why is he thinking about his mother being raped, he did the same thing with Fuyumi, jerked off to the thought of it, it’s sick, so so sick, Shouto is so fucked up, why is his brain like this, why won’t it stop, the alcohol is supposed to stop this, why is it still running through his head?!

Reality sinks in when Shouto feels his father’s fingers pulled from his mouth. He pants, tries to catch his breath. Precum leaks from his cock and drips onto the sheets; Shouto can’t hold back a whimper when his father sits back, no longer violating him with a hot tongue.

Three huge fingers penetrate his ass with little finesse, spreading him wide, pumping in and out of his abused hole. The heat that burns in the pit of his stomach nearly makes Shouto sick. His hands grasp the sheets beneath him in a desperate attempt to keep his moans at bay.

“You suck at this,” Shouto hisses. It sounds so insincere that Shouto almost laughs.

His father’s other hand wraps around Shouto’s erection and jerks him in rhythm with his thrusting digits. Fuck, it’s so much. With one skillful crook of his fingers, his father brushes against something inside him that makes Shouto cum hard enough to see stars. Cum shoots from his cock, makes a mess of his father’s fist. Both hands are removed and Shouto collapses. His chest heaves as he rolls over onto his back.

What would his mother think seeing him like this? That same question popped into his mind during the Sports Festival. If his mother is anything like Fuyumi, she’d look at him with pity and concern. Shouto despises pity; his father insists being pitiful is the ultimate form of weakness. Fuyumi is pretty damn pitiful herself, so he hates being on the receiving end of that face she always makes at him. Eyes scrunched, mouth stretched thin, eyebrows knitted. It’s practically her default expression nowadays.

Pity sucks, but shame would be even worse. Or disgust. Or anger. His mother wasn’t really an angry person, though… was she? 

It drives him insane that he can’t remember more about his mother. It’s been ten years since she left and if it weren’t for the photos Fuyumi has, Shouto feels like he could’ve forgotten what she looks like. Bet she’s forgotten his face. Though that would be… probably impossible, considering what she did to it.

No, what his father did to it. That wasn’t her fault at all.

(Unless it was Shouto who deserved the blame?)

“You gonna fuck your son now, Endeavor?” Shouto says with a cocky smile, his voice slurring and cracking when he feels his father’s hands spread his legs wide. That name always burned like poison on his tongue. Now it feels good coming from his lips, being used to taunt him, to piss him off.

(Is it working?)

Shouto feels it, that familiar rubbing of the head of his father’s cock against his ass. When his father forces his way inside, Shouto lets out a high-pitched moan, throws his head back against the pillow. The stretch burns his guts in the best of ways every single time.

“You’re a fake,” Shouto chuckles through clenched teeth. “Got the whole damn world fooled but me. You know it too, you just don’t give a shit. Fucking sociopath.”

Shouto’s ass is fucked thoroughly, violently. He can’t stifle the moans that erupt from his throat. The sensation is so much, so amplified with his brain swimming like this. If he was sober, he’d probably worry about his sister hearing, but he just can’t force himself to care. Shouto wants to be violated and pounded and used. Treated like a cocksleeve and nothing else.

It’s not enough, though. Judging by his father’s unstifled grunts and sloppy thrusts, the bastard is probably drunker than Shouto is. Shouto needs more. He needs his father to fuck him like the useless object that he is. 

(To fuck him like Bakugou would fuck him.)

“Stop fucking me like you love me,” Shouto snarls. “Fuck me like you did when I was a kid, Daddy. Fuck me harder.”

He doesn’t. His father continues pounding into him at the same pace, brutal but not as brutal as Shouto knows he’s capable of being. Goddammit. And why hasn’t he said anything this entire time?!

“Fuck me like I don’t want it. Like I deserve it, Daddy.”

Shouto slams himself down, meeting his father’s thrusts when he bottoms out in his ass. The pace remains. So frustrating, so fucking frustrating, it’s not enough, still not enough-

“Fuck me like you fucked Fuyumi,” he demands. “Like you fucked Mom when you knocked her up.”

His father growls, looks up to meet Shouto’s glare. Maybe the bastard is just too tired and drunk. Getting too old to be fucking him like he used to.

‘No excuses,’ Shouto thinks to himself, repeating the phrase he has heard throughout his entire miserable life.

“You have any regrets, Daddy? How you treated mom? Natsuo? Fuyumi?” Shouto pauses and smiles. “How you treated me?”

His father’s impartial expression changes in an instant, rage etched in his features as he wraps his huge hands around Shouto’s neck. Thumbs press against his windpipe, fingers sink into muscle. He squeezes until nothing but wheezes escape from Shouto’s chest.

That was an odd thing to set him off… Shouto wasn’t even trying that hard with that one.

“The only thing I regret is being too soft on you,” his father growls, teeth bared, flames flickering along his brow. “You were my masterpiece, were perfect. Now look at you. Ruined.”

Shouto’s hands reach up and grasp his father’s wrists on instinct, but he doesn’t actually want it to stop. There’s a high greater than the adrenaline rush he felt fighting those villains a few weeks ago, something that makes his heart rate soar, clears his brain of everything but the frantic hope of survival. It’s… kind of soothing, actually.

Pretty weird that his happy place would be lying on his back getting fucked by his dad while being strangled. Shouto briefly wonders what brings other people joy. He isn’t really sure how most people’s minds work, but he’s positive this isn’t most people’s definition of a good time.

God, he wishes these were Bakugou’s hands. Feel them warm up against his skin, threaten to blow his fucking head off with one twitch of the fingers. The intense heat his father emits is foreboding, but Shouto is so bored of it. Sure, his father could set him on fire at any time, ignite him like tinder, squeeze until his hot hands ate through his skin and burned through his windpipe. But Shouto knows he won’t. Deep, deep down, he knows his father can’t bear to lose him. Shouto is his father’s last desperate attempt to make something of his pathetic family name; he’s a failure, but a failure his father still desperately clings to with the hope that he can repair him.

Bakugou, though? Bakugou has absolutely no reason to hold back. Bakugou could murder him without a second thought and Shouto would be at his complete mercy. How terrifying.

The thought makes Shouto even harder.

A tiny wheeze escapes his lips when he tries to inhale, a small amount of air managing to pass through to his lungs. Another sign his father isn’t committed. It’s not enough.

Shouto has been choked hard before. A few times, actually. The sensation is certainly different when his lungs are frozen in place, aching in his chest while desperate to expand. In a way, it’s not as bad as when he can manage some oxygen; his lungs now are clinging to the hope of filling, forcing his brain to focus on breathing instead of focusing on imminent death. 

Fearing for his life is much preferred. Acceptance is easier to handle than instinct-driven desperation.

“Harder,” Shouto squeaks as he digs his nails into his father’s wrists. 

To his utter amazement, his father obliges. Shouto feels his lungs freeze in his chest, all air cut off, his brain quickly filling with static. There is a pounding against his eardrums that matches the rhythm of his racing heart. Every thrust of his father’s hips strain Shouto’s diaphragm beyond its limit, feeling like blows against his chest. 

‘Kill me. Kill me, Bakugou. Hurry up and fucking kill me.’

The corners of his vision are gradually consumed by darkness. Before his eyes roll into the back of his head, Shouto feels cum dribble down his cock, splay across his abdomen. How unfortunate that he’s too far gone to actually enjoy that orgasm.

(Disgusting.)


Shouto groans as he lifts his head off the pillow, blinks several times to adjust his eyes to the sunlight pouring from the window. Trembling legs swing over the edge of the bed before he sits up. Back sagging, he places his elbow on his knee and his face in his hand. The clock that sits on his father’s nightstand says 10:38am. 

It takes him a moment to realize he’s naked. Naked but completely clean. Even his hair is slightly damp, sticking to his forehead, the familiar smell of his father’s shampoo filling his nose as he sighs. Did he take a shower? Or god forbid, did his father bathe him while he was unconscious? Shouto doesn’t want to know.

Shit, his tongue hurts. Memories of the night before come back to him rather quickly despite the pounding in his head. Shouto’s right hand reaches to his sore throat, applies chilly pressure against the inevitable bruising. They feel somewhat raised; his father must’ve burned him, too. Burned him while he choked the life out of him. It’s a miracle he survived.

When Shouto stands up, he notices a photograph on the wall and freezes. It’s a photo of his mother and father on their wedding day. His mother looks so beautiful dressed in her kimono, silk headpiece, all the same snow-white as her hair. There’s a smile on her face but Shouto can see the apprehension behind it. It looks too similar to the smile she used to give him so long ago, back when she’d rub his head while he cried, soothing his fears and frustrations.

One oddly specific thing Shouto remembers from last night is how much his mother was on his mind. Seems like the more he drinks, the more she pops up in his head. Those memories are probably buried deep inside somewhere, some dark corner of his brain that only shows itself when he’s wasted. 

Maybe he should stop drinking so much. All it does is dredge up the really unpleasant shit, force him to face his feelings of the most painful parts of his mind. 

When it doesn’t though, it makes life so much more bearable. Sober Shouto is riddled with memories that make it impossible to think; alcohol makes him feel more in control and able to handle all the everyday bullshit. It’s worth the occasional liquor-induced breakdown. The good far outweighs the bad.

Ugh, his head is killing him. What a pain in the ass. Shouto sits back down on the bed to stop the room from spinning, to try to calm himself down. But as soon as he realizes the sheets are wet beneath him, he jumps back up to his feet. 

That spot had to have been from whatever shower he took last night, right? It’d be wider, though… it’s an oval shape in the center of the bed. The realization hits him all at once despite trying hard to stay in denial. Shouto has been in this situation countless times before, staring down at the familiar stain. 

He wet the bed last night.

Goddammit fucking shit fuck! Fuck! This hasn’t happened in what, months, maybe years? How many years?! Shouto thought he was past this stupid goddamn childish habit. Fuck! He’s fifteen years old, how the hell could this h-

A wave of nausea overcomes him and he almost doesn’t make it to the bathing room in time. Shouto leans over and vomits onto the tile floor, nothing but stomach bile and the burn of whiskey stuck in his sinuses. He threads his fingers through his hair, heaves, coughs. The acrid smell almost makes him vomit again. 

Tears gather in his eyes before overflowing, dribbling down his cheeks and splattering onto the tile. Shouto takes deep breaths through his mouth, wipes mucus from his clogged nose. Holy shit, he’s so gross, wetting the bed and throwing up and sobbing, fucking his father willingly while thinking about his mother and Bakugou, getting off on being choked half to death. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Shouto wants his mother so badly. He wants her to assure him that it’s okay, that things happen, things we can’t control. He wants to feel her chilled hands on his forehead and cheeks. He wants her to hold him against her chest and rub his back, saying sweet things in his ear to help him through this, telling him how the future is going to be better and that we just need to endure it a little longer.

It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.

After gathering his bearings, Shouto hobbles back into his father’s bedroom, looks around, takes careful steps towards a chest of drawers. 

“Here, put these on.” 

There’s another one of those memories. His father’s voice is so clear that it sounds like he’s standing behind him.

“Trust me, Shouto. They’ll feel good against your body.”

He pulls open the top drawer. Digs in the back behind meticulous-folded shirts, searches for them. Finds exactly what he’s looking for.

“These were your mother’s.”

Shouto steps into them, meticulous and slow. He pulls them up to his waist. They were much looser when he was young, now snug despite losing their elasticity. Stumbling, Shouto walks in front of the full-length mirror, staring blankly at his exhausted reflection.

“They look much better on you.”

That specific day his father assaulted him in this room always sickens him to remember. It was five years ago but it’s still so fresh in his mind, haunting him with the realization that he enjoyed it. Shouto knows he was groomed but it does little to stifle the shame. Face down, ass in the air, his father pushing his mother’s panties to the side while he rutted against him. He can feel his cock begin to fill out as he recalls the feeling. 

Mommy would be so grossed out seeing him wear her panties like this. It’s not what normal kids do. Normal kids don’t make their Mommy cry. Normal kids think about their Mommy and smile, not frown. Normal kids don’t get their Mommy sent away because they were being bad.

Shouto is not normal. Shouto is “unbearable.” Mommy said so herself.

Tears flood his reflection’s eyes and Shouto feels them run down his cheeks, saltwater irritating the burns at his neck. Shouto is such an ugly crier; Daddy said so himself many times. Even Natsuo poked fun at him for it when he was very young.

It’s something his mother would soothe him for, though. Pat his head while muttering words of encouragement.

God, he misses her so much.


The concealer he smears over the fresh wounds on his neck burns worse than his father’s hands. He half-hazardly puts on layer after layer. Green-tinted cream, then skin tone, just as Fuyumi taught him as a kid. 

(Did his mother have to do the same, he wonders? Who taught Fuyumi, anyway?)

The application winds up looking half-assed, but at least the marks are less noticeable. They hide well beneath his shirt collar; maybe nobody will notice.

“Shouto, where are you going?” Fuyumi asks, eyes widening when she glances at his neck.

Nobody except Fuyumi, of course. She’s way too damn observant.

“The hospital,” he replies while slipping his shoes on.

“H-Hospital?” she repeats, eyes becoming even wider. “Why all the sudden?”

Fuyumi looks towards the hallway, back at him, back at the hallway. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. 

“Can you really go without telling Dad?”

Of course. Fuck that asshole. Shouto doesn’t need his permission for anything.

“Yeah,” is all he says before sliding the front door open. 

“Why now, though?” she implores. “Why go see her now after all this time?”

A gust of wind picks up in the courtyard and blows his hair into his eyes. Shouto shakes his head until his bangs sweep to the side, buttons up his shirt to keep his wounds hidden. Shouto doesn’t reply to her, simply walking out of the house without even bothering to close the door behind him. 

It’s a question he can’t really answer. Not honestly, anyway. Maybe it’s because of what Midoriya said, maybe it’s to share news of the Sports Festival. Maybe it’s because it’s been ten years since she went away and that’s been weighing on his mind.

(Shouto’s terrified to know the actual reason.)


Chapter Text

“Todoroki, please.”

There is apprehension in the nurses' faces when he says who he’s visiting; no doubt they recognize the ugly scar on his face. One nurse pauses just one second too long, stares until it becomes awkward before checking the computer. The other stops making eye contact entirely.

Better than doing a double-take, at least. Those always hurt the worst.

Shouto has never actually been inside a hospital. His father would never take him to a hospital when he was young, claimed the doctors there weren’t good enough to handle “his masterpiece.” It wasn’t until Shouto got older that he realized how full of shit he was. Pay someone enough and they’ll stay silent about anything, even finger-shaped bruises as they cast a broken wrist.

Every hall and corridor looks the same. Not unlike his house, really. Shouto is thankful that the doors here are labeled with a number and a name. Otherwise, he’d be too anxious to open his mother’s, regardless of how much someone insisted it was hers.

As he grasps the door handle, he reminds himself that he has no time to second-guess this decision. The more he second guesses himself, the longer this ordeal will be drawn out. Shouto knows how indecisive he can become when he ruminates, gets caught up in the spiral of reasoning. Impulsivity can be a curse and a blessing; all he can do now is hope it’s a blessing for once.

The door slides open and Shouto is greeted to a dreary room, the walls and flooring and linens sharing the same washed-out hue. The only source of color is a picture frame resting on the table. Upon closer inspection, it’s the photo his sister took of the two of them on his first day of school. Fuyumi flashing a V with her fingers, Shouto wearing a weak scowl. It seems out of place in such a sea of grays. The monotony nearly camouflages the pale-haired woman staring back at him from the edge of the bed.

His mouth falls open, words caught in his throat. Familiar eyes the same color as his own gaze back at him, wide and listless. She cocks her head to the side. The hollow look in her stare is so foreign that Shouto briefly wonders if he has entered the wrong room. 

Shouto is already rendered speechless. His mind reels as he tries to interpret her expression, tries to piece together her emotions. The only thing he sees in her face is horror, fear, disgust. 

(What was he expecting? Joy? What an idiot.)

“M… Mom?” Shouto manages. She says nothing in return.

That expression might be confusion. Does she not recognize him? It seems impossible considering the photo on the windowsill, considering the unmistakable scar on his face. She should know it’s Shouto… right? Unless she does recognize him but doesn’t want to.

It’s not like he could blame her; it’s Shouto’s fault that she’s been locked away like this for so long. Left wondering how her favorite children are faring, all while hoping to forget the one that condemned her to this place. Must be difficult when Fuyumi visits and no doubt talks about him all the damn time. Bet his mother feels nausea and disgust every time she looks at that photo.

He shouldn’t have came. This was such a careless, selfish idea. How could Shouto be so stupid, thinking his mother actually wanted to see him again? It was probably never about her at all. He just wanted to ease his guilt and nothing more.

Shouto turns around and reaches for the door handle. He has to leave, try to prevent him from hurting her even more than he already has. Fucking goddammit shit he fucked up so bad, he fucked up so bad, he’s always doing this, always fucking up and b- 

“Shouto?”

For a moment, Shouto wonders if he imagined the meek call of his name. He turns around, sees those confused eyes still peering right through him.

“Shouto?” she repeats, voice weak. Weaker than he ever remembers hearing it in the past.

Finally, he finds the courage to move. Shouto takes deliberate steps forward, scrutinizes her face for any subtle changes, any signs she is afraid. His mother’s features remain frozen. He’s not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

Thin, shaky hands reach out in invitation. He stops in front of her, stands with his face between her outstretched arms. Spindly fingers rest on his cheeks; her touch is so much more cold than he remembers. Shouto feels her fingertips trace along the outline of his scar, run along the mottled flesh beneath his eye, gentle as if touching something fragile.

Tears gather along her eyelids as his mother frowns. Her knees are quaking, hands tr-

“It’s nothing, sweetie. I promise. Mommy’s just tired.”

“Don’t worry, Shouto. Mommy is fine.”

“It didn’t hurt. It’s just a little bruise.”

Goddammit. He should’ve drank more before coming here.

“Please… please sit,” she pleads softly, grasping his hands and tugging towards the side of the bed next to her. Shouto obliges. The mattress creaks beneath him when he sits down.

“I, umm…” Shouto trips over his words. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited earlier, Mom. I’ve been…”

There’s no good excuse he can give. His sentence remains unfinished.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Shouto,” his mother says, her bottom lip quivering as she turns to him. “I’m so sorry for all of this…”

“Mom, you d-”

Shouto is cut off when he feels arms thrown around his shoulders. The embrace is so much colder than Fuyumi’s but feels just as sincere. He wishes it brought him the same solace he felt as a child; being squeezed like this now only makes his heart race, makes him go rigid and tense.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you…” she sobs. “Mommy did such a bad thing, Shouto… please forgive her…”

What does he do? What is he supposed to do? Should he comfort her? Shouto is so bad at this, he sucks so bad at comforting people, holy shit this was such a bad idea. It’s awful enough when his sister gets upset, but his mother? Even after ten years, Shouto is upsetting her; it’s like that’s all he does to everyone, now that he thinks about it. His mother, his father, his sister, himself, Bakugou. The world would be so much better off without him.

Grimacing, Shouto bends his elbows, returns the embrace. Prays she won’t shrink away like Fuyumi always does whenever he tries to touch her.

She doesn’t. She clings to him even harder. The urge to cry suddenly twinges in his face, but he holds it back.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Shouto assures her, parroting what his sister has always said to him. 

“I loved you, I love you, I’ve never stopped thinking about you all this time-”

‘Me too.’

“-never wanted to hurt you, I never wanted to hurt anyone, I hate that I acted like your father-”

‘I understand.’

“-promise, I’ll never ever hurt you ever again, please, I promise, I’ll never hurt anyone ever again-”

‘...’

“I know, Mom,” Shouto says. “I know. It’s okay.”

Her fingers slide up his back and run through his hair, icy fingertips resting against his scalp. The sobs wracking her body suddenly cease. Shouto knots his eyebrow at the instant switch.

“Mommy’s good boy,” his mother coos. “Such a good boy…”

‘There’s nothing good about me.’

“You make Mommy so proud…” 

‘You wouldn’t be proud if you knew what I’ve done.’

“Mommy’s little Hero… so, so proud…”

Shouto feels her pat the back of his head, slowly rocking his body back and forth. A hum escapes her lips when she sighs. He isn’t sure how to react to the sudden gentle touch, his muscles still stiff, hands trembling. Part of him wants to pull away while the other part of him wants to cry. His brain was never good at handling the fight or flight response.

“Mommy loves you,” she assures him, soothing. “Mommy loves her baby Shouto very much… you’re such a big boy, so grown up…”

What should he say? Shouto hasn’t heard those words in so long, it’s been so long-

“Fuyumi says you’re doing so well, I’m so happy… so proud, so happy…” The rocking slows, becomes more subtle. “Such a good baby, Shouto… my sweet, sweet baby…”

“I missed you, Mom,” he manages. What a dumb, obvious thing to say.

“Please don’t cry, Shouto. Please don’t cry…”

He’s… not. He’s not crying… right? Shouto puts his hand up to his face just to make sure. Both of his cheeks are warm, but dry. What is his mother talking about?

“It’ll stop, it’ll stop soon, baby,” his mother says flatly. “I promise I’ll do my best. Mommy’s doing her best. She’ll fix this… she’ll… promise…”

A weight pushes down on his shoulders, nearly sends him backwards. Her forehead rests against the crook of his neck. 

“Mom?” he says, voice wavering. “Mom, are you okay?”

He puts his hands on her shoulders and straightens his elbows, gently pushes her away until her arms fall limp at her sides. His mother’s head is lulled to the side, eyes shut, mouth in a soft pout. Geez, she just… fell asleep? They must give her the good stuff to knock her out like that.

With careful hands, Shouto lowers her torso onto the mattress, then picks up her legs and swings them onto the bed. His mother doesn’t move a muscle; she feels like dead weight in his hands.

The bed squeaks as his returns to his seat at the edge of the bed, looking down at his mother while anxiety swells in his chest. He has thought about this moment since the day she went away. Now that it’s a reality, he isn’t sure what he feels. What he should feel. Probably happiness or relief? That’s certainly not what is causing his stomach to twist into knots. 

It’s been over a decade, yet seeing her lay quiet and still feels so familiar. 

Shouto remembers her quiet and still when he’d tug on her blanket in the middle of the night, waking his mother from sleep when he had a nightmare. She’d rub her eyes, look up at him with concern, then climb out of her futon to guide him back to his room. Insist that it was a harmless dream while she’d tuck Shouto back under his comforter.

Shouto remembers her quiet and still on the grass in the courtyard, napping under the shade of a tree. Even on the hottest days of summer, he’d find his temperature-sensitive mother resting her eyes. One day, Shouto went out and woke her up, asked why she’d pick such an odd spot. His mother giggled and insisted it was “to escape the heat.”

(It wasn’t until she lay quiet and still at his father’s feet that Shouto realized what she meant by that.)

As he looks down at his mother’s sleeping form, Shouto places his right hand carefully over hers, makes sure to keep his skin cold. He’d never hurt her like his father. Never touch her with his right side alone, regardless of how much he tells himself that his fire is his own. 

(His mother probably hadn’t thought that when she poured boiling water on his face.)

These hands brought Shouto so much comfort growing up. They seem so much smaller than they did when he was a kid, his fingers dwarfing her own. Still, they feel just as soft as he remembers. Her skin is so milky, so delicate and smooth, feels like velvet beneath his fingertips as he runs them along the back of her hand.

As hard as he tries to ignore it, Shouto feels his dick straining in his pants, rubbing against the fabric of his mother’s panties. Did she ever wear these panties when he comforted him, he wonders? Did she wear them the night they took her away?

(Did his father ever fuck her in them?)

Being in the presence of his mother… This is what he had longed for and dreamed about for a decade. But now that he is living it, Shouto isn’t sure that he likes it. Maybe it’s because he feels like he doesn’t deserve it. This was all his own fault. 

If only he hadn’t let his father’s cruelty become an excuse for behaving badly. If only he hadn’t eavesdropped on his mother. If only he had stayed quiet when she dumped that boiling water on his face, kept the reason a secret, kept his mother from getting in trouble.

Checking behind him to ensure the door is closed, Shouto unzips his pants to release some of the pressure. The delicate lace of the panties tent outwards over his hardening cock. It aches.

He slowly grasps her hand, pulls it towards him, rests it between his legs. His mother’s touch is so cold, such a contrast to his father’s burning grasp.

Shouto gets her locked away for ten years and then has the nerve to feel like he’s worthy of her love and touch. 

Rolling his hips, Shouto presses his confined cock against his mother’s flat hand. Chilly, icy like they were back when they’d rub his back, brush the hair out of his face, reduce the swelling in his bruised knees. He missed this so much, this touch he never truly deserved. Shouto has grown accustomed to craving violent touch from others instead of the tenderness his mother gave him. He had forgotten how much this soothed him.

Without a moment of thought, Shouto reaches out and places his right hand on her clothed breast. His fingers brush against the nipple he can see poking through her pajama top. His cock bounces in response; Shouto presses it harder against his mother’s hand.

Ohh god, this is fucked up, isn’t it? The first time he’s seen his mother in ten years and he’s groping her in her sleep. Shouto has only touched breasts once and that was Fuyumi’s, back when his father forced him to. That entire ordeal was so traumatizing, yet Shouto still hasn’t stopped thinking about it. He hates how much that memory pops up out of nowhere when he jacks off. 

(Hates how fast it gets him off, too.)

His mother’s chest is softer and smaller than his sister’s. Shouto presses down, curls his fingers slightly, feels her ribs beneath the tissue. A groan threatens to escape his lips; his dick feels like it’s about to explode. She still doesn’t move, doesn’t react. Shouto almost wishes she would.

Is this the only reason why he came to visit her? Because he has extremely inappropriate sexual feelings towards his own mother? Convincing himself that he actually cared about her well-being, that he sincerely thought this would make things better for everyone involved… Shouto is busted. He’s so fucking busted. 

All it takes is pressure. There’s no jerking involved. Shouto feels his orgasm hit him violently, his dick coating the panties he’s wearing with his cum. It overflows around the seams and drips onto his mother’s hand. When he’s finally spent, Shouto pants, wipes his arm across his sweaty forehead.

Too many wires in his brain got tangled up, crossed where they shouldn’t have, branched off and attached themselves to the worst parts of one another. As much as Shouto wants to blame his father for it, he knows it’s all his fault. He allowed this. Enabled it. His sister deals with it perfectly fine, puts up with the same daily shit yet assimilates seamlessly into the outside world. Shouto locked himself in a box of his own accord and has the audacity to feel sorry for himself.

There’s a shuffling sound behind him. Panicking, Shouto pushes his mother’s hand to fall back onto the bed, runs his hands over hers to wipe off as much cum as possible. Shit, god, please don’t let someone have seen that, please, please, please, fuck-

“Oh!”

He turns around and looks behind him; a jolted nurse is standing in the doorway with a tiny cup in her hand. He quickly wipes his cum-covered fingers on his shirt, pulling his jacket over it to hide the mark. 

“I was coming to deliver her medicine, but…” The woman tilts her head. “Is she asleep?”

Blinking, Shouto nods. His heart is racing one million times a minute.

“She probably doesn’t need them if she fell asleep. They kinda knock her out.” The woman looks over at the picture frame, then back at him. “You’re her son, aren’t you? She talks about you all the time.”

Shouto nods again as if afraid to speak too loudly. His breath is still too labored to speak, anyway.

“I’ll leave these here,” she whispers, placing the tiny cup on the table. “She can refuse them if she wants. If she does takes them though, could you let me know when you leave?”

Wow, that… doesn’t sound legal at all. Still, Shouto nods in understanding. 

“I’ll knock next time. So sorry about that.”

With a relieved smile, the nurse bows her head in thanks before backing out into the hallway. The door slides shut with care. 

Holy. Shit. That was way too fucking close. Lucidity returning to his brain, Shouto looks over at his mother, then down at his shirt. Examining the stain he left makes him cringe. It’s disgustingly familiar.

This feels so much worse than when his father wiped his cum on Shouto’s blazer. Getting on his knees for his own father’s cock is certainly shameful, but this? Defiling his loving mother like this, using her for a means to a self-satisfying end? He’s no different from his father. Giving nothing in return, just taking. If anything, Shouto is worse than his father; he didn’t even give his mother a chance to consent. At least his father gave Shouto the opportunity to say “no,” however futile it may have been.

Tears gather in his eyes as he uses the hem of his shirt to wipe the remainder off her hands. Sickening, absolutely sickening. He wishes he lacked empathy like his father does; it would make cleaning up his mess so much easier.

(There he goes feeling sorry for himself again. He has absolutely no right.)

As he stands to his feet, Shouto looks down at his mother one last time. She is so pale and still that she looks like a corpse, no longer appearing like she did in his fond memories. Pulling the sheet up to her neck just makes it worse. He shakes his head as he turns to the door.

Shouto freezes when he sees the little cup on her table. His hand shakes when he reaches forward, the pill rattling against the plastic when he picks it up.

Might as well. No one will ever find out, after all.

 

His mother’s nurse is standing at the nurse’s station when Shouto is closing the door behind him. Despite sweat soaking his palms, he shoves them into his pockets. Shouto doesn’t bother to stop walking when he speaks, simply answering her question before she has time to even ask.

“She took her medicine.”

 

“How was Mom?” Fuyumi asks him, popping a slice of pickled radish into her mouth. “She looks good, doesn’t she?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you visit her?” he grumbles.

“You never asked.” She pokes her tongue out at him; Shouto rolls his eyes. “Did everything go okay?”

A difficult question to answer. Shouto pauses for a second, considers his words carefully.

“She seemed…” he begins, but can’t find the right word.

“Off?” 

Shouto looks up, blinking hard.

“Mom’s always been a little… off. Even when we were kids.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I definitely noticed it. You were probably too young to, though.”

Her chopsticks make a soft clink when she places them on the table.

“I talked to dad about it when she left. He said she’s always been sick and that it got worse when she started having us. He lies a lot so I took it with a grain of salt, but I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth.”

Bizarre. Shouto wracks his brain for a second, tries to remember any instances she seemed to behave erratically. There’s nothing specific he can really dredge up.

“Does mom… know?” she asks.

Shouto understands exactly what she’s talking about.

“Yeah.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No. She walked in on it once.” Shouto taps the tips of his chopsticks against his lips. “I think it was right before, uhh… you know. She fucked up my face.”

That memory is fuzzy and it’s probably for the best. All he remembers is the sound of the door opening, the enraged look in his mother’s eyes, the sound of crackling ice. Shouto thankfully blocked out whatever happened after that. His brain did him a favor for once.

“It took me a long time to forgive her,” Fuyumi admits. “I used to think that there was no excuse. Like, yeah Dad hurt her, but that didn’t make her do that to you.”

His sister looks down and stares at her clenched fists.

“But now I understand. When someone is hurting you…” She pauses, frowns. “Sometimes, you make bad decisions.”

Shouto doesn’t know what to say. Fuyumi looks so forlorn, regretful, like she’s guilty of a crime. It’s too bad he’s terrible at comforting people; she has comforted him for most of his life and yet he can’t return the favor. Every time he touches her, she acts like it hurts. How the hell else do you console someone besides an awkward hug?

“Y-Yeah,” he stutters. “You’re right.”

Holy shit, he sucks at this.

“That probably sounded stupid,” Fuyumi chuckles even though she’s not joking. “I feel like you cope with this stuff a lot better than I do.”

Oh my god. Shouto curls his lips over his teeth to keep himself from bursting into a fit of laughter. Is she serious?

“Glad you think so.”

Fuyumi sighs. “Going to school and working so hard while putting up with everything that’s happened… I don’t know how you do it.”

By drinking. And molesting his mother. And getting fucked by his father. And jerking off in public and cumming in his pants when getting punched in the face and lying and stealing and wearing Mommy’s panties-

“Just used to it, I guess,” Shouto shrugs. 

Bringing his bowl to his lips, Shouto shovels rice into his mouth as quickly as he can manage. This conversation is getting way too uncomfortable for him to deal with right now. He can feel his heart rattling against his ribs, pumping blood through his body so hard that his head throbs to his pulse, pounds in his ears. The nausea is getting worse. Dear god, please don’t let him throw up.

“Mom wasn’t asleep,” Fuyumi says. “She knows what happened.”

The chopsticks drop from his hand, his eyes going so wide that they ache. 

“W… What?” Shouto squeaks, feeling his stomach drop to his feet. Was Fuyumi spying on him at Mom’s today? Did she see what he did?! 

Holy fuck, how is he gonna explain this? There’s no mistaking what he did, there’s no way anyone could have misinterpreted what happened. 

“She was so scared.” Fuyumi grimaces. “I was, too. I still don’t really understand how that could just… happen.”

He doesn’t want to try to find a reason why he took advantage of his mother. Shouto doesn’t want to think about it at all, doesn’t want to dig that deep into his psyche. It’s so much easier to bury it down. Fuyumi does that all the time; why can’t she recognize how shitty she’s being right now?

“They said it was stress, right? Did it… have to do with Dad, you think? Could it hav-”

“I don’t know, Fuyumi,” he snaps. “I don’t fucking know, okay?”

Fuyumi hunches her shoulders, freezes, looks down at the floor. Tears gather at the bottom of her lids. The room is silent for a few seconds but it feels like an eternity.

Great, he upset her. He’s such a fucking dick.

“I’m just… I’m sorry I keepseeing through you bringing it up,” she says, voice so soft and jumbled he can barely hear her. “I just know youare fucked up were embarrassed about collapsing during the Sports Festivalblowing everything out of proportion like you always do and I wanted to make you're turning into him feel better aboutturning into Dad it.”

Huh? 

In a panic, grabs his bowl and his plate and stands up, hurrying towards the kitchen. 

“Shouto, wait!” he hears behind him. “Shouto, I’m sorry!”

The dishes are tossed into the sink without care. Shouto feels his hands tremble as he leans over the counter, tries to catch his breath. Don’t freak out, please don’t freak out, please please please don’t freak out… 

Shouto looks over and sees the stove. Shouto freaks out.

Without a second thought, he digs into his pocket, takes out the pill he stole from his mother. How fucked up is that, taking medication from his sick mother? He’s such an awful person. So disgusting, so tainted. Selfish and uncaring and thoughtless.

(Just like this father.)

The pill tastes horrifically bitter as it hits his tongue. His father used to give these to him when he was young, when Shouto would have those panicky fits where he’d lose all control. That was years ago but it feels so fresh in his mind when he feels the urge to gag. He tries to swallow it, fails. Opens a low cabinet and finds a bottle. Takes a swig to wash it down.

“Dad, Shouto is scaring me… he won’t stop screaming and he won’t respond… what should I do?!”

Shouto can’t remember how long it took for the medication to kick in before. He is so delusional that time feels like it’s standing still. 

“Open your mouth Shouto, please… this is going to help you calm down…!”

The memory of him drugging his sister suddenly comes back to him. That was when he was the most delusional, paranoid, convinced Fuyumi wanted to kill him. What the hell was wrong with him? Shouto vaguely remembers being so sure that Fuyumi was telling their father about everything he was doing, reporting back to him like a spy. The only person in his life that actually gave a shit about him and he had the nerve to think she wanted him dead. He was such a fucked up kid.

(More fucked up than he is now, though? Probably not.)

Now that he thinks about it… he got those pills from the kitchen. The cabinet next to the refrigerator. 

Were there any left?

Shouto opens the cabinet door, climbs up onto the counter to check the highest shelf. He finds a few medication bottles stashed in the far corner. Checks the labels. Finds the bottle with pills the same shape and color as the one from the hospital. 

Perfect.

As soon as he hops down to his feet, Shouto feels dizzy. Well that was fast. Stumbling on his feet, he exits the kitchen, heads down the hallway to his bedroom. He doesn’t bother changing his clothes when he flops onto his futon.

Hmm. What was he so upset about before? Shouto’s brain is getting fuzzy already. It’s… nice. Sleep should come easy tonight; maybe he won’t dream, will wake up feeling rested for once in his miserable life. Pass out like his mother did today. Pass out so hard that he feels nothing in his head nor his body.

(Right?) 

Before shutting his eyes, Shouto sets the alarm on his phone. He notices the multiple notifications from earlier on in the day; almost all of them were from Fuyumi. Shouto deletes them all, not bothering to read them. Doesn’t she have friends or something? It’s annoying how often she texts him, especially when she knows he has long, busy days. 

When he reaches the end of the list of notifications, he sees a name different from his sister’s. Shouto stops his finger just as it hovers above the delete button. He struggles to read them with such heavy eyelids.

 

Deku [7:21pm]: Hey Todoroki!

Deku [7:21pm]: I’m sorry to bother you but umm

Deku [7:28pm]: Can I talk to you about something tomorrow?

 

Chapter Text

The floor of the gym creaks beneath his feet as Shouto rocks back and forth, checking his watch to make sure he has the time correct. He’s pretty sure Midoriya said 3:30, but it’s nearly 3:45. Damn, he should’ve written it down or something.

“Did you… did you, umm… get my text last night?” Midoriya asked him.

“Yeah,” Shouto replied.

“Can I maybe talk to you after school today? Maybe in the gym? Is that okay? Do you have something to do? If you have something to do, I can wait until tomorrow, or another day, or even the weekend… though if you don’t want to talk to me at all, that’s okay too! Whatever you want to do. It’s no big deal. I don’t want to pressure you. I know you’re busy!”

Midoriya sure does talk a lot. It’s like he doesn’t even take a breath between words. Shouto is proud of himself for remembering that he asked him to meet him here, though. Those pills didn’t really wear off until after lunch, the whole day feeling like a blur. Hopefully he didn’t imagine that conversation they had; it probably wouldn’t be the first time he has made up fake memories.

(Are those memories of his father’s abuse fake? Did he imagine them? What if he’s just been delusional his entire life and his brain just made them up for attention?)

“Ah, Todoroki! I’m so sorry I’m late!”

The sound of a door closing bounces off the walls of the gym. Shouto sees Midoriya running towards him, his hands clinging to the straps of his backpack. He digs his heels into the floor just as he’s about to plow into Shouto, bending over and panting softly.

“Sorry, sorry! I had to meet with Mr. Aizawa,” he says. “I ran here as fast as I could!”

“It’s fine,” Shouto replies. “What do you want?”

Immediately, Midoriya straightens his back, placing his hands tight against his sides.

“I need to uh, talk to you… about, well, something,” Midoriya stutters. “I couldn’t say it in class because it’s… kind of personal, so I didn’t want to like, s-say it in front of others. You know?”

Hmm. Shouto already doesn’t like where this is going. Personal? Maybe Midoriya wants to finally admit the truth about All Might and him. Admit that Shouto was right and that All Might does fuck him. Maybe he’ll tell Shouto that he knows Shouto has gone through something similar, that he can sense it like Shouto can sense it on him. Can tell by how Shouto talks, how Shouto speaks, Shouto moves, Shouto breathes.

“I know your secret, Todoroki,” he’ll say. “I won’t tell anyone that you like it sometimes. That’s pretty gross though, don’t you think?”

No. No no no no. Not these poisonous thoughts again. Hasn’t Shouto berated himself enough for this before?!

“Okay,” Shouto says. He’s not quite sure what else to say to that.

“I… I think you’re…” Midoriya begins, his eyes darting to the floor.

“I think you’re gross, Todoroki. It’s really gross that you jerk off in your mother’s underwear.”

A bead of sweat runs down the side of Shouto’s face. He pretends to scratch his cheek, wiping it off in the process to hide his sudden anxiety.

“R-Really… well, like… you’re…”

“You’re never going to be a Hero. You think you can redeem yourself for all the awful shit you’ve done, but you’re actually hopeless.”

Another drop of sweat. His fingers return to his face, rest against his temple, wiping it away while he rubs at his skin.

“I can’t help but uh… think that… that…”

“That you’re just like your dad. Nobody will ever want to touch you, especially Bakugou.”

Nails dig into his temple so hard that it scratches the skin raw. It feels like there are bugs crawling under his skin.

“You’re cool, T-Todoroki,” Midoriya finally spits out. “I mean uhh, obviously you’re cool, since your quirk is like, ice which is always cool, but you’re also cool as in… I-I dunno, nice? Or maybe like, interesting?”

The cicadas are buzzing so loud outside that Shouto can barely hear his babbling classmate, even as they’re standing in the empty gym. Midoriya’s voice always becomes softer, words jumbling when he’s nervous. And judging by the way he’s picking at his cuticles, he certainly is. Fuyumi does the exact same shit all the time.

“Okay,” Shouto replies. 

Confusion washes over Midoriya’s face and he blinks hard, mouth half-open. Wait, should Shouto have thanked him? He really sucks at this.

“M-Maybe not interesting! Well you are, but that kinda makes me sound weird… like, I’m studying you or… something…”

“Studying your every move. Though it’s not hard to see that you’re fucked up beyond repair.”

“Isn’t that what you do in that notebook you showed me?” Shouto asks before biting the inside of his cheek. Midoriya’s eyes widen.

“Well uhh, yeah! I guess you’re right!” He forces a chuckle. “But I, well I don’t think your quirk the only reason why you’re interes- I mean, cool. And nice.”

How could Midoriya consider Shouto nice? Maybe Shouto has forgotten some specific instance they both interacted, because as far as he can remember, he hasn’t really done much in his entire life that he’d consider “nice.”

Midoriya shoves his hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. His hands tremble as he opens it. Shouto watches silently as his eyes scan the page.

“The Sports Festival made me realize that you’re… that you and I, we get along pretty well,” Midoriya continues to stutter as he reads off the paper. “Like we’d make a good team. I think… I think it would be great to get to know you a little better. Or uh, something.”

What a bizarre thing to say. Shouto almost wants to laugh. He doesn’t even know himself that well.

(Just enough to know he hates himself.)

What would the selfless and righteous Midoriya think if he knew even half the shit Shouto has done? 

“I really admire you. You’ve got drive that I think is… well, admirable. And I admire it.” He winces. “Crap, I repeated myself, I’m sorry!”

Getting complimented like this makes Shouto nauseous. The last time someone spoke this highly of him was his father several years ago when he was grooming him, falsely praising him because he knew that’s what Shouto craved. It’s hard to believe anyone would say such positive things about him without an ulterior motive. Why would Midoriya say this stuff to him?

“I think that you should… you should, umm…”

“Kill yourself.”

“You should, I mean d-do you want to… uhh. You know. Would you like to, well…” Midoriya swallows hard before wincing. “Go… g-go out with me?”

Huh?

“Go out?” Shouto repeats as he knots his eyebrows. “Where?”

An even deeper shade of red flushes Midoriya’s freckle-covered cheeks. He forces another chuckle, an uneasy grin. His body language is so much like Fuyumi’s that Shouto bites back a cringe. Can’t they hide their emotions a little better? It makes him feel so uncomfortable, like he feels secondhand embarrassment.

“No no no, like, you know. Go out. Like uhh, be my…” He swallows so hard that Shouto hears it. “Be my… boyfriend?”

Huh?!

“Boyfriend?” Shouto responds, his voice monotone despite his surprise. “Why?”

“Why? Well, I m-mean, if not, that’s okay! No pressure! No pressure at all!” Midoriya waves his hands in front of his face. “I don’t want to push you to do anything you don’t want to do! I just hoped maybe you… liked me too? At least a little? I felt like we had a pretty strong connection in the Sports Festival even though you were a little cold… understandably cold, at least! I mean, you had so much pressure on you, and you had a lot on your mind, and I definitely don’t hold it against you or anything. But like I said, it’s okay if you aren’t interested. I totally understand!”

Growing up around his sister, Shouto has mastered the skill of tuning out people who talk too much. When he realizes Midoriya has stopped talking, he responds.

“Uh, okay, I guess,” he says with a shrug, not even taking time to consider the meaning, intention, or gravity of Midoriya’s request.

Green eyes widen, pupils constricting to pinpricks.

“R-Really?!” he exclaims. “That’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, sure. That’s fine.” 

“Great! That’s… oh my god, that’s great!”

There’s an apprehensive look on Midoriya’s face as if he’s not sure what to do. Shouto tenses up immediately when he feels arms slowly wrap around his torso, trapping his arms against his sides in a weak, almost insincere embrace. 

It seems like Shouto is getting hugged more and more lately. He’s starting to realize he doesn’t really like it.

“Sorry, is this weird? I’m sorry! But t-thank you, Todoroki!” he cries. “I’m so glad you feel the same way!”

Feel what? What is he talking about? Is Shouto supposed to know?

The arms around him pull back and Midoriya is reaching for his backpack on the floor. “I’ve gotta get home, but I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Shouto replies. 

Midoriya grins wide while running towards the exit, waving his hand in good-bye. The sound of the door closing echoes through the empty gymnasium. Shouto swears the cicadas are shrieking louder, rattling his eardrums, making his brain vibrate in his skull. He smacks his hands over his ears.

The more he thinks about it, the more Shouto realizes that he has absolutely no idea how dating works. The only thing he knows about dating is what he has seen on what little television he has watched. It’s not like healthy relationships have ever been present in his life. At least he realizes that now; even though Shouto knew something was different about his family when he was younger, it took him a while to learn just how fucked up things truly were.

People who are dating spend time alone together and kiss. They go out to eat and say nice things to each other and fight sometimes and fuck and… eventually get married. Live together. Have babies. None of that shit sounds especially appealing, but Shouto is willing to try it out. A change of pace in his miserable life.

Shouto has never been fucked by anyone but his father. What does that feel like, he wonders? Does it feel different depending on who you’re fucking? It’s something he has briefly wondered about but never got an opportunity to try out. After getting caught trying to push a classmate to let him feel him up, Shouto had to learn to keep his hands to himself no matter what. It was agony for the longest time. Guess it’s somehow more okay now that he’s older. 

(Why wouldn’t Bakugou let him suck his dick, though? Shouto was so desperate to find out what that was like…) 

Well, at the very least, Shouto feels pretty confident he knows what not to do in a relationship. Just don’t treat anyone like his father treats him. 

Should be easy enough. 



“I have a boyfriend.”

Fuyumi’s head snaps towards him, her chopsticks freezing mid-air. 

“What?!”

Shouto isn’t even looking at her but he can still see her wide eyes in his peripheral vision.

“That kid Midoriya. From the Sports Festival.” The tips of his chopsticks click against the plate when he picks up a piece of shrimp. “He asked me to be his boyfriend. I don’t really know what that means, though.”

An awkward, uncomfortable smile curls up Fuyumi’s cheeks. 

“Well, you like him, don’t you?” she asks.

“I don’t dis like him.”

Her awkward grin skews. “Err, that’s a start, I guess…”

“I don’t understand what you’re supposed to do,” he says. “Dates and stuff? How is that different from hanging out with someone?”

There’s a puzzled look on Fuyumi’s face as she tries to think of how to answer his question. It’s kind of funny. She probably has no clue, either. 

“Is it the fucking?” Shouto finally asks before taking another bite.

Her eyes go wider, cheeks flushing.

“T-That’s… that can be part of it,” Fuyumi says delicately. “But that’s not the only thing.”

“Why else date if not for the fucking? Is it the getting married th-”

“Can you stop saying that?!” Fuyumi interrupts.

“What?”

The redness in her cheeks deepens. “F-Fucking!”

“What should I say?” Shouto asks, genuinely confused.

“I dunno... Sex? Making love?”

Shouto cocks an eyebrow, his lips stretching thin.

“Making love sounds so stupid,” he says.

“Well, it’s… supposed to be between people who love each other, I guess,” Fuyumi insists. “If you’re dating.”

“But why does that matter?”

Her top teeth sink into her bottom lip as her eyes dart away.

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Her tone is suddenly forlorn. “I don’t really understand it myself.”

The silence that follows Fuyumi’s statement is so awkward that it’s painful. No doubt that question struck a nerve. He really wasn’t trying to provoke her, would never try to provoke her over such a touchy subject. Shouto started getting abused at a much younger age than when his sister did, but that fact probably made it worse for her. Young Shouto was stupid and had no clue what was happening to him. Fuyumi knew exactly what was happening the second their father laid his hands on her.

(And not only did she not fight back, Fuyumi let him do it. She wanted him to. It was something she admitted to Shouto one night when he walked in on her sobbing in the kitchen. It was awkward as hell considering he didn’t even ask her why she was crying.)

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sad,” Fuyumi says with a forced smile. “It’s just something I think about a lot.”

“Have you ever dated someone?” Shouto blurts out. Damn, he didn’t mean to say that, he hoped he had only thought it but he actually said it out loud, why would he br-

“No.”

“Have you ever fucked anyone else?”

Wait wait wait, where the hell did that come fr-

“No,” his sister replies immediately, much to his astonishment. “I don’t think I ever want to.”

Yikes. Shouto can’t relate. He has to end this conversation now though, has to cut it off before he starts really saying all the awful things that go through his mind. 

“Thanks for dinner, sis,” he insists, quickly picking up his half-empty plate. There are tears in Fuyumi’s eyes and he really doesn’t want to be here if she has a breakdown. Watching her cry kind of makes Shouto nauseous. Leaves a hollowness in his chest like nothing else does. 

“You’re welcome,” Fuyumi replies, sniffling. “Have a good night.”

After entering the kitchen, Shouto brings his plate to his mouth and shovels the rest of his food into his mouth. Ugh, he really wishes he knew how to make Fuyumi feel better when she gets like this. He’s literally the only person she could ever talk to about her issues and he gets too uncomfortable to stand it when she does. Fuyumi has always been an expert on keeping her feelings bottled up, but lately she’s been oversharing. Hopefully, it doesn’t get worse. Who knows what stupid shit he’d blurt out if he’s wasted when it happens again.

Fuyumi enters the kitchen just as he’s leaving. Shouto turns his head quickly, hoping not to make eye contact with her, not wanting to see her face. 

As he walks down the hall towards his bedroom, he spots his father coming down from the second floor. Surprise surprise, bastard’s got a glass of liquor in his hand. Must be nice not to have to hide it.

“Hey old man,” Shouto barks. “I got my internship papers.”

There’s a crashing sound behind him, the familiar noise of Fuyumi clumsily knocking something into the sink. 

“I’m gonna go work for the Best Jeanist Agency,” he says. "He’s one of the top Pros. Makes sense I should learn from the best.”

His father looks disinterested. He reaches the bottom of the steps, continues walking past Shouto.

“Doesn’t that piss you off?” Shouto taunts.

“It doesn’t matter what you wrote down, Shouto,” he replies, not bothering to turn around. “I’ve already spoken with the school. If you were smarter, you’d’ve already assumed that.”

Tch. Snarky asshole.

“I recruited one of your classmates, too,” his father continues, stirring his glass. “He chose my agency as his first pick.”

One of his classmates?

“W… Who would choose to work with you?” he snaps.

As hard as he tries to be caustic, Shouto’s words come out shaken. It makes no sense that his father would allow someone else to intern under him. He has ulterior motives for everything, but it’s hard to find any reason for it, sinister or not. 

Hmm. Knowing him, it would likely be for some sort of “lesson” to inflict on Shouto. Maybe Midoriya? There’s no way his father knows they’re dating, nor would Midoriya ever request the Endeavor Agency. Nobody else seemed to bring up his father’s agency during class either, nor does anyone have a quirk that’s particularly close to his father’s.

Someone certainly shares his attitude, though. And someone knows what gets under Shouto’s skin. Ohh god, what if… what if it’s…

His father stops and turns around, a satisfied smirk curling up his face.

“That boy who beat you in the Sports Festival.”

 

 

Chapter Text

Dating is weird. Complicated and weird.

Midoriya and Shouto have only been together for 3 days before Midoriya invites him on a “date.” Armed with zero knowledge thanks to his sister’s awkward advice, Shouto finds time after school to go to the movies. There’s a new action film based on the true story of some Hero that Shouto has never heard of. It’s endearing how excited Midoriya is about it, though. His face lights up as they buy tickets and it makes Shouto want to smile.

Hmm. Maybe Shouto likes him a little more than he thought.

Shouto has never been to a movie theatre before. He doesn’t really understand why someone would want to go watch a movie with somebody else, especially since it’s so dark and you’re supposed to stay quiet. Seems pretty stupid to sit next to someone in a loud, dimly-lit room where there are people around who might not notice what you’re doing.

…Oh. Wow. Now he feels like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

It’s difficult to pay attention to the movie. For the first half hour, Shouto picks at the lint on his sweater sleeve, keeps looking at Midoriya to see if he can detect any changes. Midoriya hasn’t moved from his original sitting position, stuffing popcorn in his mouth and watching the screen intently. Maybe that’s how this is supposed to start. Probably playing coy.

Thinking about touching Midoriya is making sweat bead on Shouto’s brow. Shouto hasn’t touched anyone besides those few boys in elementary school and for some reason, that was considered wrong. This is… this is okay, though. They’re dating, so they’re allowed to do this stuff. Obviously Midoriya wants it if he wanted to start dating in the first place. It was his idea, after all.

Shouto wonders what it’s like to suck a dick in public. Knees on the dirty theatre floor, wrapping his lips around Midoriya’s cock. Midoriya probably groans deep despite his higher-pitched voice. Would he let Shouto do all the work or would he fuck his face? Hell, Shouto would ride him in this theatre full of people if it meant he could prove his worth. Shouto would love to prove that he’s worthy of Midoriya’s admiration, that he can be useful to him. Useful in the only way Shouto knows how.

It’s impossible to wait any longer. Shouto reaches a heated hand over, places it on Midoriya’s lower stomach. Midoriya yelps so loudly that a few people in front of them turn their heads. The muscles beneath Shouto’s hand stiffen, tremble as he slides them beneath his shirt. 

It’s impressive how toned Midoriya seems to be. Shouto feels nothing but muscle, an interesting contrast to the softness of the skin that rests over it. Probably feels similar to his own body. The parts unscarred, at least. Shouto can see his face lit up by the movie screen, can make out his lips stretched thin, eyes scrunched and nearly closed. Must be good if he’s not pulling away.

The muffled squeaks that come from Midoriya’s mouth are endearing when Shouto’s fingers slide down past his waistband. Damn, he is sensitive. So much reaction from barely being touched.

Midoriya pushes his thighs together when Shouto reaches his cock. It’s barely hard at all, still pliant in his grasp. What the hell? Is he seriously not turned on? The anticipation of this made Shouto’s dick hard before the movie even started.  

Must still be playing hard to get. Shouto likes a challenge.

“Stop, Todor-”

Panicking, Shouto smacks his hand over Midoriya’s mouth to keep him quiet. A desperate shove makes contact with Shouto’s shoulders, forcing him back, allowing Midoriya free. Fire unconsciously flickers off his left side before Shouto sits back up, watches as Midoriya stumbles through the row of seats. He quickly walks down the row of stairs and exits the theatre. 

Goddammit. Shouto must’ve fucked up big time.

 

Midoriya is standing outside the theatre door when Shouto leaves. He’s muttering to himself, scratching his chin while looking around. As difficult as it is for Shouto to recognize the emotions of most people, Midoriya’s anxiety is clear as day. 

“You didn’t… you didn’t have to do that…!”

“What?” Shouto replies dumbly.

Midoriya looks around, leans in to whisper, “Try to give me a handjob!”

“Oh.” 

“What if someone saw us?” Midoriya demands through gritted teeth. “We could’ve gotten in a lot of trouble! What if word got out? We could get kicked out of U.A. or showed up on the news and everyone we know would know what we did… We could’ve lost all chances of becoming Pro Heroes…! Ohh god, just thinking about what All Might would do if he found out is making me nauseous. What would he think?! And what would your dad think?! He’d kill you!”

Little does Midoriya know how his exaggeration is possible. Or likely. Maybe even certain.  

(Shouto would be afraid if he wasn’t so obsessed with the idea of dying.)

“You don’t have to do that stuff to make me like you, Todoroki,” Midoriya continues, voice softer. “I like you even without all that stuff.” 

Shouto is confused. Like him? Why would Shouto think jerking him off would make Midoriya like him more? That makes no sense. It had nothing to do with his emotions or feelings towards him. 

This must be that stuff Fuyumi talked about, fucking and love and all that… Shouto can’t make any sense of it all. He isn’t even sure he knows what the word “love” means. Emotions and feelings towards other people? The only one he really knows how to feel is indifference. He loves his mother, and he loves his sister… he guesses. But how does that translate to other people outside of his family? Is that “love” the same? Shouto thought so, but now he isn’t so sure.

Now that he thinks about it… if fucking is only about getting off, what difference does it make how you feel while you’re doing it? Shouto never feels any emotion while he’s getting fucked by his father. Only ever numbness and indifference.

(Never fear or gratitude or anger or sadness or happiness or confusion or pride.)

“So you didn’t like it?” Shouto asks.

“I mean… I definitely didn’t hate it…” Midoriya’s face turns a darker shade of red as he looks at his feet. “Err, and it’s not to say I’d never want to do that with you, but… I dunno. It feels kinda too soon, you know?”

“How long do I have to wait, then?” It comes out a little too demanding. 

“Uhh. Uhh, well…” There is a long pause as Midoriya thinks of the correct response. “I dunno. I guess when it feels right. B-But honestly, I don’t know what counts as feeling right! There are movies where people do that sort of thing on the first date but movies aren’t exactly real, and I suppose I’d like to get to know you a little better so we’re more comfortable… not that I’m that uncomfortable now, but… it might make it easier to like, communicate with one another without feeling awkward! N-Not to imply either of us is awkward now, of course…”

What kind of answer is that? It could take weeks, months, years for it to ‘feel right’ for Midoriya. Shouto doesn’t have time to wait that long. It makes no sense not to seize an opportunity to fuck like this. There is no possible repercussions, they both “like” each other or whatever, at least one of them is horny. What else could possibly be thrown into the equation for it to add up? 

As soon as Shouto opens his mouth to ask Midoriya to elaborate, he notices it. There are tears in Midoriya’s eyes. Fuck, fuck. He fucked this up so bad.

With a deep breath, Shouto runs his fingers along his scalp, yanking on the hair that gathers between his fingers. Frustrating, so goddamn frustrating. He feels like he should know how this all works, yet he has absolutely no clue. How do normal people learn what these complicated dating rules are?!

“H-Hey, it’s okay, Todoroki!” Midoriya insists. “Please don’t freak out!”

“Sorry, I’m okay,” Shouto mutters, pulling his hands away from his hair. “This is just my first time doing this.”

“No worries! It’s my first time too.” A wide grin appears across Midoriya’s face. “Everything’ll be okay!” 

“Everything’s gonna be okay in the end. Everything is gonna be normal.”

Midoriya’s smile seems genuine. Much more genuine than the one Fuyumi gave him the last time she said those words to him.



“So how did it go?”

That’s a voice Shouto hasn’t heard in a while. He ducks his head into the dining room to see Natsuo sitting next to Fuyumi, his siblings sharing a plate of grilled meat.

“How did what go?” Shouto asks.

“Your date, dude!” Natsuo wiggles his eyebrows. “Fuyumi told me you have a boyfriend.”

Of course Fuyumi told Natsuo. Shouto should’ve known the second he chose to tell her that the news would get around.

“Uhh, yeah,” Shouto replies, taking a drink from his water bottle. “It was okay, I guess.”

“That’s it? Just okay?”

Considering he really upset his new boyfriend and nearly made him cry, “okay” was a generous assessment. Shouto doesn’t bother elaborating.

Natsuo turns to his sister. “What about you, Fuyumi? You got a boyfriend yet?”

A deep shade of red blooms in her cheeks. She looks down and flashes a crooked smile, eyes darting to the side.

“N-No,” she insists. “I’m too busy to worry about stuff like that.”

Natsuo leans over and wraps an arm around Fuyumi’s shoulder. To Shouto’s surprise, his sister doesn’t flinch or pull away.

“Ah, don’t worry!” Natsuo says. “You’ve always been the smart one. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

A hum in acknowledgment is all Natsuo manages to get out of her. He pulls back and places a hand on the table.

“I may, or may not, have a girlfriend,” he declares, a self-satisfied grin on his face. 

“So you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh shut up, Shouto! Just because you’re getting action doesn’t mean you get to be a smug dick about it!”

Both boys turn when they hear the sound of something plopping onto the table. Fuyumi’s hand is frozen in place, chopsticks empty, the piece of meat she had been holding now sitting on the bare table. Her hand rests over her mouth. 

Both are rendered speechless when they notice that she’s actually laughing. 

Shouto looks over at Natsuo, greeted by a triumphant smirk. As happy as Shouto is to hear his sister genuinely laughing at something, he’s dumbfounded that they both managed it so easily. Fuyumi is quick to smile most of the time, but rarely does Shouto ever manage this. There just seems to be something about Natsuo’s presence that makes her drop her guard.

Fine, then. Natsuo gets on his nerves, but Shouto can tolerate his brother more often if it means he gets less anxious Fuyumi. He’ll take her laughing over fretting or crying any day of the week.

“I’m…” Fuyumi pauses. “I’m gonna go to my room. I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow.”

“See ya at breakfast,” Natsuo replies with a grin. Shouto says nothing.

The brothers sit in silence while they listen to her get up and head down the hallway. When they finally hear Fuyumi’s bedroom door slide shut, Natsuo leans in close. That overexaggerated smile he was wearing quickly melts off his face.

“How’re things?” It’s a question, but it sounds like a demanding statement.

“The same,” Shouto replies.

“Dad hitting you?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he hitting Fuyumi?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Fucking asshole.”

Every single time Natsuo visits, he throws the same damn tantrum. Shouto understands why his brother is pissed off, but he already has to deal with his father’s angry bitching. He’d take his sister’s moping and nagging over these hissy fits any day of the week.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Shouto asks.

“Fuyumi wanted me to come over. And to talk to you about dating.”

“Are you serious?” he groans.

“Oh, shut up. You know how awkward she is.” Natsuo scratches his temple, staring up the ceiling. “But like, I don’t know what to tell you. Didn’t you learn about sex in school or whatever?”

Shouto learned about sex, all right. But Shouto learned about sex by getting fucked by his dad and watching his dad fuck his sister. 

“I know Dad didn’t teach you about that stuff,” Natsuo continues as if he read his mind. “He’s probably just as awkward as Fuyumi about it.”

Oh god, no, Natsuo is so wrong and he doesn’t even know it… fuck, don’t laugh, don’t laugh… don’t fucking laugh-  

Shouto fails. He lets out a laugh so obnoxious that he has to cup a hand over his mouth.

“God, you’re so immature,” Natsuo says, rolling his eyes. “You know how sex works, at least?”

“Yes Natsuo, I know how sex works,” Shouto patronizes him.

Now that Shouto thinks about it, he has never had sexual fantasies involving his brother. Natsuo is nice and has good intentions, but he’s also stubborn and has anger issues like their father. He’s like the most irritating parts of his sister and his father all rolled into one crude, bitter package. 

(Though that’s not to say he wouldn’t fuck him given the chance. Maybe.)

“Yeah, well… good.” Natsuo crosses his arms. “I dunno what else to say, then. Just don’t do anything stupid. And make sure you got feelings for him before you go screwing him. Trust me, it never ends well.”

There’s that weird advice again about “feelings” and fucking somebody. 

“Why does that matter?” Shouto asks, the exact same question he posed to Fuyumi before he upset her earlier this week. 

“Sex makes you feel all kind of emotions. It doesn’t just make your dick feel good. If you’re already confused going into it, you’re bound to be a hell of a lot more confused afterwards.”

Shouto is confused. He doesn’t think it’s possible to be any more confused about anything at this point. 

It’s probably better to just give up.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Shouto declares before standing up at the table.

“H-Hey, don’t forget you can always talk to me about anything!” he hears Natsuo call behind him when Shouto exits the room. “I’ve done some stupid shit in my day, so feel free to learn from my mistakes!”

Wow, Shouto has no idea what that’s like. 

(It’s too bad he never learns from his own fuck-ups.)

 

It’s almost his bedtime when Shouto hears his sister. The paper-thin walls in this house are such a curse. He can hear her sniffling, shallow as if attempting to stay quiet. Shouto used to check up on her when this happened, but she usually insisted she wanted to be alone. Regardless of her wishes though, Shouto still feels like a dick for ignoring her all the time. 

Just as Shouto rolls over to sleep, her bedroom door rattles as it’s slid open. Shouto sits up and hears her light footsteps fade away as she tiptoes down the hall. Where the hell is she going?

He opens his own door, follows down the hall in the direction he heard her walk. Natsuo’s door is half-open and Fuyumi’s cries are getting louder. Shouto stands just close enough to catch a glimpse inside.

Natsuo is sitting on his futon, arms wrapped around his quaking sister. She’s sobbing, her quivering breaths loud and rapid, face buried in his shoulder. God, Shouto doesn’t think he’s heard her sound so pitiful in his life. Every time Shouto heard her cry in the past must’ve been stifled. This is even worse than the night they took his mother away.

The words Natsuo whispers to her are so soft that Shouto can’t make them out. His eyebrows are knotted, eyes downcast. There’s a softness in his face that Shouto has never seen before. It’s… bizarre. Natsuo is always such a hard-ass. Shouto had no idea he was even capable of emotions besides being pissed off or overly cheerful. 

They remain in the same position for what feels like an eternity; Shouto almost leaves before they do anything, too nauseated by the sound of his sobbing sister. But after a slew of apologies from Fuyumi, they finally disconnect. Natsuo yanks his blanket back in invitation, says something low. Fuyumi slips her legs under the covers, lays down, curls up as Natsuo throws the blanket back over them. He rolls over so that Fuyumi’s forehead rests against the back of his head. His sister sniffles before wrapping an arm around his torso, pulling herself close until her chest is pressed at his back. 

They’re spooning. Holy shit.

…That means they’ve been fucking, haven’t they?

Shouto feels so stupid. No wonder Natsuo comes home at random times without warning. How long has this been going on, anyway? He remembers Natsuo coming home from boarding school as far back as when Shouto was in elementary school. Gross.

Hah, and Fuyumi had the audacity to say she never wants to fuck anyone again after what their father did to her. Shouto really needs to stop believing anything she says. She’s so manipulative and self-absorbed.

Even as he watches his siblings close their eyes, Shouto isn’t convinced this is innocent. No doubt they know he’s watching and are trying to put on a show. They must really think he’s an idiot. Probably laugh at him behind his back, insult him, come up with more elaborate ways for Shouto to embarrass himself. Shouto wouldn’t even be surprised if his father knew about this but didn’t care enough to stop it. They’re his reject children, after all. Shouto is his masterpiece; even if Shouto hates his father’s guts, that word never fails to make his stomach flutter.

(Sometimes out of disgust, sometimes out of pride. He can’t quite tell which one it is this time.)

With an indignant snort, Shouto returns to his bedroom. Takes enough swigs of whiskey to nearly lose his balance as he crawls into his futon to pass out.

Shouto feels oddly betrayed.

 

It’s the middle of the night. That’s all Shouto can deduce when he wakes up in his pitch-black bedroom. Well, that and the fact that his siblings are fucking down the hall.

Shouto stumbles out of bed, opening the door to the sound of his sister’s noises. They sound just like he remembers five years ago when he spied on his father fucking her over his desk. These are… different, though. Fuyumi’s moans back then sounded forced. The moans he hears now sound like the ones he heard when he tried watching porn.

(Porn is gross. Didn’t take him long to realize that he doesn’t need it to jack off.)

The door to Natsuo’s room is wide open. Shouto tries to remain unseen, but judging how much his siblings are distracted, he probably could stand in the doorway and not be noticed. Fuyumi’s arms are wrapped around Natsuo’s torso as she sits on his lap, riding his cock with sloppy, frantic grinding of her hips. 

Shouto’s dick gets hard in an instant. So hard that it feels like it’s going to explode.

Fuyumi moans, fingers digging into Natsuo’s shoulders, running along his arms, the back of his neck. Frost accumulates against his skin where her fingertips rest.

“Natsuo,” she shrieks, “please, please make me cum…!”

She squeals as his mouth latches onto the crook of her neck, hurried kisses leading down her collarbone. Their voices are barely drowned out by the slapping sound of his brother’s balls fucking into Fuyumi’s cunt. 

His sister’s body quakes when she cums, hips grinding into Natsuo’s lap as she gushes around his cock. Natsuo doesn’t let up. He fucks her through it, pounds into her without hesitation.

Shouto frees his dick from his pants, grabs it tight at the base. Starts jerking off so hard that his wrist goes numb.

“Fuck me, Natsuo, please…” Fuyumi whines. “You’re so much better than Daddy… So much better…!”

Natsuo pulls out and puts his hand on the back of her head and gently lays her down on the floor. Her tits are so much bigger than Shouto remembers. Fuck, he never forgot how soft they were when his father made him touch her… Five years ago and he still hasn’t forgotten. Probably never will.

“Fuck you’re tight, Fuyumi…” Natsuo groans when he slides his hand between her legs. He scissors his fingers when he pulls back, slickness webbing between them. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Do you like it, Shouto?” his father asked. “Do you like watching your sister get fucked?”

Shouto squeezes his dick when he watches Natsuo slide back into her. Why does he get to fuck Fuyumi and Shouto doesn’t? Natsuo is never home, barely grew up with them. Never has to put up with her bitching, just gets to fuck her and leave? Shouto earned that right. Shouto deserves this, not his stupid asshole brother. 

“Yes,” Shouto replied, barely above a whisper. Shouto hoped that was the answer his father was looking for. He also hoped it wasn’t obvious that he may have been telling the truth.

“Shouto,” Fuyumi calls, looking up at him. “Shouto, come in…!”

There is no hesitation. Shouto walks towards them, still stroking his cock as he watches Natsuo fuck into her.

“You’re so cute,” she coos, reaching her hands out. “So cute, baby brother. Such a sweet boy.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Shouto kneels down.

“Go ahead, Shouto,” his father said. “Touch her.”

“Aww, do you want to fuck me, Shouto?” Fuyumi giggles between heavy breaths. Her tits bounce in time with the snap of Natsuo’s hips. Shouto says nothing in response.

“Sorry sweetie, you’re too young to fuck your big sister’s pussy,” she keens, sincere. “Maybe Daddy or Natsuo can show you how to do it when you’re ready.”

“She made you like this,” his father said, eerily calm between grunts. “She broke you, Shouto. She’s the reason why you’re so unstable. Look what she’s doing to you.”

This is just like that night. Just like that night.

“But I…” Shouto begins, swallows. “I want to touch you, Fuyumi…”

“I know, baby, I know. But you have to be patient.”

An expression of genuine remorse flashes over her face. Shouto wonders what it would look like covered in his cum.

“I want to so bad, Yumi,” he whines, jerking his cock harder. “Please Yumi, please let m-”

“Not yet, sweetie,” Fuyumi laments, reaching out and touching her chilled hands to his cheeks. “You’re not ready yet.”

“I… I want to, Yumi, just let me t-”

“You want to know why your brother is so ruined?”

“No, Shouto,” Fuyumi says firmly as she pulls her hands away. “You have to be a good boy and wait.”

“Because you made your worthlessness his problem, not just yours.”

“Shut up,” Shouto growls, so close to cumming. “Shut up, shut the fuck up Fuyumi, I just want t-”

“Stop!”

Blackness overtakes his vision when he is shoved, the back of his skull cracking against the wooden floor.

“...Do you know how impossible that is for me to repair?”

 

Shouto wakes up in the hallway the next morning, a wet spot on the front of his pants, an empty bottle of whiskey resting next to his head.

 

 

 

Chapter Text

 

“Fuyumi and Natsuo are fucking, you know.”

“Am I supposed to do something about it?”

“I don’t know.”

His father shifts in his seat, pushes himself off the door where he was leaning. The ride is smooth in the back of the limousine, but he’s behaving as if he’s sitting on a rattling subway car. To keep himself from swaying, his father spreads his legs and leans forward.

“I don’t care what those two do,” he replies, taking a deep swig from the flask that lives in the pouch attached to his belt. “It’s none of my business.”

“It should be your business,” Shouto mutters.

“If you spend too much time giving a shit about what other people are doing, you’ll have no time to better yourself.”

“Does bettering yourself involve drinking all day long? Because you definitely have time for that.”

His father’s eyes narrow, glaring daggers straight through him. Shouto can’t hold back.

“And what about All Might, huh? You really seem to give a shit about what he’s doing all the time.”

The glare deepens, teeth baring.

“I’m not in the mood today, Shouto.”

“Yeah? Well neither am I.”

What is Shouto doing? Now that he thinks about it, he shouldn’t have told his father in the first place. He could get his siblings in serious trouble. This is that stupid, impulsive act he puts on when he wants to push his father’s buttons. He’s been in such a shitty mood lately and hasn’t really seen his father in a few days, so being around him brews Shouto’s irritation ten-fold. 

The last time he looked at him, his father was scowling while he choked him. He looked so intimidating then. Seeing him now, struggling to sit upright in a drunken stupor at 9 o’clock in the morning, his father just looks pathetic. It’s almost like he misses that violent asshole. Maybe he can manage to draw him out.

Guess Shouto will be with two violent assholes today.

 

Bakugou meets them in a quieter area of Hosu City fully decked out in his updated Hero costume. He barely speaks to Shouto at all. They follow Endeavor around as he babbles on about the expectations of patrol, the supposed nobility of Heroism, his own accomplishments… Bullshit Shouto has heard a thousand times before. After circling several blocks, his father insists that they do a quick round of quirk training. Bakugou agrees with fervor. He’s always so eager to show off.

Shouto is silent, arms crossed as he watches Bakugou set off explosions from his hands in a deserted alley. His father watches intently, examines his form. Ugh, Bakugou is so flashy and obnoxious whenever he’s asked to showcase his quirk. The yelling and posing is so unnecessary. 

“Good job, Bakugou,” his father says when Bakugou takes a rest. “You’re really excelling with that quirk of yours.”

When he sees his father’s hand placed on Bakugou’s shoulder, Shouto feels sick. He sees that glint in his eye, that familiar smirk of false pride. The same shit used on Shouto when he was being manipulated years ago. 

(The shit he wished his father would still do to him sometimes, however fake it may be.)

“If you want a more precise aim at your target though, you might want to widen your stance.”

Bakugou straightens his knees, spreads his legs.

“This, huh?”

After a moment of scrutiny, his father reaches down and places his hands on either side of Bakugou’s hips. They grasp and shift him, forcing one leg behind the other.

Shouto’s eyes widen to saucers.

“Put more weight on your front leg,” his father instructs. “Get on your knees.”

Wait, what?

Bakugou bends his knees, squares his shoulder.

“Now, open your mouth.”

What the fuck?

Spreading out his fingers while opening his hands, Bakugou raises his arms, palms crackling.

A sudden itch strikes the back of Shouto’s neck and he reaches for his collar. 

“Don’t hold your breath. Breathe through your nose.”

Scratch. Scratch.

A crooked grin curls up Bakugou’s face when he inhales deeply, snorts.

“Go ahead. You know what to do, now.”

Scratch scratch scratch.

As Bakugou releases a full-fledged attack, the tickle on Shouto’s neck intensifies. He latches on deep, scratches until skin gathers underneath his nails. It won’t stop. The deeper he digs, the more it itches.

“You’re very eager to please, aren’t you?”

Scratch scratch scratch scratch scratch scratch scratch scratch-

Bakugou laughs, fists tightening. “I ain’t here to please anybody, I just wanna kick Villain ass!”

“Well you’re doing an excellent job.”

Shouto’s hand goes limp, falling to his side.

An… an excellent job? Never has Shouto ever been sincerely praised like that. All those times he tried, he tried and tried and tried but his father never seemed satisfied, was insatiable. No matter how many times he sunk to his knees or spread his legs, it was never enough. The best he ever got was silence so nerve-wracking that Shouto would rather be chastised. Never a heartfelt declaration of approval, only the shallow compliments while he was being groomed. And here Bakugou is, drinking up praise that Shouto has never had the pleasure of hearing. 

Bastard doesn’t know how lucky he is. Shouto practically endured an entire lifetime worth of torture in hopes of hearing those words while Bakugou has barely lifted a finger. What makes him so goddamn deserving of it?

(Unless Bakugou is doing more with his father that Shouto doesn’t know about?)

Wait… hours ago Shouto wanted his father to berate him. Now Shouto wants him to praise him. Something about seeing Bakugou get so much positive attention throws his brain for a loop, makes him realize what he missed. Maybe praise seems so impossible that the second best thing is… abuse? That makes no sense.

Shouto doesn’t know what he fucking wants anymore.

“Don’t take his praise too much to heart,” Shouto says, leaning his back against the wall. “He’s been drinking all goddamn morning.”

Bakugou knits his brow in confusion. His father’s flames shoot straight towards the sky.

“The hell are you talking about?” Bakugou asks.

“You heard me,” Shouto replies. “Bastard’s even got a flask attached to his belt.”

His father is grinding his teeth as he attempts to come up with a rebuttal. It’s amusing that Shouto is able to practically see his father’s brain working through his expressions, desperate to save face.

Squirm, old man. Squirm.

“You have a pretty poor sense of humor, Shouto,” his father finally says. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous of Bakugou’s progress.”

The comment gets an obnoxious scoff out of Bakugou. He cocks his hip, resting a hand on his waist.

“S’okay, Half ‘n Half,” Bakugou sneers. “I’d be jealous of me too if I were you.”

Goddammit. Shouto should’ve expected his father to get out of that one. He’s an expert at lying and maintaining facades, after all.

“Maybe you and I ought to have private training if you’re so embarrassed of your shortcomings, Shouto,” his father insists, a sinister look in his eye. “Would you prefer that? I’m sure you don’t want to humiliate yourself in front of your classmate here.”

Shouto can’t read his exact implications, but it could be a number of things. He wants to kick his ass, he wants to fuck him, he wants to scream at him, he wants to train without another eye on him. Very unlikely the latter considering that if his father truly thought Shouto was embarrassed, he’d force him to train in front of Bakugou to continue degrading him. Which leaves the probable outcome of one of the first three, maybe even some sick mixture of them all.

Whatever. Shouto is still feeling a bit of that sadism he keeps buried inside himself. If it means he can torment his father a little more, he’ll gladly tolerate a punishment.

“How did you know?” Shouto replies. “We all know I won’t ever rise to Bakugou’s level.”

Regardless of how sarcastic Shouto’s tone has become, Bakugou laughs anyway. Sure loves getting his ego stroked just like somebody else Shouto knows.

“Bakugou, go with one of my sidekicks,” his father says, pointing towards the street. “Burnin’ should be on the next street over. I’m sure she’d be fascinated with what you can do with those cannons.” 

There’s sly suspicion in Bakugou’s face when he looks at Shouto. He probably assumes Shouto is going to get punished, too. He’s not stupid; he knows something is up. 

(If only he knew how wrong his assumptions probably are.)

As Bakugou heads towards the road, his father leads Shouto further down the narrow alley, takes him down a space between two buildings that can barely accommodate the two standing next to one another. 

It doesn’t matter. It’s not like Shouto plans on escaping, anyway.

“What the hell are you doing?” his father growls, flames sparking along his brow.

“I just thought he’d like to know a little m-”

Two fiery hands grab him by his upper arms and pin him to the dumpster that rests against the wall.

“That has absolutely nothing to do with my job,” his father snarls, looking down at Shouto with clenched teeth. “The public has no business knowing about how I choose to spend my free time.”

“What, you mean fucking me? Or beating your wife?” Shouto smirks. “Oh, you meant your drinking problem. Of course.”

The grip on his arms tightens, becomes hotter.

“You’re walking on thin ice, boy.”

“You fucked me in the same room as that official at the Sports Festival, but you’re worried about getting exposed as a drunk by some stupid comments to my classmate. How is this any worse?”

His father squeezes so hard that Shouto feels his bones creak. 

He’s got to try harder.

“It’s because you're not the one in control, isn’t it? Can’t stand to be the one who is at the mercy of somebody else.” Shouto feels his own left side heat up, flames erupting from his pores. “But if that’s true, why do you treat Fuyumi like shit? Do you think you’d ever feel threatened by her?”

A backhanded slap hits him so hard that Shouto is knocked over. The taste of blood fills his mouth, the sensation of something dripping tickles at his chin. He wipes his face, smearing blood across his jaw.

“I’ll teach you to d-”

“Wait, you did once,” Shouto interrupts with a grin. “That time she said she’d call the cops on you. Wasn’t she like fourteen or fifteen? You felt so threatened that you raped her. And that happened more than once, right? That’s so fucking pathetic, someone like you being intimidated by a girl in middle school.”

The flames along his father’s shoulders continue to swell. It’s working. It’s fucking working. 

“And you pretend that you don’t care whenever we mention reporting you, but I know you’re scared,” Shouto chuckles, though it’s not a joke. “Do I ever intimidate you? You’re intimidated right now, aren’t you?”

When Shouto’s head hits the back of the dumpster, his top teeth bite through his bottom lip. The alley reeks of garbage and piss and overpowering smoke. The ground is cold and wet. The sky seems to be getting dark, though that might just be because his father is over top of him. The sound of traffic on the street is thunderous, but still not enough to drown out the sound of a zipper being unzipped, the sound of his father grumbling under his breath.

Sometimes, Shouto has moment where he feels like his senses are dulled or nonexistent. Never when this happens, though. How terribly inconvenient.

As his father grabs his waistband, Shouto realizes that he doesn’t actually want this. He was practically begging for it with those taunts, was literally begging for it a few nights ago. If only he could make up his mind. Shouto doesn’t really remember how much he drank after getting up this morning… does alcohol play a role in this at all? What he wants from his father? Hard to say when his memory is always fuzzy. 

Booze probably just makes Shouto horny. It seems to make his father horny, at least. That and emotionally volatile. At least Shouto isn’t that. 

His hypersensitivity to his surroundings suddenly fizzles out. For the first time in his life, Shouto doesn’t really feel anything at all when his father’s cock penetrates him. No pain, no pleasure. Apathy. He tries to focus on his other senses instead; the only one he can really recognize now how damn cold he is despite how hot his father’s cock feels searing through his guts. Weird. After noticing the smells and sights and sounds around him before, all he feels now is… temperature?

He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like this at all.

(But he was asking for it, so it’s his own damn fault.)

There’s the heat. Shouto feels it now. His father is laying on top of him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, fucking into him like an object, like a sleeve for his cock. It’s a disgusting mockery of a hug. A gesture of comfort from the person perpetuating trauma as it’s happening. As if being fucked by his father in a filthy alleyway wasn’t traumatizing enough alone.

“Mommy, I don’t wanna be like Daddy,” Shouto sobbed. “I don’t wanna become somebody who bullies and hurts people…!”

His Mommy wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight.

“But you still want to be a Hero, don’t you sweetie?”

Mommy’s hug got tighter. Shouto’s ear rested against her chest. He could hear her heart beating.

“It’s okay to become a Hero, Shouto,” she assured him, “as long as you have a future you feel strongly about.”

Chilly hands got colder. Her arms squeezed him, pulled him closer.

“Please don’t cry anymore, honey. Mommy’s got you.”

She squeezed until he felt too squished. It was hard to take a breath. It didn’t really feel good anymore. It was starting to get scary.

“Mom’s always been a little… off,” Fuyumi said, biting her lip.

“Too tight,” he said, nervous. “Mommy, that’s too tight…”

“Even when we were kids.”

“Mommy’s got you, Shouto. Mommy will make it all better.”

The hug started to hurt. His chest and stomach hurt because she kept squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. Shouto wiggled in her arms. He could hear her heart beating faster.

“T-Too tight…” he whined, choked. “Please…”

“Dad said she’s always been sick and that it got worse when she started having us.”

It was impossible to breathe. Shouto struggled, fought the urge to push her away. Mommy was being so nice but he was getting scared, getting scareder and scareder and scareder.

“Mommy, stop…” Shouto managed to wheeze. “I don’t… I don’t like it…!”

Shouto choked and coughed when her arms suddenly went loose. Mommy rubbed the back of his head. She sighed, hummed as he took deep breaths.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie,” Mommy said, her voice sad. “I didn’t mean to hug you so tight.”

“He lies a lot so I took it with a grain of salt, but I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth.”

“It’s okay,” Shouto replied while he caught his breath. “It was just an accident.”

He leaned in again, nuzzling his cheek against her shoulder. Her fingers ran through his hair and tickled his scalp. Shouto swore he heard her sniffle but he didn’t say anything. 

“My good boy… My good, good boy, Shouto…”

“Why can’t you just be a good boy, Shouto?”

His senses return so violently that Shouto rolls over and coughs uncontrollably, his body trembling as he fights the urge to vomit. The smell of blood, the taste of blood, the pain. He reaches up and threads his fingers through his hair, yanks hard. It typically helps distract him. It does nothing this time.

“Fuck you,” Shouto spits out. 

“I don’t think you understand,” his father chides. “This isn’t about me, it’s what’s best for you. I’m doing you a favor. Because if you don’t pursue the life of a Pro Hero, you have absolutely no worth to anyone.”

Shouto can find worth though, right? He has to be good for something. It’s nerve wracking trying to think of other things he excels at besides fighting. He feels like he can suck cock pretty well. Shouto wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life on his knees if he can prove his worth that way.

Not his father’s, though. He would never.  

(Maybe.)

“This is what you were created to do and this is all you can do,” his father continues. “So before you go running your mouth trying to wound me, remember what you’d have without me.”

“I’d have a normal life,” Shouto says through gritted teeth, wiping the fresh blood off his chin. “I’d have friends and a mom and s-”

“Nothing, Shouto. You’d have nothing.” 

His father’s eyes look downward before his signature smirk curls up his face. Shouto hadn’t even realized his own dick was hard, but he’s not surprised. He’s not surprised at all.

“What would your mother think, seeing you like this?” his father asks. 

“Speak for yourself,” Shouto growls.

“She knows I’m a monster. Do you think she’d be proud that you ended up the same way?”

The fact that his father admits knowing he’s a horrible human being, stating it with conviction and not an ounce of doubt, makes Shouto’s blood run cold. His father’s self-awareness is more terrifying than if he didn’t see the error in his ways. At least then, he’d have an excuse to be so self-centered and hurtful. Thinking he’s somehow doing the right thing.

But his father knows. His father knows he’s not doing the right thing. He just doesn’t care.

‘I’m not like you,’ is what Shouto wants to say, but he can’t muster up the conviction required to back his words.

“I’m… I’m going home,” Shouto declares, standing up to his wobbly feet, trying not to think too much about what his father has said. Cum is leaking out of his ass and saturating his boxers already. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. 

“The school day isn’t over.”

“I don’t care,” Shouto snaps back. “I’m going home. I’ll get a ride somewhere.”

It’s obvious by his cocked eyebrow that his father is skeptical. Whatever. Shouto will figure it out. He just wants to get as far the fuck away from here as possible.

“Tell Bakugou to come back,” his father says as he pulls a cigarette from his belt pocket. “Without you here, I can give him some special training.”

Shouto wants to throw up. There’s no way his father would risk doing something like that, but the thought sickens him nonetheless. His father isn’t that stupid or drunk.

(...right?)

As much as he hates it, Shouto obeys. He grits his teeth, fights through the pain and feeling of dampness between his legs while he walks towards the street. Why does his father always have to cum inside him? Shouto damns that fact that he can’t get pregnant. At least he’d give his father a reason to wear a condom or pull out or something. 

The memory of his father fucking Fuyumi comes back and he remembers he never wore a condom with her, either. What the fuck, did he ever get her pregnant? Probably not because he’d probably force her to keep it, but… what if? What if s-

Fuck, Shouto doesn’t want to think about any of that shit. He’s so tired of these intrusive thoughts. It seems like the alcohol has been working less and less to curb them from clawing at the inside of his skull. Maybe the pills will be a better substitute. He really needs to find a coping mechanism that works quickly, not just those temporary stupid things his sister has taught him like deep breathing and thinking happy thoughts or whatever.

He pulls his cell phone from his pocket, opens his messenger app. Decides to take advantage of Fuyumi’s constant offer for the first time in his life.

 

Shouto Todoroki [1:11pm]: Can you get someone to pick me up? 

 

He reaches the street where Bakugou is training. Shouto recognizes his father’s sidekick immediately. She’s wearing such a short dress, so tight across her tits. Bet he’s fucking her, too. Fucks her in that obnoxious office of his, bends her over the desk, slams into her pussy while pretending she’s Fuy-

Stop, stop, stop. Stop stop stop stop stop. 

Shouto tries to adjust his erection so that it rests undetected against his leg. So distracting, it’s so goddamn distracting. 

His phone in his back pocket buzzes.

 

fuyu [1:14pm]: are you ok???

fuyu [1:14pm]: where are you?????

fuyu [1:14pm]: shouto are you ok????

 

Shouto rolls his eyes.

 

Shouto Todoroki [1:15pm]: I’m fine. I’ll send you my location

Shouto Todoroki [1:15pm]: Just send a driver or something it’s fine

 

It’s difficult for Shouto to read Bakugou’s expression when he sees Shouto, but it almost seems like concern. A spark of apprehension behind a faked, cocky grin.

“Nice lipstick,” Bakugou teases, but it doesn’t sound sincere. Shouto wipes his face with the back of his arm, wiping dried blood off his mouth and chin.

“Come on,” Shouto says as he grabs his wrist. Bakugou swats him away.

“Watch it, asshole! Don’t touch me!”

“My dad wants to keep training on the other side of the district and wants you to come back,” Shouto grumbles.

“Maybe you should get that nasty-ass split in your lip checked. It’s a fucking eyesore.”

Shouto snorts. “Just shut the hell up and follow me.”

As they walk back to the alley, Shouto’s phone goes off. He unlocks the screen and reads his messages.

 

fuyu [1:21pm]: On the way!! ETA 13:55 I’m sorry it’s not faster!!

fuyu [1:21pm]: please hang on!!!

fuyu [1:21pm]: 

 

If Shouto wasn’t positive his phone would shatter into a million pieces with his screen already cracked, he would throw it in the street.

“Who’s that?” Bakugou sneers. “Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” Shouto replies shortly, hoping to silence him.

“Yeah right. Gimme your phone.”

Of course that didn’t work. Shouto is an idiot. Why does Bakugou care, anyway?

“No.”

“Give it here, Half ‘n Half,” Bakugou demands, putting his hand out. “I know you’re a fucking liar.”

“No.”

Bakugou reaches for his phone anyway, tries to yank it from Shouto’s hands while Shouto pulls away. Goddammit, Bakugou is always so irritating. Today has fucking sucked so badly, he just wants to go home, can’t anyone leave him alone? Everyone is so goddamn annoying, Bakugou and his father and Fuyumi and that sidekick and those guys heckling them while they trained and all the nosy people walking by, watching, peering at them, judging Shouto, judging his every move. Bet dozens of people walked past him and ignored him while his father fucked him against that dumpster. Nobody gives a shit about him. He knows it, he knows everyone fucking hates him and usually it doesn’t bother him, so why is it bothering him so much today? The day he has to deal with his father and Bakugou at the same goddamn time?

Shouto hates himself. Hates himself so much. His father is right, telling him he’s good for only one purpose. He isn’t even sure he wants this purpose anymore, rescuing people, having people depend on him. Shouto wants to do what he wants. Be selfish for once in his miserable life. 

The only other thing he’s good for is being his father’s fucktoy, obviously. Shouto is used up and broken and busted and there’s nothing he can do to repair it. Midoriya didn’t want him, Bakugou didn’t want him. Should he just keep trying and failing? Why even bother? If he only lives to please himself, maybe that feeling of inadequacy will disappear for good.

He’s done. He’s tired of people pushing him away when he’s trying his best, people failing to acknowledge his efforts. If they’re not going to acknowledge them, Shouto will do whatever he wants. It’s no use trying to please people who are ungrateful.

He’s not going to bend to everyone else’s whims. If he does, he’s doing it on his own terms.

Shouto shoves Bakugou hard before grabbing him by the arm again, leading him to the blown-out door of an abandoned building.

“H-Hey, I fucking told you to stop grabbing me!”

Little time is wasted. As soon as Shouto finds a suitable wall, he pushes Bakugou against it. He doesn’t give a shit if anyone can see them.

“I don’t know why the fuck you think you can push me around like this, but I’m gonna fucking ki-”

“Fuck me,” Shouto demands.

“What?”

“Fuck me.”

The rage on Bakugou’s face melts, turns to bewilderment.

“What?! The fuck are you t-”

Shouto is trying this again. He doesn’t give a fuck if Bakugou shoves him away a second time. With drunken confidence, he presses his lips against Bakugou’s mouth, runs his tongue along his teeth. Shouto is promptly shoved away.

“No, you freak!” Bakugou yells. “Ugh, you taste like blood! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Let me suck your dick, then,” Shouto begs, his knees aching as they hit the concrete. “Please, please let me suck your dick. I need this, Bakugou. I need your cock.”

His fingers slide up to Bakugou’s shirt and he grabs a handful of the fabric, yanks on it in a miserable plea. Shouto feels like he’s going to burst into tears. He’s never needed something this bad in his life, needed the validation, the opportunity to prove himself. Fuck whatever desperate feelings he had about wanting sex from his father in the past. He doesn’t need his father’s approval. He needs Bakugou’s.

(But why?)

Trembling hands let go of Bakugou’s shirt, quickly reach down to his waistband. 

“W-Wait, what the hell are you-”

Bakugou shuts up as soon as his pants are pulled down, tugged just far enough so that his balls rest over the elastic. His cock is completely limp, but it only makes Shouto want to try harder.

“This is fucked up…!” Bakugou stutters, but doesn’t pull away. Gives no indication that he doesn’t object.

Shouto takes hold of both of Bakugou’s wrists and pulls them forward, placing Bakugou’s hands on top of his head.

“Grab onto my hair,” Shouto tells him, void of any discernible emotion. Bakugou hesitates for only a moment before his fingers timidly thread through the sweaty locks. His fingertips brush against his scalp, send tingles down his spine. Somehow reminds him of what his mother used to do when she’d soothe him.

Holy shit, his fantasy coming true. Bakugou could actually blow his head off if he wanted to; the threat is real. The hardening cock in Shouto’s pants twitches against his leg. It’s so tempting to touch but Shouto grasps the ridges of Bakugou’s hips, trying to distract himself, give any and all his attention to the task at hand. This isn’t about Shouto. This is never about Shouto.

Taking the entire length into his mouth, Shouto’s cheeks hollow as he sucks on his soft cock. A strangled squeak rises from Bakugou’s throat but he otherwise says nothing. Shouto slips his tongue beneath the foreskin, teases the head, laps along the ridge beneath it. It fills out so quickly in his mouth despite such simple movements. 

Looking up, Shouto can see Bakugou’s teeth clenched, face flushed a deep scarlet. His eyes are shut; what is he thinking about? Probably imagining someone besides Shouto sucking him off. Maybe Midoriya or that hot girl in their class with the pink skin. Would certainly make sense considering how much Bakugou hates his guts.

Shouto doesn’t really care, though. All that matters is getting him off. Even if Bakugou doesn’t want to acknowledge him, just knowing he was useful for once is all Shouto needs. 

(Maybe it’ll erase how disgusting he feels after his father’s assault, too. Is that how this works?)

Bakugou is being way too timid, though. Shouto pulls off his dick, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fuck my face,” Shouto says. “Hold me still and fuck my mouth.”

Muscles tense as Bakugou flinches, his eyes shooting open. He knots his eyebrows as if he doesn’t understand what Shouto is saying.

“Come on,” Shouto encourages him as he reaches up, placing his hands on top of Bakugou’s. “Grab my hair and hold me still. Use me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“S-Shut up,” Bakugou growls, voice cracking, obviously flustered but trying to push through. “I want you to shut the hell up, Todoroki. How about that?”

Hearing his name gives him chills. He squeezes Bakugou’s hands, silently encourages him to grab hold of his hair with more force. After brief hesitation, Bakugou twists his grip until Shouto feels hair being pulled from his scalp. The wince he makes is rewarded with a harsher tug. 

Yes, yes, yes.

Shouto sticks his tongue out in invitation and Bakugou doesn’t need any more hints. He lays his cock on Shouto’s tongue and slides his hips forward, forcing his cock deeper into Shouto’s mouth. But his thrusts are shallow, insincere. He must still be uncertain. So frustrating.

Lips tightening around Bakugou’s cock, Shouto sucks hard, encourages Bakugou to move faster. It isn’t long before he gags as the head of his cock hits the back of Shouto’s throat. The pace picks up quickly, chokes him with sloppy movements. Shouto is forced to breathe out of his mouth to keep himself from passing out. 

This is what he wanted. What he wanted all along.

“F-Fuck,” Bakugou mutters under his breath, “I’m gonna cum… g-gonna cum in your mouth…”

That didn’t take long at all. Shouto doesn’t flinch when he feels Bakugou’s dick pulse, cum splattering in the back of his throat. It doesn’t burn at all like his father’s, barely feels like anything as he swallows it down. He reaches up and strokes it slowly, coaxing all the cum out of his cock. It twitches and throbs in his grasp as it’s milked dry.

“Sorry,” Bakugou mutters. “That was… I…”

“For what?” Shouto asks as he pulls away, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. 

“That was… that…”

Bakugou doesn’t finish his sentence before he goes boneless, flopping back against the wall. He pants heavily, eyes widening. Shouto stands to his feet.

“I have to go,” Shouto says calmly. “You’d better hurry up. My old man is waiting for you.”

“Yeah, uhh. Thanks…”

It’s odd to see Bakugou reduced to near silence. He looks overwhelmed, redness flushing over his entire face. Maybe that was the first time he’s gotten blown. Shouto knows that feeling well; he had his first experience getting his dick sucked a few weeks ago, after all. Wonder what kind of thoughts are going through his head.

As he heads towards the door, Shouto freezes when he feels more of his father’s cum leak out of his ass. Goddammit, fuck. What a disgusting reminder of what lead up to all this. Shouto was hoping it would’ve been Bakugou’s cum running down his leg this time, maybe replace the fuzzy memory of his father fucking him earlier this afternoon. Maybe next time.

“S-See you… tomorrow,” Bakugou mumbles between pants. Shouto doesn’t think he’s ever heard such soft, humble words muttered from that bastard. It’s… kind of a turn off, oddly enough. Reminds him of Midoriya and his awkward bumbling.

A small smile curls up Shouto's face when he leaves the building. One more sincere than any other smile he has forced in years.

He needs to be selfish more often.

 

 

Chapter Text

Shouto heads back to the road where he texted his sister earlier. As he waits, he reflects on what just happened. Holy shit, he sucked Bakugou off. Shouto had a drunken tantrum over it a few weeks ago when Bakugou rejected his attempt the first time, bad enough that he turned to his father for attention. Finally being able to do it feels like a personal victory. 

Still, it was… different than what he expected. It was easy, for one thing; Bakugou’s dick was smaller than the one Shouto was typically used to having in his mouth. And although Shouto insisted he be rough, there was definitely hesitation in the way Bakugou handled him. That part was a little frustrating. Maybe he’ll warm up to the idea quickly, though. Shouto would love to mess around with him again, push his buttons a little more, pull out that cruel side that he knows Bakugou harbors within him. He’d love to have that cock in his mouth again.

(And wonders how it would feel up his ass.)

He doesn’t have to wait long before an escort car rolls up, the door opening automatically to the back seat. Finally, he’ll have some peace and quiet. Maybe he’ll even manage a nap on the way home. He still has a few hours until his sister comes home.

“Ohh, Shouto!” he hears a familiar voice chirp. He freezes right before he climbs into the car, grimacing as he sees Fuyumi sitting in the back seat.

Shouto doesn’t know whether to be grateful or horrified.

He climbs in, closing the door behind him and raising the glass that separates the driver and the back seats. Immediately, he slumps in the chair and rests his head against the window. 

“Put your seatbelt on,” Fuyumi reminds him. 

With a loud groan and a roll of his eyes, Shouto obeys. Hopefully, his body language will tell her to leave him alone.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” she says. “But I’m glad you were able to ask for help.”

Apparently, Fuyumi can’t read body language. He dramatically crosses his arms.

“Yeah, well… you owe me after what happened last night.”

“Huh?”

“When I saw you and Natsuo fucking.”

Fuyumi’s head snaps towards him, jaw dropping, eyes bulging out of her head. Her lips move but he hears nothing. Shouto can’t remember the last time she has looked so horrified (and he has seen her horrified plenty of times before).

“E-E… Ex… Excuse me?” Fuyumi manages to stutter, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks. “I… I don’t… why would… would you thi- would you-”

“Don’t act like you don’t remember,” he says. “I was there.”

She tilts her head, mouth still hanging open.

“Are you… are you talking about when he was comforting me? When he hugged me?!” Her brow furrows. “He’s the only one on this god-forsaken planet I can trust not to hurt me whenever they touch me!”

What? Fuyumi doesn’t trust Shouto not to hurt her? When has he ever gi- 

“Don’t be like him, Shouto… please don’t be like-”

Oh. Shouto swallows hard, attempting to keep his brain from digging too much in the recesses to find more evidence against himself.

“No,” he says. “It was after that.”

“There wasn’t anything after that! We fell asleep!”

Shit, Fuyumi is pissed. This doesn’t happen very often. 

“You do realize that you can touch someone without wanting to have sex with them, right? What he does to you, does it make you think that’s not the case?”

“Are you fucking Dad, too?” Shouto blurts out. 

“No!” she shrieks. Fuyumi’s hands become tight fists in her lap.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I? He hurts you!”

“Didn’t stop you in the past.”

Her brow unfurrows, clenched teeth relaxing as her lips curl downward. Teary blue eyes stare down at the floor. Fuyumi goes quiet for a long moment, makes the air impossibly thick. 

“That’s… that’s not fair,” she practically whispers when she finds her voice. “That’s not fair at all…”

Shouto suddenly feels like shit. He’s barely been in the car for five minutes and he’s already upset his sister this much. Shouto hates when this happens, hates when his impulsivity flares and he can’t control what he says. Fuyumi gets offended when he doesn’t say anything, but considering all the stupid shit he winds up saying when he does talk, it’s probably better to deal with her nagging for conversation instead of awkwardly watching her cry.

He’s not convinced she’s telling the truth; Fuyumi is probably lying, putting on a show in an attempt to confuse him. But it doesn’t mean that her tears don’t make him feel sick with shame.

The idea of telling her what happened today briefly crosses Shouto’s mind, but it would probably be too painful for her to hear. Despite how much Fuyumi insists that he can talk to her about his feelings, it’d be cruel to burden her with all the gory details.

(And it’s not like it would excuse how much of a dick he’s been, anyway.)

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes sincerely. “I had a really rough day.”

“It’s okay,” she assures him, gaze still fixed to the floor. 

Wow, he brings up one of the darkest times in her life, implies she wanted to be assaulted, and Fuyumi insists it’s okay? Why is she always like this? Why can’t she tell him to fuck off?

“You forgive people too easily, you know,” Shouto mutters.

Fuyumi sighs as she leans her head back against the headrest.

“I feel like I don’t have a choice.”

The rest of the car ride is taken in silence.

 

Shouto is sitting at the table in the dining room doing homework when he hears his father come home, hears him lazily kick off his shoes at the entrance. After the door to his office slams closed, the quiet sound of slippers padding against wood comes from the hallway. It must be Fuyumi following him.

Shouto is way too curious not to eavesdrop, to see what she’s planning. He waits until he hears the office door slide shut again to tiptoe down the hall. His back leans against the wall as he hovers his ear near the crack in the doorframe. Is she going to just talk to him, ask him something?

(Is she going to let him fuck her over his desk like she did years ago?) 

“I need to talk to you about Shouto.”

Oh, of course. Fuyumi loves talking. Shouto isn’t sure if this will be better or worse than hearing them fuck. The hell is she going to say about him?

“Shouto is… sick,” she says. “Mentally. He’s mentally ill. And it keeps getting worse.”

His father remains silent. 

“I know you notice it,” she continues. “You’re not stupid.”

Shouto can hear the ice cubes clink against glass as his father no doubt takes a drink.

“Your brother isn’t sick,” he insists. “He’s weak. Weak in constitution like your mother.”

She was sick, too,” Fuyumi snaps back.

“Extremely sick. Which made her weak.”

“Sickness isn’t weakness,” she insists. “Mom was strong, having to put up with all… all this.” 

“I’m curious… which are you, Fuyumi?” His father snickers. “Sick or weak?”

She pauses. 

“Both.”

“And what about me?”

She answers immediately. “Both.”

The obnoxious laugh that comes out of his father’s mouth pisses Shouto off. He’s so obviously drunk. That special brand of drunk where his father is especially childish but also unpredictable. He must’ve drank the entire way home, fuming and grumbling to himself, fire flickering around his shoulders. Shouto can picture it perfectly. 

“You’ve got some nerve calling me sick when you’re the one fucking your brother,” he says.

No. Shouto smacks his hand over his mouth in terror.

“What are you t-”

“Shouto told me about what he saw you and Natsuo doing.”

He should’ve expected this. Hell, he regretted his decision shortly after the words left his mouth. Yet Shouto stupidly believed his father when he said he didn’t care. Of course his father cared. He takes any opportunity to enact his sadistic wrath.

“I would never do that and you know it,” she says through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know anything about you, Fuyumi. And I certainly don’t know anything about Natsuo. I don’t even think I’ve seen that kid in over a year.”

“You’re the reason why Shouto’s so confused and thinks stuff like that,” she accuses. “He can’t see two people hugging without thinking they have sex. That’s not normal at all.”

“Of course he’s going to be confused if you let him watch you two fuck. You have an example to set and you’ve failed him.”

“I didn’t have sex with Natsu…!” she shrieks. “Shouto’s completely delusional and that’s all your fault!”

“You ruined your brother, Fuyumi. You ruined my masterpiece. He’s broken. Look at him.

“That’s not my fault! That’s your fault!” 

This isn’t the first time Fuyumi and his father have argued over who is responsible for fucking him up so bad. He used to think it was Fuyumi, but then he thought it was his father, but then Fuyumi when Shouto was being groomed, but then his father again when he realized what was happening, but sometimes it’s Fuyumi, but most of the time it’s his father, and now… now it’s… it’s… 

Shouto isn’t sure who to blame, now.

(Maybe he should just blame himself.)

He doesn’t want to listen to their conversation anymore. If it continues, he may burst in and do something stupid. Shouto hears his father’s voice get louder, yelling incomprehensible words while he walks down the hallway. No doubt his sister is going to be upset later on. She doesn’t handle getting yelled at very well.

Fuyumi’s got balls, though. Every once in a while, she shows her volatile side. She certainly is today, that’s for sure. Maybe she’s on her period or something.

 

Shortly after Shouto returns to his homework, Fuyumi comes into the room and sits down. Her head hangs low, gaze fixed to the floor.

“What’s up?” Shouto asks her, eyes still scanning the textbook in front of him. He receives no answer. 

“Don’t talk to your sister, Shouto,” his father says, walking into the dining room, holding a glass of liquor. “She’s being punished.”

“Haven’t you had enough to drink today, old man?” Shouto spits. His father ignores the comment.

“Apparently, she doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut, so she has to be taught.” He takes a sip from his glass. “Natsuo isn’t allowed here anymore, either.” 

“You told me you didn’t care what Fuyumi and Natsuo did,” Shouto growls, gritting his teeth while his fingers tighten around his pencil.

Fuyumi brings her knees up and rests her forehead against them, covering her ears. Her eyes are glazing over.

“I never said that,” his father replies.

“You said it like eight fucking hours ago!”

“Maybe she’s right, then. You are delusional.” His father sneers. “I think you need to learn how to be respectful. Ignoring what I’m saying, hearing what you want to hear. You know how much I hate it when you put words in my mouth.”

 “Fuyumi, I swear to god he said h-”

Shouto’s words get lost in his throat when he watches his father grab her by the arm, yanking her up from the floor. The movement is so violent that the glass in his hand slips from his grasp, shattering when it hits the floor.

“I told you not to speak to her.”

Her body hangs limply from his grip and she doesn’t make a sound. She’s reverting to her old ways again, zoning out, allowing herself to be manipulated without protest. Shouto briefly wonders what it’s like to be in that state. Maybe she doesn’t feel anything.

(Sounds nice, actually.)

“Don’t speak to her, don’t touch her, don’t look at her, do you understand?” His father redirects his attention, looking down at Fuyumi in his hold. “Whoring yourself out like that, always starving for attention. Maybe being ignored will teach you how to be humble for once.”

Goosebumps raise across Shouto’s arms, his right hand going numb, his left hand itching. If he had any semblance of faith in his strength, Shouto would fucking kill him where he stands. 

Seeing her helpless like this, Shouto now realizes that he’s been redirecting way too much of his resentment onto his sister in the past month. What happened to her being his motivation to continue going to school, to train hard, to become a Hero? Why does he villainize her so much? She’d never have a motive to harm him. She doesn’t even do anything except make him food and force conversation; nothing deserving of hostility. If anything, he should be more thankful.

Maybe… maybe she wasn’t lying when she said they never had sex.

(Or maybe she was.)

Fuyumi seemed so sincere when she said it wasn’t true.

(But Fuyumi is a great actress.)

She had even said recently that she never wants to sleep with anyone ever again. It wouldn’t make sense that she’d have sex with someone, let alone Natsuo.

(Except if she is lying. She’s lying, she’s lying, if she isn’t lying then that meant Shouto is crazy and Shouto is not crazy, he’s totally fine and everyone else is in on making him question his sanity, bet this is all orchestrated by his fa-)

Why won’t his brain stop second guessing every single goddamn thought?!

It shouldn’t matter, though. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if Fuyumi is lying or not; his father is hurting her and there’s absolutely no excuse for it.

“What’re you going to do, Shouto?” his father says with a crooked grin. “I recognize that look of rage when I see it.”

Steam rises from beneath his father’s fingertips where he holds her arm. He’s burning her but she still hangs lifeless. If Shouto didn’t know any better, he’d assume she were dead.

“You going to stop me, Shouto?” Daddy smiles but it looks so mean. He pulls even harder and Mommy won’t stop crying.

That same scenario from when he was a child, when his father was trying to draw out his power by exacerbating his emotional responses. It’s working; Shouto feels the ice crackling in his hand and flames licking his skin without conscious control. 

God, this is just like the Sports Festival, too. All that past bullshit being dredged up always causes this. If only Shouto could control his quirk well enough to keep this volatility at bay; it’s so easily exploited, probably one of his biggest weaknesses.

Shouto can’t let his father break him down, though. He knows he can’t win. His father knows it and he knows it and his father knows he knows it. All he can do is concede, not let him snuff out that last shred of control he has… even if it means abandoning his sister.

“I’m leaving,” Shouto says, his fire and ice fizzling out in his palms. He bows his head as he leaves through the doorway, feeling like he’s giving up despite knowing the odds are stacked against him. Whether he’s just obeying commands or just giving in to his shame, Shouto doesn’t look at his sister on the way out. His fists tighten when he hears the sound of her body hitting the floor.

Shouto feels like a coward.



Shouto’s entire morning is eerily quiet. He doesn’t hear Fuyumi’s typical cheery greeting, he doesn’t hear a word from his father on the drive to his internship, and he doesn’t hear anything from Bakugou. Bakugou only seems to speak to his father, avoiding eye contact and never speaking directly to Shouto. It’s quite a change from all the rude bullshit he’s typically spouting at him.

Despite the silent treatment, Shouto can’t keep his eyes off Bakugou the entire morning. He can’t stop thinking about what happened yesterday; he even jerked off to the memory last night, remembering how much fun it was to suck him off. Seeing that angry face twist into expressions Shouto had never seen before was as amusing as it was arousing. Bakugou has such expressive eyes, such nice lips.

(Bet they’d feel nice wrapped around Shouto’s cock. He’s only been blown once but holy shit did it feel good.)

“You’re ignoring me,” Shouto says during their lunch break when he sits down on the curb next to Bakugou. 

“So?” Bakugou snaps back before taking a vicious bite out of his sandwich. “The fuck you want me to say?”

“I dunno. It’s just weird not hearing you yell all the time.” Shouto unwraps the convenience store cold soba meal. “It’s kinda nice, actually.”

“Jesus Christ, do you eat anything other than that shit? Whenever I see it at restaurants now, I think of your ugly face.”

“You didn’t seem to mind my face yesterday when I was sucking your cock.”

Bakugou audibly chokes on the food in his mouth, grasping at his water bottle to frantically swallow it down.

“What the fuck, Todoroki?!”

“Is that why you’re ignoring me?” Shouto asks while dipping soba noodles into the cup of tsuyu sauce.

“No!” he insists. “I’m just tired! I was up all fucking night, okay?!”

“Thinking about me blowing you?”

“Yes!”

There is a heavy shove to Shouto’s arm that nearly knocks him over, causing the tray in his lap to shift. The cup of sauce falls onto the ground. He frowns.

“I can’t eat dry soba,” he grumbles.

“Shut the fuck up about soba and listen to me!”

That expression. It’s Shouto’s favorite. Rage painted on Bakugou’s face with reddened apples of his cheeks, a telltale sign he is embarrassed and flustered with more than just anger. It’s similar to his father’s expression when Shouto says something that pisses him off, right before he deals a painful blow. But there’s something different in Bakugou’s eyes that makes his temper seem disingenuous. A little disingenuous, at least.

“What? What do you want to say?” Shouto asks, placing his ruined lunch on the ground. “I dunno why you’re acting so angry. You got off pretty fast, so you were definitely enjoying it.”

Bakugou takes a moment to cram the rest of his sandwich into his mouth.

“I wanted to say…” he begins, pausing again to swallow. “You’d better not get any fucking ideas. That was a one-time thing, it had no feelings attached to it or whatever, you just sucked my dick and that was the end of it, got it?”

“‘Feelings’?” Shouto repeats, cocking an eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t fucking know! God!” Bakugou takes an angry sip of his water and slams the bottle back onto the ground. “You are so fucking clueless, Half ‘n Half!”

Ohh, wait. Natsuo said something about that before. “Make sure you got feelings for him before you go screwing him. Trust me, it never ends well.” When Shouto asked him to elaborate though, his explanation was cryptic. Something about emotions and feeling confused and… something else. Shouto was probably half-listening.

Does anyone even know what this supposedly universal knowledge of “feelings” and fucking is?!

“We’re not dating,” Shouto says, remembering his brother mention something about the topic in regards to what he said.

“Yeah, no shit!”

“So… what do feelings have to do with anything?”

Bakugou’s face flushes an even deeper shade of red. Shouto can see a vein throbbing in his forehead.

“Where did you even learn how to do that, anyway?” Bakugou snaps, changing the subject. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that gets around at all!”

“Uh, I dunno,” Shouto lies. “It’s just… easy.”

“You sure made it seem easy,” Bakugou mumbles through gritted teeth. “You act like you’ve been doing it your whole goddamn life!”

While not an expert on social cues, Shouto is pretty sure Bakugou is exaggerating with that last statement. He doesn’t truly think he’s been sucking cock his whole life… right? Or can he tell just by looking at Shouto that he’s been tainted since birth?

As much as Shouto wants to ask him how he can tell, he bites his tongue.

“Do you… want me to teach you?” Shouto asks him, sincere. 

“What?!”

Still desperately hungry, Shouto picks the tray of soba off the ground and lifts it to his lap. He brings a helping to his mouth, swallows them down dry. Ugh. Not the same without the sauce.

“I’ll teach you how to do it,” Shouto says with a shrug before picking up more soba. “Though you’re kind of a slow learner, so maybe you’re intimidated.”

“You’re just gonna offer that while stuffing your goddamn face?” Bakugou replies. “You act like it’s no big deal!”

Shouto raises his eyebrow, a noodle stuck to his lower lip.

“Is it supposed to be?” he asks genuinely.

“Uh, yeah, I’d fucking say so!”

Huh, strange. Shouto puts the tray back on the ground, taking a long sip from his tea-colored water bottle. 

“Do you want me to teach you or not?”

The red of Bakugou’s cheeks darkens as his mouth hangs open, words caught in his throat. Shouto doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this unsettled. How endearing.

“All right, whatever, sure,” Bakugou concedes. “But you better not tell anyone.”

A victorious grin appears on Shouto’s face. 

His father went to a meeting during their lunch break and isn’t due to return until afterwards. A quick glance at his watch tells Shouto he’s got 25 more minutes. Plenty of time. Shouto grabs Bakugou by the hand and leads him towards the alley. Bakugou yanks back from his grip.

“Don’t fucking hold my hand!” Bakugou snaps. “Try that again and I’ll blow your fucking arm off!”

Shouto swallows, fights the urge to grin. It’s bizarre how fast the threat gets his dick hard. He briefly wonders if Bakugou’s saliva is explosive; maybe he could blow the cursed thing right off his body. 

It twitches again. He can’t hold back the grin this time.

“I think I know a good spot,” Shouto declares as he walks in front of Bakugou. The tight alley where his father fucked him shouldn’t be too far now. It was between a grey office building and a red brick warehouse, which would be…

Found it. Shouto enters the tight space, waits for Bakugou to follow.

“In front of a dumpster? Really?” Bakugou sneers. There’s trepidation in his voice as he attempts to save face. 

“Shut up and get on your knees,” Shouto barks while unbuckling his belt. To his amazement, Bakugou obeys without question.

Whoa, that was… weird. It’s also weird how much it turned him on, too. Shouto isn’t used to bossing people around.

His hard cock bobs when he pulls it out, tucks the waistband of his underwear beneath his balls. Bakugou’s eyes widen.

“Holy shit,” Bakugou mutters.

“What?”

“Always wondered if your pubes were half-red, half-white,” he laughs. “All red, huh?”

Shouto snorts, doesn’t respond. Doesn’t need to be reminded how much his dick reminds him of his father’s.

“Hurry up and put your mouth on it,” Shouto grumbles. “And pull the skin back.”

Instructing him shouldn’t be that hard, right? Shouto kind of knows what he likes despite this only happening once before. What does his fa-

Oh, that’s right. Shouto has to think of him while this happens if he wants to teach Bakugou correctly. He’s been coached through this dozens of times in his life, his father acting like he performed so poorly that he needed to be taught over and over. Did the same shit during training his quirk.

(His father did call this “special training” for a reason, it seems.)

Bakugou grabs Shouto’s cock at the middle, tugging down until the head is exposed from his foreskin. He looks at it hesitantly, opens his mouth while leaning forward.

“Harder,” Shouto says. “Pull it back harder.”

“All right, fuck,” Bakugou snaps back. “Stop being so damn impatient!”

Shouto sighs when Bakugou’s grip tightens, pulling the foreskin back taut until his fist is pressed against Shouto’s pelvis. Shouto presses into it, bites back a whimper. Holy shit, this already feels so good.

Finally, Bakugou puts his hot mouth around the head of Shouto’s cock, looking up as if seeking approval. His eyes are narrowed, brows knit, cheeks flushed. Cute.

“Jerk me off. Jerk me off and don’t move your head.”

His hand starts off slow, pulls up far up the shaft before pushing it back against the base of his cock. His mouth is so warm, so wet… if he doesn’t concentrate hard enough, Shouto is going to cum right then and there.

“Okay, now bob your head,” he says. “Run your tongue along the ridge of it.”

“Run your tongue along the ridge of it, Shouto. Here, grab it with your hand.”

Fuck. Shouto bites his lip to try to clear his brain of that memory, will it to disappear, will himself to forget. When he feels Bakugou’s tongue flick against the bottom of his cockhead, he can’t stifle a whimper. It comes out lewd but pained.

A lot of those memories return to him in a different viewpoint. Shouto doesn’t see now what he saw at the time. They play in his mind like a movie, like he’s watching himself as a spectator and not necessarily reliving it. The viewpoint was almost always from the side so that he could picture himself choking on his father’s huge cock or watch as he was bent over a desk or bed.

Never from his father’s point of view, though. His memories never flashed through his mind like that. So watching Bakugou awkwardly sucking his cock, looking up at him for reassurance, his eyes watering from the strain of holding his mouth open… This must’ve been what it was like for his father. What he saw when he looked down at his “masterpiece.”

Shouto likes it. He likes it a lot.

His hand moves without conscious control. Shouto runs his fingers through Bakugou’s hair, holds his head still while he begins thrusting into his mouth. Bakugou’s eyes widen as he tries to pull back. Shouto can’t help it, he’s so close, just a few more seconds and he’ll stop f-

A deep groan from Bakugou’s throat sets him over the edge; Shouto lets go of Bakugou when he feels his orgasm rack through him. Bakugou pulls back immediately and Shouto paints his face with his cum, splatters it across his cheeks and lips. He feels his knees give out and he leans against the wall behind him, sliding to the ground while his chest heaves. 

Shouto can’t remember the last time he came that hard.

“What the fuck, Todoroki?!” Bakugou yells. “You were supposed to teach me, not fuck my face!”

“Y-Yeah,” Shouto replies, pushing his hair back away from his sweaty forehead. “Sorry, I… I just…”

How does he even finish that sentence? Shouto isn’t sure what to say. It’s like he lost complete control of himself, like his body ran on autopilot. The need to get off overpowered all his senses. It felt so good but in the afterglow, it’s mildly concerning.

“You’re lucky I don’t hate you, asshole,” Bakugou grumbles, wiping cum off his face with the back of his arm. “I’d fucking kill you for that!”

‘I don’t hate you.’ Shouto… doesn’t know how to feel about that statement. He kind of wants Bakugou to hate him, to suffer his wrath and be degraded and used. But Shouto isn’t sure if that’s how Bakugou truly shows his hatred. The violence, the punching and shoving and yelling… were they not out of hatred? If not, what? Affection?

Mommies and Daddies were supposed to love each other, but violence is how his father treated his mother. Shouto wondered if that was considered love until Fuyumi drilled it into his head that that isn’t how people show affection. “It’s hateful,” he remembers his sister telling him. “It’s not nice. It’s not love and it’s not normal.” So his father hated his mother? What an awful thought. His mother did nothing wrong, how can someone hate her?

(His father sometimes insisted he hurt Shouto out of “love”... as much as he assures himself that’s not the case, it’s a hard mantra to break.)

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Shouto blurts out, suddenly pissed off. Oh no, oh no… his thoughts are coming out of his mouth again; he can’t hold them back. “You don’t hate me? Then why the hell are you constantly such a dick to me?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Bakugou yells back. “It was a fucking compliment, just take it!”

“No,” Shouto insists. “If you’re gonna treat me like shit, at least tell me h-”

There is a heavy vibration in Shouto’s pants pocket that cuts him off. He shoves his hand in his pocket, pulls out his phone.

“Dude, what the fuck?!” Bakugou shouts. “I’m trying to talk to you!”

Shouto unlocks his phone, flicking his finger impatiently. If this is some vapid message from Fuyumi, he’s going to completely lose his shit.

 

Deku [1:48pm]: 4-2-10 Ekou Street Asahicho, Hosu-shi, Tokyo 192-0083

 

An… address? That’s not like Midoriya at all; he rarely ever messages him during the day. Something doesn’t seem right.

“I think…” Shouto says, looking back up at Bakugou. “I think Midoriya’s in trouble."