Chapter 8.5: Ready or Not————————————————————————masterlist: Mrs. All American🤍
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You and your friends spend some quality time together before your internships begin
tags: MHA x fem!reader, MHA x Black!reader, reverse harem x reader, slow burn, sfw, Izuku Midoriya x reader, Katsuki Bakugo x reader, Shoto Todoroki x reader, Tenya Iida x reader, Eijiro Kirishima x reader, Hitoshi Shinsou x reader, Mirio Togata x reader
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Your boots clack hard against the pavement as you tear through the narrow city streets, lungs burning while the map on your phone updates with every step. The little blinking icon Midoriya had dropped into the class group chat is getting closer and closer, the blue dot pulsing just as fiercely as your pounding heart.
The location isn’t far. Ironically enough, you were already in the area.
Fatgum and his agency had been coordinating with the city police for reconnaissance patrols, trying to narrow down where the Hero Killer might strike next. With the pattern of his attacks becoming more frequent, the hope was to track him before he could seriously injure another hero.
Sir’s agency had been brought in as backup. With Sir’s Foresight at their disposal, the police were optimistic. If anyone could help bring this nightmare to an end, it was him.
The plan had been simple: coordinate as best you could with Fat’s agency and the police, and patiently wait for the Pros to bring this freak to justice. But for you, that patience vanished the second Midoriya dropped his location pin in the class group chat.
You cut sharply down an alleyway, vaulting a low metal barrier to shave seconds off your route. Your phone buzzes violently in your hand again.
It’s Mirio. Again. And again. And again.
But you don’t answer. You can’t.
Your heart is hammering too loud in your ears, your focus narrowed to one terrifying thought clawing through your mind.
Please don’t let it be him. Please don’t let it be—
You round the final corner at full speed and skid to a stop at the mouth of the alley.
Your chest seizes.
It’s…Todoroki?
The alley is narrow, dim, with brick walls closing in around the violent clash of firelight and steel. Flames flare briefly as Todoroki throws up a defensive burst, forcing the dark, ragged figure across from him to step back.
Stain.
Even from this distance, the man looks so wrong. More terrifying up close than he had looked in the video Midoriya had shown you at lunch. He looked wild and disjointed. Like a walking nightmare stitched together with blades and bloodlust.
“Todoroki!” you shout as your voice echoes down the alley. Both men react immediately.
Todoroki’s head snaps back to you in surprise, and Stain’s body shifts at the arrival of a new opponent. The villain’s sharp eyes flick between the two of you, calculating the changing odds.
For a tense second, nobody moves, then Stain retreats a few steps back, lowering his stance slightly as he reassesses the situation. Waiting and watching.
You rush forward to Todoroki’s side.
“Are you hurt?” you demand quickly, scanning him.
Todoroki wipes the back of his hand across his cheek. When he pulls it away, there’s blood.
Not much, but it’s enough to force a chilled breath out of your lungs.
“Just a cut,” he says calmly. “His blade grazed me.”
Your stomach twists at the thought of what could have happened if that blade had been just a millimeter more accurate.
“Where’s Midoriya?” you ask immediately, eyes already scanning and mentally cataloging the rest of the scene.
Todoroki’s gaze shifts past you, and you follow it until your breath catches.
Midoriya is slumped against the brick wall several feet away, half sitting, half collapsed against it. His costume is torn and stained with blood, one arm hanging uselessly at his side. Next to him lies the injured pro hero you don’t recognize in the darkness of the setting. Thankfully, both of them are conscious. But neither of them looks as though they can move.
You take a step toward Midoriya, heart in your throat.
“Midoriy—”
His name barely forms on your tongue as everything inside you stops in an instant.
Because your eyes drift past him.
There, face down in the dirt of the alley, armor cracked, dirtied, and stained dark, lies a familiar, massive white suit. Dark blue hair spills messily across the pavement.
Blood pools beneath him.
“Iida…”
The days leading up to your week of work studies had turned out to be some of your favorites of the school year so far. You had begun to fully allow yourself to accept what your life post-Festival was becoming. Happily smiling and waving at passers-by in the halls at school, rather than ducking your head and averting your eyes, much to your friends' joy.
And despite whatever drama may have transpired over the past weekend, you and Mirio felt as close and strong as ever.
Your text exchanges had picked up over the past few days, especially in the evenings, as he didn't want to disturb your school schedule. But since the week had started, he was now sending you daily goodnight texts along with daily updates on his skin, as he was using the skincare routine you had made for him.
And… speaking of drama, you were happy to announce that since your final round of the Festival, your drama-loving wannabe-rival Bakugo had morphed into a silent, rule-abiding citizen of your perfect little class 1-A society!
Sure, he was still snappy and short with people, but the second you spat his name in that same no-nonsense tone you’d realized he responded best to, he was either shutting up or sauntering back upstairs to his room.
But your absolute favorite thing about the week so far had to be Thursday night.
It was the night before your internships would begin, as the next morning, you would all be heading to the train station after lunch for orientation with your new pro hero professional mentors.
Jirou had mentioned that she had thrifted an amazing vinyl find and asked you if she could listen to it on your record player. Of course, you said yes, and by the time the record begins spinning, your room is full.
Somehow, you and Jirou’s chill album listening party turned into a mini kickback in your room with all the other girls in the class. Though unplanned, you loved spending time with all your friends like this and talking, laughing, and exchanging stories about your week while expressing your excitement for the days to come.
Mina is sprawled across from you on your carpeted floor, using one of your bed quilts as a mini picnic blanket. Tsu is curled comfortably against your pile of throw pillows lumped into a neat pile against your bed frame. Jirou lies on her back with her head resting on one of your pillows. Uraraka and Hagakure are each lying on their stomachs against one of your floor pouffs, while Momo is sitting elegantly on the floor with a throw blanket draped over her legs.
The soft crackle of vinyl fills the room as music drifts through the air, as you sit cross-legged between Momo and Jirou, smiling as everyone chats about what they think about Jirou’s new record, and laughs and shares stories from the week.
Eventually, once the excitement settles, Uraraka sits up and sighs contentedly, hugging her knees as she repositions.
“You know…” she says softly. “Even though I’m really excited about internships and working with real Pros and stuff…I’m really gonna miss seeing you guys every day.”
The entire room immediately melts into sounds of adoration. You all coo at her adorable admission, and tell her you were all going to miss each other, too. She giggles at all of your over-the-top recitations of her words, asking sarcastically if it was so wrong for her to miss her best friends while she’s away from all of you, hiding her face in her knees as she giggles.
“I just mean… once we get back, we’ll probably feel even closer as friends and stuff, right? Since ya’know, distance makes the heart fonder and all that stuff,” she continues as all of your teasing dies down.
Momo hums thoughtfully, smiling as she leans in a bit. “That’s true…so maybe when we all return to school, it would make sense for all of us to use each other’s first names? As a testament to our closeness as friends?”
Everyone perks up.
“Well, I suppose we all already call Mina, Tsu, (Y/N), and myself by our first names,” she continues politely. “So why don’t we all? If everyone else feels comfortable with that?”
The room erupts in agreement at Momo’s proposition. You grin mischievously and glance toward Jirou.
“So… are you enjoying the album, Kyoka?”
She flushes immediately as a wobbly, shy smile spreads across her face, having been put on the spot like that. “Actually, it sounds even better on vinyl,” Kyoka says, trying to act casual.
Trying to change the topic, Kyoka then turns to Ochako, asking her what she’s going to miss the most while being away.
Ochako pauses as her eyes drift up in thought, before snapping back to Kyoka’s face and flatly stating, “(Y/N)’s cooking.”
You laugh while everyone nods and murmurs in agreement vigorously. Ochako then looks toward Turo, asking her the same thing Kyoka had just asked her. Turo groans dramatically.
“Everything!” she whines. “Except the homework and tests and stuff…”
The room bursts into low laughter at her predictability. Mina thinks next, and slowly her usual dangerous Cheshire grin slips onto her face.
“Alright then,” she says slowly. “Do you guys have one person you think you’ll miss seeing every day?”
She leans forward, tightening her eyes at Turo. “Like maybe… Ojirou?”
The room falls into a frenzy of screams and muffled screams. Turo hides her face in her hands.
“SHUT UP!! I’m sure I’ll miss you guys way more than him!” she squeaks. “…But he’d be a close second.”
Momo shifts slightly on the floor.
“I didn’t realize you had a crush on Ojirou, Turo.”
“It’s not a crush!” She insists a little too loudly as she begins rambling nervously. “He’s just nice, and his face is nice, and his voice is nice, and his hair is nice and—”
You nod thoughtfully. “Yes. Definitely not a crush.”
Mina and Ochako boo you loudly.
“Oh, and don’t you dare start, (Y/N),” Mina says smugly, “not when you obviously have a baby crush on your coworker.”
You and Kyoka burst out laughing.
“My who?” You spit, the sound coming out much louder and harsher than intended.
“You know exactly who I mean.”
Momo covers her mouth while laughing, “I believe she’s referring to Iida…” she whispers to you.
You groan through a laugh immediately. “Please do not start this again!”
Ochako crosses her arms smugly.
“I don’t know, (Y/N)... I don’t think you would react that strongly if there was nothing to talk about, hmm?”
“Traitor,” you mutter as Kyoka scoots closer.
“Seriously, though… You guys are pretty close, and you're always talking and walking everywhere together. Are you really, really sure you don’t even have the tiniest crush on him? It’s pretty common for proximity to do that to people.”
You stare at the ceiling, really thinking. Because the truth is… No. You didn’t have a crush on Iida. You knew you didn’t. But your relationship had developed faster than any other you had in the class. You did spend a lot of time together. And you do think about him a lot.
You consider his feelings in your decisions. You worry about him. You care about him. But that’s just empathy. Right?
You look back at your friends. “I’m sure,” you say firmly. “I mean, sure, he’s attractive, and kind, and smart, and strong. And—” You stop.
The room had gone completely silent. You look up, and Mina, Ochako, and Kyoka are staring at you with their mouths hanging at different degrees of open.
“What?” you question, just as shocked as they are.
“You think Iida’s attractive?!” Mina screams with a wild smile on her face.
You sit up immediately, bringing a single finger up to her lips to hush her, not wanting the whole floor to hear her.
“What? He is!?” you defend in a hushed voice. “I’m not going to lie just because you guys want to clown me for not having a crush on him!” You cross your arms, staring Mina down, unmoving in your opinion.
“Because… yeah? Like, objectively speaking?... Iida is attractive.”
Your friends erupt again in squeals and shocked sounds. And you can’t help laughing with them.
“So what? he’s cute,” you admit proudly. “Maybe even more than cute.”
Momo wipes tears from her eyes from all the amusement. “Is there a difference between finding someone cute and having a crush?”
“Of course there is,” you answer confidently.
“Oh, please enlighten us,” Mina begs, leaning forward, giving you her undivided attention.
“You know…” you start. “A crush is like… like feelings. Like, wanting to be with someone romantically, and kinda idolizing them.” You gesture confidently as you speak. “But finding someone attractive?” you shrug. “I feel like that’s more… I don’t know? Scientific, I guess?”
Mina thoughtfully brings a fist up to her chin. “Soooo then… scientifically, of course… how attractive do you find Iida?”
You sigh, immediately regretting saying anything at all.
“…I don’t know?...” you mumble out.
“Is it just looks?” she presses. “Or is it… other things?”
You roll your eyes at her as she wiggles her brows a bit. You admitted it wasn’t just his looks, not that those wouldn’t be enough under normal circumstances, but you liked all of him, or ‘other’ things, as Mina put it. The rest of the girls eagerly pressed you for the smaller details that you liked about him, desperately wanting to know what you could possibly be seeing in the class stickler that they weren’t.
Nonetheless, you list what you liked about him. How gentle and careful he could be with you. How he always made sure to keep you updated on what he was doing if he was away from you or the class for any reason, so you wouldn’t worry about him or have to guess what he was up to. How, during each of your weekly after-school class rep meetings, he made sure to sit as a buffer between you and Monoma so he wouldn’t bother you too much. And how everyday without fail, on the walk back to the dorms, he’d ask if you were planning on making dinner for the class, as he knew how much you enjoyed the peaceful time to yourself. And if the answer was yes, he’d make sure to stay close enough to the kitchen to remind your other classmates to keep it down so you wouldn’t be disturbed. Just to name a few smaller things.
And when you had finished listing them—
Your friends all stared at you again as you had just confessed to something life-changing.
“That,” Kyoka deadpans, “kinda…sounds like a crush (Y/N).”
“I’m begging you all to understand basic emotional nuance! I swear it’s not a crush!” You cry out as you bury your face in your hands. Causing the room to dissolve into laughter again.
Eventually, Momo calms enough to ask you another question: “Well, do you find these tiny, attractive qualities in everyone?”
You think for a moment before answering with a ‘yes’. It’s hard not to feel some emotional connection with people you’re close to.
Momo hums at your reply, and Ochako nods slowly.
“Maybe you’re just… a hyper-emotional person.”
You make a face at the sound of ‘hyper-emotional,’ thinking it makes you sound more crazy than caring.
“I prefer ‘lovey.’” You say stretching out in your spot on the floor. “You guys know I grew up in a super affectionate household. Being emotionally close with friends just comes naturally to me, I guess.”
As you say it, Mirio flashes briefly in your mind.
But Mina is already shaking her head. “You might not know it yet,” she says, pointing at you. “But you totally have a thing for Iida.”
“I promise I don’t,” you deadpan.
Turo suddenly perks up. “Well, as cute as you and Iida are, and as sweet as all those things you listed sound, personally, I prefer whatever you have going on with Todoroki.”
You snort.
“What?!”
She giggles as the rest of you look to her for her reasoning. “I don’t know! I just feel like if you're not with one of us, or Iida, you're with him! And you’re like the only person he talks to half the time.”
She immediately starts explaining it all away, as if she were attempting to convince the group to see the romantic potential in the two of you.
How you both usually work together every day when it's time to clean the room after class, even mentioning during the sports festival, when he came looking for you before the start of the final round for whatever reason.
You explain that everything she was mentioning was just basic, friendly stuff, and the sports festival thing was just because he wanted your thoughts on how to best counter Midoriya’s quirk before their match.
Turo crosses her arms skeptically.
“Pretty sure he just wanted to see you in that cheer uniform up close.”
You groan and turn your head up to the ceiling at the mention of those disgusting outfits.
She continues dreamily as the others laugh at your displeasure, “Just think about iiiiiiit! You’d make the perfect power couple.” She says with a whine.
You stare between her and Mina.
“Is this what you two do in your free time? Just sit around matchmaking me with every boy in the class?”
They nod enthusiastically, making all of you howl in laughter again.
Ochako tries to defend them through her laughter, “You’re just really charming, (Y/N)! You could have chemistry with a cactus!”
“That is not true!” You shoot back.
Now Momo, Tsu, and Kyoka all shout in unison. Loudly insisting that it was very, very true. You stammer as you look at the three of them, asking who else they possibly thought you had chemistry with.
“It's not chemistry they're talking about, per se,” Momo explains, “but you do have a sort of uncanny ability to get things out of people that it seems as though no one else can.”
You ask for some examples, and Kyoka points out how you're the only person who can get Mineta to stop being such a little shit. You immediately pipe up, stating that he wasn’t all that bad, he just has his moments, but he really is a sweetheart, and so stinking cute. They all make sounds of dissatisfaction while you urge them to give you more examples.
Turo points out how you were one of the only people in the class that Shoji regularly talks to, and you explain that besides you two growing closer after teaming up in the Festival, he’s also the youngest person in the class, and as the baby, you feel the need to check on him a lot, as you don’t want him feeling left out for any reason.
Tsu points out that, despite his angry exterior, you also seemed to be the only person Bakugo listened to.
You roll your eyes at the mention of his name and dryly state that he barely even did that; he just stomps off whenever you say anything to him.
Mina scoffs in agreement, but tells you that might just be his way of listening.
Ochako pipes up cheerfully, noting that she was hoping that was the case, because even though he’s far from perfect, he definitely used to be way worse, which the whole room ultimately agrees with.
“But I do feel like ever since the festival, he’s mellowed out a little bit!” She continues, sounding hopeful.
You draw your eyes over to her, still aggravated by the mere thought of him.
“There’s nothing mellow about that one…” You grumble.
Kyoka makes a small sound before saying she thinks she actually agrees with Ochako, and maybe you literally knocked some sense into him after your match. Plus, even if he was ignoring you, that seemed a whole lot better than constantly trying to pick fights with you.
You shrug in agreement at that, but tell the group that for a second there, you thought you and he had the potential to be…something? Maybe not friends… surely not, in fact. But definitely something.
But you agree with Kyoka’s point at least, and go on to tell the group the far too complicated story of your and Bakugo’s many conversations the day of the Sports Festival.
Once you finish filling the girls in, they don’t seem all that shocked as you detailed his behavior, but you do have the room split in two, with Momo, Kyoka, and Tsu telling you how crazy all that you went through sounds, and how they were sure his ignoring you now was far better than him disturbing your peace hourly.
But Mina, Turo, and Ochako hum in understanding of the others' sentiments, but slowly and mischievously begin giggling again.
“What’s so funny?” You ask them, feeling like you're going to regret asking in a few seconds.
“See?” Mina says triumphantly. “You really can have chemistry with anyone!”
“What are you talking about?!” you chuckle.
Ochako gasps between laughter, “Have you never heard of rivals to lovers, (Y/N)?!”
The group tumblr down another bout of laughter and general noisiness, and much to your dismay you can’t help but at least smile along with them.
“I am not his rival!” You shout, not wanting the three of them start up their mess again.
“Well, obviously Bakugo has a very…different way of expressing himself. So, maybe asking you to be his rival was just his way of asking to be your friend?” Turo hums thoughtfully.
Tsu immediately interrupts, “No one asks to be friends by threatening to destroy someone on live television. Usually they just ask, ‘Will you be my friend?’...”
Mina waves her hand dismissively.
“He’s a tsundere, he can’t help it.”
That sends the room down another chaotic tangent as Turo lets out a long ‘oooo’ at the mention of tsundere boys, cheerily saying that romance novels with tsundere male love interests were one of her guilty pleasures. “But my absolute favorites are when the male MC is a bit clueless about their feelings,” she continues. “It always makes for the best yearning and romantic build-up!”
Kyoka scoffs at the concept of Bakugo as some mushy shoyou manga MC, but states that her favourite trope was definitely friends-to-lovers. “Especially if the male MC is fighting hard to deny his feelings, always saying that he just wants to be friends and nothing else. Ugh, I know it’s kinda cheesy, but it gets me every time…” she quietly admits, anxiously fiddling with her fingers as she speaks.
Momo hums in agreement, stating that her favorite was also friends-to-lovers. “But I prefer when the male MC is very obviously in love and pining outwardly for his love interest,” She sighs dreamily as her posture relaxes, humming that she just loves love, especially true love, particularly when the characters can’t help but express it.
Mina agrees with Momo that straightforward love stories are pretty great, but to her. “No love story is complete without a little drama. Which is why Miscommunication, or arranged relationship stories were her favorites. “There's just something so sweet about a male MC realising they can’t live without the person he swore meant nothing, or something else entirely to him romantically! It’s just too gooooood!”
Tsu ribbits as she takes her turn describing her romance poison of choice, saying that she agreed with Mina that no love story felt realistic without some drama, which is why she prefers strangers to lovers. “I just feel that I can see the full relationship play out in a way that makes the romance feel more believable; it’s like I’m right there with the couple.” She continues, stating that the buildup and tension were great, but to her, nothing beats casual flirting and chemistry.
Ochako claps her hands in front of her, agreeing wholeheartedly with Tsu, stating that casual or off-handed flirting and chemistry were the best, which is why she was such a sucker for enemies-to-lovers. “Dark romance is like waaaaaay too underrated! Plus, the power of love is the strongest character redeemer known to man! I love watching two characters realize they actually can’t stay away from each other when they originally thought they despised each other…”
Upon saying this, Ochako tilts her head to the side and asks you another question. “(Y/N),” she starts, “even though you say you hate him, if at some point you thought you and Bakugo could be some kind of…friendly…something, that must mean you felt some kind of emotional connection to him, right?”
You pause as you think over the potential weight of what she was asking you, exhaling deeply as you do.
“...I don’t…hate him,” you clarify. “But, I mean?…yeah, I guess? But definitely not now?” you admit, not sure where she was going with this.
The memory of you snapping at him during the USJ attack and his birthday debacle fills your head. After a brief pause, Ochako turns back to you to continue her questioning.
“So if you once felt some connection to Bakugo…” She tilts her head mischievously.
“…did you ever…find anything attractive about him?”
You still as you stare blankly at her.
Mina and Turo pick back up screaming immediately the moment the question leaves Ochako’s mouth, both of them repeating over and over that you totally did, you had to, you run your hands down your face as you make a defeated sound and quickly raise your hands in defence to make the three of them hush.
“…fine.” You sigh as you roll your eyes, returning your hands to your lap as you sit straight up in your spot on the floor.
“...Yes, I guess I could, potentially, possibly, find some…aspects of him objectively attractive, but that doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him!—.”
Ochako agrees with you quickly, sounding rather smug as she does, “Oh, of course, of course!” She repeats in hopes of appeasing you enough to get more answers out of you. “But what specifically do you think could be attractive about him to you? If you had to guess?” she asks.
“—Like top three things!” Mina interjects instantly.
You groan, but answer anyway.
His dedication to becoming the best was undoubtedly first on your list, as you often felt the same. His strength, both his physique and his quirk. And as much as it pained you to admit it…
“…and last?…I don't know?…I guess…his face?”
As much as you couldn’t stand him, you did have an appreciation for all things beautiful, and he did have very pretty eyes. The room erupts in various sounds and reactions to your list, as you hurry to stammer out clarifications, saying that just like Iida, regardless of how you felt about him, you couldn’t deny he was a pretty boy.
Turo swoons in agreement, admitting that he was definitely at the top of her hear-me-out list, making the room burst out into laughter again.
The next morning, as your whole class is eager to get to school and push through the first half of the day to start their internships, but a part of you is still thinking about your little dorm party from the night before, now feeling hyper aware of all your tiny interactions with your classmates. And while the week had been filled with things you’d absolutely loved, it was also being clouded by something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but your gut was telling you you didn't like it.
And unfortunately, heightened awareness made it a lot harder to ignore the thing that had been bothering you all week.
Since Tuesday morning, Iida appeared to be in much better spirits than he had been on Monday, thankfully. But something about it still felt…off. Or almost artificial. It was like he was overeager to express to you how much better he was feeling, and how he must have just needed to get out a good cry to get back to normal.
But you could see it in the way he walked, the way he talked, the way he seemed so easily distracted and tense. But you could especially see it in his eyes. They looked only slightly livelier than they had when you first saw him monday morning.
Your gut was telling you, screaming at you to dig deeper, to talk to him, to push for answers. But you just chalked it up, possibly feeling slightly overprotective yourself after seeing him break down the way he did in the library on Monday. The mental image of it alone was enough to make you tear up, as well as not wanting to give your friends any more reason to believe you were secretly in love with him, so you told yourself it would be best to just drop it.
After lunch, your class headed down to the station together, the whole group moving in one loud, colourful wave of packed bags, chatter, and anticipation. Aizawa escorted all of you there, hands in his pockets, expression as nondescript as ever, as he gave one final speech before everyone split off.
“This is a real opportunity for all of you,” he said flatly, looking at all of you in turn. “Use it well. Don’t embarrass yourselves, your agencies, this school, or me. Other Pros will be watching you. The public will be watching you. So be on your best behavior.”
A few of your classmates straightened immediately, as if they’d been physically adjusted by the weight of his words, causing you to hide a smile as you carefully looked over your friends.
As your classmates begin scattering in the directions of their trains headed to their respective internships, you make sure to say goodbye to all of your classmates personally. You all wouldn’t be seeing each other for the next 10 days, as the school had decided to release all of you back to your homes while you were on your work studies, in hopes that being with family would allow for a less stressful transition.
Of course, you and your girls pile into a tight group hug before parting, all of you making sure to tease Ochako one last time about trying your hardest not to let your missing each other get in the way of your work. Then it was everyone else’s turn.
You made sure to give Mineta and Shoji a little extra loving to make up for all the days you weren’t going to see them, telling them both to feel free to bother you with anything, swearing you were never too busy for either of them. You quickly made your way through the rest of the boys in the class next, hugging Kami, Sero, and Kiri, making sure to tell all of them to stay out of trouble. This gets a quiet but unmissable reply out of Kirishima, as he tells you the same, along with the promise that by this time next week, he’ll be ‘a new man’, which made you laugh as you squeezed him tighter, sure that you’ll be missing his unintentional humor during these next few days. A first-year intern, kind of ‘new man’.
You say goodbye to this week's oddest pair of new friends, Midoriya and Todoroki, as the pair head to their train. You implore both of them to reach out for anything if they need it, making sure to quietly beg Midoriya not to hurt himself too much, but you were sure that sounded as backwards as asking a cat not to meow. And you told Todoroki to message you as much as he’d like, knowing that these next few days were probably going to be a real challenge for him, being with his dad every day with no buffer from school or the dorms. They both assured you that they’d be taking good care of themselves and making the most of this time away, no matter what. You made sure to include how proud you were of them in your hugs as you highlighted how quickly they were able to set their differences aside and make up after the Festival. Stating that often unlikely friends make for the best friendships.
You even made sure to give Bakugo a weak wave off. Which, of course, didn’t get much acknowledgement out of him, but that much was expected. You all wouldn’t be seeing each other for the next 10 days, as the school had decided to release all of you back to your homes while you were on your work studies, in hopes that being with family would allow for a less stressful transition.
When you at last spotted your northbound train at the end of the platform track, you stepped inside and moved down the aisle, already mentally calculating how long it would take you to get to Sir’s agency, as this wasn’t your usual starting station to reach his office.
You stepped onto the train, and your eyes were drawn to a familiar pair of broad shoulders and bark hair.
Iida.
He was seated a few rows in the car, posture straight with one hand resting neatly atop his thigh, the other mindlessly scrolling away on his phone. He must have slipped off right as Aizawa dismissed you all, as you were sure you didn’t see him when you were bidding all your classmates farewell.
When your eyes landed on him, you smiled and confidently approached without thinking. Then your smile shifted into something more curious when you realized, in all the chaos of the week, you had never actually asked him where he’d chosen to intern. But you were sure it would make for a lovely train conversation with one of your favorite conversationalists.
You stopped beside his row and quietly said his name, not wanting to startle him.
He looked up immediately, and when he saw you, his face softened as he replied with a pleasantly surprised sounding call of your name. Your friendly smile quickly turned into a broad, toothy one as you lifted a hand in a little wave.
He moved over without hesitation, making room for you beside him. You slipped into the seat and greeted him again just as the train doors slid shut and locked with a chime.
“So,” you said lightly, turning toward him as you spoke, “you’re headed into the city too?”
He nodded. “Yes! Since I obviously won’t be interning with the Ingenium Agency after…everything, I had to make…. alternative arrangements.”
The mention of his brother made your smile thin, but only for a second, not wanting to dampen his spirits. You pushed through it carefully.
“So, where’d you decide to go in the end?”
He adjusted his glasses before answering, and for the first time that day, the old spark of conviction seemed to return to his voice.
“I’ll be interning under the Pro Hero Manual,” he said. “He’s a smaller urban aquatic hero. He usually works closely with local law enforcement and emergency response units.”
Your expression brightened immediately. “Oh wow, Iida! I like that! It sounds perfect for you!”
He glanced at you. “You think so?”
You nodded. “Yeah! It sounds very humble, which is always good. But still incredibly useful and fulfilling. Like real, direct community hero work.”
That earned a quiet sound of approval from him.
“That’s exactly why I chose him,” he said. “Now more than ever, I’m interested in the multifaceted importance of hero work. Not just the spectacle of it.” His voice grew steadier as he spoke. “Everyone needs heroes, large and small. One kind of hero shouldn’t be valued above another if they’re all working toward the same goal, protecting the people.”
And just like that, for the first time since the Sports Festival, you felt like your old Iida was back.
He’s speaking with his usual conviction, his usual commanding tone, his usual dutiful glint in his eye; you could just melt into your seat looking at him right now.
He notices you're staring and asks if you're alright. You blink away your thoughts as you assure him that you're fine, just thinking. He hums in contentment as a small smile stretches across his face.
It all hit you so fast that you almost forgot to answer him when he turned and asked you the same, “What about you? Where did you decide to go?”
You blinked out of your stare just before it crossed the line into embarrassing.
“Oh. Right!” You laughed softly. “Apparently, we’re more in sync than I thought, because I’m also starting small. I’ll be with a smaller agency too. With a slightly…older hero. Less flashy. He’s more into support combat, handling organized crime, investigative work… that kind of thing.”
He made a small, pleased sound in the back of his throat.
“That sounds good,” he said. “A practical foundation is important. I think it says a lot that we both reached similar conclusions.”
You smiled at that, genuinely warmed by it.
The train rocked gently as it sped forward. Outside the window, buildings blurred together in long streaks of gray and light. You asked him how long he’d be riding, figuring you’d only be on for another twenty minutes or so. But the second the question left your mouth, something in his face changed.
It was small and would be usually easy to miss if you weren't so dialed into everything he was doing just out of sheer habit. It was the slightest flattening around the mouth. The faintest tension settling across his shoulders. You tilted your head, waiting for him to answer.
He exhaled, but it came out wrong. Not like a sigh. More like something caught in his throat and clawed its way loose.
“…Only…a few stops after yours it seems,” he said at last. “At Hosu station.”
You tried your hardest not to let your smile falter, but your whole body seemed to go quiet inside itself.
Hosu?
Instantly after hearing this your back to staring at him, but he can no longer meet your eyes.
As in the same city where his brother had been attacked just a few days ago…
Your eyes fell to the floor between your shoes as you forced yourself to look away from him, knowing that you were now staring again. A small, helpless, “Oh,” slipped out of you.
You both sit in silence as the sounds of the train trucking away down the track fill your ears. You half want to smack yourself for being stupid enough to ignore your gut. You knew what he was trying to do, what he was going to do. And he probably knew you knew now, too. You clench your hands into fists as they rest on your lap, knowing that your stop would be approaching soon. But you weren’t going to make the same mistake twice; you had to say something.
So you said his name, more firmly than you would have liked, but you couldn’t let your message go unacknowledged.
“Iida.”
Your eyes stayed fixed on the floor as you spoke, because if you looked at him too soon, you were scared you’d cry or yell or do something equally unhelpful.
“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to tell you what to do,” you said carefully. “Because I know that’s not my place. And I know you’ve been going through something terrible, something so, so terrible, and I don’t know if I’d be handling any of this half as well as you have if I were in your position.”
You swallowed.
“But what I said in the library is still true. If you need to talk, about anything, I’m here. Always. You know that—”
You barely got the last word out before he cut in.
“I’m fine.”
The reply came too quickly. But unlike Monday, his tone is sweet, his gaze soft, and there's a faint smile on his lips. As if he’s touched by your unrelenting care and persistence.
“Better than fine, I assure you,” he added, like he was sticking to a script he’d rehearsed.
Then his hand came down over one of yours, where it sat clenched in your lap.
He gave it a small squeeze. A gesture meant to reassure you. But ultimately, a gesture that only made your chest hurt more.
You look up into his eyes again, searching them for any trace of deceit or dishonesty. And his eyes weren’t as bright as they had been before. Not the way they had been only minutes ago when he talked about hero work and Manual and the shape of the future. They looked exactly like they had in the library on Monday. Hollowed, tired, and seemingly half somewhere else.
Your gaze shifts from a concentrated one to one of sorrowful longing.
Why couldn’t he just tell you the truth?
You sigh as you stare back at him, briefly pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth, unsure if you should say what you really want right now, or just something you're sure he’d want to hear, like ‘I trust you’, ‘I believe you’, or just ‘okay’.
But you know better than that. You know him better than that. So instead, you tell him what you should say, what you need to say.
You pressed your lips together, then let them part. You shook your head a bit when you spoke again, your voice was low and firm.
“I’m not stupid.”
For the first time since the conversation turned, he looked genuinely startled.
His mouth opened a little before he pulled himself back together.
“I know you’re not,” he says, almost too fast. “I’m not trying to say that—”
You didn’t give him a chance to redirect it, your gaze was steadily locked on his.
“I know. I know… what you’re thinking,” you said. “I know what you’re planning,” you voiced more hushed now, as if you were worried about someone overhearing you.
That made him go still. And because he still wouldn’t say it, because he still insisted on leaving you to drag the truth out into the open yourself, your voice broke just a little when you continued.
“And I could never forgive myself if you got hurt. Or worse.”
The overhead speakers chimed then, announcing your stop as the train began to slow as it rolled into the station.
“All I’m asking,” you said softly now, “is if you’re thinking about doing what I think you’re doing… please. Don’t.”
For the first time in the whole conversation, he looked away first. Exhaling through his nose, then said in a voice so controlled it almost sounded cruel.
“I believe this is your stop. I— I wouldn’t want you to miss it… I’d hate for you to be late on the first day of your internship.”
You looked at him one last time. Then down at the hand still covering yours.
Slowly, you turned your hand over beneath his and squeezed back, threading your fingers through his. You held on tighter than he probably expected.
And you said it again.
Not louder, not harsher, just quieter. But much, much more desperate.
“Please, Iida. Don’t do this.”
Then you gathered your things and stood, stepping off the train just before the doors shut. Not looking back at him. Because you weren’t sure you could bear what his face might look like if you did.
Your vision sharpens all at once, dragging you back into the present with a force that makes your chest ache, and all too quick, your resolve shatters like glass.
The warmth of the train, the quiet desperation in your voice, and the feeling of his hand in yours were gone. Replaced by cold brick.
And blood.
And the suffocating weight of your worst fears, realized.
Midoriya is hurt. The only Pro present is hurt. Todoroki is still standing, but who knows how long he’s been holding his own without help.
But Iida?
Your body moves before your brain can catch up, calling his name as it feels like the entire world narrows to the boy lying face down in the dirt as you rush forward, your pulse roaring in your ears.
Heat floods your body, not from your quirk, not from anything controlled or intentional, but from something deeper. Panic. Fear. Adrenaline laced with something dangerously adjacent to anger.
You drop to your knees beside him, hands hovering for half a second over his body like you’re afraid he might disappear if you touch him too quickly, nervously repeating a mantra of ‘no, no, no’s and ‘pleas, please, please’s under your breath as you attempt to gather what's left of your thoughts.
“Iida—Iida?—shit, c-can you hear me? Please, please, babe, I need you to look at me, okay?”
Your voice comes out stronger than you expect, but there's still an icy shudder behind it. Your body and your brain are telling you to go into here mode, ignore what you want, and let Oasis take over. But your heart…
You carefully roll him onto his back just enough to see his face and the shallow rise and fall of his chest plate. Your hands are trembling despite how hard you try to steady them. His glasses are gone. His hair is matted. There's blood—
So much blood.
You bring a hand up to his face to gently tilt his chin back toward you to examine his face better. His eyes are just barely open, as if he were in a twilight sleep. You continue to gently shake him awake, using your sweetest voice and pet names as if they could better convince him to do what you want.
To wake up. To be alright.
But after a few seconds, that isn't working, so you're forced to take a more aggressive approach. You shake his shoulders a little firmer, moving the hand that was gently cradling his chin to his left cheek and tapping quickly. Only for you to notice the deep red streak the movement of your hand across his face makes.
You gasp and quickly turn your right hand over, examining it only to see—
It's completely covered in your partner's blood.
Your stomach twists violently as you gawk at your trembling palm.
“No, no, no, nonononono—” you spiral out, vision going blurry as tears flood your eyes.
You tug his torso into your lap as you position his back better against the tops of your thighs, occasionally looking back over your shoulder, knowing that at any time you’d need to make a move and help Todoroki. But you're also positive you can’t move Iida in his current state.
There's too much uncertainty, too many moving parts. Hell, you don’t even know where he’s bleeding from to give him basic medical attention. You shake those darker thoughts from your head as you continue trying to wake him at the very least.
“Iida, honey, I need you to open your eyes for me!—”
His name breaks out of you more softly this time, sounding so raw and pleading. But his eyes still won’t open. Your chest is so tight, it almost hurts to breathe.
This is exactly what you were afraid of.
This.
You squeeze your eyes shut for half a second, forcing warm tears to fall from your eyes, but also forcing yourself not to lose it, not to freeze, not now—
Not when he needs you.
“I’m here,” you whisper, more to yourself than anything, as your legs begin to tremble beneath you with fear. “I’m right here. Please, baby, please, just look at me—”
pleaseeee do sero. being all whiny and sensitive🥹🥹🥹
MY BRAND!!🥹🥹
———————————————————————
Hanta had been so busy over the last month and a half. Things had really picked up around his agency; they were training new interns, and crime usually began to ramp up again when the weather got nice. But he hated the feeling of coming home so exhausted.
Especially when coming home exhausted meant getting in later and later every day, immediately taking a boiling hot shower to scrub off all the dirt and soreness from the day, eating whatever you had made for dinner that night, with you in the living room while you both rewatch whatever shitty HBO Max show you found for both of you to watch, and heading straigh to your bedroom the second the credits started rolling just for him to pass out the second his head meets the pillow, wake up at 7, and do it all again.
This new normal was killing him. And now he didn’t even feel like he was dying, or dead; he knew he was dead, and this was hell.
Because you two hadn’t had sex in nearly 10 days.
He was mature enough to know sex wasn’t everything. He didn’t need to be inside you to know that he loved you and wanted to be with you. But damn, he still liked it. Like… a lot.
And it wasn't like he didn't want to have sex. He absolutely did. His body was just betraying him. The exhaustion was overriding any strength he was able to store up at the end of the day before he could get the chance to use it.
He’d attempted to initiate something with you several times in the last few days, and you had too. But once his back hit the couch or the plush of your bed, he was a goner. His eyes would go heavy, he’d slur his words, and be out like a light by the time your shirt was off. He’d even fallen asleep on you while you were giving him head a few days ago.
But you couldn’t stay mad at him, and you were prepared to weather this dry spell with him. How could you not? He was a high-ranking Pro. You knew how stressful work could be for you, so you wouldn’t even dare to try to imagine what he was dealing with every day. But you missed him. And he missed you.
Which was why when he got home today, slightly earlier than usual, and found you not on the couch with the next episode of your show queued up, but in the kitchen, still cooking for the two of you, in what looked like nothing but one of his much larger old band shirts, he knew for the first time in days he had a real shot at escaping this personal hell.
You hear his heavy footsteps approaching and turn to spot him making his way into the kitchen with you.
“Hi, baby!” you greet happily, checking the over clock for the time. “You're home kinda early today, are you alright?” worried that his early departure from work might be injury-related.
He doesn't answer you; instead, he empties his sweatpant pockets, placing his phone and keys on the counter beside you before he steps in close and pulls you into a long embrace. You sigh as you bury your face deep in his chest, and he kisses the top of your head a few times before letting out a long, deep exhale.
“Fuck…I miss you,” he mumbled into your hair.
“I missed you too, Hanny,” you reply after a moment. “How was work, baby?” you ask as you look up at his face.
“I don’t wanna think about work right now,” he answers, his voice sounding so deep and serious all of a sudden.
“Did something happen today?” you ask, a little worried by his reply.
He kisses the top of your head again with a hum, pauses, then begins to kiss all over your face. Down your cheeks, the corners of your mouth, and finally your lips. You kiss back, letting your hands press lightly against his chest as his hands slide down your back until they reach the edge of his shirt, then slip underneath to feel that you're not wearing anything underneath aside from a pair of panties.
He moans suddenly into the kiss, deepening it as he begins to squeeze and knead your ass over your panties. Almost completely forgetting that he was supposed to be answering your questions right now.
“No, nothing happened,” he murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss and bringing a hand up to your jaw, and craning your head to the side so he can continue his affectionate assault down the side of your neck. “Had a meeting at the end of the day, it got cancelled last minute…” he says lightly, the end of his sentence trailing off as he noses at the soft skin of your neck. Loving how good you smell right now, and how you faintly smell like him due to the shirt you were wearing.
“Hmm, lucky you,” you tease, bringing your hands up to his shoulders as he starts to loudly kiss and suck along your neck. “W–well, dinner should be done in a little bit…” You say breathlessly as his hand that was just holding your jaw moves back down to your ass, and slips beneath the waistband of your panties, grabbing a full handful of your ass while pulling you closer, rocking his hips against your soft stomach, making you feel how hard he was. You whisper his name, and he sucks down hard on your neck, teeth lightly grazing the skin, causing you to moan out into the open air of your kitchen.
“Not hungry,” Hanta says as a few soft groans slip from his mouth as he switches from one side of your neck to the other.
“You're always hungry…” You deadpan, making him chuckle into your neck before his hands move out of your panties and back to your hips. He detaches from your neck and looks down at you, pupils blown and cheeks flushed.
“Baby, I’m literally all over you. Do you not want to do this right now? Are you not in the mood for me?” Hanta asks, trying so hard to hide the hint of hurt in his voice.
“Of course I’m in the mood for you, Hanny, I’m always in the mood for you, it’s just…” You turn back to the stove, switching it off and moving your now abandoned pot of gnocchi to a cool eye. “You're always so tired when you get home from work, and I don’t want us to start something, and we don’t…well…finish it?”
Hanta lets out a pitiful groan and pulls you back into his chest, resting his cheek on top of your head as he screwed his eyes shut in embarrassment.
“If this is about the other night, I’m so sorry, baby! I swear it didn’t mean anything, you were doing so well! You always do so good I love your mouth. I just couldn’t stay awake! I don't know what's wrong with me,” he rambles out.
“There's nothing wrong with you, baby, you're just tired, I get it,” you chuckle out.
“I know I’ve been tired lately, but there is something wrong with me,” he says, “I’m horny, I’m so fucking horny, babe, I need you so bad. We haven't done it in 10 days; this is the longest I’ve gone without it since we started dating. And I know I let you down these last few times, but I swear, I can stay up. And I will stay up! All night if I have to! I just need you, (Y/N), please.”
“You’ve really been missing me this bad, babe?” you say, trying hard not to let a laugh slip out.
“Yes!” he whines, letting his hands drop back to your ass for emphasis, making you laugh out.
“And you promise you can stay up?” you press.
“I promise! I swear, baby. I’d put this on my life,” He swears, moving back to your neck and placing reassuring kisses there, already smiling to himself, noticing the marks already blooming there.
“Alright, but you're still on punishment from the other night, so no head…” You say firmly, pulling away from his kisses and pressing your index finger into his chest.
“I can work with that!” He says brightly, lifting you by the backs of your thighs, placing you on his hip, and rushing you to your room.
You squeak, laughing as he half-stumbles through the doorway like a man on a mission, kicking it shut behind him with his heel.
“Hanny,” you giggle, breathless. “Don’t trip, babe.”
“I won’t,” he mutters immediately, his voice already sounding lower.
He sets you down on the edge of the bed with care, still in disbelief that he’s finally about to touch you again. Then he just stands there for a second, staring at you in his oversized shirt, panties peeking when you shift your knees. His throat bobs.
“Jesus,” he whispers, like he can’t believe you’re real.
You tilt your head, smug. “Still think you can stay up?”
Hanta makes a sound that’s half laugh, half groan, and drops to his knees between your legs like gravity drug him there.
“Baby,” he whines, palms sliding up your thighs as his eyes burn into yours. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been up all day.”
You blink down at him, biting back an amused smile. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah—” He cuts himself off with a shaky exhale and slips up your body to press his face into your stomach, resting his forehead there like he’s praying. “Swear, it feels like I’ve been hard since lunch, babe.”
You card your fingers through his hair, softer now. “Poor baby, and this isn’t the first time either, is it?”
That makes him inhale, deep and needy, like the kindness is almost worse than the teasing.
His hands grip your thighs. He looks up at you again, eyes blown, cheeks flushed.
“No,” he mutters, like he’s trying to keep his voice steady and failing miserably. “It’s like— every time I’ve tried to initiate something, I pass out, and then I’m hard on the job until I get home, and then the cycle just starts all over. I feel like I’m going crazy—”
He leans down and drags his mouth along your inner thigh, lingering slow, warm kisses there that have your toes curling.
“—But now…I’m gonna make up for every second I’ve been asleep, please, just need to fuck you, babe,” he finishes against your skin, and then his voice cracks on a quiet, desperate, “so bad.”
“Please, what?” you ask, even though you already know.
Hanta’s eyes flutter. “Please let me fuck you,” he says, breathless. “And I–I know you said no head, and I’m not asking for it, I swear! I just wanna—” He swallows, then blurts it out like it’s embarrassing how much he needs it. “I just wanna taste you so bad, baby. I need to eat you out. Please. I’ll die if I don’t.”
You giggle as you lie back against the bed, your hands still playing in his hair. “Jesus, somebody really is horny.”
“So fucking horny,” he whines, sliding both hands up your thighs like he can’t help himself. “I’ve been thinking about you all week. Like… so much. I just need you. I wanna taste you. Please.”
You let him beg for a beat longer because it was fun watching him come apart like this. Especially after everything you’ve both been through over the last week and a half.
Then you sigh like you’re rewarding him. “Of course you can taste me, baby, but don’t forget, you’ve gotta stay up so we can really fuck, ok?”
Hanta’s face lights up with relief, excitement, and hunger all at once.
“Thank you,” he whispers against the plush of your thigh.
Then he’s tugging your legs apart with gentle insistence, pushing your shirt up your ribs like he wants access to everything, and hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. He pauses, silently looking up for your permission.
“Go ahead,” you breathe.
He pulls them down quickly, kissing your knee, then your thigh, and letting out a soft moan the second he’s face-to-face with your drooling cunt.
The second you’re bare under his shirt, Hanta makes a low, broken sound.
“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes glued to you. “Baby… you’re so pretty.”
Then he leans in like he can’t wait another second and presses his mouth to you.
He doesn’t try to be overly sexy for you, not when he needs you on his tongue right now more than he needs food, or sleep, or air.
He’s so sloppy. Not in a careless way, but a hungry way. Like he’s been starved for 10 days and 10 nights, and you’re the only thing that can feed him. His tongue drags through you slow and deep, and the wet, squelching sounds of it makes you gasp and clutch at his hair.
“Hanny—!”
He moans back into you. He loves having you like this, but fuck, 10 days is a long time. And he already fucked up falling asleep while you were giving him head, he’s sure this drought could stretch far past a month if he creams his pants before he can even fuck you.
“Mmh— yeah— yeah, fuck babe,” he pants, already switching rhythms like he’s chasing every reaction you give him. “Missed this so bad— mmm missed you— oh my god—”
He’s open-mouth kissing all over you in between his licks and sucking, then pulls back just enough to breathe hot against you.
“You taste so fucking good,” he whimpers, and it’s pathetic how needy he sounds. “I could— I could stay right here forever.”
Your back arches as your thighs tighten around his head. He groans and uses both hands to hold you there, the pressure around his head making his eyes roll back and flutter shut.
“Give it to me, baby,” he murmurs, voice shaking. “Shit, need you to cum all over my face.”
Then his tongue finds your clit, and you nearly see white.
He circles it lightly at first, then starts pressing firmer and faster when your moans get deeper and louder, reveling in the sounds. The pressure builds until you’re squirming on the mattress, breath breaking into little pathetic noises.
He’s too far gone to even notice he’s making sounds, too. Little moans and whines into your pussy like he’s losing his mind down there, like your taste is doing something to him that he can’t control. His grip on your thighs grows tighter.
“Open up a little, baby,” he pleads. “Please— I need— I need to see you.”
He’s able to pry your thighs apart just enough to slot his shoulders in between them, so you're not able to close them again. He then quickly moves to push two fingers inside, easing them in, and you jolt. Hanta moans out obscenely the second your gooey heat envelopes his fingers.
“Yes,” he gasps, curling them immediately. “Right here, yeah? That’s the spot, right?— ohmygod—”
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, mouth shining from your juices, eyes glassy and pleading. And you don’t look all that different yourself. Your eyes are just as wild and blown out as his. Your chest is heaving, and your lips are flushed and puffy from biting them. He takes in how gorgeous you look right now with a soft sigh and dives back in.
Once his mouth is back on you, his pace turns filthy. Tongue working you in frantic little strokes, then flattening against you and moaning after each deep lick, making you squirm. His fingers are pumping faster, curling harder. The room fills with wet sounds and his muffled pants and curses.
“Oh, baby— baby— so wet— I can’t— I’m gonna—” He groans into you, scared he’s about to cum from eating you out alone. “F–fuck, I gotta stop, or I–I might, oh fuck—”
You rock you hips forward, thighs trembling around his cheeks. “Hanny, I’m so close—”
“Oh, thank god,” he pants. “Please— please cum for me. I want it. I want you to— I need you to cum in my mouth, baby, please—”
His thumb joins in, wrapping around your hip and rubbing your clit in perfect time with his tongue, and your whole body goes tense.
You finish with a loud, helpless sound, hips jerking up into his mouth while your fingers are fisting in his hair.
Hanta moans into you, completely pussy drunk from just having his tongue in you. He keeps licking you through it, slower now, but relentless, making you shake again even as you gasp for air.
“Fuuuck,” he whimpers, kissing you messily. “That’s it. That’s my girl. That’s right— oh my god—”
You try to squirm away, overstimulated.
Hanta makes a soft, pathetic sound and presses a kiss to your thigh as an apology. “Ah, ah, ah. Sorry— sorry— okay—” He inhales, then whispers, desperate again, “My fault, baby. You just taste so good.”
You nod weakly. “Hanny—”
“I know,” he whines, already diving back in for a few more spare kitten licks until you’re whining again, and twitching and gripping the sheets.
Then he finally pulls back, breath ragged, hair messy, mouth soaked.
“Okay,” he pants, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like it’s not working. “Okay, okay— I’m— I’m good now. All done. Now lemme fuck you.”
You lift a brow as you continue to pant out. “And you're sure you still have energy after all that?”
Hanta laughs breathlessly, then leans in to kiss your knee, your thigh, your hip, moving upward like he can’t stop himself. His hands slide up your body, his hands warm and trembling slightly.
“Yes,” he confesses, still smiling. “I think that woke me up pretty good. Plus, I’m still so hard right now, I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.”
You giggle again as he crawls up your body, kisses you all over as he makes his way up. He finally reaches your mouth, dips his head down to kiss you deeply, and you taste yourself on his tongue. He groans into your mouth as his hands continue to feel you up under his shirt.
“You ready?” he asks against your lips, voice suddenly small for a second, like he needs permission even though you’re already reaching for him.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
He fumbles with the waistband of his sweats before getting a grip on them and tugging them down with his boxers. He hisses when his cock finally springs free. And he wasn't lying, he was rock hard, flushed, and leaking. He strokes himself a few times to spread the pre dribbling from his tip down the rest of his shaft and shudders.
“Fuck,” he whispers, forehead dropping to your shoulder, as he positions himself between your thighs.
He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Tell me if I’m too much,” he murmurs, voice still so sweet even while he's looking down at you like he’s ready to eat you alive.
“Can you put it in, baby?” you whisper. “Need you inside so bad.”
Hanta lets out a shaky exhale as he presses his tip to your leaky folds and enters you with a low groan of your name.
He pushes in slow at first, filling you inch by inch until you’re both gasping. His whole body shudders when he bottoms out, forehead dropping to yours.
“Oh my god,” he breathes. “I missed thissss. I missed being inside you. 10 days is so fucking long.”
You roll your hips, and he moans out a loud curse, his large hands fisting at the sheets at either side of you.
“Baby—” he whines, voice shaky. “D-don’t do that— I’m trying to last for you—”
You grin, still feeling a little cocky. “You said you could stay up for me.”
Hanta groans, then laughs, a bit breathless. “I can— I—hah—can— I’m— just hold on a sec.”
He starts to move. Deep, steady thrusts that quickly turn more desperate, like he can’t help chasing the feeling. His mouth drops to your neck, kissing and mouthing at you like he needs to touch you everywhere all at once. His hips snap a little harder every time you whine.
“Fuck,” he pants, voice breaking. “You feel so good— you’re squeezing me so perfectly— ugh baby—”
Your legs wrap around him. He shudders and speeds up, reaching an arm back to hold your leg in place.
“Hanta,” you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Harder, baby, please.”
“Yeah?” he breathes, eyes hungry as he bites his lip. “You want it harder?”
“Yes,” you hiss out, wrapping your arms around his head and pulling down against your chest.
He makes a strangled sound, half whine, half groan, and gives you exactly what you asked for. He snakes his other arm behind your back to hold you in place against him. His thrusts turn firm and deep, the bed is shifting beneath you both. He’s still awake, thank god, but his control is slipping fast.
He’s completely tangled up in you. Face pressed between your tits as he whines and moans carelessly while messy mouthing and sucking all over your chest.
“I missed this, baby,” he pants like a confession. “I missed this pussy so so bad— I— I’m sorry I kept passing out on ya— I swear I—”
You kiss him to shut him up. He moans into your mouth and fucks you harder like the kiss snapped whatever remaining thread of control he had left. His rhythm turns filthy. His breathing turns ragged. His voice goes pitchy and desperate again, like he can’t stop himself.
“Baby— baby— I’m close— I’m so fucking close—” he whimpers, forehead pressing to yours. “Please— please can I—?”
“I know, Hanny. Go ahead. cum for me,” you whisper.
Hanta shudders, eyes squeezing shut.
“Fuck— thank youuuu—” he gasps, and finishes hard, hips stuttering as he paints your insides. holding you tight as he continues to mumble your name as the twitchy aftershocks of his orgasm start to fade. For a moment, he just stays there, breathing against your cheek, still inside you and trembling.
Then he lets out a long exhale, half laugh, half tired whine.
“See?” he mumbles, dazed. “Told you I could stay up.”
PLEASE PLEASE PLEAAAAASEE DOM TENYA OR DENKI OR BOTH IDC I NEED IIT PLEASE I LOVE UR WRITING SMM XOXO <3
freaky dom iida come home,,,,,,,,,i need it,,,,,,,,,———————————————————————————
“Come here, love,” he murmurs, guiding you onto the bed. He kisses your forehead, smooths your hair back, and then allows his hands to settle on your thighs, spreading you open for him.
“Lay back on the pillows with your knees apart, Beautiful.”
You immediately let out a breathy and needy whine. “Tenya—”
“I’m right here,” he soothes, pressing a slow kiss to your mouth, causing you to shut your eyes as you melt into the kiss.
“Look at me.” He demands, his voice firm as he looks down at you through lidded eyes.
You do. You always do when he says it like that.
He brings a large hand between your legs and easily sinks two thick fingers into you, slow and deep enough to steal your breath. He holds them still inside you for a beat, eyes on your face as he watches you squirm and twitch in want and anticipation.
“That’s it,” he praises softly. “So pretty, my love. Taking me so well.”
You shudder, fluttering around his already soaked digits. “M-more… Ten, please—”
“Not yet,” he says, sounding so gentle and commanding. “Need you to be patient for me, love.”
He draws his fingers back and slowly drags his dripping fingertips over your puffy folds. You hate it when he teases like this. But you know better than to start speaking out of turn and begging for more. He hates when you're impatient.
He slips his fingers back down to your opening and thrusts back in again. You bite back a moan as he begins to pick up the pace, finger-fucking you as he slowly pushes your knees up to your chest.
Your hips start to chase his steady rhythm, and his other hand catches your waist, stopping the needy grinding of your hips.
“Uh-uh.” His thumb strokes where he’s firmly gripping your side, comforting you while he denies you the movement you want. “You’ll stay still unless I tell you otherwise.”
You make a pathetic noise. “Tenya, I can’t—”
“You can’t?” he asks, feigning disbelief. “Oh, that's too bad, love, I was hoping you’d be good for me tonight,” he sighs into your ear.
Then he rolls you over onto your stomach, face half-buried in the pillow as his palm rubs slow, warm circles over your hip like he’s already apologizing for what he’s planning on doing… right before it comes down hard against the soft flesh of your ass.
You yelp and moan at the same time, thighs trembling. “Tenya!”
“Hmm?” he coos, a faux clueless tone still sounding as sweet as honey. “You said you couldn’t listen, baby,” Another spank, a little harder. “That you couldn't follow directions,” and another. “This is what happens when you don’t listen,” and another. “Only good girls get what they want.”
You breathlessly choke back a mix between a moan and a throaty yelp. “I’m sorry, Tenya! I–I’ll listen! I’m sorry, so sorry!—”
“Good girl.” He kisses your shoulder in gentle appreciation. Then came another loud slap. “Again.”
“I’ll— ah— Tenya, I’ll listen, I’m sorry, baby! Please,” you whine, voice going watery. “I’ll be good— I swear I’ll be good—”
“I know you will,” he murmurs, and even from behind you can hear that there’s a small smile in it. “Hands flat on the bed for me, darling.”
You obey, fingers splayed out beside you, and you feel him shift behind you, one hand sliding to your lower back to keep you arched where he wants you. You sigh into the pillow the second you feel his heavy tip press against you. He’s so warm and heavy, just the idea of him filling you has you salivating as you press your cheek harder against the pillow.
He presses in again, allowing himself to briefly slip in before pulling out again and painting your folds with your excess wetness.
He was trying to kill you, you were sure of it. You whimper his name into your pillow again as you try your hardest not to reach between your own legs and put it in yourself. Your thighs clench as he slowly drags his length back up, catching on your dripping entrance again. The slow teasing was making you lightheaded.
You can't stop yourself from slowly switching your hips from side to side, wordlessly begging him to stop this and just fuck you already. You hear him tut again from behind as another two rough spanks land on each of your ass cheeks.
“So impatient tonight…” he says before both his hands grasp you at your waist. As much as he loved seeing you come undone before he’s even gotten a real orgasm out of you, he couldn’t deny that it was getting harder and harder for him to keep this up.
You were so wet, so silky, and soft. He desperately wanted to make your pretty pussy cream for him. And fill you to the brim.
He readjusts your hips slightly with his hands before allowing his member to slip into you, not even an inch, before he’s pulling back out and slamming back in, forcing your eyes shut as you take him all in one stroke with a loud cry of his name.
“Oh my god—!”
“Shhh,” he whispers, still kind, still gentle. “Isn’t this what you wanted, love? Hmm? Wiggling your hips like that against me, is this not what you were asking for?”
You start to whimper out quick yes’s and more brainless apologies as he begins giving you one harsh thrust after another. His dark eyes fixed on your perfect arch, the way your ass rippled with each snap of his hips, and the thick frothy ring of cream collecting at the base of his cock.
“So messy, baby,” he mused, his thrusts turning relentless, as he drives into you like he’s trying to rewire your brain.
And every time your hips drop or you round your back after a particularly deep or rough drag of his hips, he corrects you, readjusting your position with his hands at your waist.
And every time you whimper, or moan, cry out, or cum, he’s praising you like you’re doing something incredibly brave for him.
“Good girl.”
“Just like that, my love.”
“Keep these hips up for me.”
By your second orgasm, you’re completely ruined under him, whining into the pillow, words just falling thoughtlessly from your mouth. “T-too much— Tenya, it’s— it’s so—”
He slows just enough to pull you upright by your sides and turns you onto your back again, caging you in. His palm cups your jaw, making you meet his eyes.
“Look at me,” he commands, and you do, eyes glassy and trembling. “‘Too much?’ You don’t want to cum for me again, darling? Is that it?”
Your eyes screw shut at the question, of course you wanted to cum again, but they quickly shoot back open when he brings a swift hand down on your trembling left thigh to get you to look at him again.
“No! Nonono, Tenya, I do! I wanna cum. I–I wanna cum for you!” you gasp. “P-please— don’t stop—I can take it!”
Tenya’s expression softens at your pleading. “Good girl. I knew you could take more for me. So obedient, my love. So good for me.”
Suddenly, he’s fucking you harder, and deeper, at a pace that makes the mattress creak and your voice crack as he quickly brings you right to the edge.
His thumb finds your clit and circles with cruel precision while his mouth stays sweet at your ear, kissing around it and down the column of your neck as he talks you through it.
“That’s it, beautiful,” he murmurs. “Cum for me, baby. Be a good girl and cum all over this cock for me.”
You clench around him with a sobbed moan, eyes rolling as your whole body shakes. Tenya holds you tight as your orgasm rolls through you. He keeps you full the whole time, refusing to slow his thrusts as he keeps you right where he wants you. Praising you like he’s singing you a lullaby.
“Good… so good, baby… that’s it.”
“So perfect for me.”
“My beautiful girl.”
And when the aftershocks of your orgasm finally fizzle out, he kisses your forehead, so soft and lovingly, like he didn’t just fuck you through the mattress.
“You did so well,” he whispers, smoothing your hair back.
Then his hand drifts down, firm on your thigh, and his voice turns quiet and dangerous again as you try and catch your breath.
“Now,” he murmurs, smiling like a gentleman, “do you think you can give me one more? I’d very much like to finish inside you, my love.”
Chapter 8: Unusual————————————————————————masterlist: Mrs. All American🤍
<<prev next>>
After the Sports Festival, you can't wait for things to get back to how they usually are
tags: MHA x fem!reader, MHA x Black!reader, reverse harem x reader, slow burn, sfw, Izuku Midoriya x reader, Katsuki Bakugo x reader, Shoto Todoroki x reader, Tenya Iida x reader, Eijiro Kirishima x reader, Hitoshi Shinsou x reader, Mirio Togata x reader
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You don’t remember the walk out of the arena. You remember the buzzer. The way the crowd exploded into noise. The way Bakugo hit the ground and didn’t get back up in time. The way Ms. Midnight raised your arm and declared you the winner of the first-year Sports Festival. But emotionally? You feel the same walking back through the tunnel as you did walking out of it.
Competently removed from it all.
You went all out, just like he demanded.
You didn’t beat him within an inch of his life. You didn’t humiliate him. You didn’t drag anything out. But you were sure it was the most brutal beating you’ve ever given someone.
But hey, that's what he wanted out of you, right? Not to hold back? And you certainly didn't.
And yet, beyond how you felt about him, how annoying, how demanding, and how infuriating he’d been all day, a feeling settles uncomfortably in your chest as you pass through the cool shadow of the tunnel and back toward the waiting rooms. You flex your fingers absently, remembering the way his face looked when you’d finished the fight.
A look of acknowledgment, acceptance, and maybe a little fear.
It was guilt. That feeling wafting over you like smoke. You felt guilty.
You didn't regret what you did, though. And you didn't feel bad for winning, or for putting him in his place. But that didn’t mean you wanted him to fear you. All you wanted was for him to respect you, to see you, to try and get to know you…Maybe you should check on him.
You slow your steps, debating whether to swing by Recovery Girl’s office before you’re inevitably dragged back out for the awards ceremony. You were sure he’d be there after a fight like that, you were only hoping he’d be conscious by the time you got there.
You push into the waiting room as you juggle the thought around. The TV mounted in the corner is already replaying the highlights of the match. Present Mic’s voice blares excitedly over slow-motion footage of you cutting through Bakugo’s final assault.
“—an explosive finish to an explosive day for our first-year champion!”
You grab your water bottle off the table and pop the cap open, taking a slow sip while watching yourself move across the screen. At least your form and attacks looked clean. A still frame freezes on the moment you first disarmed one of his attacks early in the match. The crowd had loved that part. But the feeling at the back of your head doesn’t fade. It nags, refusing to be ignored.
If you don’t go see him, you know you’re not going to stop thinking about it. You set your water bottle back down. And head for the infirmary.
The hallway toward Recovery Girl’s office is quiet. Or maybe it's the deafening focus in your head that's making the whole world feel silent. The roaring crowd is muffled by concrete and distance, replaced by the low hum of ventilation and distant footsteps.
Halfway down the corridor, you spot someone walking toward you and recognize him instantly. You’ve never seen him in person before, but from what you could see, photos and broadcasts didn’t do the sheer presence of him any justice.
Endeavor.
He was massive. Easily as broad as All Might, but just a hair shorter. Flames curl and lick across his face, illuminating his sharp features far better than the dull, windowless interior of the arena ever could. The fire throws shifting light across the walls, painting everything around him in a restless, shifting shade of orange. And beneath that blaze, you see them. Bright, piercing turquoise eyes.
Just like Todoroki’s. Or, one of Todoroki’s that is.
And from this close, the resemblance was undeniable. Todoroki was the spitting image of his father. Or at least exactly half of him is.
You try not to stare, but he must feel your gaze because his eyes shift and lock onto yours. Heat prickles along your spine, and you quickly look straight ahead as you both close the distance between you. Just as you’re about to pass him, he stops. And unconsciously, you slow down too.
He turns fully toward you, flames crackling softly as he studies your face.
“You’re the girl who won the tournament just now.” Despite the suspicious tone, you know it’s not a question.
You straighten slightly. “Yes, sir. And your Endeavor.” You weren't asking a question either.
He makes a small, assessing sound in his throat. “That I am. Congratulations.” It’s flat and impassive, much like how you felt about the whole thing.
You bow politely at his congratulations. Despite how you may have felt right now, this was still one of the strongest pro heroes standing here, complementing you. “Thank you. That means so much coming from you, sir.”
He hums at that, almost thoughtful.
“Your quirk control and strength impressed me out there. I’ll be honest, going into the final round, I wasn't convinced you’d have the firepower to beat that explosion boy after seeing his match against Shoto.” He pauses, as if he were replaying the match in his head. “It’s a shame it wasn’t you and Shoto in the final,” he continues. “That would have been a match I’d be very interested in seeing.”
You can’t help the small chuckle that escapes you, both at the idea of him underestimating you while overestimating his own son. “Honestly, I was hoping it would’ve been Todoroki and me in the finals too.”
His brows lift faintly. “At Shoto’s current strength,” he says, voice cooling, “and with his refusal to use the full extent of his power, the outcome would have likely remained the same.”
You hum softly in acknowledgment, but you were sure not to let your expression change. But deep down, you're more sure of something than ever before. You understand Todoroki’s dislike for his father more and more with every word.
Endeavor doesn’t talk about Shoto like a son. He talks about him like a project. A tool. A means to an end. Todoroki had told you what training with his father was like. The expectations. The conditioning. The relentless demands. Sure, hadn’t gone into vivid detail, but he never really did. And right now you’re sure he didn’t need to. The man standing in front of you is exactly as described. An overdemanding shell of a father figure who sees perfection as the only acceptable outcome. Anything less is wasted potential.
But despite your thoughts of him personally, you bow again, wanting nothing more than to keep this conversation as brief as humanly possible.
“Excuse me,” you say smoothly. “I was on my way to the infirmary to check on a few classmates.”
He nods once, dismissive but not in an unkind way. “Of course, Congratulations again.”
You straighten and step past him. Only once you turn the corner and his flames disappear from view do you allow your face to shift. A small, disapproving crease pulls at your mouth as you keep walking.
Once you reach the hall leading to the infirmary, the fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly. You notice that there are a few seats lined up against the wall beside the door, likely for students who were hurt, but not badly enough to need a bed inside. And in one of the chairs sat none other than Midoriya’s first tournament opponent, Shinsou.
You swallow back a scoff as you recognize him. He’s slouched low, an ice pack pressed to the back of his head, indigo hair slightly mussed. He looks up when your footsteps echo closer, but you don’t slow, as you have no desire to get wrapped up in another conversation with someone you had no desire to speak to. And you were already very familiar with his brand of verbal confrontation.
You stop at the small window in the infirmary door and cautiously peer inside. And there he was. Spiky blond hair. Bandaged shoulders. Lying in one of the beds at the far side of the room.
Still unconscious.
You let out a quiet sigh at the sight of him. You know he’ll be fine. If Recovery Girl has him, he’s in the best hands possible. Plus, you know he’s tough. Stubbornly so. But that doesn’t stop the guilt from nudging at you. Just as you lean closer to the window, the doorknob turns from the inside. You step back quickly as the door swings open.
Todoroki stands on the other side.
You make a small, surprised sound. “Oh! Todoroki! I didn’t know you were here.”
He shrugs lightly, his tired eyes moving up to look into yours. “My fight with Bakugo took more out of me than I expected, so I’ve been here since it ended.”
You soften at that. “I hadn't realized. Well, I hope you're feeling better now.”
“I am.” He nods. “I was up to watch most of the final round on the tv’s in here, though. So congratulations on winning, but after the first round, it was pretty obvious who the best in the class was.” Todoroki’s words make Shinso perk up, listening in on your slow conversation.
You can't help but smile at your classmate. “Thank you.”
Then something in your brain clicks as you remember seeing Endeavor in the hallway.
You blink as you point at him, “If you’ve been in here since the last round, that explains why your dad was wandering around in here. I actually ran into him like a minute ago.”
The shift in Todoroki’s demeanor is subtle, but practically immediate.
He shifts his weight from side to side, and his grip on the door handle tightens as his eyes sharpen.
“He didn’t speak to you, did he?”
“He did, actually,” you say evenly. “It was hort conversation, though. He congratulated me on winning and said he wished it had been us in the finals instead of me and Bakugo. I told him I was kind of hoping for that too.” you cant keep back the laugh that tumbles out of you as you admit that to him.
Todoroki exhales slowly, as if he were trying to relax. “Did he say anything that made you uncomfortable?” he asks.
You smile faintly at the cautiously protective tone of his questions. “No, no. Nothing like that. I kept it short and respectful, and so did he.”
He hums quietly, like he’s trying to map out the whole interaction in his head.
“Well, I guess that's…something,” he mumbles, sounding slightly unconvinced. “But anyway, I’m heading back to the student section,” he says. “The awards ceremony should start soon, too. Are you coming up?”
“In a minute,” you reply. “I just wanted to check on something.”
“You're not hurt, are you?”
You giggle lightly. “No, I’m fine, I just wanted to come up and…see something.”
He glances toward the room behind him. Then back at you.
“...Right,” he says quietly. “Well then, I guess I’ll see you later.”
You wave him off as he walks off down the corridor with his hands in his pockets. Once he disappears around the corner, you turn back toward the door window. Bakugo still hasn’t woken up. You cross your arms and lean against the wall, bouncing one leg anxiously as you stare through the glass. From beside you, a voice cuts in.
“Here to check on your friend?”
You glance at the sound of the voice. Shinsou hasn’t moved much. He’s still slouched, still holding that ice pack to the back of his head. Now that you’re really looking, you can see faint bruising along his jaw. Midoriya must have hit him harder than it looked.
“Something like that,” you answer dryly.
He hums, long and knowing.
“Blondie must not really be your friend then.”
You shrug, not in the mood to unpack that statement. Your non-answer allows a long pause to drift between you, and for some reason, Shinso didn’t like that. He wanted to keep talking.
“It’s still nice that you’re checking on him,” he adds. “Even if you don’t like him much. It’s very…heroic of you.” You bite back an eye roll at the condescension in his voice.
Again, another silence settles between you. And again, he doesn't like that.
“Congrats, by the way,” he says after a moment. “I didn’t catch most of the later matches, but after how you handled the first two rounds? Makes sense, you won.”
“Thanks,” you reply flatly, still not looking at him.
He studies you for a second. Now that the tournament was over, he could see you as another student again, and not a potential threat. You looked far less threatening now. And it was no shock to him why you had been a fan favorite. Even now, with concentration and nerves all over your face, your looks were undeniable. But for some reason, he could feel a slight sneer pulling at his mouth.
“I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you,” he says quietly. “The guy looks tough. Hell, he is tough. He’ll probably be up in a few minutes.”
You sigh again, allowing more emotion to seep through your voice. “I hope so.”
You finally drag your eyes away from the door and turn more toward Shinso.
“Are you still too banged up to go back with your class?” you ask, tilting your head as you give him a once-over.
He hesitates, then shrugs. “Actually…I think I’m fine And this thing is completely melted by the way. It’s barely even cold now.”
He lowers the ice pack from his head and stares at the floor for a few seconds. “I’m just…not in a rush to go back.”
“Why not?” you ask, facing him completely now.
He exhales. “Because I was the first one out,” he mutters. “And being the first to lose just feels like…it feels like I let them down.”
You study his face as he continues looking down at the floor. Despite all he's done in the last few days to torment your classmates, you can't help but sympathize with the feeling he's describing. But even though the feeling made sense, you knew he shouldn't feel like that. Not when he’d made it all the way to the finals. Most of your classmates couldn't even say they did that.
“I can’t imagine why you’d feel that way,” you say honestly. “You were the only general studies student to make it into the final bracket. That’s crazy impressive, not to mention the strength and perseverance that takes.”
He shrugs off your compliments and snorts. Aggravation from the sensitive topic boiling deep in his chest.
“Oh, thank you, that means a lot coming from the hero course prodigy who just bulldozed the whole festival.”
You roll your eyes at his sorry attempt at deflection. He was pretty decent at it, honestly. But he was no Bakugo, so you weren't all that impressed.
“Please. If I had your quirk, I would’ve won this thing in half the time.”
He actually laughs at that. “You sure you're not the one with the minor concussion here? You might wanna ask Recovery Girl to take a look at that head of yours.”
“I’m serious,” you insist. “Your quirk is incredible. It would be insanely useful for a hero.”
He rolls his eyes in return. “Now you’re just trying to be funny.”
“Why would that be funny?”
“Because I could never be a hero,” he says plainly. “Not with a quirk like this, and you know it. Heroes protect people; they save people. They don't scare them like I do.
“Your quirk isn't scary, and neither are you,” you state.
He shrugs. “Well, of course, you aren't scared of me. You know you could pummel me into the ground. But anyone else would be. I control people, I use them. That doesn't sound scary to you? How could I ever be a hero with a power like this?” He still refused to look up from the floor.
You continue to study him for a long second before asking, “Well…do you want to be a hero?”
He finally throws you a passing glance.
“Who doesn't?”
You smile smugly at his honesty.
“But just wanting something doesn't mean it’s meant for you. I came to this school because I wanted a front row seat to see the next generation of heroes, not to be one. But today, for a second, I almost felt like one. But then reality set back in, and I was reminded that wanting something just isn't enough.”
His thoughtfully pitiful explanation hangs in the air as you try to find the most careful and comforting response to give him after hearing that. But all you can think of is—
“That’s stupid.”
His head snaps up.
“Wow.”
“Sorry,” you say, not sounding that sorry. “Bad wording. But you're right about the wanting thing. Just wanting something doesn't mean it’s meant for you, but working for it helps.” You lean forward a bit as you speak to him, wanting your words to reach him. “That feeling you felt today wasn't you losing touch with reality; that was hope. You felt that your dream was attainable for a moment, because it was. You just need to work to reach it. But if all it takes for you to abandon your dream is realizing that you need to work hard to get it…then you must not have wanted it that bad enough.”
He scoffs, bristling. “Easy for you to say. Mic said you got in on recommendation. You probably never had to fight this hard for anything in your life.”
You shake your head, laughing as you do at his ridiculousness.
“Bakugo was right about you.” That shuts him up.
“It’s obvious you want to be a hero,” you continue. “And that you want to be in the hero course. But you let other people spoil that idea for you, and now you’re miserable about it.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but you don’t stop.
“Today, you got a taste of it. Of what your life could’ve looked like if you’d trusted yourself. If you had more faith, more confidence in yourself and your dream. And you know that. That's why you don't want to go back. And you’re not ready to give that up yet.”
His fingers tighten around the ice pack.
“As long as you don’t go back out there,” you say, gesturing toward the arena, “you stay Shinsou, hero in training.” You glance back toward the door, looking over Bakugo’s still unconscious figure.
“But the second you walk back to your class section, you go back to being Shinsou from general studies class C.”
His eyes widen slightly.
“That’s why you don’t want to go back, right?” You finish quietly. “Not because you’re embarrassed you got out first, but because you want to live in the ‘almost’ a little longer.”
Again, another S]silence falls between you. And this time, he doesn't fight it. All he can do is stare at you in disbelief. After several seconds, he shakes his head. Resetting and reorganizing his thoughts.
“You’re wrong,” he says, though it sounds less certain than before. “I didn’t give up. Me getting that far proves that.”
You’re about to respond—but then you see movement through the window. And Bakugo’s hand twitches, and slowly but surely, he shifts awake.
You straighten up against the door frame and step back a bit once you watch him come too completely. He was awake.
“Hm, I guess you’re right,” you murmur.
Shinsou notices your shift and follows your gaze, realizing Bakugo must be awake now. You turn back to him one last time.
“That’s true,” you concede. “You didn’t give up.” He blinks as you step closer to him.
“And as long as you keep taking small steps forward, you’ll get there eventually.”
You pause, reaching a hand out to the melted ice pack he was still holding. You place a hand over his, touching two fingers to the thawed jelly pack, freezing it solid again with barely any contact.
“But just imagine how much faster you’d get there if you took big ones instead, hm?”
You don’t elaborate. You just turn and head back down the hallway toward your class. Behind you, Shinsou sits in his chair, his gaze just as frozen as his ice pack as he stares at the space you’d just occupied.
When you slip back into your class’s section, the stadium is already settling into ceremony mode. The battlefield is cleared. The giant screens cycle through highlights. Confetti cannons sit poised at the edges of the arena floor. The awards ceremony begins not long after. You stand with the other finalists as your uncle steps forward to assist with the medals. The top four are called one by one.
After rejoining your class, the awards ceremony is held shortly after. You watch your uncle bestow medals to the top 4 finalists. Iida received his first, a simple silver medallion. Next was Todoroki, who received the third-place bronze medallion. Then, a freshly awoken Bakugo received his second-place silver medallion, but Bakugo doesn’t lean forward. He doesn’t bow. He doesn’t even tilt his head. Instead, he snatches it from All Might’s hand and just holds it in his fist.
And finally, your name is called, and you step forward. All Might’s smile is radiant as he lifts the gold medal. You bow slightly, leaning forward so he can place it around your neck properly. The weight of it settles around your neck. For the first time since the final round had started, you really felt the reality of your win settled in.
You really did it.
You wrap your fingers around the medal and lift it slightly, staring at it for just a second as the crowd erupts. Confetti explodes into the air. Flashing cameras go off in blinding bursts. Your uncle leans in close enough that only you can hear him.
“Ya’know, I thought you looked every bit as confident out there as you hoped today.”
You glance at him, smiling. You’re glad he thought so, because you felt confident. You felt more tant confident. You felt like a winner. And not because of the applause, or the cameras, or the gold. But because, for once, you can say it without hesitation, you earned this. All on your own.
After the ceremony, the First-Year Sports Festival officially came to an end. You head outside the arena to find Luke and spot him not long after. He wastes no time gripping you up and pulling you into a long and excited hug, congratulating you over and over as he squeezes you in a bear hug. He looked and sounded like he was about to burst as he gave you an overexcited recap of the whole festival from his perspective.
“I nearly filmed the whole thing,” he says, shoving his phone toward you. “Your parents called me like five different times! They looked so proud! So we’re probably going to have to call them back when we get home.”
You laugh softly. “I figured.”
“Sir left around halfway through the final match to catch the last event of the third-year festival,” he adds. “I’m pretty sure it's still going on, actually, if you wanted to catch whatever’s left of it.”
“Of course I do!” You blurt, wrapping yourself around one of his arms as you drag him toward the third-year Festival grounds.
Unfortunately, by the time you arrive, their festival is practically over, too. The stands are far emptier than the first-year arena had been. Still, you spot a few familiar faces. Sir stands out immediately in his crisp navy suit, perfectly pressed, dress shoes polished to a shine. Beside him is Fatgum, in a hoodie and khaki shorts, his large hand resting on his knees as he chats away to Sir.
They both greet you excitedly as you approach, congratulations and high praises spilling from their mouths as you get closer. Sir stands and pulls you into a brief hug before you can greet him properly, murmuring a quiet, ‘I’m so proud of you’ as you hug his back, your hands rubbing up and down his slender back.
“Heard you crushed it!” Fatgum beams with a thumbs up as you gradually separate from Sir. “How does it feel, champ?” he asks.
“Pretty great, I can’t lie,” you admit.
You tilt your head slightly as you turn your attention back to Sir. “What were you thinking while watching? I’m assuming you’ve got a few notes.”
Instead of critiquing you, Sir simply hugs you again.
“I felt incredibly proud,” he says. “You were absolute perfection.”
You hesitate in his grasp, shocked by all the emotion from your usually overly stoic mentor. Luke grins at your stunned expression. The two of you take the seats beside Sir and Fatgum as Sir fills you in on the third-year results.
“It was a good festival in my opinion, much better than last year's at least,” he explains. “Mirio and Tamaki both performed better than usual. But unsurprisingly…this year, they were no match for Nejire. She’s advanced quite a bit since last year, I’d say.”
You nod along, listening as he breaks down their strengths, their weaknesses, and the improvements they’ve made. But your eyes drift to the arena floor. It’s so much quieter here, but no less filled with talent and skill than the first year festival was. Was watching the class that survived a villain attack so much of a draw in that the other years' Festivals were this slow in comparison? You were sure Nejire was just as interesting to watch as you were. Maybe even more with all the years of experience she has under her belt by now. Nejire. You’ve heard her name countless times from Mirio and Tamaki, but you’ve still never met her. What was Nejire like?
Principal Nezu appears at the center stage to distribute the awards, and finally, appearing from the arena tunnel with the other runners-up, you see her. Long, shining periwinkle hair cascading down her back. Bright blue-grey eyes that sparkle as her face is plastered on all the available screens in the arena. She was gorgeous, but honestly, even in her school gym uniform, she looked more like a pop idol than a hero student. When she receives her gold medal, the crowd cheers wildly. You clap respectfully, studying her carefully. Second strongest behind Mirio. And now, first place in her very last Sports Festival. And you were dying to meet her.
As the crowd begins to clear, Mirio and Tamaki round the corner of the guest stands, only expecting to see their mentors, but spot you in the stands right along with them. Mirio shouts out your and Luke’s names as he and Tamaki quicken their pace over to the four of you.
“What are you doing here?” Mirio laughs as you stand to hug him.
“I guess our festival ended kinda early compared to your guys’,” you explain. “I wanted to catch what was left of yours, but Luke and I only really made it in time for the awards.”
“Thank God,” Mirio says dramatically, scratching the back of his neck. “My performance this year wasn’t exactly all that impressive.”
“That’s okay,” you assure him in an empathetic tone as you rub his back.
He laughs. “I’m not upset or anything, really!. I guess I’m just bummed since it’s my last festival. This is one of my favorite events of the whole school year!” His smile softens as he pulls you closer to his side. “But now that you’re here, I get to have just as much fun watching you every year. Especially since you've got a streak to uphold now, miss first place!”
You grin at the title. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I don’t let you down.”
He plops a hand on your head, ruffling your hair. “Like you could ever let me down anyway.” Then he tickles you lightly with his other arm. “But seriously, first place! Let’s see that medal already!!”
You squirm free and flash the gold medallion at him and Tamaki in a bout of laughter. They both ‘ooh’ exaggeratedly as you pose with the award.
Tamaki stares in awe. “You really won your first-ever festival…When I was a first-year, I don’t even think I broke the top twenty-five.”
“Of course she won,” Mirio says, hands on his hips. “She’s the most qualified and talented first-year in the hero course by far!”
Sir nods in agreement as he steps closer, resting a hand on your shoulder. “He’s absolutely right, and I’m proud of you. Both of you. Placements aside.”
Fatgum claps Tamaki on the back. “That's right! Super proud of you, too, kid.”
After a few minutes of light teasing and praise, you ask Tamaki what the rest of the Festival was like, and how Nejire won, your growing interest in her still on the front of your mind. Mirio suddenly snaps his fingers at the mention of her name.
“Whoa thats right!? You still haven't met Hado! Let’s introduce you guys before she leaves! She’s like obsessed with you, I swear. And that way we can get a picture with 2 out of 3 of this year's winners!”
You and Tamaki look at each other before agreeing. Mirio leads the way, marching back into the arena with you and Tamaki following closely behind. Once inside, Mirio asks Tamaki if he could call her to see if she was still around. Tamaki pulls out his phone and steps aside, slowing his pace significantly, but still following behind you both as he tries to call her. With Tamaki preoccupied with his phone, Mirio nudges you.
“So…excited to be an official intern at the agency?”
“I am,” you say. “But I’m sure it won’t feel all that different. I’m practically there like… every day already.”
He shakes his head and smiles. “Trust me, it’ll feel totally different. You’ll be in costume. You’ll be patrolling. You’ll be reporting hourly. Y’kow really hero stuff!”
You grin. “Better than sitting at Sir’s desk while you two go have all the fun.”
He laughs. “I’m just hoping Sir will warm up to the idea of letting us patrol alone sometimes. He can be a bit of a killjoy when it comes to doing hero stuff by the book...”
“Sir? A by-the-book killjoy? I would have never guessed.” You gasp theatrically. “But patrolling with you does sound nice, especially because I want to learn as much from you as I possibly can before you graduate,” you continue, looking up at him as you do. “I mean, you are the number 1 student here after all, so you must be doing something right, right?”
Mirio chuckles.
“That’s true, but you make it sound like once I graduate, you’ll never see me again,” he adds lightly.
“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” you insist. “I just mean, you’ll be busy either being a sidekick or debuting as a hero, but I won’t be able to see you or call you whenever, like I can now.”
All of a sudden, he stops walking, so you stop too. He looks at you seriously.
“Well, that’ll never happen,” he says. “You’re one of the most important people in my life. I’ll never be too busy for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it—I’m there. You know that.” The last bit sounds more like a question. Your expression softens.
“Yeah, I know,” you say, pouting at how sweet he was being. You bring a hand up to grab his face and squish his cheeks together.
Tamaki approaches again, saying both of your names to get your attention. “Hey, Hado says she’s outside, in front of the arena.”
Mirio makes an affirmative sound of acknowledgement before turning back to you and telling you how psyched she’ll be to finally meet you. The three of you hurry out to the front of the arena grounds. And there in the middle of the walkway, Nejire stands waiting. Mirio shouts her name. She spins, spots you all, and wastes no time rushing over to meet you all halfway. Mirio and Tamaki congratulate her first, exchanging quick hugs and compliments. Then Mirio steps aside dramatically. “Nejire, I’d like you to finally meet (Y/N)!”
Nejire claps her hands frantically and squeals. She grabs your hands immediately. Rambling on about how excited she is to finally meet you, and how much Mirio and Tamaki have talked about you over the years. She was talking so much, and every other sentence out of her mouth was a completely different topic than the last. And here you thought Hagakure could be airheaded sometimes…Nejire was something else. In the midst of her question and comment frenzy, she notices the medal around your neck and squeals even louder than the first.
“You won the Festival!? That’s amazing! I still can’t believe this is our first time meeting, and we both won today! This has totally got to be fate or something, right?! But of course, you won. Mirio never shuts up about how strong you are! And your quirk is incredible! Oh my gosh, can you say something in English? And your hair looks so pretty! You look even better than the pictures! You're like an off-duty model or something! I love it!”
All you can do is stare with wide eyes and a weak smile as she continues to bounce in place, her grip on your hands tight, as if she might float away if she loosened it. This is not the personality you expected from the composed, top-ranked third-year you saw earlier.
But you laugh and answer her questions anyway, at least the questions you remembered. And quickly, the two of you tumbling into a chaotic exchange. It was a little jarring to have a conversation with someone whom you so badly wanted to know more about, when all they wanted to talk about was you. And boy, did Nejire seem to know a lot about you. Like a lot.
She eventually asks you if your family is planning to come and visit you for the summer during their yearly trip to Japan, like they usually do. Your brows shoot up, and you tilt your head curiously at the detailed question.
“Wow! uhm…I’m actually not sure, hah!” you reply, shooting Mirio a puzzled look before asking, “Just how much has Mirio told you about me exactly?”
Nejire beams. “A decent bit! But don’t worry, I know you like to keep the finer details quiet. I won’t tell a soul! Pinky promise!” She brings her hand up, displaying her pinky finger to you as proof.
You chuckle a little as you wrap your pinky around hers, taking her word for it. But you can't help yourself as you press her for more details, wanting to know exactly how much she knew. She counts on her fingers as she lists off all her fun facts about you.
“Let’s see…I know your parents are super loaded, especially your dad! That you stay with a guy named ‘Luke’ and say he’s your cousin when he’s basically your bodyguard. And that your oldest sister is a pro hero, a super cool one too!”
You smile politely and cut the meanest glare at Mirio. He rubs the back of his neck nervously again, too scared to break eye contact. Desperate to save himself, he blurts out, “So how about that picture, huh?!” pulling out his phone, and opening the camera.
First, he snaps selfies of himself, Tamaki, and Nejire together. Then he waves you over to stand beside Nejire, both of you holding up your gold medals and smiling for the camera. As the camera flashes, you notice Sir, Luke, and Fatgum approaching from the arena.
The introductions and pleasantries continue as Sir and Fat congratulate Nejire on her win, and Luke congratulates her as well, then introduces himself to her. Her face lights up again as she jumps into another frenzy of questions, asking Luke everything that comes to the front of her mind. From how old he was, to how long he’s known you, to where he’s from originally, and what his quirk is, or if he even has one. Luke is reluctant to say anything to her, looking to you for help. You smile and tell him not to worry, as Nejire was very sweet and very trustworthy. Not that you had much choice in trusting her, though, as Mirio had told her ‘so much’ about you both. Again, Mirio laughs along nervously, feeling your sharp eyes on him again.
Hoping to change the topic from you and Luke to something, or literally anything else, Mirio asks if all of you should go out to eat and celebrate after having such an action-packed day.
“Who doesn't love a good celebratory dinner, huh?” he insists, throwing an arm around Tamaki’s shoulders and nearly dragging him along. “We’ve got two gold medals between us. That definitely deserves food to me!”
You quickly agree, sensing Mirio’s ploy to quiet all this talk about you and your family life, and because, well, you were starving.
So you, Luke, Mirio, Sir, Tamaki, Fatgum, and Nejire find yourselves squeezing into a long booth at a cozy restaurant not far from campus. The warm and bustling restaurant is a nice contrast to the Olympic-sized arena you’ve been circling for the last few hours.
After detailing her win, Nejire asks Mirio and Tamaki what they thought about their final Sports Festival and what their favorite parts were. Both boys go into full storytelling mode, recounting every detail of their matches. Mirio reenacts a particularly dramatic dodge with wild hand gestures that nearly knock over Sir’s water glass. Tamaki corrects him quietly three separate times, reminding his bold friend that they were still in public. Fatgum laughs loudly through most of Mirio’s tales, only stressing Tamaki more. Causing you to cut in and calm him down as well.
Nejire asks you the same, and you share your highlights as well, detailing all of your favorite parts of the Festival. You keep your tone light and chipper. Sure, you were tired after the day you had, but you didn’t want to come off as ungrateful for your win, or sound like you thought it was no big deal. It was a big deal to you. A huge one, actually. But what you were really trying your hardest to conceal was your guilt. Your tunnel vision. And how empty you felt leaving the arena that final time.
By the time dessert is cleared, you lean back in the cushy booth and sigh contentedly.
“And now that all of this festival stuff is done with, I’m ready for classes to go back to normal,” you admit. “No more stress or nerves. I just want to hang out with my friends, and not have to work every muscle in my body training every weekday.”
Luke laughs at your simple wishes, then pipes up, “Oh, I guess it’s still a Saturday. Do you want me to drop you off at the dorms after dinner? Or were you planning on coming home with me for the rest of the weekend?”
Your smile flutters for a second as you ponder the easy question. But for you, it feels like the most loaded question you've been asked all week. The image of Bakugo, silver medal clenched in his fist, fills your mind. Then you think of the dorm hallways, the common room, the kitchen, and all the other possible places you could run into him. You shake your head lightly, the choice now feeling just as clear as the question.
“I think I’ll stay at the house.”
Mirio perks up instantly at your choice. “Yes! That means we can hang out until Monday!”
You laugh at his dramatic enthusiasm and pull out your phone. If you were planning on being out of the dorm until Monday, you had to let someone know. And, of course, that someone was none other than Iida. You shoot him a quick message.
“Spending the rest of the weekend at home. See you Monday!”
You hit send and wait for his response. You found that he never took more than a few minutes to reply to your texts. And this was no different than all the others you’d sent him as you quickly watched the ‘delivered’ badge change to ‘read’. Then the grey typing bubble appears.
You smile, anticipating his simple and well-punctuated reply. Only for the bubble to disappear altogether. Your smile slips, and you wait for the bubble to return. Nothing. You tilt your head slightly at the screen. Maybe he’s retyping, or his connection is bad. You wait another minute. Still nothing. You make a small face and slide your phone back into your pocket. He’s probably just busy. Maybe he’s out celebrating just like you were.
You would only hope.
When you get home, you text Mirio, telling him you had made it home safe, just like he had asked you to as you were both leaving the restaurant. He responds to your message with a thumbs up, and not even thirty minutes later, he’s at the door, knocking to be let in.
Luke opens, chuckling as he makes a little joke about how long it’s been since he’s last seen Mirio. You giggle along from the couch, as Mirio keeps Luke’s joke going, telling him it really has been too long.
Mirio enters the living room, collapsing down on the couch next to you, and planting an obnoxiously loud kiss on your cheek. Telling you that it had been too long since he’s seen you last, too.
For the next hour, you both go back and forth, telling each other about your days, not skimping out on a single detail. You tell him everything. Every feeling, every thought, everything you liked, everything you loved, and everything you downright hated.
You reiterate how relieved you are that it’s over, just as you had talked about at the table. But this time, you allow yourself to admit how nice it felt knowing that you were officially the first-year to watch.
Mirio listens contentedly as you speak, slipping in his thoughts and comments where he finds it appropriate. Ignoring everything else in the world, as he hangs on to every word that leaves your mouth. Despite his easily excitable, golden retriever-like exterior, nothing made Mirio shut up and focus quite like you. He loved listening to you. Loved the way you could slip off your everyday mask and be completely yourself with him. And loved the way the longer and longer you went uninterrupted, the thicker and thicker your American accent would slip through your Japanese. It was so cute. Absentmindedly, he slips his tongue out of his mouth to swipe across his lips as you go on explaining your conversation with this ‘Shinso’ guy, as he continues focusing on you. Blocking out everything else as he does. Like your phone, which had been dinging with notification after notification ever since he had sat down next to you. At first, it was just a few little dings, but now they were just flooding in, one after the next.
Mirio is brought out of his concentration-induced haze as you reach down on the couch for your phone, tapping the screen, and making a face in disbelief. You had hoped that maybe Iida had finally responded to your message, but all of your notifications were from Instagram.
But when you unlock your phone, you see that it's not just a few notifications; there are hundreds. Maybe even thousands. You scroll through your notification tab as more and more come flooding in: new followers, comments, DM’s, tagged posts, it was insane.
Mirio quietly says your name to get your attention, but you just keep scrolling, hands floating across the glass as your page looks like it's been set ablaze. Mirio leans in closer, peering over the top of your phone screen to see what has you so transfixed right now.
His eyes widen as he sees the notifications flying in. “Whoa!” he shouts. “What did you do!?”
“Nothing! I swear!” you shout back, genuinely confused by all the sudden account traffic.
“Holy crap!” he says quieter, taking your phone from your hands and scrolling through your account himself. You scootch in closer to him and watch from over his shoulder as he bounces from your account tab, back to your notif tab, and DM’s. He begins reading through random DM’s in your general tab, quietly mumbling to himself as he reads them aloud.
“Congratulations on your win today…” he reads quietly. “I guess all these new followers and stuff really are from the Festival today,” he concludes.
“There's no way this many people are interested in my boring ass insta Miri…” you mumble as he opens and closes more and more messages.
He laughs, “well of course they don't care about your Insta, they care about you.”
“How could this many people care about me when they don’t even know me?!” you whisper yell.
He closes the message he was reading and clicks on your profile and opens your tagged posts, clicking on a post of you standing out on the field in that God-awful cheer outfit.
“That’s how…” he says smugly, turning to look at you.
You make an animalistic sound as you try to wrestle the phone out of his hands. He begins laughing at your embarrassment, fighting you back for the phone, insisting that e wasnt done reading. You release the phone and flop back onto the couch, grabbing a throw pillow and covering your face with it.
“Just delete my whole account!” you yell through the pillow, its thickness muffling the sound significantly.
“Why?! What's wrong with a few well-wishers and fans? All the best heroes have die-hard fan bases, don't you wanna be one of the best heroes?”
Mirio chuckles to himself as he hears you whine again from under the pillow as he goes back to your DM’s, wanting to see just how well-wishing some of your new fans were. He begins opening up more and more as they pop up.
‘You’re amazing!’ ‘You were incredible today!’ He smiles at the phone as he reads sweet message after sweet message. His heart filled with pride all over again. It really was your debut as a hero in training, and you already had a supportive and growing fan base.
He opens another DM, and his face immediately falls.
‘You looked perfect in that cheer uniform.’ ‘That body of yours is insane!’ ‘Hope your hero costume is as cute as that cheer costume ;).’
He begins furiously swiping away at the messages, blocking the senders as he does. He feels a rageful twitch at the side of his nose as his hands work faster than his mind could keep up. Of course, you’d have fans; you were incredible. So strong, so capable, so perfect. So good. But with anything good, of course, there would always be the bad to come and ruin it. He didn’t want you seeing this shit. Not when you were already so flustered at the thought of having fans and supporters. These dirty-ass creeps were just going to ruin this for you. But Mirio wasn’t going to let that happen. You worked too hard for this, sacrificed too much for this. He’d block every creep if he had to, untag every post if he needed to. He was going to make sure these assholes didn't mess with your head. He had to protect you.
He was going to protect you.
You move the Pillow from your face and look up to see Mirio working away at something on your phone. You toss the pillow aside and sit up on your elbows, asking him if he was good. He cuts his eyes over at you, for barely even a second, and the expression on his face is loud and obvious like alarm bells. Your brows furrow as you say his name, your voice testy. His expression dissolves completely, and he looks over at you with his usual big, loving puppy dog eyes and faint smile. Humming quickly in acknowledgement as he moves the phone away from his face.
“Everything ok?” you ask, sitting up completely as you move your legs into his lap.
“Yeah! Why wouldn't it be?” he asks, grabbing your legs and tugging them closer the moment they hit his thighs.
“I don’t know…you just looked really…focused for a second…” You say cautiously, “Are you still looking at my Insta?”
“Yeah, I was just reading some of the messages people were sending you, all nice stuff from what I saw! But pretty repetitive,” he replies, locking your phone.
“Besides, you weren't done telling me about the end of the Festival! You were talking to that ‘Shinso’ kid, right? I’m pretty sure that's where you left off?” You continue to study his face as he speaks and notice the way he quickly and subtly places your phone face down on the other side of him, too far for you to reach. You also notice how he even more subtly slips the phone under his large thigh, so you wouldn’t be able to reach it anyway.
You stare at him. He stares back.
“What?” He asks, trying not to laugh, knowing he’s caught.
You try not to laugh to yourself as you don't break eye contact with him. “I can see you, dummy, you can’t just confiscate my phone!”
“Sure, I can!”
“Miri, it’s my phone!”
“I know! But it was distracting us! And I don't want you to start doom scrolling and gett all in your head about Festival stuff when you were just talking about how glad you were that it was over! So let's just have a screen-free night and let the Festival hype die down, yeah? Hell, we could even make it a screen-free weekend!”
You open your mouth to argue, but close it again. He had a point, especially about the doom scrolling. So you honor his request and let him keep the phone, allowing yourself to get back into the overly detailed retelling of your day. And allowing him to get back to getting lost in the sound of your voice as you go on and on.
As the night drags on, you and Mirio jump from topic to topic, talking about any and everything that came to mind. You loved nights like these with him, though it was moments like these that made you feel bad that Tamaki didn't tag along. However, you knew long nights and even longer conversations weren't really his thing. Plus, you found talking to Mirio like this to be so therapeutic. He was an amazing listener, and he gave surprisingly great advice. The only downside to nights like these was that they usually got cut short just as they were getting good.
“Be honest,” Mirio begins, going off on another tangent, “what did you really think of Nejire, now that you’ve met her?”
You fiddle with Mirio's fingers as he rests his hand on your stomach, your legs, still resting in his lap, now crossed at the ankles.
“I thought she was sweet! She just wasn’t…what I was expecting, I guess?” you reply honestly.
“Well, what were you expecting?” he asks.
“I don't know?... Maybe for her to be more like me? I just really wasn’t expecting her to be so…?”
“—Airheaded?” Luke interrupts.
You and Mirio both sit up to look over the back of the couch to see Luke standing in the doorway.
“Sorry for eavesdropping,” he says, stepping into the living room, “I just couldn’t help myself.”
You and Mirio both laugh a little as you respond with a ‘yes, exactly,’ as Luke rests his hands on the back of the couch.
“What's up, cuzzo?” You say in a laxed tone as you slide back down onto the couch.
“It’s getting late, that's what,” he says. “And I should probably be taking Mirio home soon.”
You groan dramatically.
“Already?”
“It’s almost midnight,” Luke deadpans.
You throw your arms over your head as they dangle off the armrest of the couch. Then, suddenly, move them from your face as you stare up blankly at the ceiling.
“Lukey pookie…” You say in your sweet, begging voice.
He narrows his eyes immediately. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I don't need to know. As long as that name is involved, I’m not interested.”
You turn to Mirio. “Miriiiiii,” you sing out. “Do you want to spend the night?”
Both Luke and Mirio make nearly identical confused expressions. You rush to defend yourself.
“It’s a special occasion! I won the Sports Festival. Just think of it like a…a celebratory gift?”
Mirio barks out a laugh. “A gift?”
You glare at him. “What? You don’t want to stay? You were the one talking about hanging out the whole weekend at the restaurant. All of a sudden, you don't wanna do that anymore?”
“No, no its not that. I’d love to! You know I’d love to! I just didn’t expect you to try to hold me hostage, that's all,” he teases.
You cross your arms dramatically. “Well, if that’s how you feel, you can let Luke take you home. It’s not a big deal.”
He coos at your fake anger and begins pulling you closer by your legs, making you fight back laughs as he tries his hardest to get a hold of you. He wrestles you into his lap and pulls you into a tight hug.
“Awwww, don’t be like that,” he laughs softly. “If you want me to be your special prize for winning the festival, I’ll stay. My dad won’t care, I’ll just text him that I’m staying over. As long as it's cool with Luke.” Both of you slowly turn to look up at Luke.
You unleash your most dangerous weapon. Puppy dog eyes. Luke sighs heavily, bowing his head to avoid your sparkling eyes.
“Really?” he asks, sounding exhausted by the whole situation. You and Mirio only squeeze each other tighter and whine out a squeaky chorus of pleases as you continue to look up at Luke, emphasizing how much you both want this.
“I’m only agreeing because today was a big day for both of you,” he says sternly. “But don’t think this is becoming an everyday thing, alright? And Mirio, you're calling your dad, not texting. Got it?”
You squeal triumphantly, and Mirio laughs, pulling out his phone.
“Yes, sir!”
As he slips off the couch and into the foyer to make the call, you sit up on the couch, grinning up at a defeated-looking Luke. Mirio steps back into the living room after a few miutes giving you and Luke the ok that he could stay. You cheer again, and Luke pats his hand against the couch twice as he turns.
“Alright…Well, it’s still almost midnight, but I know it's a Saturday. So I’m not saying you have to go to bed, but I do think you should start getting ready for bed, ok?” You and Mirio both nod along in agreement as you rise from the couch. “Since Mirio doesn’t have anything here, I'll grab a couple of things for him, so you—” Luke says, pointing at you, “Go get ready for bed, and take him with you. I’ll bring all his stuff to your room once I’ve got it all together.”
Luke leaves to grab all of Mirio’s spend-the-night essentials, as you happily lead Mirio upstairs. You push your bedroom door open and begin giving Mirio a quick tour, as he’d never really been in your room other than for a quick peek.
He gets comfortable on your bed as you excus your self to your on-suite bathroom to get showered and change into your pajamas.
Luke comes in to drop off Mirios make shift ‘temporary guest kit,’ including a towel, washcloth, deodorant, toothbrush, a plain t-shirt, and a pair of sweats, while you're busy in the bathroom. You take your time in the shower, washing away all the sweat and stress of the day. By the time you open the bathroom door to release all the steam from your shower, skin warm and soft, bonnet tied neatly over your hair, and pajamas slipped on, you feel like yourself again.
Mirio slides off your bed and leans against the bathroom doorframe, watching you open your medicine cabinet and line up bottles and jars along your sink as you prepare to do your nighttime skincare routine.
“Still so high maintenance,” he teases. “Even when you’re not living in the lap of luxury. I guess some things never change, huh?”
You scoff. “I am not high maintenance. Everyone should have a good nighttime skincare routine.”
He shrugs. “Maybe I’m just too lazy for that. Or too broke. I'm sure all of these products are well over 15,000 yen.”
You laugh. “Once you get out of the shower, we can do your skincare, too. Then you’ll see it’s not all that fancy.”
He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You’re going to slather me in mystery goo, aren’t you?”
“No, just trust me!”
He watches skeptically as you wash your face and apply sweet, floral, and fruity-smelling product after product to your face. As ridiculous as the whole thing seemed to him, he couldn’t lie and say it didn't seem like it worked. You had gorgeous skin, and he knew how much of a stickler you could be when it came to your appearance. You knew all the things that made you look good, and knew to avoid all the things that made you look bad. Whether it was what colors washed you out or made your eyes pop, or what clothing silhouettes looked best on your figure and body type. Even now, the way even your pajamas looked carefully picked out, even though they were just a cut up yale crew neck and a pair of navy blue cotton sleep shorts. He always liked how much pride and time you put into how you looked.
You examine your glowy face in the mirror before stepping back from the sink and telling him you’d let him get showered and changed. Mirio sarcastically thanks you, teasing that he was beginning to think he wouldn't be able to shower until the morning with how long your ‘routine’ was taking. You check your hip against his as you slip past him out of the bathroom, telling him to hush up. Minutes later, the door opens, and there your friend stands smiling in his makeshift pj’s, hair damp and wild, steam trailing behind him.
“Like your shower?” you ask, mirroring his smile.
“Mhm!” he says, lifting one side of the towel draped over his shoulders up to his still damp hair and roughly towel drying his hair.
“Good. Now sit,” you command, pointing to the bed, heading past him back into the bathroom to gather all your products. He happily obeys, perched on the edge of your bed while you kneel in front of him and begin your demonstration. You explain every step in intense detail. Mirio doesn’t care about the science. He cares about your hands. The way your fingers glide over his cheeks. The gentle pressure along his jaw. The focus in your voice as you lecture him about layering.
The whole time, his iconic smile never leaves his face.
When you’re done, you gather everything up and head back into the bathroom. He follows to inspect himself in the mirror. He leans close to the glass, turning his head side to side.
“I look… glowy,” he admits. “Kind of greasy. But glowy.”
You grin up at him. “Still think it’s just high maintenance nonsense?”
He pokes your cheek. “Of course I do, but I gotta admit I look pretty good.”
You swat his hand away and shoo him out, as he laughs all the way back to your bed, snatching one of your pillows from your bedspread and tossing it onto the floor.
“Hey!” you scold, “Just because you're a guest doesn’t mean you can just start throwing my stuff around!” You pick the pillow up from the floor and place it back on the bed.
“I wasn’t ‘throwing your stuff around’, I was gonna use that pillow,” He explains, picking it up again.
“For what? Pushups or something? Don't tell me you're one of those people who work out before bed?” He laughs hard at that and throws the pillow back down on the floor mid-laugh.
“No, I’m not,” he assures.
“Then what do you want the pillow on the floor for?” You ask, still perplexed.
“To sleep on, (Y/N)! Now, do you have a throw blanket for me?” he asks.
You blink up at him, brows still knit together. “Why do you wanna sleep on the floor?”
“I just assumed I’d sleep on the floor,” he says in an obvious tone.
You burst out laughing. “Why?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Because it’s the respectful thing to do. Plus I like sleeping shirtless, so…ya’know…I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable and stuff.”
That only makes you laugh harder.
“Mirio. We cuddle all the time. We’ve literally fallen asleep like that. Plus, I’ve literally seen you nude like a dozen times?”
“Yeah, but I make sure you don’t see any of the bad stuff!” he shyly defends. “And sharing a bed is different.”
You tilt your head, sitting down on the bed as you look up at him. “I asked you to stay so we could spend more time together. If you’re on the floor, that like…defeats the whole purpose.”
He raises a brow and steps closer, sure to keep his voice relaxed. “So you only feel close to me when we’re…physically close?”
You answer honestly. “I mean…Yeah, when it comes to stuff like this. Don’t you?”
He shakes his head lightly. “I know what you mean, but… I just wanted to be… gentlemanly.”
You smile softly. “You’ve known me long enough that you don’t have to do the ‘gentlemanly thing’ with me. I trust you.”
He bends down, picking the pillow up from the floor, and places it back on the bed next to you, and rests his hands gently on your knees.
“Because I know you so well and so long,” he says quietly, “is exactly why I have to.”
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your face in his neck.
“Can you just sleep in the bed?” you mumble. “You can take your shirt off, and take all the covers, and do whatever else. I don’t care. I just want you next to me. It’s not the same if you're on the floor…”
He sighs, shoulders slumping a bit as he can physically feel his resolve wavering. “(Y/N)—” He says your name like he’s preparing to argue again.
“—Please, Miri….” You whisper softly in return. His breathing stops for a second.
He exhales loudly in defeat, running his hands down his face slowly. “Get under the covers.”
You scramble under the blankets with a grin.
“I am sleeping in the bed,” he clarifies as he walks back toward your door and reaches for the light switch. “Only because you won the festival and I refuse to ruin this day for you.”
You fire off rapid, breathless ‘yes’s and ‘thank-yous’. He flips the light off and walks back to the bed, picking up his floor pillow from its spot on the bed and whacking you with it. You squeal and snatch your pillow from under your head, hitting him back immediately. He laughs, finally settling beside you, then opens his arms and gestures his hands toward himself in silent invitation. You hum in satisfaction as you scoot in close. Your head finds his chest. You shift until you’re comfortable. Then you peek up at him.
“You said you like sleeping shirtless.”
He peeks down at you and whistles low. “If you’re going to try and sweet-talk me out of my clothes, maybe I should’ve taken the floor.”
You smack his arm and try to keep in your laughter. He laughs as he rolls onto his other side and sits up, pulling his shirt off quickly and tossing it aside before sliding back down and pulling you back into his arms again.
“Better?” he teases.
You press your cheek to his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat.
“Yup.”
He chuckles softly. “You’re a little freak.”
“I can’t help it,” you mumble. “I just like you too much.”
He kisses the top of your head. “I like you too.”
You tilt your chin up, knowing Mirio well enough and for long enough to know that a kiss on the nose was next. And like usual, he kisses your nose.
“Goodnight.” He whispers. You whisper it back, awaiting your last kiss. One on the lips. If Mirio had kissed your head, then your nose, the last kiss was always going to be on the lips. Always. And as usual, he presses a soft kiss to your lips. And, of course, you return it.
The kiss is short and sweet, the perfect ‘goodnight kiss’. You open your eyes and look into his eyes with a small smile on your face. Pale moonlight illuminates your room just enough to make out the details of his face.
Then, after a second, you see him lean back in. You assume he must want another kiss. Which also wasn’t all too unusual for him. You lean in too, meeting him halfway, and press your lips to his again. Only this kiss is slower. And deeper.
You hum into the kiss, and your hand rises to his shoulder without thinking. Mirio takes this as a good sign and slowly moves his hand from your side, up to your face. A large palm cups your jaw gently, thumb brushing your cheek. It wasn’t planned. He hadn’t meant to. He really did just mean to kiss you goodnight, like he usually did when you both parted ways at night. Maybe it was leftover adrenaline. Maybe it was all the pride he felt for you, seeing you do your thing out there in the Festival today and win it all. Maybe it was the way you’d virtually begged him to stay close to you.
He doesn’t know. He wished he did. But he doesn’t.
He just knows he wants to kiss you.
You move your hand from his shoulder to his chest, turning your head slightly, and breaking away from the kiss. But this doesn't deter Mirio, instead he begins pressing soft kisses along your cheek and jaw instead, making you giggle.
“Mirio,” you laugh, catching your breath, your head feeling dizzy. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles against your skin. “Why?”
“I dunno’ you just…you don’t usually kiss like that.”
He pulls back immediately, eyes a bit wide as he looks down at you. His nervous eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort or worse… disgust.
He stammers through a mix of what you could only guess is an apology, mixed with an explanation.
“Did you not like it?” he asks, already sitting up. “Did I make you uncomfortable? I did, didn't I? Damn it—” He sits up completely, cutting himself off before you have a chance to answer, and swings his legs out of the bed,
“—I’ll just sleep on the floor.”
You grab his arm before he can get any other part of his body out of the bed. “No. No. That’s not what I meant, Miri!” You whisper-yell, trying to tug him back under the covers.
He covers his face with a hand. “We don't usually kiss like that, we’ve never kissed like that. I don’t know what that was or why I thought to…Ughhh I don’t know?! Maybe it was the day. Or us…spending all this time together, since we really haven't been able to between school and training, and the festival. Or the way you said you needed me close to really feel close to me, and…Oh my God…”
His voice trails off as he throws his head back in disbelief and embarrassment.
“It just felt good, kissing you always feels so…natural,” he admits quietly, cringing at his own admission, sounding a lot like the creeps he swore he was protecting you from on your Instagram. “I didn’t want it to end. I don't know why! I just… lost it for a second…But I should’ve said something first. I’m sorry.”
You slide closer, keeping hold of his arm.
“Miri, you don’t have to apologize. I wasn’t uncomfortable, I promise! I liked it! I just wanted to know if something happened. Like if something made you want to…do…all that…all of a sudden…But if it was just the heat of the moment that makes sense too, I get it.”
He frowns slightly and lets out a deep, frustrated groan. “Don't say it like that…It wasn’t a heat-of-the-moment. That makes it sound so… sleazy.”
You laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, as you rest your head against his. “Trust me, you are the least sleazy person I know.”
He turns his head to look at you carefully and scoffs. “Not after that…”
“Yes, after that,” you snort out, and press a soft kiss to the side of his head. “Miri, I love you,” you say simply. “But I know that you're a pretty… touchy-feely person, and so am I! You know that, so if that means that sometimes kisses might get longer or feel more… intense, trust that I’m not complaining, I’m not going to be mad about you showing me love.”
“You're just trying to make me feel better…” he pouts, making you rest your chin on his shoulder and giggle at his childishness.
“I promise I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. I mean it. I love you.”
He exhales slowly. “I love you too, but I won’t kiss you like that again. I promise. And I should probably sleep on the floor as punishment…”
You groan, not wanting to hear any more of his ‘gentlemanly’ decrees. “Mirio—.”
“I’m serious… I feel…Bad…I shouldn’t have gotten carried away with you like that.”
“Mirio,” you repeat, your voice much firmer than before.
But he ignores it. So you say his name again. And Again. Nothing.
You sigh an over-exaggerated sigh, and lean forward, bracing both your hands on his shoulders as you press a soft, long kiss to his cheek and say his name one last time, just as firm as the last. This time, he finally turns his head to meekly look at you. You pat his shoulder with your hand as you slide off the bed and stand between his legs, tilting his chin up gently before pressing a soft kiss to his lips just as long as the one you had just pressed to his cheek to get his attention.
Mirio shuts his eyes and kisses you back, restraining himself and not putting much force behind the kiss. You pull away first.
“I liked it,” you tell him, still holding his face to force him to look up at you. “You have nothing to apologize for or feel guilty about. You didn't make me feel uncomfortable, I promise. It felt natural. That’s how I want it to feel when I’m with you.”
He brings his hands up to gently hold you at your sides. “(Y/N)...” he repeats quietly, regret and a little embarrassment still evident in his voice.
You bring your hands up and back, moving them from his chin up to his head and pushing his mushed shaggy hair out of the way so you can kiss him on his forehead. Then his nose. Then his lips. Again.
He watches you with tired, lidded eyes as his own mouth twitches a bit in anticipation, knowing what was coming next.
“Can you kiss me like that again?” you ask quietly, knowing the only way to get him out of this mood and salvage your sleepover would be getting over this tiff.
Mirio hesitates, and you can practically feel the slew of excuses he’s about to say to you before he can even say them.
“Please, Mirio?” you whisper. He gives in to you instantly.
His lips meet yours, and he gently pulls you to sit on his thigh, arms wrapping lazily around you, but keeping you incredibly close. Your hand rests against his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek just like he did to you. He sighs into the kiss, which makes you giggle against his mouth. A smile creeps across his mouth the second your sweet giggles reach his ears, breaking the kiss to pepper exaggerated, obnoxiously loud smooches across your face and neck until you’re both laughing.
You lean back against him.
“Now was that so bad?”
He presses his forehead to yours. “No… it wasn’t. I just panicked a little, I’m sorry. I’d never forgive myself if I messed up our friendship over something…so stupid. I love you too much to do something like that.”
You kiss him again. “I love you too, so don't worry. No amount of affection is going to change how I feel about you, and I don’t see anything wrong with going with the flow sometimes, right?”
He swings your legs over his as he thoughtfully repeats ‘Go with the flow’ aloud a few times as if he were trying his hardest to remember such a simple idea. He hugs you close in his lap for a minute before insisting that you both really should get to bed, as it was getting pretty late.
You both slip back under the covers just as you had before, you snuggled in close to his chest with his arms draped loosely around you. You give him another kiss on the lips before whispering goodnight and snuggling back into his chest and letting his soothing heartbeat lull you to sleep.
Although it did sound just slightly faster than before.
You wake up warm. Warmer than usual. Much warmer than usual. Your back is pressed flush to Mirio’s chest, one of his arms heavy and secure around your waist, while the other is tucked beneath your head like a makeshift pillow. His breathing is slow and even behind you, soft snores brushing against the back of your neck. You blink the last of your sleep away and tilt your head slightly to glance over your shoulder.
His hair is a disaster, tousled in every direction, flattened on one side, and sticking up wildly on the other. His mouth hangs open just enough for a tiny snore to escape. You turn back around and quietly laugh to yourself.
He looks crazy. And adorable.
Carefully, you slip a hand beneath your pillow and fish out your phone. The screen lights up, 8:12 a.m.
Still too early to be up on a Sunday for your liking.
You scroll through notifications, tapping away missed alerts from the night before, and opening all your usual apps out of sheer muscle memory. When you open your messages, it pulls up your last conversation automatically. Your conversation with Iida. Or lack of conversation, more like. Your texts from dinner sit there. You're still on read, and still no reply.
You frown slightly. This wasn’t like him at all. Even after something as big as the Festival, he would’ve responded after a few hours. Even if it was just a polite acknowledgment, or giving a thumbs up or an exclamation mark reaction to your message.
You hover your thumb over the keyboard, debating whether to double-text. When a large hand suddenly wraps around yours, gripping your phone slightly and locking it for you. And just as suddenly as it had appeared, the hand is flipping your phone face down against the mattress. A groggy voice mutters against the back of your shoulder.
“No screen weekend… nd’no more Instagram…”
You burst out laughing quietly and turn to face the owner of said hand. His eyes are barely open, lids heavy, a faint scowl on his face.
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t on Instagram,” you whisper. “Did my phone brightness wake you up?”
He shakes his head slowly, too sleepy to elaborate. You giggle again. Without warning, he shifts and pulls you firmly back against him, arm sliding around your shoulders this time, chin resting on top of your bonnet. You hum contentedly at the new position.
“Luke’s probably gonna start making breakfast soon,” you murmur. “I don’t know if I can fall back asleep.”
Mirio makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a whine and buries his face deeper into your bonnet, inhaling the scent of all your fancy hair products through the soft satin.
“Does that mean you don’t wanna stay in bed and cuddle?” he mumbles into your bonnet.
Then giggle again, blown away at how cutesy your big, strong hero in training was first thing in the morning.
“I’ll stay,” you promise, draping an arm over his side and nosing at his bare chest, smiling wider, releasing that he smelled like your fancy body wash. “But only for as long as my bladder lets me.”
He snorts quietly at that and squeezes you once more.
“Just go now,” he mutters, voice deep and gravelly with sleep as he rolls aside, releasing you from his human cage as he stretches and rubs at his eyes.
You grin. “Ohhh, I see,” you joke, “No distractions during morning cuddles, huh?”
He stretches his arms overhead with a sleepy groan and sits up on his elbows, jerking his head toward the bathroom. “Nope. So hurry up.”
“Alright, alright,” you snort as you slide out of bed and head toward the bathroom.
As soon as the door shuts behind you, Mirio drops back onto your mattress and stares up at your ceiling. Despite his still sleepy body, his brain, unfortunately, is wide awake.
What the hell happened last night? Why did he kiss you like that? And why did he panic after?
He’s never been awkward with you. Ever. Not in all the years you’ve known each other. He’s kissed you a hundred times before, your cheeks, forehead, lips, hell, even your neck from time to time…
But that?
That was different. It felt different. And all that stuff he’d said to you about why he did it. It was all true, but…that was just it. How long had it been true for? How could kissing you like that feel so wrong, and so right at the same time? You were his best friend. His oldest friend. He’d been kissing you since you were little kids, but last night? That was a completely different monster.
The only problem was…he felt like the monster.
The sound of your toilet flushing and faucet running pulls him out of his head before any more self-critical thoughts can fill his head. The bathroom door swings open, and you stand in the doorway with your toothbrush in your mouth.
Mirio smiles as he sits up and makes his way over to you, pulling the elastic on your bonnet to make it slap against your head. You let out a muffled, indignant yell through toothpaste foam and swat at him as he brushes past you. You both stand at the sink, shoulder to shoulder, brushing your teeth in comfortable silence. Like nothing weird had happened at all last night. Mirio nudges his chin toward the toilet when he’s about to spit, silently telling you to move.
You roll your eyes and shuffle out so your special guest can take a piss.
The rest of your Sunday is blissfully uneventful. Luke makes breakfast. You and Mirio head into the city to build him a carefully curated skincare routine, which he pretends to be deeply invested in just to hear you ramble on some more.
You grab lunch after your shopping, and Mirio details what an afternoon interning with Sir will most likely look like for you. The whole day was perfect, and just what the two of you needed after that messy end to your night before. By the time you make it back home, the sky is streaked with orange and pink. Mirio heads upstairs to change back into yesterday’s clothes while you wait downstairs on the couch, with all of his freshly purchased skincare goodies. When he returns, you stand and walk him to the door.
“That was fun,” you tell him. “Our first sleepover.”
His smile widens at the word first. He takes the little bag of skincare products from your hands.
“Too bad we can’t do this every weekend.”
You sigh dramatically. “Tragic, really.”
“But,” you add, “starting Friday, we’ll see each other all day, every day for a whole week. That might be better than a sleepover.”
His face lights up instantly.
“And if I can sweet-talk Sir into agreeing to it like I was able to sweet-talk Luke into agreeing to a sleepover,” you continue, “maybe we’ll get to patrol together.”
Mirio steps closer, grin bright and boyish.
“Let’s hope,” he says softly, “But i’m sure you can do it, you can be pretty convincing.” You wrap your arms around him, and he sighs, wrapping his arms around you, too. “I’m just…really looking forward to all the time we’re going to be spending together now. I’ll finally fit into that crazy schedule of yours.”
You giggle as you look up at him, resting your chin in his chest, “ya’know we used to spend all summer together anyway,” you tease. “Why would now be any different?”
He laughs and squeezes you a bit. “That’s true. Why didn’t I think of that?”
You smile a bright, knowing smile as he kisses your forehead. Then your nose. Your smile falters for a second as he pauses for just a second at your nose. You watch him carefully, wondering if he’s overthinking again.
Instead, he dips down and gently rubs his nose against yours, making your toothy smile return as you giggle.
“Sorry,” he murmurs quietly. “Just… trying to go with the flow.”
And then he kisses you, deep and slow. Not unlike how he had kissed you last night.
Your hands slide up his back, fingers curling at the nape of his neck. His arms wrap around you firmly, pulling you flush against him. He breaks the kiss only to press three softer, quicker pecks to your lips.
“I love you,” he says between each of them. You’re smiling so hard it almost hurts.
“I love you too.”
He lets you go reluctantly and smiles widely as he pulls the door open.
“See you Friday!” he calls cheerfully as he steps outside and shuts the door behind him.
And just like that, he’s gone. You stand in the foyer for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the closed door. The last twenty-four hours have been wild. From winning the Festival. To officially meeting all of the Big 3. To…that.
You exhale slowly. Yeah. Wild.
To you theres no better kind of Monday morning than a Monday morning after a fun and restful weekend. You’re just stepping onto campus, bookbag on your shoulder, hair behaving despite wind and weather, mind still half back on your bed at Luke’s and Mirio… when you spot Mina and Kirishima walking into the building ahead of you.
“Hey!” you call to them, jogging to catch up.
Mina spins first, easily recognizing your voice, face bright as ever. Kirishima follows, grinning and replying to you. “Yo!”
You nestle in beside them, linking an arm around Mina’s as you all approach the building. “How was your weekend?”
Kirishima rolls his shoulders like he’s shaking off the entire Festival. “Honestly? I slept. Ate. Slept again. It was… so nice. Relaxing for sure.”
Mina’s eyes go wide as you and Kirishima both await her reply. “I was losing my mind all weekend! I’ve been WAITING to get back.”
You squint at her as the three of you cross the threshold. “You? Excited for school? Mina… be serious.”
She waves you off with a dramatic flick of her wrist. “Not for classes, crazy. For that.”
“What’ tha—”
She points, proud and smug, toward your locker, stopping the words just as they begin to leave your mouth.
Your locker.
Is… overflowing.
Truly, visibly overflowing. Notes stuffed in the seams. Little bundles wedged in the vents. A corner of a ribbon is peeking out of one of the sides. You and Kirishima gasp at the same time.
“No way,” you breathe, already hurrying over to the poor overstuffed thing. You yank your locker open, and it’s an avalanche of paper and tiny wrapped gifts, congratulations cards, little wrapped candies, and sticky notes slapped everywhere like someone tried to wallpaper the inside.
You grab the first note you see and tear it open.
It’s a sweet little message, neatly written. From an unnamed second-year general studies student. telling you how they loved watching you at the Festival. There’s even a candy taped inside.
And their phone number was scribbled on the back. You press your lips together and sigh.
Mina appears behind you like a menace in pink, grin absolutely feral. “OH MY GOD—GIVE ME—”
She starts pulling notes out and reading them aloud like it’s story time at the local library. Kirishima stands on her other side, making increasingly horrified faces as Mina happily reads out the more desperate-sounding ones. “Oh, jeez dude… this is… wow.”
Mina is in heaven. “I told you! I TOLD you this was gonna happen!” She flips through another letter and squeals. “This one’s definitely from a third-year—look at the handwriting—ugh, mature guys are so sexy! How many of these do you think are from upperclassmen?”
“OK!” you shout, mortified, and in no mood to think about third-years while your locker is swimming in wannabe love letters. You shove a handful of letters back into the locker and force it shut.
Mina pouts. “What? I was just starting to get to the good ones!”
“As nice as this is,” you hiss, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder as you all shuffle into your school shoes and head up to the room, “I wanted to win the Festival to show off my strength and hero skills. Not to collect attention from ‘sexy mature guys.’”
Mina shrugs like she’s offering business advice. “All publicity is good publicity. Especially when hot older guys are involved.”
“No,” you argue immediately. “Not all publicity is good publicity!”
“Yes, it is,” she says, walking faster, like she can outrun your morals.
The classroom feels just as lively as the rest of the school does this first Monday post-Festival. Inside, your classmates are bubbling with weekend stories like the Festival still hadn’t ended, just spilled into the real world outside of the school gates.
Uraraka and Tsu chatter about seeing themselves on the news that night. Ojiro, Shoji, and Tokoyami talk about random people recognizing them on the street this morning. But the moment you, Kirishima, and Mina step in, you can feel how most of the questions are now orbiting around you.
Your classmates wanted to know about you and how winning the whole thing had affected you. In all honesty… You didn't feel any different. Your life didn't feel any different. And your goals hadn't changed. But one thing definitely did.
Your digital presence.
While you and Mirio were hanging out Saturday night, your Instagram following practically quadrupled, and you hadn't checked it since, trying to see his ‘screen-free weekend’ out.
As you place your stuff down at your desk, you look to the opposite side of the room and see that Iida isn't here yet. And not ‘he’s in the bathroom’ empty. His things aren’t there. Your stomach dips. You pull out your phone, thumb hovering over the messages app icon, mind flicking through possibilities. Maybe he overslept, maybe he’s with Aizawa, maybe…
Hagakure slides up and rests her elbows on your desk as she asks, “Whatcha doing?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly, already tucking the phone away.
“No, she’s probably watching edits of herself,” Kaminari cuts in, loud and smug.
Your head snaps up. “What? No—why would I?— Where would I even find edits of myself?” you ask, sounding baffled.
He laughs and pulls out his phone, “Where wouldn't you find them?”
He unlocks his phone and taps away before turning the phone around to show you and Hagakure with a proud, ‘see!’
It was a TikTok edit of you in the arena. Chalked full of all the best edit chops. Slow -mo, dramatic music, and shaky transitions. He scrolls. There are more. A lot more.
He even shows that he can type your name into the search bar, and more results fill the screen instantly. You stare, genuinely stunned.
“It hasn’t even been two days,” you whisper.
Mina appears at your shoulder like a heat-seeking missile. “OH MY GOD—MOVE—” She snatches Kaminari’s phone and scrolls like she’s clocked in. “This one’s cute—WAIT this one’s CRAZY—oh my god the comments—”
She clicks one, and all three of them watch it multiple times while you slowly melt into your chair as Mina taps into the comments and starts reading the top ones out loud.
Your face gets hotter and hotter until you flop forward, hiding your face in your hands with an anxious groan.
“This is so WEIRD,” you mumble into your palms.
Kaminari pipes up dreamily. “But it’s a good weird! I would kill for people to make cool edits of me.”
You drag your hands down your face. “The edits are… kinda cool. But my Instagram is a completely different story; now I'm too scared to ever open that app again…”
Mina’s head whips toward you like a predator. “Your Insta?”
She tosses Kaminari’s phone back and holds her hand out. “Show me.”
You chuckle weakly at how serious she’s being, then pull your phone out, open the app, click your account, and hand it over. She thoughtfully scrolls for a few seconds as Kaminari moves in beside her to see the damage for himself, too. She opens your profile tab…
And her jaw drops.
“YOU HAVE OVER A HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN THOUSAND FOLLOWERS?!”
Your head snaps up so fast your neck nearly pops. “WHAT!?" you screech. "It was like four thousand when I last checked!?”
“When did you last check?” Hagakure asks, leaning closer to Mina.
“Like… late Saturday night,” you answer, voice tight.
Mina scrolls like she’s doing taxes. “That’s… you’d have to be averaging like… almost…three thousand new followers an hour, at least.”
You put your hands on your face again, but can’t deny how proud you are that Mina actually got that math right. “Should I just make all the madness stop and go private?”
All three of them shout, “NO!”
Hagakure points like she’s presenting a business pitch. “You could have heroes or brands reaching out to you with this many followers! If you go private now, you’re totally killing your momentum!”
You blink at them. When did your least competent friends become… terrifyingly competent? Mina keeps digging through your account like she’s digging for buried treasure, moving from your DM’s, to your profile, to your tagged posts and back to your notifications tab.
Then the classroom door slides open.
And Iida walks in.
You look up instantly, watching intently as he moves straight to his desk, shoulders tight, face set. Not tired. Not sad. But almost?
Angry?
You’re out of your chair before you even think about it, hurrying over to your partner. “Iida—hey! How…are you?”
You hover beside his desk, trying not to get in his way as he unpacks for class. His movements are precise, but clipped. As if he’s trying to make up for all the class prep time he missed due to his tardiness.
“Iida,” you say softly.
He glances at you, dry, and huffs. “Apologies for my tardiness.”
You wave it off quickly. “Oh, I don’t care about that. I was just…kinda worried. Cause, ya’know, you didn’t text me back on Saturday.”
There’s a pause that feels… odd. Unlike him. Unlike the both of you. You rush your words, trying your hardest to sound gentler. “Not that it was super important or anything, I just— you’re usually fast to text back, and I noticed you left me on read so I—”
His eyes cut to you. His voice stays low, but it lands with a sharp edge.
“I don’t always have time to reply to every message.”
Your brows twitch together. He keeps going, now seeming more agitated than before. “I was preoccupied with other things this weekend. I’m sorry if I didn’t get back to you promptly enough for your liking.”
You stare at him for a beat, thrown completely off-balance by his tone.
“Iida…” you try.
He sits, adjusting his glasses like that will hold him together. “I’m fine. But I certainly don’t have time to answer all your questions right now.”
Your hand lands on his shoulder before you can stop yourself, gripping him firmly, as if you weren't fully convinced this was your Iida. “Did something happen?”
He huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “No.”
But he doesn’t look at you when he says it. You swallow, heart sinking a bit. You’ve never seen him like this. You don’t even know what version of yourself is supposed to handle an Iida who won’t let you in, like this. What made your relationship work so well was usually your communication. So this just felt… unnatural.
So you back away. You return to your seat. Your phone sits face down on your desk as your classmates have apparently retreated back to their respective seats.
You notice your row neighbor has arrived. Bakugo.
You cut your eyes at him in anticipation, but he doesn’t look back. No snide comment. No threat. No irritation. Just silence. Which is almost as unsettling as Iida’s behavior this morning. You rest your chin in your hand and stare out the window, trying to pretend your chest doesn’t feel weirdly tight, and that your eyes don't have that familiar teary stink in them.
Aizawa’s voice pulls the room back into order as he slides the room door open and addresses the class. He looks fully recovered now, no bandages, no sluggishness, just that same dead-eyed calm like nothing in the world could surprise him.
“The Sports Festival is over,” he says, “so we’re moving on.”
The class slips into an attentive focus as he continues, “Next week is your first year work study internships.”
A ripple goes through the room instantly. He explains what you’ll all need: hero names, suit upgrades, agency choices. Then he starts handing out manila folders and a paper with three rectangular boxes on the front, your top three internship picks.
When he sets your folder on your desk, you feel the weight.
It’s thick.
You open it and slide the contents out. Offer letters spill across your desk. One. Two. Five. Ten. You count roughly and stop. Over thirty. Your mouth parts a little.
It feels… insane. Flattering, of course, but crazy. Just like the rest of your morning had been so far. But this almost felt disrespectful, to the heroes and their agencies, of course. Because you already knew where you’d be interning. And you were positive nothing could change your mind. But you thumb through them anyway, because…you can’t not.
Ryukyu. Mirko. Edgeshot. Even FatGum, which makes you smile. Then your fingers hit the last letter. Bold header.
THE ENDEAVOR AGENCY.
Your lips part in surprise as you pull out the offer letter and read the full thing.
Twice.
Endeavor was inviting you to intern at his agency? Why? Had he truly been that impressed with your performance in the festival? Did he have to reach some sort of student offer quota, so he just decided to throw your name in? You analyze the paper and notice his signature at the bottom. You flip it over and see the imprint, the debossing in the paper from the pressure of the pen. He signed this himself. You glance at the other letters again. Printed signatures, all of them, even Fat’s.
But this one? This one was unmistakably real.
Your mind flashes to the hallway and your brief conversation. Your lips twitch, unsettled.
You slide the offers back into the folder, leaving only one letter out, the one your mind decided on months ago. Years ago, more like.
Sir’s agency.
You pick up your form and write it into your first choice box without hesitation. Second choice, you write FatGum. Then you pause over the third box. The tip of your pencil hovers over the paper. But you ultimately decide you don’t need a third.
You’re going to Sir’s. You know that. You’ve known that.
But Endeavor’s letter sits there, weighing down your folder like a brick. You stare at the blank third box a moment longer than you mean to. But you still don’t write anything.
The rest of the morning before lunch turns into a hero-name workshop with Midnight, which sounded fun in theory, but in practice, your class realized it was a little trickier than first anticipated. Each of you gets handed a small whiteboard and a dry-erase marker to write down your name ideas.
Midnight claps her hands once, bright and energized at the front of the room. “Alright, babies! Write down your potential hero name, a slogan or tagline, and the reason behind it. This may be your hero name for your whole hero career, so make it personal! Don’t be afraid to dig deep!”
She sets a five-minute timer, and the room immediately breaks into controlled chaos. The sounds of markers uncapping and side conversations blooming fill the air.
You stare at your blank board, marker hovering, mind drifting through what you want people to feel when they think of you. You think back to your last lunch with All Migh,t and your hand begins moving unprompted.
Suddenly, Midnight’s timer beeps.
“Pens down!” she sings. “Let’s hear these names!”
Momo goes first, poised and graceful at the front. She flips her board around.
Creati.
Midnight beams. “Love that. Clean, memorable, and it ties directly to your Quirk. Great start, Yaoyorozu! Who’s next?!”
Ojiro goes up next with a straight face and zero shame.
Tailman.
A couple of people snort. Ojiro shrugs like, ‘what? it’s accurate’.
Midnight nods, amused. “Simple! Descriptive! Maybe not the most… poetic… but you know what, it works for you and that's all that matters! Next!”
The class falls into a rhythm after that, one after another, everyone holding up boards, explaining taglines, tossing out meanings. Some names get praise. Some get laughter. Some get the gentle, unconfident look from Midnight that means try again.
Mina’s first attempt, Alien Queen, gets instantly shot down.
Midnight taps her chin. “Cute, but… You can do better than that, honey. Something more original. Something that feels like it belongs to you.”
Then Bakugo stomps up and flips his board around, and the room goes silent for half a second before erupting into howls of laughter.
Lord Explosion Murder.
Midnight pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s fighting for her life. “Absolutely not.”
A few presentations later, there’s a short lull. Which feels like just the right time for you to go up and present. You stand and walk up to the front, taking your place behind Aizawa’s podium. You turn your whiteboard around.
Oasis.
The room quiets as you give your brief explanation.
You keep your voice steady. “I want people to think of me as… relief. A refreshing face in the hero world. Calm, confident, dependable. Someone who shows up when you need her, like an oasis in the desert… So, I’ll be Oasis, the refreshing hero.”
Midnight’s face softens immediately. She gives you a delighted little clap and a thumbs up. “That’s gorgeous. Strong concept, strong identity. I love it!” You slip back into your seat with a content smile on your face.
Then Midnight starts calling on students who haven’t gone yet.
“Todoroki! You're up!”
He walks up, board already turned away from everyone, like he doesn’t want to spoil the surprise of his hero name. He flips it around.
Shoto.
Midnight smiles, but it’s the polite kind. “Points for originality.” Then she tilts her head. “But dig deeper, okay? A hero's name should say something.”
Todoroki nods once, expression unreadable, and goes back to his seat.
Midnight looks around again.
“Iida! You’re next!”
Your stomach tightens at the sound of his name. Iida stands, and when he walks to the front, you watch him come to the front of the room, watching him just as intently as you had when you spoke this morning. His expression still hasn't changed, looking just as spent as he had earlier. Making you worry more.
He flips his board around.
Tenya.
No explanation. No tagline. He doesn’t even speak. Midnight blinks, thrown for the first time in the period. Then she recovers, gentle but firm. “Same advice as Todoroki, sweetheart. Dig deeper. Give it meaning.”
Iida nods once and walks back to his seat without a word.
When the lunch bell rings, everyone files up to pass their internship sheets forward, now with hero names written at the top. You do the same, Oasis, neat and centered on your paper.
As you, Mina, Uraraka, and Jirou walk down to the cafe, all the other girls are happily chatting about their new hero aliases and how much fun working under real heroes is going to be. The halls are filled with other students of varying years heading down to lunch. Many of them are whispering or chatting as the four of you pass. Whispering, glances, phones half-lifted like people are debating whether to ask for a photo.
Mina and Jirou exchange a look and try to fight the smiles growing on their faces.
You stay quiet, mind still stuck on Iida. Snapping at you was one thing. Being moody was another. But not speaking during an in-class assignment? Not even trying? That wasn’t Iida. Not even a little.
Jirou nudges you. “So… how’re you liking your new celebrity status?”
“Hmm?” you mumble, barely present.
She jerks her chin. “Look around.” So you do. People are watching. Whispering. Tracking you as you pass. You stiffen.
“They’re probably looking at all of us,” you lie, growing more and more tired of this Princess Diaries-esque storyline.
Uraraka scoffs. “Oh, stop it! When are you gonna admit the Festival worked in your favor? You’re about to be one of the most popular girls in the whole school.”
You groan. “You make it sound like teen drama.”
Jirou deadpans, “We are literally teenagers in high school. Our lives are what they base teen dramas on, (Y/N)...”
You roll your eyes, but your mouth twitches. “So what do you want me to do? Wave like I’m in a parade? Smile while people stare at me like I’m a zoo animal?”
Mina laughs. “They’re not treating you like an animal. They’re treating you like someone they admire. Someone they wish they could know. Kinda like a new calm, confident, dependable, refreshing face that they all got introduced to in the sports Festival?” She gestures vaguely at you. “They’re dying to know more about (Y/N)(L/N). But that’s probably not gonna happen, since you can’t befriend the entire school. So…” Her eyes sparkle. “Why not show them Oasis? If they’re already fawning over you like you’re a hero, why not just…lean into it?”
You go quiet, thinking as you walk. Then you glance at her. “That’s… actually a really good point.”
Mina beams, thrilled that you were finally listening to her. “Finally! I told you, publicity, baby!”
You point at her as you all turn the corner into the cafeteria. “Not all publicity is good publicity.”
She giggles as she waves you off with an airy, ‘yeah, yeah’.
In the lunch line, your eyes focus on some familiar-shaped and sized movement near the exit. Iida. He’s leaving the cafeteria with his lunch tray, obviously headed out to eat somewhere else. You sigh quietly to yourself the moment he’s out of your sight again.
Once you’ve got your food, you wonder if you were the only person noticing his odd attitude. Other than you, you knew Iida was fairly close with a few of your other classmates. Like Momo, or Koda and Sato. He was pretty close to Uraraka and Tsu, too, but who was he closest to? You wrack your brain for a few seconds before snapping back into focus as your brain produces a name and face. Midoriya. You scan the cafe for your freckled classmate. If anyone might know what’s going on with Iida, it’s him. Not only was he Iida’s closest friend in the class, but he also seemed to notice the finer details of most things, which you could really use right now.
You spot him at a table, alone, which saddens you all over again when you remember that he usually ate lunch with Iida.
You walk over and point at the seat beside him. “Hey! Is this seat taken?”
Midoriya looks up at you, mouth full of food, with a quiet video playing on his phone on the lunch tray in front of him. Apparently not minding too much that he was eating alone. “O-Oh! (Y/N)! Hi! Uh—No!—I mean, no one’s sitting there! So you can—please—yeah!”
You sit with a smile at his vocal eloquence. “Thanks.”
He fidgets immediately once you take your seat. “Sooooo… what are you doing here?”
“Well, I wanted to eat with you! And maybe talk a little,” you say, resting an elbow on the table as you pivot to look at him.
“Oh! Well… Ok! But I just meant, ya’know—” he stammers, his face looking pinker as he avoids your eyes. “—What are you doing in the cafeteria, more like? I mean… it’s Monday! And you…You don’t usually eat lunch in here… on Mondays….”
You make a face at him as you tilt your head a little, not negatively, more out of shock than anything else, surprised that he knew that. But you couldn’t be too shocked, just like you hoped, he notices a lot. “…You noticed that?”
His face goes red instantly. “Well, yeah! I—! Not like— not in a weird way, or anything!— I’ve noticed other things too! Like, um, Tokoyami always sits in the same corner spot, and how Jirou picks at her food first before she actually eats and—”
You smile and laugh despite yourself at his nervous rambles. “I know, I know, Midoriya. It’s okay!”
He stops his rambling, relieved but still nervous.
You soften your voice. “I actually think that’s really thoughtful and sweet of you! And… since you notice so many things… I was hoping you could help me with something.”
He focuses on your words at the mention of you wanting his help, not wanting to blow a chance to help you with something. “Sure! What do you…need?”
You lean in slightly. “Have you noticed how… Iida has been acting today?”
Midoriya exhales, shoulders dropping. “Actually, yeah…I did.” He sits back, gaze drifting. “But I… can’t really blame him, all things considered.”
Your brows knit at the insinuation, wanting to know what he meant. “Why? Did something happen to him over the weekend?”
He shakes his head quickly. “Nothing happened to him directly, but… his family is going through…a lot right now….”
Your voice turns careful. “Midoriya… what do you mean?”
He hesitates for a second, not sure if it’s his place to say anything. Then remembers that you were sitting next to him, asking for his help, so he says it anyway. “His older brother…was attacked by a villain Saturday night.”
You gasp out loud, hands flying to your mouth.
Ingenium?
The kind man you met on move-in day. The one who smiled at his little brother like he had hung the stars.
“That’s—” Your breath shakes. “Oh God, that’s awful. Do they know who did it?”
Midoriya nods and unlocks his phone on his lunch tray. He taps away for a bit, then picks the phone up and turns it to face you and shows you a clip. It’s grainy CCTV footage of a sword-wielding villain attacking a hero. Despite the crappy video quality, you can clearly see his lightning-fast and overly violent movements.
He swallows. “The media thinks it’s the same guy as the one in this video. They’re calling him Stain. The hero killer.”
Your stomach twists hearing his sickening name, a hand still holding your face just below your mouth as the video replays. “Does he… have confirmed kills?” you ask, your mind flashing back to Iida’s smiley older brother.
Midoriya nods, expression tight as he opens his phone browser to double-check his facts. “Around four. And the attacks are becoming more and more frequent. He attacked someone else last night, too.”
Your hand lowers slowly, your whole body feeling tingly and numb all at once. “How bad is Iida’s brother? His condition, I mean?”
Midoriya’s voice drops. “Last I read, he was in the ICU. But… recovering.”
He hesitates. “But injuries like that… Some news outlets are saying he could be paralyzed. And if that’s the case, that would definitely mean retirement for a hero like Ingenium.”
Your throat tightens. “Oh, Iida…” you whisper, staring down at your tray like it’s suddenly unfamiliar. Your appetite disappearing so fast it’s almost dizzying.
You look up again. “Do you know where he went? I watched Iida leave the cafe a while ago, but I don’t know where to. I know he usually eats with you, so—”
Midoriya shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure. But if I had to guess… I’d check…the library, maybe? If I were going through something like that, I’d want to be alone somewhere quiet.”
You nod once, already standing. “That’s smart…Thank you.”
Midoriya’s eyes flick to your tray. “Wait—are you not going to eat?”
You force a small smile. “I… don’t think I could if I wanted right now.”
You thank him again and promise to let him know if you do find him and get the chance to talk to him. You carry your tray back to your usual table and set it down in the spot your friends saved beside Hagakure, and speak quickly, excusing yourself.
“Sorry about that, but I’ll be back in a bit.”
Mina and Momo both look up at you at once. “Where were you?” “Yeah, what’s up? Are you okay?”
You wave them off. “I’m fine. I’m just… worried about Iida.” You pause for a moment before turning to the exit, and turn to Uraraka. “—Hey, Uraraka…Do you think Iida’s been acting… off today?”
Uraraka thinks, then frowns. “Ya’know…yeah…a little, I saw that he got to class kinda late today? But, I… haven’t talked to him much today, either. Why? You think something’s wrong?”
You nod. “Yeah. I just… really want to talk to him, just to be sure.”
Mina drops her chin into her hands dramatically and deadpans in a low voice, “Even with the whole school flocking to you like birds, the only boy you’re interested in is… Iida?”
You roll your eyes. “It’s not like that, Mina. This could be serious.”
She keeps poking. “I always thought you and Iida were super close, but like… in a professional way, ya’know? Like how the president and vice president of countries seem close? But I didn’t know you cared like this.”
“Of course I care,” you snap, then soften as you take in her comments. “He didn’t answer my texts this weekend. Which is weird as is... And then today he just seems… worse? At least worse than I thought…”
The second you say “texts,” every girl at the table perks up like you just set off alarm bells.
Mina and Uraraka exchange a look, as curious grins spread across their faces.
Your eyes dart between them after no one responds to your thought. “What?”
Uraraka leans forward, trying to act as casual and carefree as possible. “You and Iida… text? Like… a lot?”
You tilt your head back, exasperated. “Oh my god,” you drone. “We’re friends!” You insist. “So yes, we text! Sometimes!”
They look like they want to keep going, but you throw your hands up. “You know what, I don’t have time for this.” You grab your bag and stand. “I wanna talk to him before lunch ends anyway, so I gotta go.”
And with that, you're out the door and headed to the library.
You hurry up the steps to the second floor, and slow as you walk by the long glass windows that fill the hallway leading to the library. You push through the heavy doors and enter the space, immediately greeted by the smell of bleached book pages and the comforting quiet of the space. You silently search the area, trying not to look too suspicious, as you really didn’t need one of the librarians to approach you, and as if you needed help finding anything.
Just as you were about to rule out finding him here, as you wander down another narrow aisle of filled bookshelves, you spot him.
All the way toward the back, at one of the study tables near the librarian's office, sitting alone with his lunch. He’s slightly slouched over his lunch as he slowly eats in silence, looking just as out of it as he had in class. His glasses catch the overhead lights when he lowers his head, but even through the thick glass, you don’t miss how heavy and sorrowful his eyes look behind the frames. And for a second, you feel like you’re trying not to cry again.
But at least Midoriya was right about checking the library.
You make a mental note to thank him later, then force yourself to carefully approach Iida. You don’t want to startle him or to make him feel cornered. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say to him, knowing what you knew now. The only thing you were sure of was the fact that you couldn’t stand seeing your friend like this.
When you get close enough, you stop just behind his shoulder.
“Hi, Iida,” you say gently.
His spine stiffens like you touched a bruise. He peers over his shoulder, face set in something sad and tired.
“Yes, what is it?” he asks, tone empty.
It isn’t rude or angry, but it still lands heavy in your chest.
You swallow any regret you may be feeling down and keep your voice soft. “Would it be ok if I sat for a minute?”
He looks away again, jaw tight. “I told you this morning, I’m not in the mood to talk.”
“I know,” you say, immediately. “I’m not expecting you to.”
You wait for his answer, but all he does is sigh through his nose, like he’s giving up on the idea of fighting you for control over something as pointless as sitting down next to him. He gestures stiffly to an empty chair next to him, and you cautiously take a seat.
Silence stretches between you, thick and awkward at first, then slowly settles into your usual quiet calm. The library hums around you. Students studying in silence, pages turning, a distant printer whirring as paper slips out of it. All while Iida stares at his food like it’s just another obstacle for him to get through to finish the day.
After a moment, he asks, low, “Is this all you came in here to do? Watch me eat in silence?”
You shake your head as you look at his eyes, heart aching as he is still looking straight ahead. Ignoring you. “No, I came to tell you that…I heard…,” You say, carefully. “About your brother, about Tensei.”
His expression doesn’t change, but the way his blinking slows at the mention of his brother's name confirms everything for you.
You continue, voice gentle but firm. “I’m…so sorry, Iida. I can’t even…imagine what you're going through right now… I have siblings. I know what it’s like to love someone so much you’d do anything, anything, to keep them safe. So I couldn’t imagine a feeling worse than… whatever you must be feeling right now… I’m so, so sorry.”
Your throat tightens as you feel your eyes growing a bit misty, but you keep going.
“I know you don’t want to talk. And trust me, I’m not asking you to.” You lean forward slightly. “I just want you to know… if you ever do… want to talk, that is. About… anything. I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need me, I don’t care. Even if it’s just sitting in silence, just like this. Even if it’s just… not being alone.”
That makes him look over at you with something in his eyes other than anger or disappointment for the first time all day.
You meet his gaze and ask quietly, “You know that, right? You know I’d be there for you. No matter what?”
His throat bobs. But he nods. small, and weak, as he quickly averts his eyes again, but it was a response nonetheless.
You exhale, soft and relieved that you were finally getting something, anything other than short-tempered replies from him. “Good.”
You stand, slow, careful not to make a scene out of it. “That’s all I wanted you to hear, so…I’ll let you have your space. I’ll see you later, ok?”
You turn to go, your hand dragging lightly against the tabletop as you step away.
“(Y/N),” he says, softly.
Your steps stop immediately as you look back at him, and your heart jumps in your chest. Iida’s eyes are glossy now, lips pulled tightly together as he fights back tears. He’s staring down into his lap like he can’t stand the idea of you seeing him like this, which only makes your heart ache all over again.
“I’m… sorry,” he says, voice strained. “For how I spoke to you. This morning… Even with… everything that had happened…I had no right to treat you like that… Please, forgive me…” His voice cracks slightly on the ‘please’, causing any resolve you had stored up for this conversation to crumble away.
You cross back to him in an instant, hands coming down square on his shoulders. “Oh, Iidaaaa, it’s ok? It’s ok! You don’t need to apologize? I’m not upset, I promise! I know how hard all of this must be for you. I promise, I’m not mad.”
He shakes his head, shame and regret pooling in his chest. “I still shouldn’t have— I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He says it again. And again. Like repeating it will make it undo itself. And the more he repeats himself, the weaker and weaker his usually strong and steady voice gets.
You bite your bottom lip as you feel it begin to quiver, and pull him into a hug, not knowing any other way to reassure him that you weren’t upset with him, and silence his apologies.
For a second, he freezes, feeling slightly undeserving of your grace after how he had treated you. But then his arms come up around your waist like he’s finally giving in. He buries his face into your stomach, and his breath turns uneven, and his shoulders begin to shake, finally allowing his tears to flow. Muffled sobs fill your ears as you stare up at the library's ceiling to fight your own tears from falling at the sounds of your suffering friend.
“Oh, Iida,” you whisper, one hand cradling the back of his neck, and lovingly stroking his soft hair. “It’s okay. I promise. Everything is gonna be ok, alright? I’m right here.”
You try your hardest to focus solely on him, allowing a few loose tears to drop and quickly swiping them away with the back of your hand as you continue to comfort your friend. The whole time your head feels completely empty, other than one recurring and poignant thought…
…Poor baby.
As Monday comes to a close, your busiest and most drama-filled day of the week closes with it. The dorm is lively again after a short weekend away, and everything starts to fall back into place. Iida is looking, and hopefully feeling, better. Classmates are giddy about their internships next week, and you're back to your most peaceful and rewarding pastime after a stressful day:
Music in your ears. Knife in your hand. And a new dinner recipe completely under your control.
You listen to the conversations floating through the common room, as more and more people talk about the hero agencies they're hoping to be at next week. You can't help but smile to yourself as your friends talk about meeting their idols, and finally getting to do the work they’ve been dreaming of doing since they were kids.
You, of course, feel the same, and then some. Coming off your sports festival win and seeing how many heroes offered you a spot at their agencies, calling all of this a dream come true would be an understatement. The comforting thought of all that brings you back to that odd conundrum you had this morning in class.
You cut your veggies with careful precision as you think back over the letter. Why were you thinking about it so much? Did a part of you want to accept the offer, or at least add it to your list of possible second choices? He was the number 2 hero in Japan after all. But he was also Todoroki’s father, with whom he had a very…complex relationship. Was he even going to be interning with his father?
You’re halfway through slicing when you glance up and catch Todoroki crossing the common room, heading to his usual spot in the dining area with a notebook in hand. You watch him for a second longer than you mean to.
Then you call, “Todoroki!”
He pauses, looks up, and, without further questioning, stands and walks over. He stops at the other side of the kitchen island. “What do you need?”
“It’s nothing serious,” you say, returning to your cutting like you’re casual about it. “I was just wondering where you were hoping to intern next week?”
He answers without hesitation. “My father’s agency.”
Your knife pauses for a fraction of a second. Todoroki continues, voice even. “After the Sports Festival, and after talking with Midoriya during our match. I realized there’s still a lot I need to learn about controlling my quirk.” He looks away briefly, like the words taste bad. “And as much as I hate to admit it, there’s no one better suited to teach me to better use my fire than the Flame Hero himself.”
You nod slowly, processing his explanation as you keep chopping.
He watches you for a moment, then asks, genuinely, “What about you? I noticed that your folder was pretty thick. I’m sure every major hero wants you as an intern after seeing you in the Festival.”
You keep your tone neutral as you answer. “I’m actually planning on interning with a smaller agency. More old-school. Less flashy, ya’know? I want a little more perspective on this whole ‘Japanese pro-hero’ world, and I don’t think I’d get that anywhere else.”
You're hoping that your answer would satisfy him without you having to say Sir’s actual name or having to dive too deep into specifics.
“Hm. That’s an interesting choice,” he says. “I trust you know what's best for yourself.”
A steady silence slips in as you continue to follow your recipe. You want to say it. To mention, or ask really, why he thought his dad would send you an offer letter. But you're not sure how to frame it without sounding like you were bragging, or making it sound creepy. You didn’t forget how he interrogated you when you told him you had spoken to his dad after your final match. But as the silence stretches on your worried your window of opportunity is closing…
You breathe out, then decide to just say it.
“It’s funny you mentioned the offers,” you add, wiping your hands on a towel hanging from the handle of the oven. “Because I got one from Endeavor, too, oddly enough…”
Todoroki’s head snapsin your direction as his brows lift. “Endeavor…? He sent you one?”
You nod. “He did! He even signed it. It looked like it was by hand, too.”
Something changes in his focus. His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s looking at a puzzle piece that doesn’t match the picture. Then, just as quickly as it had sharpened, it fell right back into his usual nonchalant demeanor. “Well…I can’t really say I’m surprised. Any smart hero would want to send you an offer.”
You let out a small, affectionate sound at the compliment as you look at him before pulling your eyes back to your recipe on your phone. After another pause, he pipes up again, quieter now. “Are you… considering it? At all…?”
“Absolutely not,” you say, instantly.
His gaze lifts to your face again at the speediness of your reply. “Why not?”
The simple question stills your knife, but before you can respond, he adds, like he’s reasoning it out aloud, “He is the number two hero. If I’m there too, it could be a learning opportunity for both of us.”
Your mouth curls into a tight smile at the idea of you and Todoroki sharing a mini ‘learning opportunity’ together.
“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds tempting.” You say as you resume chopping. “But I’ve already decided where I want to go.”
You glance up at him. “And besides, I didn’t want to put your father’s name on my list, even as one of my backups, without talking to you first. That’d just feel so…? I don’t know? Disrespectful?”
Todoroki tilts his head, confused by your thoughts. “Why would that be disrespectful?”
“Because I know your relationship with him is… complicated.” You state carefully, not wanting to say something insensitive. “And I didn’t want you to think less of me for choosing to be around him, knowing how you feel about him.”
He studies you, then asks, almost incredulous, “You really put that much thought into a dumb paper?”
You laugh softly at the way he says it, always amazed by the ways he could oversimplify almost everything.
“Of course I did.” You shrug, like it’s obvious. “Our friendship is important to me, Todoroki! I’m not going to make a decision that could affect it without at least talking to you first? Communication is the foundation of any good relationship!”
Todoroki goes quiet and sits with that for a moment, then apologizes and says, “If you had listed him, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it.”
He looks genuinely puzzled for a second before adding, “Does that make me a bad communicator to you? Or a bad friend?”
You blink, then laugh again at how adorable his cluelessness could be.
“No,” you say, warmly. “That doesn’t make you a bad friend. That just means… that's not how your brain works. Which is totally fine!”
You place your knife carefully on the cutting board as you rest both your hands on the island counter top as you meet his eyes again. “I’m just an overthinker. You don’t have to overthink like I do. I just wanted you to know. Ya’know, just in case.”
Todoroki nods once, accepting it the way he accepts most things you say. He stays nearby as you finish cooking, a companionable presence at the island while you plate up everything, while your music continues to hum low.
Once finished, you grab your phone to text the class group chat that dinner’s ready if anyone is hungry. You notice two new notifications.
From Iida.
One message reads:
‘Thank you for today.’
The second notification was from your original text from Saturday night.
He had finally hearted your message. Just as he usually would.
I’m back in my MHA phase, so seeing such a good author like you writing mha stuff in 2026 means so much to me 🥹💕💕💕ily tysm x
yall omg??? this is so sweet!!! thank you sooo much!!!😭😭 and you have no idea how extremely appreciated this is rn! im coming down from like the craziest sickness i've had in like years and finally going through my asks that i got when i was gone so seeing this is just so motivating and kind ugh i love yall so bad!!!🥹🥹🥹🤍🤍🤍
overstim with denki pleasee ugh like I know he gets so whiny and subby when you’re riding him, not even able to form words or do much of anything but moan and cry underneath you while you milk his dick. and I know he’s shocking you a lil on accident too 🤭
Lord have mercy yall,,,,,, maybe we should schedule thirst asks on here....like thirsty thursdays or something bc this is just sooooo?? YESYESYESYESYES!!!😩😩😩
————————————————
you’ve got him flat on his back, wrists pinned over his head in one hand, cock sheathed deep while you ride him slow and mean. denki’s already glassy-eyed—mouth open, hair a mess, thighs trembling.
“ohhh— f-fuck— babeee, pleaseeeee,” he whines, voice breaking sweetly. “you feel so good, you’re so— fuck! you’re so warm, m’gonna—” he chokes on his words when you sink all the way and grind. a tiny static snap kisses your hip.
your brows lift thoughtfully as you tease him. “Careful, babe.”
“s-sorry,” he gasps, cheeks pink, eyes huge. “can’t— mmmmmh I’m trying, I swear— you’re just squeezing me sooo— oh god— just use me, sexy, just— just sit on it, and take it. take it all, I’m yours—”
you roll your hips and his back arches off the bed. he babbles through the feeling, completely shameless. “yeah, yeah, yeah—ride me—fuck! hah! milk me, baby—oh my god, that’s it—take all of it, princess—fuck, your pussy’s so good—i’ll be good— i’ll be so good for you—”
another little zzzt pops against your thigh when you clamp down. you yelp, and he moans out loud, the spark having made you grip him even tighter. “shit— s-sorry—” he chuckles through another broken moan. “Fuck baby— babe, hmm babe, keep going, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”
and you don’t. you lean back a bit, changing the angle as you bounce harder, your free hand on his throat in a loose cradle, thumb at his jaw to make him look at you while you ruin him. tears prick his lashes; his voice goes high and desperate as he sputters out another choked moan of your name.
“talk to me, Denks,” you purr. “what do you want?”
“want— oh, god— want you to take it, want you to use me,” he whimpers, hips stuttering up to meet you even as you keep him pinned to the bed. “want to fill you ‘til you’re all—hmmm—messy, wanna see your yummy juices drip down my balls, wanna—nnnh— wanna keep my dick inside while you come again for me— gimme that— please—”
you lift, slow, then slam back down, and he has to physically will himself not to shoot off inside you right then and there. a long, ripped-open moan that vibrates under your palm, cock kicking deep as he spills hard. you don’t stop. you ride through it, your pace ruthless. his pupils are blown out, his voice dissolves into sobby sounds as he fumbles against his loose restraint, too fucked-out to fight back, and too greedy for your warmth to want you to stop.
“too much?” you ask, breathless, but not easing up.
he shakes his head frantically, hair sticking to his forehead. “n-no— yes?— i mean— fuck— keep going, please, please, keep using me—take it, take everything—ah, fuck—” another tiny shock crackles at your waist; he shudders like it zapped his soul. “m’sorry— can’t control it when you squeeze— feels so good— ohhh, that’s mean— that’s so mean—”
you circle your hips and he whimpers out a wet, broken sound. you feel the second orgasm building in him already, the quiver under your thighs, the helpless flutter of his stomach. you lean down, mouth at his ear.
“So pretty like this under me, Denks,” you murmur with a pout. “You ready to fill me up baby?”
he loses it on the spot at your filthy question. his hips jerking and cock twitching, as he franticly spills inside you again while you fuck him through another orgasm. “holy—holy shit— i’m? Hngggg m’cumming again— i can’t— i can’t— f-fuck! Ah, ah, babe! yes, yesssss! take it—take it—good girl, that’s my good girl—”
your rhythm turns filthy and focused as you start chasing your own high on his wrecked, sloppy length while he whimpers praise like a prayer.
“ride me, ride me, ride me— ughhh babyyyy! you’re so perfect— mm, your squeezin’ me so nice— make a mess on me, please— please— show me, baby, wanna see you. Needa see you— hah! cum on my dick—!”
you clamp down and break with a cry, his pretty sounds sending you over the edge. your grinding through it while he holds himself together by a thread, little shocks fizzing against your skin like champagne bubbles. you slump forward against his chest, resting flat on top of him. he’s panting, smiling while all wrecked and golden, his wrists still caught in your lazy grip.
“Good, huh?” he asks between gasps, voice small and thrilled, his chest still heaving. “wanna— wanna keep me hard while you catch your breath?”
you laugh into his throat and sit back up, still full of him. his eyes roll at the feeling of you adjusting yourself with him still buried deep inside.
“round three?” you tease.
he nods so fast it’s stupid. “yes, ma’am. ‘m not done yet. Still got more for you babe.”
Chapter 7: Back & Forth————————————————————————masterlist: Mrs. All American🤍
<<prev next>>
It's the end of the Sports Festival
tags: MHA x fem!reader, MHA x Black!reader, reverse harem x reader, slow burn, sfw, Izuku Midoriya x reader, Katsuki Bakugo x reader, Shoto Todoroki x reader, Tenya Iida x reader, Eijiro Kirishima x reader, Hitoshi Shinsou x reader, Mirio Togata x reader
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As you and your classmates disperse throughout the Festival space for your much-needed break, you and the other girls head out of the arena, wandering through the tailgate pavilion out front, looking for food or anything else that may catch your eye. It's just as noisy outside the arena as it is inside, with watchers and fans lining the grounds as well as the parking lot. It was probably much easier to watch the Festival this way rather than fight your way inside for an arena set. Besides, who doesn't love a good tailgate? The music, the laughter, the distant cheering, the hum of thousands of voices layered on top of one another. From out here, the Festival feels more like a real professional sporting event. Somewhere behind you, inside the main arena, Present Mic’s voice booms loudly over the speakers.
“And folks, if you’re just tuning in now—yes, you’re seeing this right! Hero Course 1-A has been absolutely dominating today’s events, and leading the charge in first place is none other than class A’s own (Y/N)(L/N)!”
Aizawa’s voice follows, calmer. “She’s demonstrated exceptional control, adaptability, and leadership. All day, she’s demonstrated that she’s thinking several steps ahead. Her competition is going to have to work hard to keep up.”
You groan quietly, ducking your head as Mina and Jirou snicker beside you.
“You hear that, guys?” Uraraka teases. “Looks like we’ve got a lot of work to do! If we want to keep up, that is.”
You wave her off, shaking your head as you all wander past rows of food stalls and pop-up vendors. “Please stop talking,” you drone out with a laugh.
“Why do you sound so upset?” Momo asks, looking at you as she places a hand on your shoulder. “Everything they're saying is true, isn't it? You’ve obviously worked hard and trained well for your position. High praise is to be expected!”
You look up at her before looking away quickly. She had a point, plus it wasn't like you’d be feeling any better if you weren't in first. You’d made a goal for yourself, and you were meeting it. So why did it feel so weird claiming your success aloud? Wasn’t confidence the thing you were trying to work on and exude today?
“I know, I know, and you're right,” you reply. “I guess I’m just not all that used to hearing people talk about me like this? It’s not that I don't like it, it's just…coming on a little too thick, too quick. But I’m sure by next week, this’ll all be old news. The Festival will be over, and we’ll be back to our regular—”
You don’t get to finish before someone calls your name.
A middle-aged woman smiles brightly as you pass, offering you a thumbs-up. “You’ve been incredible out there! Good luck in the finals!”
Another man nods respectfully, eyes shining as he points you out as well. “Yeah! Youve been my pick to win since the obstacle race! Yer’ gonna be one hell of a hero someday!”
You thank them both politely, warmth blooming in your chest despite yourself, but once you’re a few steps away, you let out a shaky sigh.
Uraraka grins. “Meeting her fans already! Ugh, I almost want to ask you for your autograph!”
“Uraraka, please,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “Everyone’s just excited now. Once the festival’s over, it’ll die down.”
Tsuyu hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know (Y/N), ribbit. You’ve got the makings to be a pretty popular future hero.”
Hagakure nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! And even if the public forgets in a few weeks, things at school are definitely going to change. Especially if you win!”
You glance between them, brows knitting. “Now that's something I’m positive won't be happening. Practically all the other first-year classes hate us, remember? I don't foresee them changing their mind about that if I, or anyone else from our class, wins.”
Mina scoffs immediately. “Okay, but you're still not looking at the bigger picture! People have short attention spans when it comes to what's popular. You’re strong, smart, and hot. People don’t stay mad at girls like that for long.”
You choke on a laugh as you give her a look of disbelief. “Mina.”
“I’m serious!” she continues, turning her nose up to the sky as she crosses her arms. “By this time next week, your locker’s gonna look like a shrine. Letters. Snacks. Confessions. It’ll be like something out of a movie.”
You all burst into laughter as you keep walking, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little.
You pass one of the large media screens stationed along the path, and Jirou slows, nodding her chin toward it. “Aw, look. They’re doing games inside during the break.”
You all glance up, watching as the feed switches to the arena floor, now rearranged into something straight out of a variety show. Ridiculous obstacles. Over-the-top props. The contestants are other first years, scrambling around while the crowd cheers. Some of it looked fun, but you couldn’t help but feel the school only hosts these mini games for the students who couldn't keep up in the real competition. So no one feels left out and all that. Off to the side, you notice cheerleaders. The school must have brought them in just for the games so the viewers don't get too bored, just watching the same oncoordinated teenagers flounder around for over an hour. It made sense; that was the purpose of cheerleaders after all, to keep the crowd engaged. But their costumes… They were so… Ugly. The clashing colors. The racer-back cropped designs it was all so…dated. As you watched, you thanked God you’d never had to wear anything so hideous when you were cheering.
“Those cheerleaders are adorable!” Hagakure suddenly screeches, pointing at the screen. “Look at their pom-poms!”
Jirou snorts, then nudges you with her shoulder. “Did your old school’s cheer uniforms look like anything like that?”
You laugh, a little sheepish as you try your hardest not to gag at the insinuation. “Uh… not exactly. We had a bunch of different uniforms, actually, you switch them out depending on the weather and stuff. But I can say with absolute confidence—ours were way cuter than those.”
That earns another round of laughter as you all turn away from the screen, resuming your hunt for food.
Meanwhile, back inside the arena, the energy hasn’t dipped so much as… shifted. With the first two events finished and the crowd settling into a restless buzz, clusters of students scatter to fill the time however they can. Some linger in the stands. Some crowd around the games on the arena floor. And some, like Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero, make a beeline for the arena café in search of sustenance.
“So, what’ll it be, fellas?” Kaminari asks, rubbing his hands together like a fly as he scans the menu overhead. “Are we doing café food, or are we heading out and trying the festival food?”
Sero squints at the board, already mentally filling his order. “Dude, we’re literally right here. Why would we walk all the way outside when we could have our food in, like, five minutes?”
“Because vendor food is so much betterrrrr,” Kaminari shoots back. “And we eat this stuff every day! Don’t you want something different? We should be celebrating! We all made it into the finals!”
As the two of them bicker back and forth, Kirishima trails half a second behind, blinking absently, eyes unfocused. He’s not intereste din breaking up their little squabble, not when his mind is somewhere else entirely. He’s been feeling this sort of cloudy cluelessness practically all day, or at least since the Festival started. That's probably why he was trailing a little behind in the obstacle race, and why he dropped his guard and let that blonde jerk touch him in the cavalry battle. He knew he’d have to tighten up mentally and get it together if we planned on staying in the tournament for anything longer than a single round, but he wasn't sure how to shake this. In all honesty, he’d been feeling like this for weeks.
Somewhere between the USJ attack and now, his brain felt…different? It was nothing medical, like damage, thank God, but he could tell something had most definitely shifted. And he wasn't sure who had changed more. Him, or you. Well, that was a bit of a stretch. Neither of you had changed, per se. Things had changed. You were living in the dorms now. You were in the full swing of school now, with tests, and homework, and studying. And hero training had absolutely picked up. Kirishima was doing things now that would send the kid he was six months ago into a coma. And he was sure the rest of your class felt the same. He was sure you felt the same. And still, he was sure you were different. The way he saw you was different. That could just be it. Watching you spring into action at USJ, pulling him and Bakugo out of danger without hesitation, staying alert and steady until the teachers arrived, that was definitely different. And things had definitely felt different since then. But, hell, how could it not be? That was one of the manliest things he’d ever seen. You were scared. He knew that then, just as much as he was sure of it now. But none of that mattered. When your class was in danger, you didn’t freeze. You didn’t doubt yourself. You acted. Just like a hero. Just like the kind of hero Kirishima wanted to be. Someone who didn’t stop to question whether they were strong enough or ready enough, but tried anyway. Because trying was the hard part. Anyone could talk about being brave. But you actually were.
And living together in the dorms had only fortified that image of you for him. It was like you were some kind of dorm fairy, always knowing what someone needed, when someone needed it, what to do, where to go, what to say. It was like you were put on this earth for the sole purpose of taking care of others. And he’d never met anyone as good at it as you were. How you somehow managed to be the perfect mix of gentle and firm at the same time. So dignified. So sweet.
And even today. Watching you rally the whole class with that speech this morning. Hearing that fire in your voice and seeing it burn even brighter in your eyes. Watching you go two-for-two with first-place finishes like it was nothing. Watching you take control of the cavalry battle and even stepping in to help bail his team out when things got messy with that blond guy from Class B.
Kirishima exhales slowly through his nose as his thoughts begin to clear out for the first time in weeks. His brain finally reaching the conclusion it should have reached days ago.
You were… incredible.
You were strong. You were manly. You were thoughtful. You were courageous. And…You were pretty.
The word barely finishes forming before he nearly shakes his head to dislodge it.
No. No, that’s not…That’s not why. Well…yeah, sure! You’re pretty. And there was nothing wrong with that! Anyone with eyes could see that. But that wasn’t what he admired about you! That would be ridiculous! It's not like you could control whether you’re pretty…some people just are! Like you!
But that wasn’t the point!
You were friends—Well, Classmates. And there was nothing wrong with admiring someone from afar. Occasionally. Respectfully. He knew you cared about him; he liked that you cared about him. But, deep down, he knew that wasn’t anything special. You cared about everyone. That was just who you were. This was probably just some attention-based, proximity-based…thing. The trauma from the USJ. Dorm life. Festival adrenaline. Once he got more used to the way you fussed over him, over everyone, he knew this…whatever this was…would go away.
Totally normal. Totally fine. He just needed to…try and not think about you for the rest of the festival.
Easy.
“Yo! Kirishima!” Kaminari snaps his fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Big Red. We need a tiebreaker.”
Kirishima blinks, dragged abruptly out of his spiral. “Huh? Oh—uh—outside…yeah. Outside would be better,” he says immediately, turning on his heels. “Let’s check out the vendor booths.”
Kaminari pumps a fist. “Yes!”
Sero groans. “Dude, c’mon.”
As they start heading toward the arena exit, Kirishima frowns slightly. “Hey—do either of you know where Bakugo went? I haven’t seen him since we got back inside. You don't think he’s seriously planning on going into the next round without eating, right?”
Sero shrugs, rolling out his sore shoulders as they walk. “He’s probably still sulking.”
Kaminari snorts. “After winning?”
“You know how he is. He definitely doesn’t see it that way,” Sero replies. “Especially since we had to get bailed out, and stuff.”
Kirishima scoffs. “That’s stupid. What (Y/N) did was awesome. If anything, he owes her big time.”
Sero pushes the door open, sunlight spilling in as he smirks over his shoulder. “Right. Because Bakugo totally seems like the kind of guy who loves owing something to someone.”
Kaminari laughs, and Kirishima can’t help but join in a little as they step outside, the sounds of the festival tailgate rushing to meet them. For now, at least, his mind feels clear enough as he looks around at all the possible vendors and carts. He was starving, so stuffing his face and getting his strength back up should be the best option to keep his mind clear of…all that confusing stuff.
Back in the arena, tucked up high in the upper concourse, Bakugo paces. Back and forth through quiet, echoing halls. His boots struck the concrete in sharp, angry thuds. The noise of the Festival bleeds up through the floors below him. Cheers, laughter, Present Mic’s voice echoing distantly. It all feels muffled, like he’s deep underwater. A part of him wishes he was deep underwater. And drowning. Because fighting for your next breath was probably a whole lot more fun than whatever this was. He doesn’t know who he wants to kill more right now.
You. Or that blond-haired, blue-eyed bastard from Class B.
He stops short and turns, slamming his foot into the wall with enough force to rattle the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead. The impact stings, but he barely notices. He braces both hands against the wall, head dropping forward as he drags in a harsh, uneven breath through clenched teeth.
It was you. Right now, it’s definitely you.
You saved his ass. He didn’t ask you to. Didn’t need you to. But you did it anyway.
He hated that. He hated you.
He hated that you were watching him like a damn hawk. Hated that the second he lost his headband, for just a moment, maybe even less than a moment, you were there. On him. Like he couldn’t handle his own shit. Like he was some screw-up waiting to be corrected. And what he hated most of all was the thought that if you hadn’t interfered, he wouldn’t even know if he’d be heading to the finals right now. That thought alone makes him punch the wall again, his wrist ringing like a bell.
“Fuck,” he spits, shaking out his hands before shoving them deep into his pockets and stalking off again. He felt like he was operating his whole body manually. Forcing himself to stay on his feet, forcing himself to stay angry, forcing himself to not think. Not to think about the cavalry battle. Not to think about you.
But it was impossible.
The arena speakers carry everything. Present Mic’s manic commentary about you, and how amazing you are. Aizawa’s dry voice cuts in with analysis, dissecting your every last move and thought. And every single time your name is said, the crowd loses its goddamn mind. Mic says your name, and the cheers just ring out. They play a replay, and they’re going crazy. Hell, they were even interviewing watchers in and around the arena, and the consensus was all the same. The crowd loved you. Of course they did. It makes him so mad that he could choke. You’re nothing but a spectacle to them. A highlight reel. A fucking toy for these idiots to latch onto, and shower with love and praise.
But what really burns? That was supposed to be him.
This was supposed to be his Festival. His official public debut. He was the one chosen to give the first-year pledge. He was the one who told the entire arena he’d be winning this thing. He was the one who shut down that tired-eyed freak in the hallway yesterday and got the crowd to back off the class.
Not you.
But did any of that matter now? Now you’re the face of it all. Of course not.
You give the class that shitty little pep talk like you just knew you’d be the center of attention all day long. You turned competitors away in droves before the cavalry battle, and then went on to win the whole thing with the crappiest little rag-tag team he’s ever seen. And then you swoop in like some knight in shining armor and save him and his team. He was the absolute last person who needed saving. Especially from you. Where the hell do you get off acting like that?
Watching him. Standing beside him like he’s some idiot kid who needs supervision. Always grabbing him and yanking him back, telling him to shut up, be quiet, behave. In class. During training. At the dorms. And now here. It was always something with you. Always in his space. Always with the questions. You drove him fucking crazy. It's like he hears your voice in his head more than his own!
What do you think?
What do you want?
What are you doing?
And the comments, fuck, the comments are the worst. You always had something ready. Always had something to say. Like you know what he’s about to say before he even opens his mouth. Like you’re rewriting the rules around him one conversation at a time. Boxing him in so he can never do right in your eyes. Even when it came to little shit.
He can’t say ‘what’ to you because you think it’s rude, he has to say ‘yes’ or ‘what was that?’He can’t call anyone dumb, or dumbass, or idiot, or stupid without you saying his name like he just committed a crime. And god forbid he ever calls a girl a bitch. Especially not you. And even today, when you said you agreed with him. Actually Agreed with him. For once.
But it still wasn’t good enough. To you, he was right, but his delivery wasn’t. What the fuck does that even mean? He’s never good enough for you. Never nice enough. Never quiet enough. Never calm enough. But today was it. The last straw. He was done. Done with you. Done with you checking up on him. Done with you looking after him. Done with you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Where he doesn’t want it.
Bakugo stops walking and lets out a long, raw yell that echoes down the corridor. He tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling, chest heaving as something ugly finally settles in his gut.
Fine.
If this is how it’s gonna be, then he knows exactly what he has to do.
He was going to destroy you in the tournament.
Neither of you would fight until the second round, but he knows you’ll handle your first opponent, just like he will. If you’re really as good as the crowd thinks you are. As good as you think you are, you will.
And when you finally face each other? He’s going to crush you.
Beat you so badly you won’t want to look at him again. Beat you so badly he won’t have to hear your stupid name or see your stupid face for days. Beat you so badly he’ll rip this Festival right out from under you and take it back where it belongs. He can’t wait to see you try that white knight bullshit when you’re the one who needs saving.
Bakugo pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the time. Fifty minutes left in the break.
“Tch,” he mutters, shoving it away. He turns sharply and heads for the café. There's no way he’s going into the finals on an empty stomach.
Back in the Class 1-A waiting room, Todoroki sits alone. The room is unusually quiet, most of the class having scattered across the festival grounds for food, games, or fresh air. He occupies a chair at the back of the room, shoulders squared, posture rigid, and his knee bouncing under the table as his phone, resting face-down on the table in front of him, rings off the hook.
It vibrates. Once. Twice. Again. And again.
The faint buzzing rattles against the metal tabletop, persistent enough to be distracting. It’s been going on for at least five minutes now, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t need to check the screen to know who it is. It was his father. Todoroki keeps his gaze fixed on the far wall by the door, his jaw tightening slightly as the phone buzzes again. Endeavor had been in the stands earlier. Todoroki had felt it before he even saw him, that familiar weight settling heavily on his shoulders. Like being even remotely close to his father physically weighted him down just as much as it did mentally. Always watching. Measuring. Judging.
He hated it.
The constant attention. The scrutiny. The way every action feels like it’s being recorded, evaluated, and corrected. He just wants this break to end so he can get back out there and finish the final round and be done with it. Be done with all of this. The day, the Festival, and most of all his father.
But despite everything, all the feelings, all the anger, all the hate. He still wanted to win. He wants it so bad.
Not for the crowd. Not for the title. But for himself. to prove, once and for all, that he can do this without his father. Without his direction. Without his power. He’s made it this far using only his ice. Aside from that brief slip during the final moments of the cavalry battle, but that hadn’t been his fault. He’d lost his temper. But the sight of his flames was enough to spark a reaction. From his team, from the crowd, and even from his father. He knew what that reaction was, too. Hope. The belief that there's still a chance he might change his mind about him, a chance that he’ll use his other half, a chance he’ll do exactly what he was created for.
But there wasn’t a shot in hell.
Todoroki exhales sharply through his nose, fingers curling against his knees as the memory resurfaces. Midoriya. It was his fault. His relentless questions. His insistence on understanding why Todoroki needed to win so badly. Why was he so fixated on beating him specifically? And the truth was… Todoroki isn’t entirely sure himself.
Escaping his father’s shadow is part of it. A large part. But beyond that, something about Midoriya unsettled him. From his unnatural, and at times overwhelming strength, buried inside his fragile, almost brittle body. It doesn’t make sense to him. He couldn’t understand it. And yet Todoroki lost to him in the first event.
How?
How does someone with such unrefined physicality overpower him twice in the span of a few hours? How hard has Midoriya been training? And with whom? The thought settles uneasily in his chest as he mentally dances around different possibilities.
Could it be… that Midoriya was like him? Could he also have some seasoned hero guiding him from the sidelines? A secret mentor, feeding him strategies between rounds, shaping his growth behind the scenes? If that’s the case, Midoriya is probably with them right now. Planning, preparing, sharpening his edge for the finals.
Todoroki clenches his fists tighter, frustration blooming before he forces it down. A soothing thought washes over him as reality settles back in his head. Midoriya was no real threat to him. Or at least, not enough of a threat for him to stress over during his allotted planning and strategizing time. The final was going to be a tournament, and strategy only carries you so far in real combat. Midoriya may be a thinker, but he isn’t a fighter. Not by a long shot. If they end up going head-to-head in the next round, Todoroki should win. He would win. He needed to worry about bigger fish. Real obstacle. Like Iida, or Tokoyami, or Bakugo.
Or you.
That thought makes him pause. The thought of you. He knew you’d be strong competition going into the festival, but he hadn’t expected it to feel this daunting. The idea of beating you at this point feels…a step below impossible. In a tournament-style final, if the brackets align poorly and he ends up facing you…
He might actually lose.
You are his worst possible matchup. Close combat or long-range doesn’t matter. Despite your size and stature, with your quirk helping you, physically, you were both fairly evenly matched. But when it came to quirk use and control? You had him beat by a mile. You could neutralize his ice completely if you needed to. You’d overwhelm him in seconds. If he wanted to last even a minute in the ring with you, he needed to think of something. He needs a strategy.
But the constant vibration of his phone is killing his concentration.
Finally, Todoroki snatches the phone off the table, turning it off in one sharp movement, and slams it back into place. The loud sound bounding around the already silent room.. He rubs his hands over his face and exhales slowly, savoring the quiet.
He needed to think. Of something, anything he could do if he ends up fighting you.
But nothing comes. No thoughts, no plans, no strategies. Nothing. And a small, traitorous part of him hopes it stays that way. He wants to win. He truly does, but he wants to win with his ice. The logical response to knowing one of his powers would be neutralized would be to use the other. But he won’t. Not now. Not ever. And certainly not on you. All his life he watched his dad use his strength and power to usher his mother into submission. Another reason why he’ll always hate his father. And another reason why he could never use his flames in a fight. Especially not in a fight with someone he thinks so highly of. To him, you’re… something else.
He wouldn’t call you a friend, exactly, but you’re easily the closest thing he has to one. You listened to him. You made time for him. Plus, you’re the only one who knows about his father or any piece of his childhood. You're one of his only true confidants.
The thought softens him.
He exhales deeply, leaning back in his chair as more memories surface. Quieter ones. Happier ones. Sitting together at the dorm dining tables in comfortable silence. Or chatting in the kitchen, or the hallway, or while cleaning together at theend of the day. You never push, never prying. Just sitting or relaxing with him. Either in silence or cascading through a gentle conversation while he asks you for your thoughts or opinions. You gave amazing advice, and you were so knowledgeable on so many different topics; it was amazing to him. And you always answered him, you always helped him, and made sure to reassure him that you always would. Never questioning him. Never judging him. Just…keeping him company and offering him guidance when he needed it. Something he never got to appreciate in his life before you. But he was glad he got to experience it now. And with you. Happy even. You really are incredible.
But as his consciousness comes back to the present, for just a few moments, he wishes you’d stop being so incredible, just long enough for him to win this Festival.
But another part of him wonders if maybe that’s exactly what he needs right now. Your clarity. Your perspective. If he talked with you before the next round, he might be able to clear his head. And maybe you’d even know something about Midoriya, or about this Pro-Hero hunch he couldn't seem to shake about him.
Todoroki stands slowly, slipping his phone into his pocket as he heads toward the door. He pauses beneath the analog clock mounted above it.
Forty-five minutes.
Plenty of time to find you. And plenty of time to talk. He turns the handle and steps out of the waiting room, hoping the quiet stretch of time ahead will help him figure out what to do before the next round begins.
A bathroom stall slams shut a little too loudly as Midoriya rushes inside and fumbles with the handle, fingers clumsy with urgency as he locks the door behind him. He doesn’t need to use the bathroom, though. He just needs privacy. Somewhere, no one will peek over his shoulder or ask what he’s doing. He pauses for a moment, silently waiting for any signs of life, making sure that he’s truly alone before doing what he actually needs to do. He exhales once he’s sure he’s alone. Some of the class is probably already heading back to the waiting room, and the last thing he needs is anyone seeing his notes right now.
Midoriya hooks his backpack onto the metal hook behind the stall door and digs through it, pulling out his latest hero notebook and pencil case. He flips through the pages, fingers automatically finding the sections he needs. He doesn’t have time to review everyone in his notes, only choosing to focus on who’s going into the next round, and what he’d need to do to beat them in a potential match
Bakugo and Todoroki’s pages get skimmed first. He knows their quirks inside and out by now. Their strengths, their openings, the way they fight when they’re angry. He knew them well. Well enough to know that if he went up against either of them, he’d be out.
Then there's Kirishima, Kaminari, Mineta, and Sero. Fairly straightforward, but predictable. Powerful, yes, but not exactly tactical. Battle IQ was easily their Achilles heel.
Uraraka and Ashido make him pause longer. Both of them were close-range specialists, and neither would be easy to remove from bounds without him using his quirk. And he doesn’t like the idea of that. His control still isn’t good enough to guarantee he wouldn’t seriously hurt someone.
Next, Tokoyami. Shoji. Yaoyorozu. And Iida. The wild cards. Each of them can use their abilities in countless ways, which means preparing for them requires preparing for everything, which would be virtually impossible. His pencil taps against the page as he considers contingencies, scenarios stacking on top of one another until his head starts to ache. He’ll have to come back to these names, dog-earing each of their pages in his notebook.
That only leaves two names.
Aoyama… and you.
Midoriya blinks as he flips between both of your sections in his book. Ironically, you two were the two classmates he had the least amount of notes on. Aoyama’s section is short. A navel laser. Limited duration. Heavy quirk fatigue. If Midoriya can dodge long enough, he’s confident that brute force will be enough to win him the match. But your page…
He stares at it. It's far blanker than it should be. But it's not like if he had pages upon pages, analyzing you from top to bottom, it would make much of a difference. There’s no way he could take you. Ever. With his quirk or without it. Your speed, your control, your battle IQ, everything about the way you fight is close to perfection. And the new techniques you debuted today? Ones he’s never seen before? There's no way. And there’s no telling what else you’ve prepared just for the Festival.
You’re just too good.
Before he fully realizes what he’s doing, his pencil is moving, filling your page with frantic additions. Ice structures. Water whips. Aerial mobility. Crowd control. Environmental manipulation. His handwriting gets smaller as his thoughts race, trying to find something, anything, that resembles a weakness.
He knows you don’t have unlimited water reserves. He knows you monitor your hydration by chugging water before rounds or checking your hair texture and curl pattern. But you’re probably replenishing right now, preparing for the final. He knows your quirk fatigue manifests as migraines, but even then, you’d just switch to close-quarters combat. Which you’re also incredible at. There’s no openings. No cracks. No ways in or around. At his current power level, he couldn’t even dream of beating you.
Midoriya slumps back against the toilet lid, head tipping back as he stares up at the ceiling, deep in thought. His chest rises and falls faster than he’d like.
He can’t give up. He couldn’t. Not after making it this far. Not after the cavalry battle. Not after standing on that field and proving, if only for a moment, that he belongs here. And seeing you standing there at every junction, like a perfect checkpoint. Always cheering him on, praising him, supporting and uplifting him. Even when he thinks he doesn't deserve it. Or that someone else might deserve it more. His airheaded daydreaming skreetches to a halt as his mind is brought back to him being reunited with you after the race. How you were so happy to see him…but expecting someone else. Todoroki.
He flips his notebook back from your page to Todoroki’s, pencil moving again as he documents everything he observed during the race and cavalry battle, anger making his hand move even faster. His moves, his opening attacks, his coordination, and his move combinations with his team. And the moment he slipped up and used his fire.
Midoriya pauses in realization before his hand is back blazing away across the page. That was the first time he’d ever seen Todoroki’s flames. And he wanted to know if it would be the last. He didn’t know Todoroki well, but something about that hesitation during the cavalry battle felt…odd. Like watching a crustacean pull its own claw off. Why wouldn’t he allow himself to use a power that was obviously so strong? Maybe even stronger than his ice. Did it hurt when he used it? Did it take more energy to manifest somehow? Or did he just lack the control over the skill and was nervous to use it in such close quarters?
Midoriya wracked his brain with more and more questions. None of which helps him reach a solid conclusion any quicker. He couldnt waist his time on this if his questions all led to dead ends, or had no reasonable answers that could help him plan or strategize for the final. Except for…one thing. Endeavor is his father, that much is obvious, and with Endeavor ranked number two…and All Might ranking number one…
Could All Might know something?
Midoriya fishes his phone out of his pocket and quickly types a message, hope flickering behind his eyes as his fingers fly across the screen. He wasn't sure how close they were, but surely something was better than nothing. Even if they’ve only met a handful of times, maybe one of those meetings was enough for All Might to pick something up, or get some sort of impression about Eandevor. He asks All Might if he’s free to talk before the next round. He hits send and shoves the phone away again, exhaling slowly. Hope flickering out like a weak flame as he remembered where he was, and All Might's position. This was his first Sports Festival as an official UA faculty member. Knowing him, he’s probably buried in interviews right now. Cameras. Reporters. Interviews. Obligations.
So what else can he do? His thoughts spiral dangerously close to pessimism again, accepting that this might be the end of the line for him and his first Sport Festival. until something clicks. Another possible angle.
You.
Of course. If anyone knows Todoroki well enough to help, it’s you. You’re close. Closer than he was to Todoroki, at least. And you’re smart, and he knows you and Todoroki talk often. Maybe in a few of those talks, he’s mentioned his dad, or his powers, or something useful. But regardless of how much you might know, Midoriya was sure you’d know exactly how to approach something like this.
Midoriya tries his hardest to stay on task and to only think strategically. To only think about all the ways you and Todoroki’s closeness could benefit him now. And now, how jealous it made him feel. He pushed those feelings down deep. Refusing to face them when something much more important and time sensitive was going on. But the fact that he had those kinds of thoughts regardless, made him feel sick. He hated it.
Again, he forces his slimier thoughts out of his head, planning his next moves and what he’d say to you. He’d have to talk to you privately, obviously. Which would probably be the hardest part of this plan, but it could work. His nerves buzz with sudden resolve as he stuffs his notebook back into his bag, barely zipping it before swinging the strap over his shoulder. He just needed to work up a little courage and ask you a few questions. Mentally kicking himself over the fact that the one thing he’d been meaning to do for weeks would be a key part of stretching his stay in the final round as long as humanly possible. But just because he hadn’t done it yet didn't mean he couldn’t do it at all, right? What could possibly go wrong?
Midoriya bursts out of the stall, heading straight for the door. His mind already calculating where you could be right now. Back in the waiting room? Watching the minigames from the student sections? Or maybe walking around to clear your head or getting some last-minute training in? He suddenly skids to a stop as he pushes the bathroom door open, sheepishly turning back inside, and back to the sink to wash his hands first.
Back inside the arena, Iida sits in the designated Class 1-A student seating, hands resting on his knees as he watches the other first-year festival games unfold below. According to Ms. Midnight’s instructions, this is where everyone will be seated while waiting for their own final matches to begin. So Iida is sure the rest of the class should be joining him soon. But, in typical Iida fashion, he arrived early. Thirty-seven minutes early. But who’s counting?
Just like in the classroom, he appreciates the stillness that comes with being the first person somewhere. Of course, the stadium itself is anything but quiet. The roar of the crowd never truly fades, but it’s so loud and constant that it fades into a kind of elevated background noise. A chaotic, yet oddly calming kind of white noise.
He exhales slowly as he settles a bit deeper into his seat. If this were the classroom, you’d be walking in any second now. But he doesn’t expect you to this time. You’ve been doing remarkably well today. He’s proud of you, truly. He couldn’t deny that even if he wanted to. Watching you dominate the Festival so far has been impressive, inspiring even.
He just wishes he felt the same pride when he thought about himself.
Sixth place in the obstacle race. Second place in the cavalry battle, but that was a team event, so it hardly counts. Iida isn’t usually the insecure or bitter type, but today…for some reason…he couldn't deny that was precisely how he was feeling.
Today wasn’t going how he envisioned it. He wanted to excel. To make his family proud. Make his brother proud. Make himself proud. To win.
Instead, the only pride he feels right now is directed at you. And even that pride is fleeting. Because right beneath it simmers something ugly. Something hot and uncomfortable. Jealousy.
He swallows, jaw tightening. He’s jealous of you. Jealous of your strength, your adaptability, your versatility. Jealous of how effortlessly you seem to rise above every challenge placed in front of you. He can admit that much to himself.
What he’s having more and more difficulty admitting is the bitter feeling of something else.
Rejection.
How could you not pick him? For the cavalry battle that is. Why Shoji? And… Mineta? The thought makes his chest twist. He thought you were partners. No, he knew you were partners. Wasn’t that what partners did? Support each other? Work together when teamwork mattered most? You could have picked Shoji, Mineta, and him. But you didn’t. You didn’t need him. Or at least, in that moment, you thought you didn't need him.
Iida knows, rationally, that this shouldn’t bother him. That Ashido is your closest friend, and you didn’t pick her either. That this was a strategic decision, not a personal one. And yet. The feeling won’t go away. It sits in his chest, heavy and sour, and he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. He doesn’t want to feel this way. He doesn’t want to be jealous. To feel so dejected. He doesn’t want to feel as though success should be owed to him just because the two of you work well together.
But he does feel this way. And he hated it.
His gaze drops to the arena floor, watching another group of students cheer as their game concludes. He finds himself wishing, just a little, that the Festival would hurry up and end.
The tournament doesn’t worry him much. If nothing else, he knows his combat skills are stronger than he lets on. That element of surprise will serve him well, and being the fastest competitor left gives him a significant edge. But if the two of you end up facing each other?
His breath stills.
He isn’t sure what would happen. Sure, he’s faster, and stronger, taller, and bulkier. But you’re clever, strategic, almost to a fault. Situational awareness comes naturally to you. Very little ever slips past your notice. He probably knows that better than anyone else in the class, maybe even the whole school. All he can do is hope you don’t face each other at all. And if you do… maybe you’ll be tired. Let your moves get sloppy, slip up, and give him just enough of an opening.
The thought makes his stomach churn. He hates thinking about you like this. Planning around your strengths. Looking for weaknesses. Turning admiration into calculation. Besides, the thought of banking his strategy on you putting on a sloppy performance was ridiculous. You were never sloppy.
But he does want to win. So badly. And more than that. He wants you to see him win.
Maybe that's the solution he needs. Then these feelings will go away.
Iida glances down at his wristwatch. Thirty minutes until the next round. He straightens slightly in his seat, resolve settling back into his posture as he begins mentally mapping out what comes next. Whatever happens, he’s going to make this last round count. He had to, because he was sure you were going to.
By the time you and your girlfriends head back into the building after grabbing lunch, you all swing by the Class 1-A waiting room first, intent on grabbing a few things from your bags and maybe lounging around in the A/C for a second before your break ends. You barely have time to drop into your seat before the door swings open.
And Mineta steps inside. His eyes practically sparkle, as if he’s struck gold finding you all here in one place. Because truth be told, that was exactly what he was thinking. Before he can even open his mouth, you’re already on your feet.
“Hi cutiepie!” you chirp, crossing the room toward him. “How’s my favorite little guy, huh? Are you enjoying your break? Are you having fun?”
You squat down to his level, hands immediately going to his cheeks. Pinching and squeezing them playfully, thumbs pressing into his soft skin out of pure habit.
He doesn’t pull away. Why would he? He leans into your touch, practically purring like an animal, only making you giggle more at his cuteness.
“Y–yeah… I’m having a great break…” He says, his voice going soft and dreamy as he answers, your angelic touch almost making forgetting the whole reason why he came into the room. Then his eyes widen as he snaps out of his affectionate trance, remembering that he’d been looking for Kaminari.
While he’d been out with Kirishima and Sero, Mineta had stumbled upon the waiting room the school had set aside for the cheerleaders they’d hired for the Festival. The totally hot cheerleaders they’d hired for the Festival.
And what was inside said waiting room? Why, only a whole rack of unworn UA-themed cheer uniforms. And he was sure that with Kaminari’s help, he could convince at least a few of the girls to put them on.
But now?
You’re here. Calling him ‘cutiepie’. Stroking his cheeks like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Mineta visibly recalibrates. If he has you, he might not need Kaminari after all.
He tilts his head up toward you, his big brown eyes peeking through his lashes like a cherub as he tells you that, actually… he was enjoying his break, but after being away from you for so long, he came looking for you because, well…he just missed you sooooo muuuuch.
Then he lifts his arms toward you, hands quickly curling and opening into tiny grabby fists.
A silent, unmistakable request for uppies.
And of course, you melt instantly.
“Awwww, my Mineta!” You coo, scooping him right up like the baby he was, and pressing your cheek to his as you squeeze him in close like a teddy bear. “You’re just too precious, you know that?”
You turn slightly so the rest of the girls can see him cradled against you. “I mean, look at him,” you say, rhetorically, your voice high-pitched and chipper like you were talking to a baby. “Isn’t he just the cutest thing? My little angel, I could just bite him!”
Jirou rolls her eyes. “Put that thing down,” she deadpans. “He’s probably covered in drool or something.”
A few of the girls giggle. You scoff playfully, pouting as you bring a hand up and stroke his cheeks again. “Quit picking on my little Mineta.”
He sticks his tongue out at Jirou before settling into your hold, resting his head against your shoulder, and looping his arms around your neck. He count let Jirou and her attitude distract him from his role here. He needed to get you guys into those uniforms You especially. Then suddenly, as if a light bulb had appeared over his head, Mineta sits up in your hold a bit. Telling you in his sweet lispy voice that even though he’d missed you so much, he’d actually found something he was sure all of you would like. A sort of surprise for all of you to celebrate your first UA Sports Festival.
Again, your gasp is immediate upon hearing his words. “A surprise?” You ask, pulling back just enough to look at him properly. “For all of us? You're not being serious, are you? You really got all of us a surprise?”
He nods so hard his head practically bobs. Then he wriggles out of your arms and bolts for the door.
“I’ll be right back!” he shouts. “Don’t go anywhere!”
The door slams behind him.
Tsu blinks at you, shaking her head a bit. “I just don't get it…Ribbit”
“Get what?” you ask, moving back to your seat.
“How do you find a living booger like Mineta cute?”
You laugh. “I don’t know! He just is! He’s tiny and chubby like a little angel.”
Mina snorts. “Angels usually have wings. Not gross sticky balls.”
Before you can respond, the door flies open again.
“Tada!”
Mineta bursts back in with a dramatic flourish, arms stacked high with bright orange plastic mail packages. You cheer at his speedy return, clapping your hands a bit as your precious pet makes his way over to you all. He dumps them onto the table in the center of the room, and you quickly scoop up a few of the packers and lay them on the table to help him out. Everyone grabs a package to inspect, turning them everywhich way as a few of you ask him what they are, or if you can open them.
Jirou tears the corner of her package and peeks inside. She pulls the package away from her face and begins laughing. Hard.
You look at her in confusion, then back down at what you’re holding. You follow her lead and tear your package open, peering inside, and feel your smile slowly crumple as the realization hits. Jirou howls with laughter, only growing as she watches the expression change on your face.
It was a uniform. One of those God-awful cheer uniforms.
Mineta proudly explains, or rather lies, saying that Ms. Midnight said the school ordered too many of them, so anyone who wanted to keep one, or a few, they were more han welcomed. So he grabbed one for each of you. You try to explain that he really didn’t have to. Trying hard to make it seem like a manners thing rather than the fact that you’d rather be beaten bloody than keep this disgusting thing.
But he cuts you off, beaming. He says the second he saw them, he thought of you. Now it’s everyone else’s turn to aww, thick with sarcasm, and join Jirou in laughter, of course.
You couldn't deny that his reasoning was extremely sweet. You hug the package to your chest, still not wanting to hurt your little buddy's feelings. “I’ll cherish it forever,” you say solemnly, turning to put it with your bag.
“But (Y/N)?” Mineta says in an almost hurt-sounding voice. Stopping you.
“Why not try it on?” he asks. “I wanna make sure it fits! If not, I’ll grab you a different one!”
Mina and Jirou lose it completely. Even Momo is laughing behind her hand at this scene. Of course, you know why they’re laughing; the irony isn’t lost on you. But you refuse to be the joke for another second.
“Oh, I absolutely will, Mineta dont you worry, ” you say brightly. Then you turn to the rest of the girls, speaking in an overly sweet voice. “Actually, we all will. And we’ll wear them until the break ends. That way, they’ll really feel like Festival souvenirs! And that way every time I see this uniform, oh sorry, every time we all see these uniforms, we’ll think about how much fun we had at the Festival, and what a sweet surprise you got us!”
Mineta squeaks. “R–really?!”
You nod enthusiastically. “Really.”
The girls groan, but eventually agree, and you clap your hands in victory as you all head toward the bathroom near the waiting room. As you walk, Mina and Jirou complain that you could’ve just told Mineta you’d try them on later.
You shrug, smiling victoriously as you push the bathroom door open. “I would’ve. Until you all started laughing. Now we all suffer together.”
“I still think they’re cute!” Hagakure insists, feeling slightly insulted that you all don't think the same. “Why don’t we all go try out some of the mini games in the arena once we’re changed! I bet you guys will end up liking them a lot more once they're actually on!”
You look around, waiting for someone to protest. No one does. A chorus of resigned murmurs follows as you all head into different stalls to change, cheer uniforms in hand.
Back in the Class 1-A student section, Mineta slips into the seating area just in time to spot Iida sitting alone a few rows down, posture perfect, hands folded neatly in his lap.
“Iida, my man!” Mineta sighs, hopping down into the seat beside him. “Enjoying your break?”
Iida turns, surprised that Mineta is the first one back, but polite as always. “Ah, Mineta. Yes, thank you. I’ve been using the time to mentally prepare for the final rounds. Have you been enjoying yours?”
A wolfish and mischievous grin spreads across Mineta’s face. “Oh, I’m about to.”
Iida checks his watch again, brows knitting together. “There are approximately twenty minutes remaining until the next round. I’d assume more of our class would be here by now.”
Mineta doesn’t respond. Instead, he scampers up to the railing and peers eagerly over the edge, eyes shining.
“Ohhhhh, Iida,” he sighs, swinging his feet. “Trust me, those 20 minutes are gonna fly right by. You ever heard the saying good things come to those who wait?”
“Yes,” Iida replies, confused. “Of course. But I fail to see how that applies to—”
“Just get over here and look!”
Assuming Mineta must be referring to one of the mini games, Iida leans forward in his seat, scanning the field for whatever could possibly be so entertaining to Mineta. His expression quickly tightens as his eyes fall on what he assumes he’s referring to. Cheerleaders. Of course.
He sighs, already preparing himself to repeat a lecture he feels he has to give his classmate weekly on his…problematic habits. “Mineta, I must remind you that finding entertainment in women’s appearances or attire, particularly when they are simply performing their duties, is highly inappropriate. Oversexualizing basic clothing and behavior such as cheering—”
Mineta chuckles darkly.
He twists around to look at Iida. “Do any of those cheerleaders look… familiar to you, prez?”
Iida freezes, brows pulling together at the question and the look in his eyes. Quickly, he turns his attention back to the field. His eyes narrow. Then widen.
He gasps. Fully gasps. “I–!” He stands abruptly, moving to the edge of the section, hands gripping the railing as he leans over it, blinking rapidly. “That—no—surely that isn’t—”
Mineta beams up at him. “Looks like you finally figured it out. Pretty awesome, huh?!”
Just then, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero return from their break, casually wandering into the section.
“Yo,” Kaminari says. “What’cha guys watching? One of the games still going?”
Mineta, now fully perched on the railing, gestures grandly. “Gentlemen, what we’re looking at is no mini game.” He grins. “It’s the beautiful fruits of my labor.”
Iida turns sharply. “Mineta,” he says through clenched teeth, leaning closer, “are you responsible for this?”
Mineta scratches the back of his neck. “What can I say… I guess I just have a way with women. Especially (Y/N)...”
Sero squints, then moves closer to the railing. He peers down and immediately makes a strangled noise.
“Holy shit—!” He grabs Mineta by the shirt and shakes him. “How did you pull this off?!”
Kirishima and Kaminari look at each other and rush forward, needing to know what all the drama was about. They both push their heads over the edge to get a good look, eyes widening once they’re filled in on the situation below.
Kaminari sucks in a sharp breath. “Dude… if this was actually your idea, you might’ve earned real cool points. Like, at least three.”
“No,” Sero snaps instantly. “Absolutely not. It’s still nice though…”
Kirishima barely hears them. Because his eyes are locked onto the field. All of the girls from your class are down there in bright orange cheer uniforms. Laughing, dancing, hyping each other up, and playing around. And you. You look incredible. The thought hits him hard and fast, like a bullet. And he once again shakes it away. Of course, you look good, he reasons desperately. You used to be a cheerleader. Duh. That’s not…he’s not thinking anything weird.
Mineta sings his name teasingly. “Kirishimaaaaa, you seeing what the rest of us are seeing?”
Kirishima startles. “H–huh? I mean—nah! I don’t see what the big deal is. You guys are just having fun. No need to make it weird.”
Iida exhales sharply in relief. “Thank you, Kirishima. At least someone here has an ounce of propriety.”
Mineta snorts, turning back to the field. “Morals are a waste of time when midriffs and miniskirts are involved.” Sero and Kaminari mumble something to the tune of what a scumbag he was, but didn't disagree with him either.
More students from Class 1-A trickle back into the section, filling seats as the break winds down. Then Present Mic’s voice booms over the speakers.
“ALRIGHT, FOLKS! FIFTEEN MINUTES UNTIL THE FINALS! START MAKIN’ YOUR WAY BACK TO YOUR SEATS!”
Music floods the arena, Mic DJ-ing the last stretch of downtime. Down on the field, you’re laughing with Mina and Hagakure, dancing and lip-syncing, dragging the shyer girls into the moment and cheering them on. And just like everything else you’d done today, the crowd eats it up.
“Is this what being an actual cheerleader feels like?” Hagakure asks, chuffling her pompoms as she dances around.
You grin. “Pretty much! All you’ve gotta do is smile, dance, and pump up the crowd. It’s fun, right?!”
Back in the stands, Kirishima can’t stop smiling. The roar of the crowd makes him laugh under his breath, especially when you all do something that sends them wild. You were in a whole different world. It was like this was your element. And he couldn’t deny it was cute to watch.
Iida, however, feels his stomach twist in disgust. All these people watching the girls. Watching you. Cheering. Commenting. Staring. He knows the Festival is meant to put students in the spotlight, but this feels… different. He can tell you're having fun, which he’s happy about. But some of the cheers, some of the words, some of the whistles. He knows everyones intentions while watching all of you can't all be… tasteful. Mineta’s earlier words echo uncomfortably in his mind. Morals go out the window when midriffs and miniskirts are involved. And Iida hates how true it suddenly feels. You were amazing, all of you were. But he couldn't help but feel that to some of these fans, you were being reduced to nothingless than pretty girls in skirts. And that thought disgusted him.
He can only hope that when the finals start, when you’re back in your gym uniform and focused on combat, you’ll still have this much of the crowd's attention. And hopefully that attention will feel more appropriate than…this.
Bakugo shows up to the Class 1-A section, his attitude still evident on his features as he stops through the threshold. He’d been looking for you for over half an hour. Needing to tell you exactly what his intentions were for the final round. He scans the seats once, then twice, red eyes narrowing when he realizes exactly who isn’t there.
“Hey, man! We were looking for you earlier! Where ya been?” Kirishima asks, waving his angry friend over.
“Where the hell is she?” Bakugo snaps, completely ignoring him.
“Who?” Kirishima replies.
“Curly…” He spits out, not even daring to say your given name. He’s sure he’d heard it enough today to last a lifetime. Everyone knew he meant you. The class was familiar with Bakugo and his use of…colorful nicknames to refer to his classmates. Still glued to the scene unfolding below, Kaminari, Sero, and Mineta answer in unison without even turning their heads.
“She’s busy.”
Bakugo’s scowl deepens. “Busy with what?” He glares at them. “And why are you idiots acting even dumber than usual? The fuck are you all looking at, huh?”
Kirishima steps in before Bakugo can explode, standing in his way before he can get any closer to the railing. Clapping a firm hand onto his shoulder. “It’s nothing, man,” he says nervously. “They’re being the same level of stupid they always are.”
Bakugo jerks him off and stalks down toward the front of the section. “I’m just ready to get this stupid festival over with,” he growls, leaning over the railing. “Now, where the hell is she?”
When the trio still doesn’t answer, he snaps, “What the fuck are you three looking at!?”
He leans forward—
And freezes. His breath hitches before he can stop it. All the girls were in these shitty, tacky cheer uniforms. Bright, orange, and ridiculous. And you’re wearing one too…
He refocuses immediately, scoffing as he turns his back to the railing, manually stopping his brain from forming an opinion of the display in front of him. He didn't have time for this.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he snarls. “You dumbasses are really losing your minds over that? Pull your heads out of your asses, the next round’s about to start.”
Iida nods stiffly. “The profanity was unnecessary, but I agree. I think that's enough gawking and staring for the time being!”
While Iida begins trying to pry Kaminari, Sero, and Mineta away from the edge of the section, Bakugo drops into a second-row seat with a heavy thud, arms crossed. “Whatever… I’ll just wait till she gets back. M’sick of looking for her anyway. She’ll come back up here once the matches start, and I’ll tell her right then that I’m gonna wipe the floor with her.”
Right then, your face flashes across the Jumbotron, and the stadium erupts. You startle at the noise, then laugh nervously before smiling brightly at the camera, waving just a little. Only prolonging the cheers.
Bakugo sneers. “I hate this stupid fucking festival.”
appearing in the doorway of the section, Todoroki’s eyes search the filled and empty seats of the section just like Bakugo had minutes ago.
Noticing that none of the other girls are present either, he looks for Iida, assuming that he was the next person to likely know where you might be.
“Iida,” he calls, striding over to him. “Where’s (Y/N)?”
Before Iida can answer, Midoriya slips into the student section. Quickly blurting out Iida’s name from the doorway as he hurries down the steps into the front of the section after looking for you, making a beeline straight for Iida, hoping he’d know where you were. Noticing Todoroki behind Iida, Midoriya sheepishly tries to get his attention, “Oh—um—Iida…you haven't seen (Y/N) around recently, have you?”
Bakugo groans loudly, throwing his head back. “Jesus Christ! Enough with her name!” He glares at both of them. “What the fuck do you even need her for this close to the final round starting, huh?”
Todoroki answers flatly. “I wanted to speak to her, breifly”
Midoriya nods, quieter. “Y-yeah…me too.” His eyes anxiously darting between Iida, Todoroki, and Bakugo as he speaks.
Todoroki shoots him a cold, irritated look. “Well, whatever you wanted to talk to her about is going to have to wait until I’m done speaking with her.” He states dryly, growing tired of Midoriya and his incessant butting in today.
Midoriya frowns, narrowing his eyes a bit at Todoroki. Growing just as weary of his condescending tone, and even more tired of being talked down to. “I think she can decide who she’d like to talk to first herself.”
Iida quickly raises his hands, stepping between his quarrelling classmates before their conversation could get any tenser. “Midoriya, Todoroki, please! Let’s try to de-escalate. I’m positive (Y/N) can decide who she speaks to and when, when she returns!”
Midoriya and Todoroki pause their face-off upon hearing the end of Iida’s sentence. Looking to him as they asked at the same time, “Returns from where?”
Again, Iida is interrupted as Bakugo mutters, “Check the field,” in an exhausted tone, still stewing in his own anger
Both Midoriya and Todoroki move in next to Kaminari, Mineta, and Sero, looking down onto the field, and seeing you and the other girls spend your last few minutes dancing, laughing, hyping the crowd with the other girls, and having some much-deserved fun.
Midoriya can feel the heat rising up his neck once he spots you. He thought you looked good in everything, in anything really, but this was…something else.
“H-how long have they been down there?” He quietly stammers.
“At least fifteen minutes,” Mineta says proudly.
Todoroki can manage was to huff out a short breath of air before spinning on his heels and heading back out of the class section. Deciding that if you were down on the field, he'd just ask you to talk on the field.
Todoroki hurries down the hallways of the arena's winding interior, making his way to the stairs and quickly climbing down the first two flights of stairs, only to be stopped by the sound of a voice calling his name.
“Shoto—.”
The voice makes him stop mid-stride, his face falling and stomach knotting at the familiar sound. Looking down the stairwell, Tododorki’s eyes land on the figure before him, as Endeavor stands just a few feet below him on the steps.
“I’ve been calling you since the end of the last round,” Endeavor says. “Why haven’t you answered me?”
Todoroki doesn't answer him, only turning and glaring at his father. How was he even here right now? He knew his dad had been watching from the stands, and even that felt too close. Tododorki was sure the inside of the arena was blocked off for viewers. Had the school security just let him through because he was a parent? Or because he was a pro? Regardless of the stupid reason, he didn't have time for this, so he was fully prepared to just ignore him. Positive that he’ll keep talking regardless.
“I saw you, in the cavalry battle,” Endeavor continues, stepping closer to reach his son’s level. “How you used your flames. It was wild and far too unrefined for my liking. But powerful. I know you felt it too. That strength. That potential. If you’d trained it properly leading up to the Festival as I’d insisted, you’d be in first place by now, surely.”
He reaches for his son’s shoulder,—
“Don’t touch me.” Todoroki spits, swatting his father's hand away as he fully turns to face him now. His face tight with anger
Endeavor doesn’t flinch, knowing his son and his dramatic mannerisms all too well. “Shoto, please,” he sighs out in a passive tone. “You know I’m right. And you know I’m still available to guide you on how to better utilize your power before the finals start. There's still time.” Endevor steps closer again, his voice sounding slightly desperate as he tries to get through to his son.
“I know that you’ll be able to turn this around. I believe you can still win this. Just let me help you.” Just as the words leave Endeavor's mouth, a loud buzzer blares overhead, signifying the end of the break.
“I am going to win,” Todoroki snaps. Already backing away from his father, “without my flames. And without you.” He walks off before Endeavor can speak again, back descending the arena steps to the ground floor.
Once he reaches the ground floor, Tododorki exits the stairwell and turns the corner, only to see you and all the other girls making your way in from the field. You spot him just as quickly as he does you. He notices you noticing him and takes it as an opportunity to approach you. You slow a bit as he cautiously makes his way over to you. In all honestly you have no idea what he’d want from you of all people. But everything else he’d done today had left you feeling just as clueless and jaded as you did right now, so you couldn't claim he was acting too out of character.
You fold your arms over your chest as you approach him, both from your slight frustration and because you're suddenly becoming very aware of how ridiculous you probably look to him right now. Once he’s close enough, he asks if you're available to talk at all. You make a bit of a face at the request, not because you don't want to talk, but because you're unsure of why he’d want to right now. But you reluctantly agree, not wanting to ice him out the same way he’d been doing to you all day. You tell him that the two of you can talk in the waiting room once you finish changing back into your gym clothes, and head out back to the arena from there.
Inside the waiting room, Todoroki patiently waits for you to return, hands folded in front of him while he sits with his elbows on his knees. Eyes periodically drifting from the waiting room floor back up to the door, hoping that you’ll step through it any moment now. The second he hears the handle jiggle and turn his head shoots up, his eyes immediately tracking yours the moment you reappear in the doorway, still straightening out your gym uniform with a free hand.
“Okay,” you murmur as you enter the room. “So, what’d you want to talk about?”
“To be honest, I needed to clear my head a bit after the cavalry battle,” he admits. “But I guess it’s too late for that now….” trailing off as he stands to greet you.
You bite back a shocked scoff as you let your hands fall to your sides, wondering if he really asked you to talk about nothing. “Is that really all? That's all you wanted to tell me?”
He hesitates, then shakes his head, stepping closer. “Well, no, not exactly.” He looks into your eyes as he inhales deeply before continuing, as if to build up the courage to ask more of you. The suspense of the situation makes you feel a little nervous, being alone in this room with him. But you try your hardest not to let any of your nerves show. He now stands barely a foot from you, his body language as indecipherable as his expression.
“I was hoping that you could tell me about Midoriya, or what you think of him,” he asks after a beat.
You don't hide the confusion on your face as you process the request. “What I think of him? Think of him how?” you reply.
“Well, maybe not so much what you think of him, but what you know of him…” he tries to correct.
You bring your hands to your hips as you think for a moment. You were familiar enough with him to know that often times he preferred a slow, winding, and lengthy conversation when he wanted to know more about something. But given your current situation, you just didn't have the time for that. “Todoroki,” you start, “I’m confused…what are you really trying to ask me right now?”
His eyes drift to the side and narrow as he makes a quiet sound of frustration, and you're not sure if it's directed at you or himself. He looks back down at you once he’s sure he knows what he needs to say.
“I wanted to know if you knew anything about Midoriya and whether or not he had any kind of hero mentor of some kind. I know you two aren't particularly close, but I know how you pride yourself on keeping up with everyone in the class, so I hoped you might know something, even if it's not much.”
You have to physically tighten your jaw to stop your mouth from falling slightly open. How the fuck did he figure that out?! You try not to show too much emotion at the question, not wanting to alert him in any way that you do know something, or make him believe that you're lying to him. You don't look away from him as you relax your face and soften your gaze.
“Why do you ask?” you counter.
He quickly gives you his hunch and hypothesis, insisting that the only way Midoriya would be able to work his way out of situations this detailed and complex would be if he were also training with a veteran of the field. As he highlights all his points and reasoning, you make sure to take mental note to bring this up to your uncle. If you and Todoroki had both caught on to Midoriya this quickly, it was only a matter of time before everyone else caught on. And with that power of his, it wouldn't take long for All Might to get roped into it as well. But just as your uncle had told you the night before, this wasn’t your business to tell. And from where you stand, you and Todoroki are in the same boat regardless. You're both nothing but theorists with no hard proof, looking for answers. You couldn’t help him just as much as he couldn't help you.
“I’m sorry, Todoroki, but I don’t know anything about that, but I’m almost flattered that you thought I would. ” You chuckle out.
He exhales deeply through his nose, obviously frustrated that his plan had fallen flat. You almost feel bad that you can’t help him with this, until you remember how difficult he’d been acting all day. You suppose that, since you never got the chance to talk to him after any of the rounds, now would be as good a time as any to pick his brain on whatever was causing this shift in demeanor.
“And for the record,” you continue, “I’m glad that it’s so easy for you to ask me for my help when you need it, but, if I’m being frank, even if I did know something about Midoriya and your conspiracies about him, I don't know if I’d tell you anything about it after today.”
Todoroki cocks his head to the side a bit at your statement. “What do you mean?” He asks, “You’ve helped me with my thoughts so many times in the past, I assumed that you’d be able to help me again this time.”
You exhale deeply as you press your lips into a thin line of exasperation at his cluelessness. “I know that, Todoroki, but being able and being willing are two very different things.”
He still looks genuinely confused at whatever you were getting at.
‘I think I’m a little confused…Why wouldn't you be willing to help me this time?” he asks slowly.
“I don’t know? Maybe because of how poorly you’ve been acting all day?!” you cry out. “From the moment the class arrived for the Festival, you’ve had a horrible attitude, the bickering, picking fights, interrupting me, and going as far as to attack Midoriya outright during the cavalry battle. You really think I’d be willing to help you after doing all that?”
“It’s a competition,” he reminds you flatly, in defense of himself. His eyes had lost their bright, perplexed glimmer and going slightly dark and sharp for the first time since you two started speaking. “Just because you can’t bring yourself to fight your classmates doesn’t make me wrong for doing so.”
You pause at that, your mouth opening slightly as you roll your jaw in anger, trying not to lose your temper so close to the next round.
“Yes, I understand that,” you grit out, crosas you cross your arms over your chest and stepping closer to him, not wanting him to think his size or scary eyes were going to make you drop the conversation. “But I draw a line at purposefully picking fights for no good reason. Just think about all the times you went out of your way to pick on Midoriya today, both in the Festival and outside of it. Even now, the only reason you wanted to talk to me was to see if I had any dirt on him!”
He breaks eye contact with you, letting his eyes drift off to the side, hearing your rationale. Not out of shame or embarrassment, but something fairly close to it.
You take in and release a deep breath as you take in his now much more recluse body language, and back up a step. You didn’t want to make him feel bad, you just wanted him to understand that what he was doing was just…too much.
“Listen to me, Todoroki,” you say, softer, bringing a hand up to reassuringly grip his forearm. “I care about you. But I care about Midoriya, too. And I’m not just saying that because I’m one of the class reps. I’m saying it because I really, genuinely care about you both. And because I care, I wouldn't tolerate Midoriya treating you poorly, or trying to dig into your past or your background without your consent. Just imagine what I would do if Midoriya asked me why you didn't use your flames all the time? You wouldn’t want me just going around and telling anyone who asks about your private life. So, of course, I’d extend that same courtesy to Midoriya.”
Todoroki goes quiet for a minute, thinking about what he could say next. You take the long pause to continue, “But you know, if you really wanted to know more about Midoriya, all you had to do was ask him. And maybe…I don't know? Be nicer to him? hell, you could even make him a friend! But I can't offer you any more help than that. At least, not this time.”
“That work for you?” you ask, stepping in again to study his face, really needing to see if he understood you.
After a long pause, he nods. “…Yeah.”
“Good!” you say cheerily, bringing your hand back to your hips. “Well, we probably need to hurry up and get back out to the arena. Hopefully we haven’t missed anything…” You say as you make your way to the door. He makes a small sound in agreement before firmly saying your name to get your attention. You turn as your hand makes contact with the door handle to see what else he needed. “I just wanted to say…thank you for taking the time to speak to me.” You smile back at him and tell him, ‘Any time,’ as you swing the door open and hold it for him.
You head back out together. And for the first time all day, Todoroki looks…better. Lighter, even.
You and Todoroki reenter the arena just as the remaining finalists are being ushered back onto the floor. The sounds of the crowd feel all too normal as you both hurry to center field. While the earlier rounds felt chaotic and sprawling, right now, in this moment, every step echoes louder, every swing of your arms feels deliberate. Like every little thing you do from this moment on, either brings you a step closer to winning it all, or three steps closer to losing.
You slip into place beside your classmates as Ms. Midnight strides back to the center platform, microphone already in hand.
“Alright, finalists!” she calls, voice ringing out. “Let’s not waste any more time. It’s time to reveal the first rounds of the tournament!”
The Jumbotron flickers as the preliminary round matches scroll out in order.
Uraraka vs. Ibara.Aoyama vs. Hatsume.Midoriya vs. Shinsou.
Your stomach tightens at that last pairing, nose scrunching up in displeasure. Ojirou’s words from earlier about how weird that guy was echo uncomfortably in the back of your mind.
The screen shifts again, now reading the remaining first-round matches.
Ashido vs. Mineta.Kaminari vs. Sero.Shoji vs. Tokoyami.Kirishima vs. Tetsutetsu.Yaoyorozu vs. Iida.
Then the final first round tier appears. The bye matches.
(Y/N) vs. Winner of Uraraka/Ibara.Bakugo vs. Winner of Aoyama/Hatsume.Todoroki vs. Winner of Midoriya/Shinsou.
Ms. Midnight claps her hands once. “Finalists not competing in the first match, head back to your class seating sections! Those competing now, wait to be called out to the arena in the ground-floor waiting rooms!”
A timer flashes onto the screen, showing the time before the first match starts:
2:30.
As the timer begins ticking down, you and the rest of your class head back inside and head to your class section. You and the other girls make sure to walk Uraraka back to the class waiting room, hugging her and wishing her luck before her first match. You all file back out into the hallway, making sure to give her all the last-minute love and cheers she needs as the door slowly shuts behind all of you.
You all head for the stairwell, making the slow trek back up to the third floor of the arena, where your classes section was. While all of you head up, you spot Midoriya just ahead of you on the steps, making his way down. He looks tense, shoulders stiff, hands clenched tight at his sides as he descends the stairs. He was obviously deep in thought, most likely trying to think his way around his first match. You smile to yourself as he nears your spot on the steps, reaching a hand up to grab his wrist and stop him so you can wish him luck in his match as well.
“Hey!” you say gently, stopping beside him. “Somebody looks ready for battle.”
He blinks at your joke, head already in a frenzy, takes in a breath, then chuckles nervously. “Hah—yeah! Ready as I’ll ever be! I guess…” He trails off a bit at the end, his nerves even more evident in his voice.
“Aw, don’t be nervous!” You insist, playfully nudging his shoulder. “This first match is going to be a cake walk for you! So don’t stress. Just go out there and show off a little, the crowd loves that,” you advise as you turn to continue up to your section.
No, he thought, what the crowd loved was you. But he smiles and nods along to your advice anyway.
“And Midoriya?” you add, lowering your voice. “Remember what Ojirou said about that Shinsou guy. Don’t underestimate your opponent, and don’t let your guard down around him. Not even for a second.”
His expression sharpens with understanding. “Got it! And I won’t,” he promises. “I won’t let you down.”
You smile a full smile at the last part, turning on your step to face him again. “I know you won’t. And don’t worry, I’ll be cheering for you the whole time!”
He can feel his ears burning again as he smiles a crooked smile at the thought of you in the stands, cheering him on. He watches you begin back up the stairs, his mind momentarily flashing back to you in that cheer uniform from earlier.
“W-wait,” he says suddenly, reaching out just as you reach the next landing of the stairs. “(Y/N), (Y/N)—wait! Can I ask you one more thing?”
You pause, releasing the railing as you look down at him. “Of course, what's up?”
He steps up onto the landing with you and pauses, clearly choosing his next words carefully. Then exhales.
“Do you… know what’s bothering Todoroki so much today?” he asks. “Or why he’s so against using his fire? I know he used it for a second in the last round, but that was the first time I’d ever seen him use it. Do you think he’s saving it up for some special move in the final? Or do you think it’s something else? Like something…personal?”
Your eyes drift to the side, thoughtfully. Figures.
You let out a slow breath and meet his gaze again. “I’m going to tell you the same thing you told him earlier.”
Midoriya blinks, assuming that meant that Todoroki really did get to you first. Great.
“If you want to know more about Todoroki,” you say gently with a shrug, “you're gonna have to ask Todoroki.”
Understanding flickers across his face as he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and nods. He should have known you’d take the neutral high ground, you weren't much of a gossip.
You give his shoulder a light squeeze, knowing that this probably wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “But you don’t need to worry about that right now. And I don’t think you have to worry about him bothering you for the rest of the festival. So right now, just go out there and win your match.”
He offers you a sweet smile and a quiet thanks, then you turn and continue up the steps, disappearing into the rising noise of the arena as the timer ticks down. Behind you, Midoriya watches for a moment longer before turning and heading back down to wait for his own match.
By the time you reach your class’s seating section, the buzz of anticipation in the arena feels almost electric. You make your way down the steps to the front row of the section and slide into the empty seat next to Iida, nudging him lightly with your elbow as you both greet each other. “Excited for the final round?” you ask. “And Uraraka’s match?”
He nods, readjusting in his seat. “Very. I have full confidence in Uraraka’s abilities,” he says, then hesitates. “Though I must admit I’m unfamiliar with her opponent’s quirk or combat style. But I’m sure it's nothing she can’t handle!”
You hum in agreement, eyes already fixed on the ring below as the buzzer sounds.
Uraraka moves fast.
You lean forward in your seat instinctively, attention narrowing, trying to anticipate her opening move, and…
Tap. Tap.
A sharp, impatient knock lands on your right shoulder. You turn, surprised and slightly annoyed, and find Bakugo looming over your right side with an expression somehow worse than his usual scowl.
“Yes Bakugo? What do you need?” you ask, eyes flicking briefly back to the ring.
He rises to his feet. “Need to talk. Now.”
You blink, slowly. Staring at him long enough to collect the remainder of your rapidly thinning patience. “Can it wait until the match is over?”
“No,” he snaps. Louder this time. “It can’t. Now get up.”
You shoot him a long, unfiltered who-the-fuck-do-you-think-you’re-talking-to? look and inhale sharply, ready to push back and quickly shut him up, only to be interrupted again.
This time by the match buzzer.
You whip your head around just in time to see the Jumbotron light up.
IBARA — WINNER.
Your breath catches. “What the f—?” You stand abruptly, scanning the arena floor. “How did she—?”
“It’s over,” Bakugo cuts in rudely. “So let’s go.”
You grumble under your breath as you grit your teeth and point sharply toward the exit, just about ready to wring his neck. “Go.”
He doesn’t hesitate, turning to head back into the hall as you follow just a few feet behind.
The hallway outside is empty, the roar of the crowd muffled into a distant echo. After a short walk, Bakugo stops dead in his tracks, causing you to nearly bump into him. He stays there in silence, with his hands in his pockets. You roll your eyes at his nauseating theatrics, letting a hand come down and slap your thigh in disbelief and annoyance. You weren't how many more of these dramatic chats you had in you today.
“Can you hurry this up, please?” you ask flatly. “I don’t want to miss the other matches, and I already missed the first one because of you,” you spat.
He glances at you over his shoulder before turning fully.
“What Bakugo? What do you want?” you ask again, slightly exasperated. For a moment, he says nothing. Then you watch his face shift. He presses his lips together and tilts his head steadily but sharply, from side to side, loosening and cracking his neck a bit before opening his mouth.
“This morning, before all this started…I thought I wanted to win,” he says lowly. “But now… that's not what I want. I know what I really want.”
You arch a brow at him. “Oh? And what's that?”
“I want to beat you.”
There’s a beat. A long one. Then you laugh. Not a snort. Not a chuckle. You laugh. You're laughing. Hard. You knew this was serious. That he was being serious. But that was probably the funniest part of all of this. He was so serious, so dramatic, it just made it feel so…unserious. You have to shut your eyes tight and turn away from him in hopes of calming down your reaction, but God, he was funny.
Bakugo’s expression darkens instantly, his mouth slightly agape as he watches you slow your laughter down to a giggle. He swore he was seeing red. “You think this is fucking funny?”
You wipe at the corner of your eye, trying to reel it in. “Is that all? Because if you dragged me out here just to say that—”
He explodes. “I’m so fucking sick of you treating me like I’m a joke!” He shouts, ripping his hands from his pockets and stepping toward you.
That snaps your focus back to him and kills any remaining laughter in your throat.
“Bakugo…” you sigh out, still a bit breathless from laughter. “I don’t treat you like a joke.”
“Bullshit!” he shouts. “You do it all the time! Just look at today, you telling the class you ‘agreed’ with me about what I said to that purple-haired freak yesterday, but not my ‘delivery’? Getting in my way during the damn cavalry battle. Or all the other ways you're always trying to ‘fix me’ back at the dorms!”
You hold up a hand and step closer to him, your curiosity in trying to see his point taking over. “Wait…do you think I do or say all that because I don’t take you seriously?”
He folds his arms over his chest as he sneers down at you. “What the hell else could it mean?”
You step closer again, your voice dropping, in hopes that a gentler tone might break through to him. “Bakugo, C’mon, can we please not do this right now? All this couldn’t wait until after the Festival. Wanting to beat me is one thing, but I thought we were past all this.”
“All what?” He asks sharply, quirking a brow up at you.
You match him, crossing your arms as you continue, “You know what. All the fighting, all the bickering, all the back and forth. I thought me and you were really having a breakthrough! You helped me out in the kitchen that time, and I left that ‘special thing’ in your locker a few days ago…So can we please just…put a pin in this and have a real conversation later?”
He scoffs at you, moving in again. “You know the real reason why you did all that shit. That night in the kitchen, you wanted to kill me, you just started playing nice and askin’ me 21-questions so you could be done with me faster. And the cake?” His lip curls. “That was just a sorry excuse for a truce.”
You roll your eyes at him. He was so obvious when all he wanted was a fight. “You’re wrong,” you say firmly. “And you know you are.”
He just stares, daring you to say more.
You exhale hard. “I did those things because I care about you. Yes, you get on my nerves sometimes…a lot of the times, but I thought we were getting closer. Like friends, or something close to it.”
He doesn’t interrupt this time.
“Yes, I was mad in the kitchen,” you continue. “But I set my anger aside because I wanted to connect with you. I wanted to get to know you. And I left that cake in your locker because I didn’t want you thinking no one remembered your birthday. And yes, what you said to the crowd was right, to me at least, but your delivery could have been nicer. And that’s all I’ve tried to get you to understand at the dorms. You can just…be nicer. you dont have to course every time you open your mouth, or yell, or threaten someone. And I’m not just gonna let you be rude and disrespectful just because you want attention? If you want it so bad, just ask, like everyone else!”
You meet his eyes as you step closer. Again.
“And I didn’t help you in the cavalry battle because I thought you were a joke, or weak, or couldn't handle yourself, or whatever else you might cook up in that head of yours. I did it because I wanted to see you and your team in the finals, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing that if all you needed was a little help to win, and I could give you that, then why wouldn't I?
His eye twitches at the way you described your transgression with such heroic valour. “I don’t need your help—” he snaps, stepping closer. “Or anyone else's, to win. Got it?”
You step forward, too, smiling just smugly enough to irritate him. “You sure? Because you seem pretty upset about how that battle went. I can't imagine why, though? Third place seems a whole lot better than fourth.”
For a moment, neither of you moves, the tension between you both far too thick. All either of you can do is stare down the other, your pride not allowing either of you to break first.
Finally, you ask, “Is this really what you wanted to talk to me about? To yell and throw a fit because you think I care about you too much?”
His nostrils flare with rage. “No.”
You brace for his answer, cutely tilting your head in anticipation.
“What I wanted to tell you,” he says, his voice so hoarse and angry it sounded more like a thunderous rumble, “is that I’ll be seeing you in the finals.”
You snort. “How sweet of you to assume.”
He growls but continues. “And when we fight, I’m going to destroy you. In front of everyone. The whole country. And when I win, you’ll finally understand who’s the strongest. Who’s the joke. Who needs saving, and who doesn’t.”
He leans in just enough for his voice to bite, his words pressing against the side of your face like thorns. “I’m not holding back. So you better not either.”
Then he shoves past you and disappears back toward the stands. You stay where you are, eyes slightly wide as you stare down the empty hall.
Fine.
He didn't want you holding back. And neither did you. His words didn't scare you. They didn't even tickle you. But they did make one thing abundantly clear: You were going to beat the shit out of him.
You settle back into your seat and focus on the remaining first-round matches, determined not to let him or his words crawl any further into your head. Because of how long the two of you were gone, you end up missing Aoyama and Hatsume’s match entirely. When you ask Iida what happened, he adjusts his glasses and explains that Hatsume won using some kind of specialized support weapon. You’re still not entirely sure how that counts as fair combat, but you shrug it off and cheer anyway.
You spend the rest of the round doing what you always do, clapping, shouting encouragement, and keeping morale up for your classmates. You knew nervous energy spreads fast in a group like this. So if you could help even a little, you will.
Then the announcers call the next match.
Midoriya vs. Shinsou.
Now this one you couldn’t miss.
The second both boys emerge from their tunnels, you’re on your feet, hands gripping the railing as you lean forward. You needed Midoriya to win this. This was the kid Ojirou was so shaken up by. The one who stood in your classroom doorway the day before, running his mouth like crazy. And even though you were beyond pissed at Bakugo right now, that Shinsou guy had no business calling him an asshole. You focus your eyes on him once the match buzzer rings. You needed to see his quirk in action. What kind of freaky-deaky stuff was he using or doing that made Ojirou so uncomfortable?
You can’t hear anything from the stands, but the cameras make it obvious that his mouth is moving. Talking. Running it constantly.
“What are they doing?” Kaminari asks carefully.
Without looking away, you answer him, “Looks like that Shinsou guy is shit-talking.”
Midoriya looks unfazed by him, though, and advances carefully. Then, just as he gets within arm’s reach, he stops. Completely. His body stiffens, freezing in place as his eyes and face go expressionless.
Your brows knit together the second he halts. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I’m not sure,” Iida says tensely. “Perhaps something he said—”
Ojirou lets out a frustrated sound from his seat, clutching his head. “I told him not to talk to that guy. I told him to just ignore him.”
You turn sharply. “Why would you tell him that?”
Ojirou swallows. “Because…that’s when it happened to me. The second I answered him, everything went blank.”
Your face remains coiled in confusion as you try to make sense of what Ojirou was saying, only for your attention to be pulled back to the match when the crowd's sounds of clamor begin getting louder and louder.
You look back just in time to see Midoriya turn away from Shinsou and start walking toward the edge of the ring. Nearing out of bounds.
Your heart slams into your ribs.
People start shouting his name. Iida is on his feet beside you, knuckles white around the railing. “It’s like he’s lost control of his body,” he says. “Like he’s been—”
“Brainwashed,” you whisper in a disappointed tone. That was it, wasn’t it? His quirk. He could brainwash people. Talk to them and get them to do his bidding? A cool power, and a great one for a hero to have, sure, but that wasn't what you cared about right now.
Not when Midoriya was seconds away from losing his first match.
Your whole class watches in bated breath as Midoriya gets frighteningly close to the edge of the ring. You clasp your hands to your chest, eyes squeezing shut as you mutter a frantic, breathless plea to anyone listening, begging for some kind of divine intervention to save him from this situation.
Then.
A loud bang cracks through the arena. And your eyes fly open.
You frantically search for the cause of the sound. Your eyes fall back on Midoriya, who is stumbling back from the edge just in time, collapsing to the ground before forcing himself upright, and turning to charge at Shinsou again.
The stands explode.
You grab Iida’s arm and shake it. “What the hell happened!? What snapped him out of it?”
“I—I’m not sure,” he stammers, not completely sure himself, as he allows you to barely jostle him back and forth. “He fired off his quirk just before stepping out. Perhaps the shock disrupted it.”
Whatever it was, it worked. Your class watches the remainder of the match come to an end in a blur as Midoriya KO’s Shinsou using the same takedown move he used on Bakugo on the first day, making you smile to yourself at how much he’s progressed in such a short time. It made sense if All Might really was mentoring him, though.
After Mic finishes with all his commentary for the match, Ms. Midnight makes the final call, declaring Midoriya the winner, as his face appears on all the screens in the arena, causing the audience to go wild.
The next few matches come and go, playing out just as you'd expect them to.
Mina wipes the floor with Mineta in under a minute. Sero immobilizes Kaminari before he can even get a spark out, winning their match. Tokoyami was able to overpower Shoji in their match, narrowly defeating him but advancing to the next round, despite their match being pretty evenly matched. But nowhere near as equally matched as Kirishima and Tetsutetsu’s match. Their quirks are practically identical, but after the match, only had a few seconds before being called a draw, Kirishima was able to land a finishing blow, winning the match with just 2 seconds to spare.
By the time Kirishima’s match ends, you head down toward the waiting room, as there’s only one more fight before yours.
Iida vs. Momo.
You spot Iida just as he steps out of the waiting room, heading toward the arena. You hurry to him, catching his arm as you repeat his name over and over to grab his attention.
“Hey!” You say quickly with a smile. “I’m glad I caught you before your match. I wanted to wish you luck.”
“I know I shouldn’t have favorites when it’s two of our classmates in a match, but—” You hesitate for half a second, then pull him into a quick, reassuring hug. “You’re both going to do amazing. Especially you.”
He doesn’t hesitate in returning the hug, his large hands resting carefully on your back. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I believe whoever wins will deserve it.”
You look up at him, arms still around his middle, while you slowly nod your head. “I couldn’t agree more.”
The moment lingers, and you both stay there for a beat before you remember that he’s supposed to be getting ready to start his match.
“Oh!” you laugh, pulling back and shooing him in the direction of the tunnel. “You’ve gotta get going, I don’t want you missing your queue!”
He nods, a bit flustered, thanking you again as he heads down the hall. You turn toward the waiting room, slipping inside just as the door clicks shut behind you.
But outside the waiting room, back on the stairs, Bakugo stands motionless. He’d come down early for his match, wanting the quiet room to clear his head in. But instead he’d got to witness…
Whatever the hell that was…
The remainder of the first and second round matches come and go in quick succession. Matches are called, fighters enter and exit, the crowd roars and calms, and roars again, until the rhythm of it all starts to feel almost mechanical.
Iida defeats Momo. Cleanly and respectfully, like everything else he does. Refusing to strike her outright. Instead, opting to maneuver her toward the edge, guiding her out of bounds with a firm but careful push. You clap hard for both of them, heart aching just a little at how bittersweet it feels to watch classmates knock each other out of the running.
Your own match was next. You faced Ibara. Beating her with a vengeance that even shocked you a bit. But in the end, it felt more than justified, you wanted to avenge Uraraka, and knock as many non-class A competitors out before the semi-finals. But you apparently did more than just win your match; in Present Mic’s words, you’d officially solidified yourself as a crowd favorite and a fighter to watch in the tournament.
And, to no shock to you, Bakugo won his match as well. Just not in the way you’d expected him to. He defeated Hatsume without ever landing a single hit on her, as she simply walked out of bounds the second the round started, choosing to end her stint in the Sports Festival on her terms, and of course, only pissing Bakugo off even more.
But the real surprise of the round came with the final match of the bye-round.
Midoriya versus Todoroki.
You braced yourself for chaos. For shouting. For another ugly, tension-soaked disaster fueled by everything that’s been building between those two all day.
But instead, it was…good.
A good, honest, clean fight.
They both fought hard, pushing each other to think on their feet, push through their physical limits. You can tell Midoriya is talking again, just like he did with Shinsou, but whatever he said this time around didn’t seem to provoke Todoroki too much.
At one point, Todoroki even unleashed his fire again.
Of course, making the crowd lose it.
The heat rippled through the arena, bright and powerful, before he pulled it back as fast as he let it loose. You swore you could hear his father shouting somewhere from the stands, and once Todoroki returned to only using his ice, you couldn’t help but wonder if that had anything to do with it. And if it did, you definitely couldn't blame him for it.
In the end, Todoroki won.
Midoriya was able to hold out longer than you’d expected, he fought smarter than you’d expected, and walked away having proven more than you’d expected. You find yourself smiling and quickly realizing that Midoriya had a lot more to offer than you’d given him credit for, and it seemed as though he was just going to keep impressing you more and more.
After another 5-minute break, it was Iida versus Tokoyami in the first quarter-final match.
Another matchup that ended up being far more interesting than you anticipated, but again, and much to your pleasure, Iida came out on top.
Next, it was You vs. Mina, a match neither of you was looking forward to in any way. You step into the ring and immediately pull her into a long, tight hug, heads pressed to eachothers shoulder as you promise each other that no matter how this ends, you were still besties. When the fight finally begins, it’s emotional and fast, both of you refusing to hold back but refusing to be cruel. In the end, you win. And when it’s all over, you walk back into the tunnel hand in hand, Mina laughing through her disappointment, squeezing your fingers like she’s reminding herself that this is still just you.
The next two matches would be Bakugo vs. Kirishima and Todoroki vs. Sero. Both Kirishima and Sero put up a good fight. In your opinion, Kirishima held on harder and longer than Sero did, hell, maybe harder and longer than anyone had the whole Festival. But in the end, both of them ended up falling out of contention, as Bakugo and Todoroki came out as their matches' victors.
And then, just like that, the brackets finalize.
The first-year Sports Festival semi-final matches are set.
You vs. Iida.Bakugo vs. Todoroki.
You sit alone in the waiting room, downing your fourth water bottle refill of the day like it might magically give you clarity along with hydration.
Your muscles ache in that dull, familiar way that tells you you’ve been pushing yourself hard all day, but it’s your mind that won’t settle. Fighting Mina had already been difficult enough. But to go back out there and fight Iida? This felt…different. A wrong kind of different.
Sure, you and Mina were closer, but the kind of relationship you and Iida had was different. You weren’t even sure how to categorize what the two of you were. Partners, yes. Friends, absolutely. You weren't really sure how to describe it, but you were positive that it was different.
You take another long drink before you can dissect those thoughts any deeper.
A quiet knock sounds at the door.
You glance up just as the handle turns, the door opening just a crack to reveal Iida himself. Relief softens your shoulders as a faint smile spreads across your lips immediately. You stand, meeting him halfway as you lean your shoulder back against the wall with an easy smile.
“Well, well, well,” you say lightly, “checking in on the enemy before the match? A bold strategy, even for you, Mr. Iida.”
He chuckles, pushing his glasses up instinctively. “You could never be my enemy. I just came to check on a good friend.”
Your mind eases hearing that. You thank him for stopping by and ask if he’s feeling nervous. He considers the question honestly before answering.
“Not really,” he admits. “No matter how this match goes, I’m proud of how far I’ve made it. After my last match, my brother sent me a…very sweet voice memo. He said he was proud of me, that I looked strong out there.” His smile is softer now, more genuine.
“So, at this point, whether I win or lose,” he continues, “I feel content. But if I do win, I’d be proud knowing it would be against someone as formidable as you.”
You laugh quietly, shaking your head. He had basically just said the same thing Bakugo told you earlier, only Iida was able to find a way to make it sound so sweet and respectful.
It really was all in the delivery.
You tell him the feeling is mutual. That if you had to lose to anyone from here on out, you’d be glad if it were him. He thanks you, bowing slightly, and excuses himself so you can continue preparing. You wave as he disappears down the hall, the door clicking shut behind him. You turn back toward your seat and water bottle, your thoughts already spiraling again at the thought of him.
When the door suddenly slams open. Hitting the wall hard enough to make you jump.
You whip around just in time to see Bakugo standing in the doorway, holding it open with one hand like he owns the place.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you snap.
He doesn’t answer.
He steps inside instead, hands in his pockets, moving toward you with that familiar, infuriatingly calm demeanor.
You stare at him, bewildered, jaw tight as you take a deep breath, poking your tongue against the inside of your cheek, physically restraining yourself from removing his head from his shoulders. He stops a few feet away, tilting his head back a bit, and looks you over slowly.
“It's the last round before finals,” he says. “You’d better not lose.”
Oh?
You smile.
“Oh, I don’t know,” you say casually. “I was just talking to Iida, actually. And…I’m starting to think maybe…I’ll just bow out and let him win.”
The flash of rage on his face was immediate and delicious. You wanted to get under his skin some more, in retaliation for the way he so rudely entered your waiting room,
He steps closer, trying to intimidate you more by looming over you. “I don’t give a shit about four-eyes. I already told you, I’m beating you.”
You giggle in his face and step forward too, refusing to give him an inch.
“Doesn’t matter,” you say sweetly. “Besides, it’s not like you could beat Iida anyway.”
He chokes on a sharp laugh of disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?” He tilts his head to the side with a smirk, truly refusing to believe that you thought so highly of that overgrown pen protector. “You don’t think I'm stronger than glasses?”
“Mhm,” you reply. “I don’t just think he’s stronger than you. I know he is. And let’s not forget—he didn’t even need my help to place in the cavalry battle.”
His jaw clenches hard, knuckles white inside his pockets as you beam up at him, with a wolfish, teasing grin.
Suddenly, the buzzer sounds.
That was your cue.
You turn away, opening the door with deliberate slowness. “You should probably get ready for your match, too, y’know,” you add. “But I’m glad you’re so confident about reaching the finals.”
You glance back at him one last time.
“Because whether I win or lose,” you say, “whoever takes this match? Is winning this whole thing.”
You step out into the hall, leaving Bakugo alone in the waiting room.
You step out of the tunnel wearing a smile you don’t bother to hide. The roar of the crowd washes over you, but your attention drifts upward, toward the Jumbotron positioned over Iida’s side of the ring. His face fills the screen as he walks out after you. His posture is straight, his expression serious, and he looks far more focused than he’d been when he stopped by your waiting room earlier.
You glance forward again just as he comes into view, climbing the steps into the ring.
Once you're both at your starting positions, you can't help but smile to yourself as you look at him. You couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of pride filling your chest. You had made it to the semi-finals of your first Sports Festival. The realization hits you square in the chest, warm and overwhelming. All the late nights with Sir and Mirio. The bruises, the training, the frustration, it had all meant something. You were a two-time round winner. A crowd favorite. And more importantly, your friends and classmates had shown up today in ways that made you proud to stand beside them.
Present Mic’s voice booms through the arena, launching into his usual colorful commentary. He makes sure to highlight that this match isn’t just exciting because it’s a semifinal, or because both competitors are from Class 1-A, but because the two of you are co-class reps.
You glance back up at the jumbotron just in time to see Iida visibly straighten, puffing his chest out a little at the mention of his title.
You bring a hand up to cover your mouth slightly as you giggle under your breath.
He’s too cute.
Ms. Midnight appears at the edge of the ring and raises her hand. And the buzzer sounds.
Recipro engines roar to life as Iida launches himself toward you in a blur of motion, faster than most people in the stands could even track with their eyes. You react instantly, executing the only plan that makes sense against someone this fast.
You drop. Placing both palms to the ground as ice blooms outward in a smooth, rapid sheet, coating the arena floor to stop him. The sudden loss of friction sends Iida skidding, his momentum turning against him as he spins uncontrollably, like a car hitting black ice.
Before he can crash or slide out of bounds, you snap a water whip around him, steadying his movement and keeping him from getting hurt. You reel him in, ice reinforcing water, water reinforcing ice, until he’s fully immobilized and wrapped neatly in shimmering coils right in front of you like a big blue Christmas gift.
He struggles for a moment, testing for any give. But there is none.
He looks down at you, then lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Well,” he sighs, “perhaps I’ll have better luck next time.”
You pout at his words, but laugh softly with him. “Luck has nothing to do with it. You’ve been incredible all day.”
He exhales, smiling despite himself. “Maybe. Just not incredible enough this time.” Then, more determined, “Next year, though, I’ll beat you for sure.”
You grin. “I’m sure you will.”
Ms. Midnight steps forward, raises her hand again, and asks if Iida can move at all.
He answers honestly. “No.”
The buzzer rings a second, and final time.
Your face fills the screens around the arena as Present Mic declares you the winner and the first finalist of the tournament.
You release your grip, the ice melting away as the water retreats back into your hands. Iida stumbles free and immediately bows. And the crowd adores it.
You groan, laughing as you lightly smack his shoulders, having to shout over the crowds clammoring so he can hear you clearly. “Iida! Stop that! Stand up, you don’t have to bow!”
He straightens after a beat, expression sincere. “I don’t think it was unnecessary.”
He hesitates, then continues quietly. He tells you that earlier in the day, he’d been frustrated. And not just with his performance in the Festival, but with himself. Jealous, even. He wanted to place higher. He wanted you to pick him for your cavalry team. He wanted to win badly enough that you’d notice. But none of that made him feel better.
What did was you wishing him luck. You believing in him. You acknowledging that he was strong, capable, and worthy, regardless of the outcome.
“So,” he finishes, “I wanted to thank you, as well as apologize. And I hope you can forgive me.”
Your heart practically melts in your chest.
You hug him without hesitation, resting your head briefly against his chest. “How could I ever be mad at you?”
You pull back with a smile and look up into his eyes. “But we should probably get off this ice before one of us eats shit.”
He nods, then admits sheepishly, “I agree, but…I…can’t really move all that well right now.”
“I got you,” you laugh as you take his hands in yours. Carfully dragging him to the end of the ring, step by slow step, until you both reach the stairs. You help him down safely, release one hand once his footing is secure. But you keep the other, as you both walk back through the arena tunnel.
Just like you and Mina had.
Unfortunately, the other semi-final match goes exactly how you feared it would.
With Bakugo winning.
You watch the fight from the waiting room, arms crossed, and eyes focused as Bakugo and Todoroki tear into each other with terrifying precision. It really was an incredible match. Chalked full of raw power, honed control, and years of training colliding in explosive bursts that make the entire arena feel too small to hold them.
Todoroki is brilliant. Controlled. Precise.
But you can tell he’s still holding back.
And Bakugo isn’t.
When the final blow lands, it’s clean. A perfect knockout, with time still ticking down on the clock. The crowd loses its mind. Present Mic’s voice nearly cracks from the excitement.
But you don’t move. Rolling your eyes as Bakugo’s face fills the arena and he’s announced the second finalist of the Festival. You don’t bother heading back up to the class section, either. You already know you’ll be back out there in minutes.
Once the ring clears, a fifteen-minute timer flashes across every screen in the arena, signaling the final break before the championship match.
You exhale slowly. You don’t even have time to finish a sip of water before there’s a knock at your door. Instinctively, you straighten up.
Already knowing who it is.
When you open it, Bakugo is standing there.
You lean your forehead against the doorframe and let out an exhausted breath. Already so bored with this little game he liked playing so much. “Yes, Bakugo. What do you want now?”
He can’t stop the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth, at the all too beautiful and satisfying sight of you annoyed. “You better not disappoint me like half-and-half did,” he says. “And you better not pull any cheap tricks like you did with four-eyes.”
You roll your eyes. “Any other demands while I’ve got ya’ here?”
He pauses, actually thinking. “Yeah. Just one.” His gaze sharpens. “Use everything. I don’t want reruns or watered-down bullshit. I want to see all of it. Everything you prepared just for this Festival. Don't. hold. back.”
You shift your weight, popping your hip out slightly as you cross your arms.
“You don’t want that,” you say honestly in a dry, tired voice.
He laughs, a real laugh this time. And brings his fore arm up to rest on the side of the door frame. Propping his head up as he pressed his temples to his knuckles.
“You think I’m afraid of you?”
“No, I know you’re not,” you say easily, and a little disappointed. “But your cockiness and your need to prove something to me is going to get you caught up in something you don’t actually want,” you let your voice carry up at the end in an almost sing-song fashion.
His expression hardens. “You think I don’t want to beat you?”
“No, I know you do.” Your voice stays calm. “But now that we’re here, I can tell you the truth. And the truth is…You can’t beat me.”
He scowls, but you don’t stop.
“You want something from me that I can’t give you. You want a game. You want a chase. You want to win today and still have something to fight about tomorrow. You want a rival.” You shake your head. “I won’t be that for you. I can’t be.”
He explodes immediately. “Rival? Why the hell would I want you as my rival?”
You shrug, genuinely unsure. “I don’t know? I was hoping you might know! Like…I don't know…explain why it pissed you off so much when I helped you in the cavalry battle? Or…why you lost your mind when I said I thought Iida was stronger than you? Or, why you think I’m only nice to you to pacify and pity you? Or, why you can’t wrap your head around the idea that I might actually care about you because I’m a caring person…and not just because you want to ‘keep my friends close and my enemies closer’, and not because I’m playing some…long and agonizing mind game with you?”
You look straight at him.
“You refuse to see me as who I actually am, who I try hard to be. In your head, you’ve turned me into someone else entirely.” You pause for a beat. “Someone who…seems a lot like you?”
Bakugo’s eyes widen, just a smidge. The realization hits him too hard and too fast. He does want you to be his rival. He does want to chase you, to beat you, to prove himself again and again. He wants you to look at him and see him. see him as the strongest, the smartest, the most capable.
And when you don’t?
He wanted to tear the world apart until you do.
Why though?
Why does he care so much?
His thoughts spiral. His ears burn red with embarrassment, suddenly feeling so exposed and out in the open. His gaze drifts, unfocused and overloaded.
What was wrong with him? What was happening to him? What were you doing to him? What did you do?
You wave a hand in front of his face. “Bakugo. Bakugo? Hello?”
He blinks hard, refocusing, and suddenly you’re right there.
Had you been this close the whole time?
So relaxed, so unbothered. Looking up at him through your long dark lashes, wide blue eyes bright and infuriatingly calm. He can feel his heart stutter as he gazes into them a second too long.
Pretty.
The word creeps into his brain, completely uninvited. What the hell? He’s never thought that before. Not like this. It has to be the closeness. That’s it. Anyone would lose their mind standing this close to a pretty girl.
Right?
“You okay?” you ask dryly. “Or are we having a staring contest now?”
He snaps back into himself, scowling as he stands up straight and shoves his hands back into his pockets. “You’re wrong,” he mutters, turning away. “I don’t have a rival. And I don’t want one.”
He glares at you over his shoulder. “And it wouldn’t make sense anyway. It’s not like you’re on my level.”
With that, he walks away toward his waiting room. You watch him go, utterly unimpressed by his nasty act, then shut your door with a soft click.
Once your 15 minutes are up, you calmly make your way out to the arena. You don't try to hype yourself up. You aren't happy. You aren't excited. You arenet nervous. All you feel right now is steady determination, and exactly what you’d set out to make the audience feel when you woke up this morning. Confidence. As you exit your tunnel and the warm summer air hits your face, the resounding cheers of the crowd fill your ears. They scream your name. Just like they had been all day.
You can tell immediately, you’re the favored winner. It’s written into the way the noise sharpens when you step into view, the way cameras scramble to follow you, the way the energy shifts as soon as your feet touch the arena floor.
But their favoritism means nothing. You’re not going to win because they want you to. In fact, you can barely hear them at all.
What once felt deafening now registers as a distant hum, low and constant, like an electric toothbrush buzzing somewhere behind your ears. Their whistles and shouts are still sharp, still piercing, but they don’t reach you the same way anymore. Because somewhere between the beginning of the day and now, you made up your mind.
Since the start of school, Katsuki Bakugo has been an unsolvable problem for you. You’d turned him over in your head again and again, trying to figure out where he fit, what he meant, how you were supposed to feel about him. Was he just some loud, half-feral delinquent? Or was he somehow misunderstood? Rough around the edges? Someone who could be better if given the chance?
You have your answer now.
He’s a jerk. A big one. A massive one. Just like that Shinsou kid said. And you’re…tired.
Tired of defending him.
Tired of making excuses for him.
Tired of pretending it didn’t bother you as much as it did.
No amount of redirection or fine-tuning could change the truth: he doesn’t want to change. He doesn’t see a reason to.
And you’re sure of something else now, too.
You can’t change him. And you don’t want to change him. Because you don’t care anymore.
He’s a classmate. And that’s all he’ll ever be.
But right now, as he stands across from you in the ring, battle-ready, aggression radiating off of him in waves, eyes burning with something desperate and unyielding. And Ms. Midnight takes her place between you, arm raised to signal the start of the final match…
He isn’t your classmate.
He’s your opponent.
And when the buzzer sounds, you do exactly as you were told. Exactly what he told you to do.
You don’t hold back.
You don’t soften your blows.
You don’t give him the chase he wants.
You dismantle him.
You outthink him.
You outpace him.
You outmaneuver him.
You don’t play cat and mouse.
You don’t indulge his fury.
You end it.
No planning.
No prioritizing.
Only a perfectly pronounced performance.
And when the dust settles. When the crowd erupts into absolute chaos. When your name floods the arena one final time.
Another weekly freaky post for my loves🥳————————————————————————
Izuku Midoriya
He’ll tell you he can’t pick bc he loves everything about you sooooo muuuuuch!! :)
But truthfully he can’t pick bc it depends on the day for him
One day you’ll do something or wear something that has him drooling over your chest
And the next you’ll do or wear something that has him begging for a piece of that ass
It’s truly ebbs and flows for him
But if he were to really force himself to answer, he’d probably say tits
As much as he loves feeling up your ass, or laying his head on it, or holding it as he kisses you, or smacking it from time to time when he’s fucking you…..
NOTHING beats watching you play with your chest for him
It’s just so sexy, and he especially loves when you do it while your riding him or trying to convince him to have sex
He basically never says no to you regardless, but the second you slip those pretty little hands up under your shirt and start sighing and moaning his name??……..he’s all over you
——————————————————————
Katsuki Bakugou
Ass, no question.
It’s always on his mind, he’s always looking, always touching, always squeezing or smacking, and always pinching
Loves the way it looks in everything you wear, especially underwear
And don’t let it be a pair of his underwear…….
You went through a kinda mini phase were whenever you slept over at his apartment you’d just use a pair of his briefs as pajama shorts
Ruined so many pairs of his own underwear by stretching them out at the leg holes bc he refused to let you take them off but NEEDED to fuck you, or by just tearing them open at the back seam lol
But nothing turns him on more than you using his love for your ass against him
Wear his favorite sundress and tell him it was too hot to wear panties so you went commando for the day, or wear your tiniest pair of shorts and slip into his lap and tell him how much you miss him, or try and leave for a night out with your girlfriends in the lowest low rise jeans you own with your skinniest black thong peeking out of the back
He’s 10000% going to be all over you for the next 4-6
Doesn’t usually have the patience for being teased, but if your ass is involved?? He doesn’t mind suffering a little
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Shouto Todoroki
Both.
He’s gonna answer both and he means both.
But if he had to consider a potential tiebreaker to sway him one way or another……..he’d probably say………tits??
But only because nothing beats sucking on your tits
He LOVES sucking on them, during cuddles, during make outs, during foreplay, during sex, after sex, he just loves having your tits in his mouth
Any position that leaves your chest exposed for him to suck and lick around your nipples are his favs and he’ll usually do it as a sort of ‘grand finale’ during sex bc he never last too long with your tits in his mouth
Despite this tho, not unless your literally dangling them topless in his face or wearing something tight or low cut that pushes them up or out, he’s not staring at your chest too often, well, not often enough for you to know he’s a tiddy guy
He is however, constantly staring at your ass, especially when your bent over.
He just finds it so cute!! The shape, the size, how it looks in clothes, how it fits in his hands, it’s adorable!!
But at least…..idk…..45-50% of the time he’s not purposefully staring at your ass……..he’s staring at your clothed cunt……….
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Tenya Iida
Would never (a)nswer (s)uch a (s)hallow and disrespectful question about his partner!! He loves every inch of you equally!!
It’s ass and he knows it.
He does do a very good job at suppressing and hiding his favoritism tho!
If you didn’t know any better you’d assume it was your chest just based on the ways he’s always kissing and mouthing around that area during foreplay and the deed
But it’s his hands that give him away
Always resting a hand on your hip or veeeery low on your back during cuddles, letting his hands slide down so low when he hugs you, the way he squeezes and spreads you ass when your making out in his lap, as well as his over apparent love for spanking you in the bedroom
He’s not that slick
But still, he’ll never outwardly admit to preferring your ass
Especially not when every other part of you is just as perfect in his eyes
…..but there’s just something about your ass that he can’t give up…….its too hot to him……
——————————————————————
Eijiro Kirishima
The ultimate ass lover
Bakugo is a close second, but no one’s beating the og
Can’t even stare at your ass for too long or he’ll start begging for you to come sit on his lap or cuddle or just straight up have sex
His hands are always on or around it when he’s with you
Loves giving you booty rubs when your cuddling and if your pants are too thick or too tight for him to get a good grip and feel on you during said booty rubs, he’s ripping them off you
As much as it feels like it sometimes, not everything is constantly ‘ass, ass, ass’ with him
He loves your tits too!!
Especially watching them bounce around or jiggle like in missionary or cowgirl
But if he wants to watch any bounce or jiggle during sex……it’s gonna be that ass…..
It’s just too sexy to him he NEEDS to take you from behind for at least a couple of strokes every time you go at it, and the longer you try and prolong the inevitable……..the meaner he’s gonna be when he finally does get that ass…..
——————————————————————
Hitoshi Shinsou
Another ‘depends on the day’ kinda guy
Is never not staring at your ass if it’s within his viewing vicinity
But he’s also constantly staring at your chest when you’re not paying attention soooooo…
If he forced him to give you an answer tho he’d probably say tits
But his actions say otherwise
Because as much as he likes squeezing and groping at your chest when you cuddle
He also has to keep your ass pressed flush against his hips or he’s gonna start complaining about how far away you feel and how you hate him lol
His same tit for tat logic applies during sex too
He’s constantly switching angles and positions just so he can love on and appreciate all of your assets equally
His fav way to do this tho is when he’s fucking you in doggy and he can lean over you and wrap his arms around you to feel up your chest while his hips snap against your ass
Ellooo, I saw a video of this online and I thought it was so cute. Can you write how some of the mha boys like to grab readers neck when they kissed them? (Bakugou and kirishima pretty please 🙏🏾 )
ouuuuuuuuuu yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyessssss!! I love cute stuff like thissssss😩🤍
——————————————————————
Izuku Midoriya
This little angel hates the idea of hurting you in any way
But he loves choking you
Not hard or anything, and not even that often
But he loves gently guiding your face to his so he can kiss you, then slowly bringing his big scarred hand down and gently wrapping it around your neck
He can do this to the front of your neck or the back, he likes both just about the same
Usually, if his hand is holding your throat from the front he'll let them slowly come down and start playing with your chest
And if his hand is holding the back of your neck they'll come down and rest on your lower back or ass
Tho he might like the front a little more bc if things get really heated he can quickly move his hands down to our hips or your sides so he can move you into his lap
Also likes choking while you two are fucking, especially if your in any position where your facing away from him
That way he can wrap a hand around your neck and hold you against his chest or keep you locked into place like in reverse cowgirl or doggy so that you cant run
——————————————————————
Katsuki Bakugou
BIG CHOKER RIGHT HERE
He almost exclusively grabbing you by your neck before he kisses you, but he isn't super rough or forceful about it tho
He just loves the way his hand looks around your throat
And loves how anytime he wraps a hand around your neck you look up instinctively, waiting for his kisses
If he's grabbing the back of your neck tho once his mouth is on you he's letting his hand drop down your back and pulling you flush against him
Also lovessssss it when he's choking you and you wrap a hand around his wrist, keeping his hand in place
do this and you're sealing your fate honestly, now your getting fuckkkkeddddd
Choking during the deed is practically a nonnegotiable for him
Loves watching your eyes go all dark and misty when your close and he's choking you, that fucked out look in your eyes will have him tumbling over the edge in seconds fr fr
Also loves when you choke him back, you want a kiss? choke him. you want him to go deeper? faster? harder? choke him. pls just choke him
——————————————————————
Shouto Todoroki
Not the biggest on choking in a non-sexual way
Sho really is a gentle giant when it comes to showing his partner love he's just too sweet
He does enjoy grabbing your face or your head with both hands and letting them slip down your neck and over your shoulders tho thats a classic for him
But if he is choking you, and not just resting a hand on or around your neck, but real genuine hand around the throat choking? He's trying to fuck
As sweet and gentle of a lover as Sho is he finds all the size differences between you two sooooo fuckinggg hooooooot
Your height difference? cute. How much broader his shoulders are than yours? adorable. And the way his big hands look and feel wrapped around your neck? nghhhhhhhhhhhh
If he’s choking you while you two makeout he's kissing you super deep and super sloppy, with all moans and all the slow grinding and cursing under his breath all of itttttt
But if he's choking you while you two are fucking? get ready to not be able to walk for a few hours
Is a firm believer that any position is immediately multiplied by like 1000x on the hotness scale if he's choking you, slow strokes or fast and rough, he doesn't care as long as he can watch you cum on his cock with one of his hands wrapped around your neck
Loves getting choked when your riding him, will fully turn into a blushy, whinny mess the second he feels that steady pressure around the side of his neck, hes so down bad for you
——————————————————————
Tenya Iida
A bigger choking enjoyer than you'd expect
Honestly a bigger choking enjoyer than he'd expect too lol
Tenya is a very passionate lover, almost messily so
Tries hard to vocalize what he wants or what he's feeling to you but sometimes it is easier to just show you
and when he needs to show you how bad he wants you, or how bad he needs you? the choking enjoyer might come out to play
Is very, very, veryyyyyy infatuated with your neck, so he kind of always knew he'd enjoy choking you
Only really does it when you two are making out or fucking and he's on top of you, if your on top of him he's just holding you against him while one hand grips your neck from the back so he can go absolutely insane, kissing licking and sucking everything in the space between your mouth and your collar bones.....
Like I said, veryyyyyyy passionate
During the deed tho he loves choking you to maintain dominance so expect for the hand™️ to make an appearance if you start getting a little too mouthy or bratty
The hand™️ and spanking usually go hand in hand, so if one makes an appearance during sex, trust the other is coming close behind!
——————————————————————
Eijiro Kirishima
His #1 sexy dom move lol he's so stupid
I mean it works for him but the choking, fuck me eyes, and lip bite trio is a crazy combo
Loves doing it to make you shy or try and 'put you in your place'
Rarely ever works out like that for him tho lol
All you have to do is tease him back with his hand wrapped around your throat and he's actually putty in your hands he's so fucking easy lol
Slide into his lap and choke him or just run your fingers gently up and down his neck? he's doing whatever you want no question
He's such a service dom lol!! if you two are making out tho and he brings a hand up to choke you hes just silently asking you if he can be on top if you two go at it
If you give him any kind of playful or bratty resistance while he's choking you tho he's putting you through the mattress 100% im talking full dom action with all the fixins absolutely
But if you choke him first or ask him to choke you expect a nice long and deeeeeep session with him, he's a sucker for spoiling you in bed and giving you what you want
Will choke you as he showers you in praise and compliments, he can't help it when you look this damn gorgeous with his hands on you
——————————————————————
Hitoshi Shinsou
Another big time choking enjoyer, but thinks it has a time and place
Likes to gently choke during makeouts and foreplay but likes to save the BIG GUNS for rough, hard sex
is a casual BDSM enjoyer so he's not shy when it comes to the topic of choking
Just tell him what your into!!
Lovesss when you choke him tho, especially during makeouts and when your on top
Loves when you use him for your own pleasure so the choking just kinda solidifies the idea that your getting off by using him AND getting off the the sight of him being used......hot
When you two are really going at it tho dont think the only things he's choking you with are his hands, he'll use anything as long as your down for it
Does honestly prefers using his hands or his arms tho, loves putting you in a full nelson and flexing his bicep to block your airway a little while he fucks you from behind
He isnt constantly choking you in every position tho, like I siad he believes it has a time and place but will always choke upon request!
If there is one position he's usually going to choke you in tho its right when you get done sucking him off and your between his legs on your knees, while he's in a seated position. he's grabbing that neck and pulling you back up to his mouth so he can taste himself on you
Chapter 6: Confident————————————————————————masterlist: Mrs. All American🤍
<<prev next>>
The Sport Festival has arrived, and the day isn't going as smoothly as you'd like
tags: BNHA x fem!Reader, reverse harem x reader, slow burn, sfw, Izuku Midoriya x reader, Katsuki Bakugo x reader, Shoto Todoroki x reader, Tenya Iida x reader, Eijiro Kirishima x reader, Hitoshi Shinsou x reader, Mirio Togata x reader
————————————————————————
Being away from home was hard for you. Hard in the way that getting out of bed in the morning could be. One day you're springing out of the sheets and beating the alarm, and then the next day you can't even will yourself to pull the comforter from over your head. As the splendid shint, newness of school became more and more mundane, and ordinary, your dwindling homesickness felt like it came and went with the tides. So much so that some days you felt guilty for enjoying your time away from home as much as you did. But one thing no amount of guilt could get you to refuse was what being away from home had done for your confidence. Because damn. It was almost metamorphical.
Back home, second-guessing yourself had felt almost instinctive. You’d learned to weigh every choice twice, to anticipate pushback before it ever arrived, to soften and shrink yourself preemptively so no one else had the chance to do it for you for whatever reason. But here, at UA, so far from home, so far from everything you loved and everything you hated, those voices had started to finally fade. More often than not, you caught yourself thinking things like Why shouldn’t I be able to do this? Or why wouldn’t I be capable of this? And the absence of hesitation felt…strange. Amazing, but strange.
You assumed it was because you were away from home, away from systems and patterns that had stripped and shaped you. Constantly comparing yourself to your sisters, never feeling good enough, strong enough, or different enough. Or maybe it was because you didn’t have your usual safety net hovering nearby, when the only way your family could reach you was via phone call, when you're so used to your family being wrapped up in just about everything you do, was a jarring transition. This forced you to become that support for yourself, to fill the necessary gaps that leaving your family behind had left. Or maybe it was because you weren’t actually without a support system anymore, you’d just discovered a new one. And a much bigger one.
You had your uncle Toshi, so sweet and reassuring. Sir, acute and demanding, pushing you harder than anyone else ever had, and loving you just as, if not harder. You had Mirio and Tamaki, probably the closest things you had to family on this side of the world, other than Luke. And of course, there was Luke, a simple constant in your life that you'd surely fall apart without.
And then there were your classmates.
Mina’s endless enthusiasm. Jirou’s dry humor and shared love for all things music. Momo’s thoughtfulness and extensive intelligence. Hagakure’s warmth and generosity. Iida’s unwavering form and reliability. People who trusted you. People who leaned on you with little to no questioning. People who believed in you so easily that it made you want to believe in yourself more. It was more than you could have ever dreamed, and at times more than you were sure you deserved.
But sometimes, support came from places you didn’t expect.
Now, it wasn’t exactly a secret, to you or to anyone else, that you were attractive. You weren’t oblivious. But being someone’s type? That always felt like a stretch. Compliments were one thing; genuine interest was another.
You knew, for example, that Monoma from Class B had some kind of not-so-subtle infatuation with you. But it was hard to take his flirtations seriously when they were wrapped in theatrics and jealousy and grossly performative charm. Whatever feelings he had felt more like a bit than anything real. But what you didn’t realize was that some admirers were much closer than you thought. So close, in fact, that one of them lived directly beneath you.
Izuku Midoriya.
You’d been living rent-free in Midoriya’s head since before school even started. All Might had mentioned you to him the weekend before classes began, speaking of you with a familiar fondness that made Midoriya feel like he known you for years before he’d even had the chance to lay eyes on you. All Might said you were a great kid. An amazing student. That you’d gotten into UA off recommendation. That the two of you would probably become fast friends. And as flattering as all that sounded, Midoriya hadn’t believed it.
He wasn’t the kind of person who became fast friends with anyone. He was shy. Reserved. Painfully self-conscious. And all of that only got worse the moment he actually met you.
You were…a lot.
Bright, almost blindingly so. Outspoken. Confident. Strong. And beautiful. So beautiful. Like, devastatingly beautiful. So beautiful that you made his brain short-circuit whenever you looked directly at him. Within a single day, he watched you dominate the quirk aptitude test, effortlessly converse with half the class, and, somehow, knock Bakugo off his high horse, even if only for a moment. You moved through the room as if you owned it. Like you’d never known a time when you weren't positive that you did. Midoriya liked the idea of being your friend. For All Might’s sake, sure, but also for his. Still, he didn’t think it was realistic. People like you didn’t usually see much in people like him.
Except…you did.
You never treated him like a background character. like some burden or bother. You invited him into things, small things, stupid things. Asked if he needed help, wanted help. Waited patiently when he stumbled over his words. Tried carefully to make sense of his nonsense ramblings and mumblings. Extended him grace during training exercises. You even stepped in when Bakugo’s mouth ran too far, something no one else had ever done for him.
And that was what he loved the most, what he couldn't get enough of. that more often than not, you were the one reaching out first. That realization did something to him. Effected him in ways he didn't know how to put into words. He found himself lingering on the first floor when he knew you’d be downstairs, cooking or hosting one of your impromptu study groups. His eyes drifted to the back of your head during class more times than he could count, catching little moments like you fidgeting with your hair or fixing it absentmindedly while you listened.
And he absolutely couldn’t stop asking All Might about you.
What was your favorite color? Your favorite food? What music did you like? Did you have hobbies outside of hero work?
And the question All Might could never seem to answer to his own satisfaction: How did he know you?
But despite the continual pitfalls, Midoriya couldn't get enough of you. Enough of your kindness, your smile, your laughter, your cooking, it was starting to feel a bit too consuming. He just couldn’t help himself, though; he’d never really had a crush before. Sure, he’d met girls he thought were pretty, people he admired from afar, but nothing had ever stuck. Nothing had ever felt…real.
But you? You felt real. More than real. More than anything.
Something about you pulled him in, slow and steady, like quicksand, until resisting you in any way felt impossible. And while you were busy building confidence, finding your place, and working to build a new life for yourself, a new future for yourself, and wondering if this persona you had created, you were perfecting, was good enough, Midoriya was quietly relishing in every second of it. Of you. Never daring to question that the person he was growing more and more infatuated with wasn't as put together as he believed. Because to him, you were everything.
He watched you from the corner of his eye as you carefully packed your lunch tray in the cafeteria. You had your bag on your shoulder, which meant you wouldn't be eating in the cafe. If you were, you would have placed your bag at your seat before entering the lunch line. He practically had every aspect of your day filed away neatly in his head after weeks of careful observations. This would be the second time this week you’d taken your lunch to go, though. He wondered if you were maybe eating in the library or in the classroom to get some extra work or studying done. He wished he could just build up the courage to ask. Ask you about all the little gray areas in your schedule, where he wondered where you were. But he’d have to work on that. He was going to work on that.
He reached the checkout line just in time to watch you exit the cafe with your tray, going off to where it was you were going. He looked down at his own try as he moved forward in the line. He wanted to talk to you. Talk and reach out to you in that smooth and easy way you did for him. He wanted to know more about you, everything about you, but he knew everything he wanted to know was going to have come straight from the source. Straight from you. And he knew he couldn't do that yet. Soon, hopefully, but not yet. He just wasn't confident enough.
Being at school full time was great, it really was, but you couldn't deny the times when your packed schedule felt more draining than ritualistic. Ever since your conversation with Todoroki and the gradual incline of conversations thereafter, you realized that pulling back when you felt you needed to wasn't just comforting at times, but also extremely necessary. So as the days drew closer and closer to the Sports Festival, you decided to give yourself more time to relax. You had been training with Sir nonstop for days, pushing your body and abilities to their limits just to get back to the dorms and push your mind to its social and emotional limits as you tried to keep all of your classmates happy, safe, fed, and in bed by midnight. And you couldnt deny the toll it was beginning to take on you. And you’d be damned if any of this caused you to strike out at the Sports Festival.
So you took much-needed breaks wherever you could fit them. Like asking Sir to switch up your training to include conditioning once or twice a week, rather than constant hand-to-hand combat, weapon training, and target practice. Or like asking Bakugo or Sato if they could handle dinner for you, or asking Iida if he could handle diffusing whatever is going on in the living room so you can go back to studying alone in your room for once. Or your personal favorite, getting greedy and having more than one lunch with your uncle Toshi in a school week. Which, funny enough, was what you were doing right now.
You're already laughing upon hearing his loud and long cooing of your name as soon as he saw you crack the door open. “Hi,” you greeted, amused. “You’re in a good mood!” Balancing your lunch tray in one hand, as you shut his office door behind you.
“I am always in a good mood when I get to have lunch with my favorite first-year,” he declared proudly, then softening as he gestured for you to sit. “I hope it’s not too rude for me to say that…Now. Tell me! How have your first few weeks in the dorms been treating you?”
You slid into your usual chair across from him, placing your lunch tray gently down in front of you.
“They’re great,” you said honestly. “Like…really great. I mean, it’s hectic, obviously. Twenty teenagers living together is…” You paused, searching for the nicest word possible, “…a lot…sometimes.”
All Might laughed, shoulders bouncing. “Yeah, no kidding.”
“But it’s been good,” you continued, bringing your entree up closer to your mouth to eat. “I’ve gotten so much closer with everyone. I mean, dorm life is basically forced bonding, but I actually think that's exactly what a lot of us needed. Me included”
His expression shifts a bit at that. “So do you think you're happier in the dorms? Even if… Y’know… the reason all of you guys had to move in there in the first place isn't the best?” he asks, obviously intrigued.
Your hands slowed for a second as you chew and think.
“What happened at the USJ was terrible,” you say carefully, putting your bowl back on the tray. “Like, really terrifying. And obviously, I know, it shouldn’t have happened. But if any good came out of it…” You exhaled softly, looking up at the ceiling as you continued to attempt to gather your thoughts. “It would be moving into the dorms. I’m definitely really happy there with everyone.”
You let your eyes fall back down to your uncle.
“Not that I don’t love being with Luke, but it's just—different at the dorms, I don’t know,” you added. “Being together. Seeing each other outside of class. Outside of our uniforms. Eating together. Arguing over dumb stuff. Getting annoyed and then getting over it and going and doing something fun with the person you were mad at like 2 hours ago.” Your mouth tugged into a small smile. “It’s amazing. We’ve all gotten so much closer, like…so much closer.”
All Might nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. He wouldn't dare deny how worried he’d been about you, about all of you. He couldn't imagine what witnessing something like the USJ could do to such young and impressionable minds. Especially when all of you dream of becoming heroes someday soon. Becoming exposed to how dark and disgusting the world can be, how dark and disgusting being a hero can be. It wasnt fair. But he was so happy to hear that all of those deep and dark memories were being diluted by sweet, innocent new ones of you and all of your friends just getting to be kids together.
“Well, that’s really good to hear. A class that trusts each other is—”
“Also,” you interrupted, grinning mischievously as you brought your open drink can up to your lips, “I even think I’m becoming good friends with your little buddy.” You make sure to punctuate the last word by wiggling your brows at him. The fork in All Might’s hand paused midair.
“…My little—” he repeated, voice cracking slightly in a way that didn’t match his heroic image at all.
You watched his face go through so many emotions in such quick succession. First confusion, alarm, and something dangerously close to embarrassment.
“I have no idea who you're talking about,” he lies, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
You blinked at him like he was the weird one here, with a small smile of disbelief slapped on your face.
“Midoriya,” you clarified easily. “Your little buddy. You know. Your ‘good kid?’”
He scoffs at your thoughtful callback to his first mention to you about the boy, and that just makes you laugh more.
“Ah, yes, young Midoriya!” he sighs out, a little too loud, a little too forced. “I’m not sure if calling him my ‘little buddy’ is an accurate description.”
You squinted at him, amused. “Interesting…Then what would you call him?”
“One of my students!” he says immediately, sounding more and more like he's on trial. “One of my many students. Now! Speaking of school matters, tell me how your training for the Sports Festival been going!”
You snorted. “Nice save.”
All Might gave you a sheepish smile, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees like he was bracing himself for whatever you were about to say.
“It’s been pretty hard, honestly,” you admitted, not sugarcoating it. “Sir has been running me through drills and strategy and…basically everything. But I’m getting through it. And I can tell I’m improving, so I think it's all worth it.”
All Might’s eyes softened with pride. “Excellent. I know Sir can be…intense, sometimes. But he is brilliant, and he won't waste effort on anything he doesn't have full faith in. So he must be sure you're gonna do great.”
You huffed a laugh. “Let’s hope so.”
He matched your hushed laugh before tilting his head. “Have you taken any time to train with your classmates as well?”
Then you scoffed again at the thought of that. “Honestly? I’m not sure anyone would even want to train with me.”
All Might’s brows lifted, gesturing for you to explain.
“I’m serious,” you said, pointing your fork at him. “Everybody has been taking their Sports Festival prep super seriously. And everyone’s acting super secretive about it. I mean, I get it and all, but no, I don't think I’ll be getting much peer support when it comes to the Sports Festival.”
All Might laughed, loud and genuine. “Ah, rivalry and anticipation. Two classic ingredients to any competition! I’m sure everyone is really just nervous and anxious to get all this stuff over with. It’s your first one, so I know the excitement around all this is pretty intense.”
You leaned back in your chair, sighing dramatically. “Exactly! It’s not even rivalry, it’s paranoia. Like if I ask, ‘Hey, what are you doing after school?’ they’ll start sweating and lying like I’m the police or something.”
All Might wiped at the corner of his eye like he was fighting laughter. “You have quite the way with descriptions.”
“I’m serious!” you continued, “I’m not going to beg someone to spar with me if they don’t want to. I’ll just keep training with Sir and Mirio and call it a day, but jeez, all this tiptoeing around is getting kinda exhausting.”
Your uncle continued to laugh along at your theatrics as your conversation continued to flow freely.
“So, you’ve told me about how hard youve been training and how ready you are for the Festival to just hurry up already.” He watched you for a moment, then asked, “But do you think you're ready for all the other things that come with the Festival? The crowds, the bright lights, the noise, the cameras?”
You sit up in your chair as you think through your answer.
“I mean… You're gonna be on TV,” he continued. “After all this, you’ll be getting attention from pros, agencies, reporters… that's a big jump.” His eyes sharpened slightly. “Especially when just a few hours before, you were just some teenage girl. But once all this is over, you might be…the hero world's next big thing.”
Your mouth pulled into a knowing smile. “Oh, I know,” you say, all too smug. “Sir’s been drilling that into me, too. Don't worry.”
All Might blinked slow, raising a brow at your confident reply. “He has?”
“Yup,” you nodded. “We went over all of that days ago. He said it’s basically like…a trade show. For heroes, though.”
All Might’s expression turned proud, like he was pleased you’d learned the real lesson before the world could teach it to you the hard way.
“That’s a…pretty accurate description, I’d say,” he states, amused.
“As ready as I am for it to be over, I also just feel…so…ready?” you added. “For the cameras and the media and all that. I’m not saying I’m going to be some clip farming attention junkie—because I’m not—but I’m definitely ready. Prepared, I’d say.”
All Might chuckled. “Well thats good to hear. Even seasoned heroes feel that pressure, I know I still do.”
You lifted a shoulder as you continued. “Sir said I need to be memorable. Make people believe in me. Make them trust me. Not just show them what I can do, but show them…who I want to be. Who I am.”
All Might leaned back in his chair, studying you with a thoughtful and proud glint in his eyes.
“Well…then…tell me,” he said. You looked up, attentive.
“What do you want them to feel,” All Might asked slowly, “when they see you?”
The question would have felt so much heavier and loaded if you hadn't been asking yourself that in your head for days on end. You didn’t hesitate long. Not because the answer came so easily to you now, but because it was already sitting in your throat like it had been waiting for him to ask you that since the moment you stepped through the door.
“Confidence,” you say with a proud smile. Your uncle hums long and slow as he nods affirmatively, obviously liking that answer.
“I want them to feel how confident I am,” you continued, voice steady. “I want them to see me and feel like…oh. That girl’s going to be a top pro hero. Not someday, not ‘maybe,’ not ‘if she keeps working.’” Your fingers tightened around your fork unconsciously. “I want them to look at me and just know it. And,” you added, eyes narrowing a little like you were letting him in on a little secret, “I want them to know they’re looking at this year’s winner.”
He grins widely at that.
“I like that,” he said, voice full of that booming certainty that made people feel safer just by hearing him. “That is exactly the kind of mindset a future top hero must have. Not arrogance—conviction. Or in your case, confidence.”
You let out a small breath, shoulders easing slightly, like saying it out loud made it feel so much more real than just repeating it in your head did. Because it really did.
You and your uncle continued to eat and chat for the entire lunch period. You cherished the peaceful moments that you got with him outside of the classroom. Especially when things inside the classroom had been so hectic with the Festival getting closer and closer. It felt as though it loomed over UA like a storm cloud, and with it came scrutiny. Whispers in hallways. Lingering stares. First-years sizing each other up with thinly veiled curiosity and not-so-hidden resentment. You’d felt it all week, that sharp awareness that your class was no longer just another group of students. You were Class 1-A. The hero course. The ones who survived a real villain attack. The ones everyone suddenly had opinions about. Those feelings finally boiled over this afternoon.
Cleanup had just finished, desks back in place, chairs tucked in, the room humming with end-of-day exhaustion. You were halfway through stacking supplies when Uraraka and Tsuyu slid the classroom door open and stopped short. Instead of an empty hallway, a crowd greeted them. Dozens of first-year students stood packed together just outside the door, blocking the exit entirely. Some leaned against the walls. Others whispered to one another. A few stared openly into the classroom, eyes scanning faces like they were browsing items in a display case.
For a split second, your mind jumped somewhere unpleasant. Another emergency. Another evacuation. Another moment where everything went wrong far too fast. Before you could ask what was going on, Midoriya beat you to it.
“Um—e-excuse me,” he said, voice tight with concern and confusion. “Is…is there a problem?”
A familiar scoff cut through the air.
Bakugo shoved his way forward, planting himself at the front of the crowd like a territorial animal. “Don’t be a dumbass, Deku. There's no problem here. They’re just here to scope out the competition before tomorrow, right?” he snapped. “Just wanna know what a real hero looks like, huh?” He got his answer as more murmurings and hushed voices began to spill into the room.
He cracked his knuckles, sparks flaring faintly at his palms. “Now get the hell out of my way before I blast my way through this crowd!”
A ripple of movement went through the crowd, tension spiking immediately as some students wanted to do as he said, and others wanted to get a good look for themselves. And then someone pushed forward. He was tall, though his posture didn’t fully commit to it, shoulders slouched just enough to look perpetually unimpressed. Wild, dark indigo hair framed a face marked by low, tired eyes that carried something sharp beneath them. He reminded you, vaguely, of Tamaki when he was trying to look all intimidating and heroic.
“Well damn,” the boy drawled, eyes flicking over Bakugo with open disdain. “Is everyone in your class this much of an asshole, or are you just the outlier?”
You pressed your lips together and turned your head, shoulders shaking just a little as you bit back a laugh. Not that you found his jab funny (You totally did), it just took you by surprise, and you absolutely did not want to encourage him by letting him see you laugh.
Bakugo took a step forward. You reacted on instinct, knowing how fast a situation can turn, especially when your favorite blonde is involved. Your hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around his forearm before he could do something catastrophic. Your grip was firm, but unlike at USJ, he didn’t shake you off. Instead, he snarled, muscles tensing under your hold, but stepped back all the same. The indigo-haired boy smirked like he’d just proved his point.
“Thought so,” he continued, voice carrying. “But don't worry, I’m positive I already know what a real hero looks like, and I’m positive I’m not looking at one now.” He says, taking his time and slowly tilting his head back as he looks Bakugo up and down. “Consider this my official declaration of war. On you. And your whole class.”
Bakugo scoffs in amusement at the boy, his classic smirk growing as he speaks. Your brows lifted slightly. War? Over a festival? Really?
The boy went on, gesturing vaguely toward all of you. “You hero course kids are all the same. Overconfident and undeserving. Running around with savior complexes like the world already owes you something. You think you're all so special. You get special treatment out in the real world, special perks here at school, hell, at least now we all get our own special dorms to go to at night, all because of you.”
Your brow twitches again in agitation at his words. This asshole was starting to get real comfortable…
“If students like me—or anyone else outside your precious hero course—prove ourselves tomorrow,” he said sharply, “we could be transferred in. Which means one of you could get forced out. Now that…I’d like to see. Wouldn't that be…special? ”
Bakugo laughed a rough, humorless laugh. “So that's what you are, huh? Nothin’ but a butthurt wannabe whose sad because he didn't get picked?” he shot back. “If you wanted in the hero course so bad, you should’ve taken the fucking entrance exam. But you didn’t.”
The boy’s eyes darkened.
“Because you knew you wouldn’t make it, and you still know you won't make it.” Bakugo continued, cruel but acutely honest. “You knew you weren’t good enough,” he says nonchalantly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shrugs the other boy off. “And I'm sure everyone else knows you're not good enough, too, but even if they don't know it yet, I’m sure you’ll prove it to em’ tomorrow. So if it’s war you want, you got it. Because if you couldn’t even get in here, you sure as hell won’t be beatin’ me out there in the Festival.”
The indigo-haired boy rolled his eyes, already turning away. “We’ll see about that,” he said over his shoulder. As the crowd began to thin, you exhaled slowly. Bakugo’s delivery had been…well, very Bakugo, but you couldn’t deny the truth beneath it. Any student outside the hero course was going to have a hard time keeping up with your classmates, with you. You let Bakugo's arm go and went back to gathering your things and attempting to escape this room before anyone else decided to drop by and state their grievances with all of you. But of course, you spoke too soon.
Another student pushed through what remained of the crowd, gripping onto the frame of the still-open class door as he loudly spoke, this one with far less restraint.
“I’m disappointed.”
The voice was sharp, indignant. The boy stood straighter, chin lifted as he glared at all of you. “I used to respect Class 1-A. Especially after hearing about the USJ attack. A group of students holding their own against a bunch of bad guys. How cool is that? But now?” the boy continued as he turned away, heading back down the hall. “Now I know you’re nothing but a bunch of condescending brats.”
Iida stepped forward, eyes wide as he gestured to where the boy had just been and the remaining crowd. “Bakugo!” he snapped. “Your aggression and unsportsmanlike attitude has turned a majority of the first-year class against us! Can’t you see that?”
You put both of your hands up, gesturing them in a ‘down’ motion, in hopes of convincing your partner to bring it down a smidge. “Iida,” you said quietly. “I don't really know if Bakugo is to blame for this…or fully to blame for this. Remember Monoma?” He falters a bit at the connection.
“And the RA meeting?” you added. “All the whisperings, the side-eyes. This was already happening. I think this has been happening between this guy and our last…visitor, I think it's safe to say all publicity isn't good publicity. And I don't think our fellow students like how much attention we’ve been getting.”
Iida let out a quiet huff as he readjusted his glasses, considering your points. It was true. Opinions had formed long before today. All the stress from the festival was just giving everyone permission to voice them freely. Performance pressure. Competition. Ego. All of it was making things worse. And as if they hadn't been already, whether they liked it or not, after tomorrow, all eyes were going to be on Class 1-A. You were officially so ready for all this Festival shit to be over.
Back at the dorm that night, once the adrenaline had finally worn off, you’re curled up on your bed with your legs tucked beneath you, fairy lights casting a soft glow across your room as your phone buzzes nonstop in your hands. Message after message floods in, your family group chat lighting up with GIF’s, emojis, encouragement in the form of aggressively confident ‘you’ve got this’s from your parents and sisters. The messages still for a moment as your phone begins ringing, a FaceTime call from your dad. You answer quickly, pulling the phone up to show the entirety of your face in the camera as you holler out a loud ‘Hiiiii!’ once the call picks up.
Given your current situation, this was the grand extent of the support your family could offer you from a whole ocean away. Nights like these were days when that tide of homesickness felt like it was dragging you out to sea. You wished your family could be here. You wished they were here. Here to see you compete, and hopefully win. But mostly, see how much you’d grown and changed in such a short time. You wanted them to see that they had nothing to worry about. That you were confident in your choice and your future. But right now, all you wanted was to be curled up in your dad's lap while your mom played in your hair. And you weren't sure if telling them that would convince them that you were so sure of your choices.
“Just go out there and have fun,” your dad says for the third time, smiling wide, making his slight crows' feet poke out from the corners of his eyes. “That’s all we care about.”
“And remember,” your mom adds gently from beside him, “you’re already a winner to us. No matter what happens tomorrow.” You sigh a little, nodding along, smiling, taking it all in like you always did. Then Amara tilts her head slightly, studying you through the screen.
“She doesn't wanna hear that,” she says, looking back at your mom. “I believe in you (Y/N)! I know you're gonna go out there and kick ass, and I know you know it too!”
You laugh out at the striking difference between her message of encouragement and your parents'.
“I’m definitely ready to kick ass, yes,” you say honestly, letting the words settle instead of backtracking or softening your tone. You’re trying, really trying, to practice the confidence you want the world to see tomorrow, even in little ways, like changing how you talk to and about yourself. “I want to win, saying it outloud kinda makes me feel like I'm jinxing myself, but even if I don’t… I want everyone watching to be convinced that I’m going to be a great hero someday.”
Your mom smiles immediately. “I don’t think that’ll be hard at all. Because you will be a great hero.” You laugh softly, warmth blooming in your chest.
The call winds down naturally after that. Right as Mariah starts reminding you to wish Mirio and Tamaki luck on their final Sports Festival, you promise that you will before ending the call and letting the room fall quiet again. You plug your phone into the charger, laying it face down on your nightstand as you slip out from under your comforter to head back downstairs, when it starts ringing again almost immediately. You blink, stopping in your tracks, reaching and flipping the phone over, then glancing at the screen.
'Uncle Toshi.'
You scoop the phone up, answering with a grin. “Hey, Uncle Toshi. What’s up?”
“Heeeeeeey! I just wanted to check in with you before it got too late in the evening,” he says warmly. “Big day tomorrow. How are you feeling? Not too nervous, right?”
“Yes, I’m ready, and no, I’m not nervous. Even though your tone is making me feel like I kinda should be…” You admit. “But actually… I’m feeling really excited. Pumped, even.” You pause, then add, “If anything, though, I’m just a little worried about the class. Today, or this afternoon rather, was… a lot.”
You can practically hear the worry spreading over his face on the other end. “Oh no! What happened? No one got into a fight or anything like that, I hope?”
You fill him in quickly on what had happened in or outside the classroom this afternoon. The crowds. The declarations of war. The tension building between the first-year classes.
“…Maybe,” you add lightly, “you should check in on your little buddy Midoriya, too. I know hes not the best when it comes to…handling stress.” There’s a very distinct, very suspicious pause after that.
“I—ah—w-well, maybe I will,” All Might stammers, voice jumping an octave.
Your eyes narrow as you hum at him.
“Maybe you will?” you echo. “Cmon uncle Toshi, it's the day before the sports festival, there was an incident at school today, it’s ok for you to just admit that you're going to talk to him when we both know you probably are, right? I might not have the whole picture on you two, but I’m not dumb.”
He clears his throat loudly. “What makes you say that?”
You scoff softly. “Uncle Toshi…you bring Midoriya up constantly. Always watching him in training like you’re waiting for him to sprout a second head. And your quirks are…very similar. Did you think I was just never going to notice?”
You trail off thoughtfully. “The only difference is that he hurts himself every time he uses his, which is why, or I assumed was why, you were always watching him so intensely. But your apprehension to talk about him earlier and now is starting to make me…reconsider.” Again, silence.
You knew about your uncle’s limits. About his time constraints. And you knew how hard he had to push himself at USJ. But you don’t know, couldn’t know, that his quirk could be passed on. And you surely didnt know that he’d already passed it on. Or to whom.
“So…” you say slowly, “What's up with you two? Is this some kind of mentor–mentee thing? Like Sir and Mirio? Or… something else?” Your uncle spits out another bout of stuttering, then a deep breath.
“As much as I’d like to tell you, because I do! Of course I do! You're my niece, and I don’t want you to not trust me or think I’m keeping things from you, but…Midoriya has parts of his life that he deserves to keep private, just like you!” All Might says carefully. “So, I’m sorry to say, but if you want to know more about… him or me or anything else, you’ll have to ask him for yourself.” You make a face over the phone, listening on as he continues to explain himself. “And I can assure you that the confusion and intrigue are mutual! He asks me about you all the time, where I know you from, how close we are, where I met you, all of it! And I’ve told him the same thing. ‘If you want to know mre just ask!’, get to know each other, become close, become friends, confide in each other! It really is sort of funny how similar you two really are. So…just…ask him.”
You frown at his non-answer, now it was your turn to go silent. “Well…ok…. I don’t really know how to respond to that. But I… guess I can respect it, and his privacy and all that, so, ok.”
There’s a beat of guilt in his voice. “I know it doesn't… sound like I’m making a lot of sense, but I promise, there's nothing weird going on. No foul play here, I swear. But yes,” he adds gently. “We do share a mentor–mentee relationship.”
You relax a bit at that. Allowing the tense conversation to soften out after that, and when he finally says he should let you get back to enjoying some peace before your big day, you tease, telling him that he was just rushing off the phone with you so he really could check on Midoriya. He laughs that time.
“Please don’t be upset,” he gently pleads.
“I’m not mad, I swear,” you say honestly. “I don't know, I guess I just…don’t like feeling left out. I just wish you had mentioned how close you two were and not have been all shifty and secretive about it. You’re always telling me that I can tell you anything, but you don't tell me everything, so…”
“…I know, little lady… I’m sorry, I should have been more honest with you,” he admits.
You hum. “It’s ok though, and don't worry, it doesn’t change how I feel about Midoriya. I still like him. He’s just… hard for me to figure out. But I think I’m getting better.”
“That’s all the more reason to get closer, I’m sure he’s thinking the same about you right now.” All Might says gently.
You sigh. “…Yeah, you might be right.”
And with that, he wishes you luck, reminds you to hydrate and sleep, and then the call ends. You set your phone down, staring at the ceiling for a moment before pushing yourself off the bed. Finally making your way back downstairs with the rest of your class. Hoping to spend your last night as a regular kid with your new support system.
The morning of the festival felt like a blur to you. You’d gotten yourself up and dressed, even fed yourself and a few of your classmates, you packed your bag the night before, filled your water bottle the morning of, and yet you could shake this sleepy foggy feeling. It was almost like you were experiencing the day in spectator mode. Like your actions weren't your own, like you were being controlled by some disembodied being. Maybe it was the nerves. Maybe you were more anxious than you even realized. But now it was too late for you to do anything about that, as you looked around your classes' designated waiting room inside the first-year area as you waited to head out for the opening remarks and ceremony. Most of your class was crammed into the space, small and faintly damp from early-morning condensation. The hum of voices from above bleeds faintly through the concrete, a reminder of just how many people are already waiting for you. Cameras. Pro heroes. Reporters. Everyone.
You sit on one of the folding chairs at one of the tables in the corner of the room, elbows resting on the surface as you fiddle absently with your hair, smoothing it back before checking your reflection in the compact mirror in your hand, the other reaching for your water bottle, sucking down as much as you can before you were all called out into the arena. Across from you, Jirou and Hagakure are whispering excitedly about what events they hope are included in today's Festival, leaning close as they speak. You chuckle along with their varing request and requirements under your breath, closing your compact and reaching into the front pocket of your backpack to pull out a small fabric pouch.
Jirou raises a brow, sitting up straighter in her seat as she watches you. “Did you seriously bring a makeup bag to the Sports Festival?”
You snap your head up immediately at the accusation. “It’s not a makeup bag,” you say defensively, opening it to reveal the contents. “It’s my emergency pouch! See?” you squeak as you go on to pull out all of the bags contese to show your friends. “Theres Lip balm, deodorant, hair ties, a brush, dry shampoo, a stain stick, and hand sanitizer. You never know, so I like to stay prepared.”
Hagakure leans closer, squinting at the bag. “I can literally see mascara.”
You wince. “…Okay, but you never know.”
They both break into quiet laughter just as Iida clears his throat loudly, his posture perfect as he steps forward.
“Attention, everyone,” he announces. “We’ll be heading up to the stadium in just a few minutes, meaning now would be the time to hurry up and take care of any personal matters while you still have time to do so!”
You stand immediately, snapping into rep mode beside him.
“That means, now would be a good time to use the restroom,” you add, projecting your voice, “or grab some water, and double-check that your gym uniform pockets are empty. That means no phones, keys, or jewelry, basically anything you don’t want lost or broken.”
Iida nods firmly. “Presisley. And just a reminder—while we will technically be competitors once the Festival begins, (Y/N) and I are still available at any time if you need assistance and can’t reach an adult first. Just because this is a competition doesn't mean we don't still have your best interest at heart.” You can tell by everyone's reaction, or lack thereof, that the word ‘competitors’ hangs in the air.
You inhale, then speak again.
“Exactly, Iida. I also think that’s a great segway into a quick chat about what happened yesterday after class.” A few heads lift at the mention of yesterdays incident.
“I understand that this is a competition, so, yes,” you continue evenly, “there can only be one winner. And yes, it’s technically every person for themselves.” You pause, eyes sweeping the room. “But I didn't like what happened yesterday. I didn't like what was said yesterday, and I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking that I don't like how yesterday made me feel. Yes, Iida and I are your class reps, so I’m sure some of you, or even a lot of you, just see us as the narcs of the class or Aizawa’s minions.” You try hard to fight the smile tugging at your mouth as you hear a few of your classmates chuckle at your comparisons. “But we’re students too, and even though we try to stay very calm and composed and collected for you guys, yesterday…excuse my French…pissed me the fuck off.” Iida snaps his head at you, shocked at your foul language as a handful of your other classmate swhoop and whistle for you.
“And I’m sure many of you felt, or still feel, the same! I don't like being talked down to, I don't like being looked down on, but yesterday both of those things happened, and both of those things have been happening for, it seems like, a while now. But out of all the stuff that happened yesterday that pissed me off, or that I didn't like, one thing did stand out the most to me: That all the other first-year classes know we’re the class to beat. And that, I love. Because we are. And as long as every other first-year class sees us as the ones to beat, I plan on doing everything in my power to make sure that whatever happens out there in those events today, the final top twenty spots are filled by students from this class, and this class alone.”
You hear Mina loudly shout ‘Yeah!’ from the other side of the room, causing more students to get pumped up by your words.
“Yesterday, when Bakugo talked to that kid with the purple hair, I’m sure many of us didn't…agree with his…delivery,” you say calmly, “but I don't think what he said was wrong at all. Anyone who wanted a spot in the hero course could’ve earned it the same way we did. Turning that frustration on us because we were, and still are, good enough isn’t fair. But if all they see when they look at us is a bunch of ‘overachieving, self-absorbed brats,’” you add, shrugging lightly as you fold your arms over your chest, “then fine. I guess to them we'll be just that. But, that just means one of these overachieving, self-absorbed brats needs to win this Festival today. Period”
A ripple of cheers moves through the room.
“So,” you continue, “as far as events and teams are concerned, you are my team. All of you. We’re all fighting for that top spot, sure, but until that top 20 or top 25 is finalized, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure each an everyone of us gets a shot at first place. And I’ll be doing everything in my power to make sure anyone not in class A doesn't even make it on the podium.”
The room is officially roaring with cheers and applause. Some of your classmates agree, sharing your sentiments, and promise to do their best to support their fellow classmates in any way they can. Kirishima pumps a fist in the air before pointing at you and shouting out, “(Y/N) This is the mainliest speech I’ve ever heard!”
You laugh, waving him off. “Well, I’m glad everyone is feeling fired up! But that’s just how I feel, so thank you, guys, for letting me get that off my chest. And I know someone in this room is going to be this year's winner, I’m sure of it!”
The moment the words leave your mouth, Todoroki, who had remained rather unmoved throughout your whole speech, stands.
“I couldn't agree more,” he says evenly, already moving toward the door, “since this year's winner is going to be me.”
You look over at him as your brows knit slightly at his declaration, all the energy that you’d just poured into your classmates had been drained in under a minute. You continue to stare at him as he walks past you. His words were sharp and confident, sure, but his face was something else entirely. He looked sad, tired even. Like, he only said what he did to convince himself and no one else.
Midoriya blinks, anxiety flaring. “I—I think (Y/N) was speaking literally in that kind of way, Todoroki, I think she just meant that to hype everyone up,” he says quickly. “Not to say that it definitely wouldn't be—”
Todoroki turns sharply.
“I know what she meant,” he cuts in. “I just don't want there to be any confusion about the reality of this competition.” He looks around the room, eyes icy. “Everyone outside this class wants to beat us to justify their resentment—or to take one of our spots in the hero course. What’s going to decide today’s winner isn’t power alone, it’s conviction, it’s motivation.” His eyes flick, briefly, to Midoriya. “And no one here has a stronger motivation than I do. All that’s left,” Todoroki finishes, turning back toward the door, “is to prove it.”
The door opens, and the roar of the stadium floods in briefly before the door slams heavily, muffling the sounds of the arena again. You look around the room briefly as the class stares back in slight disbelief.
“So,” you say quietly, looking over at Iida, silently asking him for his support, “whose ready to head out there?”
The moment you step out into the arena with the rest of your class, the noise hits you like a brick. Cheers crash over you in a wall of sound, echoing off the massive stadium walls as thousands of voices rise together. It’s deafening. And so, so contagious. You couldn’t fight it even if you wanted to; you're smiling, wide and genuine, the energy infectious as it floods through your chest and lights up something inside you. Maybe it was all the stress and anticipation, like All Might had told you about at lunch yesterday, but you couldn't fight how great all of this felt.
You and your class funnel out onto the arena floor, instinctively bunching together as you move toward the small stage set at the center. Above it, Ms. Midnight stands poised with a microphone in hand. The crowd explodes again the second she lifts the mic, her grin sharp and delighted as she welcomes all of the first-years to their very first UA Sports Festival. You laugh under your breath, shaking your head slightly as Midnight plays to the crowd, soaking in their cheers and feeding them right back. This was a mini master class in crowd work, you thought as you mentally noted some of her tricks. When you glance around, you see it written all over your classmates’ faces: the nerves, the awe, the adrenaline, and the pride. Your gaze drifts slightly again, landing on Todoroki.
He still wore the same look on his face that he had when he stormed out of the waiting room just moments ago. Even all the energy pouring into the stadium couldn't change that for him. He looked more rigid than usual, his jaw set tight, his mismatched eyes set forward, and his expression like it had been carved from stone. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve brushed it off as his usual demeanor, maybe just a bit more focused, or chalked it all up to nerves. But you knew better. You knew him better. All his at home dramawth his dad, all the unnecessary stress the Festival was drumming up for him. He wasnt lying in the waiting room when he said no one had more motivation than he did. But his motivs wherent as airy and carefree as the rest of your classmates; he had practically risked his own sanity for this. All of the stress, the frustration, the trauma, you knew he was probably feeling like all of it would be for nothing if he didn't win.
Before you can chase that thought any further, Ms. Midnight’s voice sharpens, slicing cleanly through the roar of the crowd.
“And now!” she announces, pointing dramatically toward the sea of first-years gathered below her, “as per tradition, this year’s first-year Sports Festival representative will be the student who scored the highest on the UA entrance exam! And that honor goes to; Hero Course, Class 1-A’s… Katsuki Bakugo!”
The stadium erupts. while the crowd of first years on the ground remains laughably silent. All eyes swing toward Bakugo, a feral grin tugging at his mouth as he steps forward into the spotlight, basking in the attention like it’s fuel to his flames. He shoves his way through the mass of first-years, his boots heavy against the arena floor as he hops up onto the platform beside Midnight. He doesn’t bother straightening his posture, shoulders slouched, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he leans into the microphone.
“I just want everyone to know…I’m gonna win,” he declares flatly, voice carrying without effort. No flourish. No theatrics. Just raw, arrogant certainty. How on brand. You press your lips together and tilt your head back slightly, eyes rolling before you can stop yourself. Disappointed? A little. But surprised? Not even close.
The reaction from the other first-years is immediate. Boos erupt from the stands and the floor alike, shouts and jeers blending together as Bakugo smirks, clearly enjoying himself. He turns on his heel and flips the crowd off without hesitation, earning even louder backlash before hopping back down off the stage and disappearing into the cluster of your class like nothing even happened. Midnight clears her throat, unfazed, reclaiming the moment with practiced ease.
“Alright, alright!” she calls, grinning. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get into the real fun.”
The giant screens flicker to life above the arena as she begins explaining the first event: a four-kilometer obstacle race stretching around the entire stadium grounds. A winding course packed with hazards, barriers, and surprises, all designed to test speed, adaptability, and decision-making under pressure.
“Only the first forty-three students to make it back inside the stadium will advance to the next round,” Midnight finishes, tapping the mic for emphasis. You smile to yourself. Forty-three students? Your class would fit nicely into that large a margin.
You glance around at your classmates, at Iida standing tall and focused, at Kirishima bouncing lightly on his heels, at Todoroki still coiled tight with intensity, at Midoriya visibly swallowing his nerves, and you feel it settle in your chest with a warm and certain feeling of confidence.
Oh, you were the class to beat, alright..
Midnight lifts her arm and points dramatically toward one of the massive exit gates lining the arena walls.
“Head to the course!” she calls. “Your first event begins now!”
The gates burst open. And just like that, the Sports Festival had officially begun.
You suck in a sharp breath as you sprint toward the open exit, immediately realizing the problem. Too many bodies. Too little space. Hundreds of students surge forward at once, quirkless and powered alike, funneling into the same narrow opening. It doesn’t take a strategist to see it for what it is: a bottleneck. A manufactured traffic jam. The first real obstacle of the race. You don’t hesitate or try and over think your solution, as you think back to your training with Sir, an inability to think on your feet is what holds students up the most in the Festival.
Cold floods your veins as you activate your quirk, ice blooming beneath your feet in a smooth, circular slab, wide and sturdy, almost like a boogie board ripped straight from the beach. The surface lifts, carrying you up and over the growing mass of tangled limbs and flailing elbows below as you skate up and around the curved interior of the exit tunnel. Wind snaps past your ears as you glide cleanly over the chaos and shoot out of the tunnel unimpeded. You glance back over your shoulder just long enough to see that you aren’t the only one who clocked it. Several of your classmates have taken to the air, leaping, skating, blasting, or propelling themselves forward rather than fighting through the crowd. A satisfied grin pulls at your mouth.
You let the nose of the ice dip down, lowering just inches from the ground as you clear the tunnel and hit open space, skating forward with ease and speed. You push harder, leaning into it, building momentum until you’re unmistakably out in front, leading the pack by a comfortable margin. And right on cue, Present Mic’s voice booms through the stadium speakers.
“OOOH! Looks like (Y/N)(L/N) and several of Hero Course 1-A have taken an early lead, folks! That’s some quick thinking right outta the gate!”
You force yourself to rein it in. No celebrating. No showboating yet. Overexcitement can be a liability if you let it take the wheel. Still… you can’t deny how good this feels.
No holding back. No second-guessing. Just you in your natural element. Performing.
The second obstacle comes into view fast: Thick, sturdy, army green robots. And not just a few. Rows apon rows of massive battle-bots rise from the ground ahead, metal limbs grinding and rotating as they activate, blocking the path forward with sheer size and numbers. Your focus snaps back into place immediately. As Sir’s voice echoes in your head, of him telling you what to remember anytime you're unsure of what your best course of action should be.
The three P’s: planning, prioritizing, and performing.
Your eyes squint in concentration as you think over the list in your head. What’s your plan? Obviously, getting through all of these robots unscaethed. So, what should you be prioritizing to make sure that happens? Sharp, quick blows and movements, since you don't know what kind of attacks or projectiles these things are working with yet. And finally, how were you going to have to perform, offensively or defensively, to complete your plan?
You let out a hard, steam-filled breath before you kick off your ice board mid-stride, landing on your feet and snapping it up into your hand and hurling it forward like a discus. It whistles through the air and slams into the first robot with terrifying precision, slicing clean through its head in a burst of sparks and shattered metal. You don’t slow down, you can't if you want to get through this stage and still keep your lead.
Water surges down your arms, spilling from your wrists as you snap both your hands downward, forming long, fluid whips that crack through the air. You sling one out as it coils around a second robot’s torso. You yank hard, using its own weight against it, and leap, landing squarely atop its shoulders before it can react. From the elevated vantage point, you freeze the ends of the whips mid-motion, ice crystallizing instantly into razor-sharp edges. Slashing through more of the battle bots, turning, and slicing again. Metal screams as you carve through joints and plating, dismantling robots in rapid succession. You move like you’re dancing, momentum carrying you from one strike to the next, never staying still long enough to be hit. Five robots fall in seconds, collapsing in smoking heaps behind you.
Your ice board arcs back toward you in the air like a boomerang. You catch it without looking and drop it back beneath your feet in one smooth motion, launching forward again just as the last robot topples into a cloud of smoke behind you.
Present Mic practically loses his mind over the speakers. “ARE YOU SEEIN’ THIS FOLKS?! (Y/N)(L/N) just TORE through those battle-bots like it was nothing! Five down in record time, and she’s already heading for the next obstacle!”
You bite back a smile as you hear Present Mic’s ramblings, leaning forward, ice singing beneath your feet as you jet ahead, heart pounding, confidence blazing. This was starting to feel really good. And you’re just getting started. You skid to a halt so abruptly that your board sprays frost behind you. The next obstacle looms ahead, making you genuinely pause.
A massive gorge splits the earth open before you, with small cliff-like islands scattered throughout, stretching wide and deep beneath you. Thin, tightrope-like cables crisscross the gaps, swaying slightly in the open air. You stare at it, momentarily dumbfounded, wondering how in the world UA even installed something like this.
Present Mic’s voice booms overhead again, filling the outside space with frantic energy as you listen to his commentary, detailing exactly what you didn’t want to hear right now: Todoroki was gaining on you.
You exhale quickly, hoping your nerves will leave with the short breath. You hop back onto your board, angling it carefully, and grind onto one of the ropes, ice stabilizing beneath you as you glide across the gorge with measured precision. The wind whips around you, tugging at your clothes, but you keep your center low and your movements controlled. You werent moving as fast as you’d liked, but you were still moving. Against your better judgment, you glance back. And there he is. Still a distance away, but closing it fast. The robots clearly hadn’t slowed him down much at all.
Figures, you think grimly, wanting so badly to roll your eyes, but you knew any unnecessary movements might send you hurling into this canyon.
You turn forward again and push harder, needing to move faster, skating across the remaining ropes and launching yourself off the far edge of the gorge. The second your feet hit solid ground, your board reforms beneath you, and you take off at full speed once more.
“AND HERE WE GO, FOLKS!” Present Mic shouts. “OUR LEADER IS APPROACHING THE FINAL OBSTACLE!”
Your heart pounds with excitement and anticipation. The last obstacle. One last obstacle and you're done. One last obstacle and you win. Still, you check over your shoulder one last time. Todoroki’s silhouette cuts across the horizon, closer now. Too close for comfort, but as long as the next obstacle didn't slow you down as much as the last one did, you should be in the clear.
You slow to a stop at the edge of the final obstacle. You wanted to scream.
A minefield. It was a real, genuine minefield. Filled with mines.
Half a kilometer of literal bombs stretches ahead of you. Bright warning flags dot the terrain, stretching out in a wide, deceptively calm expanse. You step off your board, scanning the field carefully. You still have a little time. You roll your shoulders, loosening them up, then rub your hands together, wetting your palms and freezing the condensation at the same time. Compressing it into a tight snowball. With a sharp flick of your wrist, you hurl it deep into the field, aiming for one of the mines, causing it to detonate instantly upon contact.
A loud bang rings out, followed by a cloud of bright fuchsia smoke. The size of the explosion didn't look lethal. But definitely disorienting. Enough to knock someone back and shake them up pretty good. You grimace. Getting blown around at the end of the first event would be a disaster, especially after keeping a decent lead for the majority of the event. And worse, the humiliating. You absolutely refuse to let some grainy clip of you wiping out at your first Sports Festival go viral and taint your hero image. You try to still your now anxiously beating heart and clear your head enough to think: Planning. Prioritizing. Performing.
Easy, you thought, the plan? don’t explode.
What should you be prioritizing? Not blowing up or hurting yourself in any other way. You couldn't afford to embarrass yourself on live TV.
And how were you going to perform this? You couldnt risk going slow and steady, with Todoroki so close behind you. So you were going to have to risk being a little reckless in exchange for some extra speed. Hopefully, you thought, Sir could find it in his heart to forgive the possibility of a slightly sloppy execution.
You step back onto your board, dropping to your knees atop it, and gripping the front edge tightly. Carefully, you concentrate as you lift it a few safe inches higher off the ground. The effort makes your jaw clench. This was still a new skill for you that you’d been attempting to perfect just for the Festival, but this level of control still isn’t second nature to you, and your water reserves aren’t infinite.
You begin gliding forward, suspended just above the mines. Too fast and you risk losing control. Too slow and you lose your lead. All you could do was breathe and focus. Rows and rows of mines approach and disappear underneath your sight line as if you're on a conveyor belt. You were making good progress, good enough that you could see the arena coming into focus ahead of you. It looked like around a 400 or so meter sprint from the edge of the field back to the arena. You could do this. You were going to do this. You just needed to breathe and focus. Breathe and focus. Breathe. And. Focus.
Behind you, explosions begin to echo.
“One—two—OH! Looks like more students are entering the minefield obstacle now!” Mic yells.
Aizawa’s voice cuts in calmly. “Yup, class A’s Todoroki and Bakugo have both reached the zone.”
Your pulse spikes, and you grit your teeth. You force your eyes forward, refusing to look back. You repeat the thoughts in your head like a mantra;
You nudge your speed up just a fraction at a time. The blasts behind you grow louder. Closer. Sweat beads at your temples as you push through the last stretch, heart hammering so hard it feels like it might break free of your ribs. The edge of the field finally, finally, coming close enough for you to reach.
Now.
You lunge forward, clearing the final row of mines, and the second your board hits safe ground, you abandon it completely, barrel rolling back onto your feet as you take off sprinting. Legs tingling at the feeling of your feet hammering onto the dirt beneath them as you sprint for the arena entrance with everything you have left. And thank God you were a decent runner, because after that last obstacle, you're positive your quirk control is shot for a good few minutes. You can still hear Mic and Aizawa overhead as their voices grow louder and louder as they narrate your final drive back to the stadium. You can see the tunnel rushing towards you, getting bigger and bigger. Bright and louder as your muscles scream out. Until finally. You emerge through it and back inside the stadium. Back inside the stadium. First.
Confetti rains down as the crowd explodes. You slow to a stop in the center of the arena, bent slightly at the waist as you drape your arms over your head, catching your breath, your own exhaustion melting away, leaving shock and disbelief in its wake. Slowly bubbling up into laughter.
“DID YOU EVER DOUBT HER FOR EVEN A SECOND, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN?!” Present Mic roars. “FIRST PLACE IN THIS YEARS OPENING EVENT GOES TO HERO COURSE 1-A’S (Y/N)(L/N)!”
You straighten, still smiling, and glance up at the jumbotron. For a split second, you freeze, seeing yourself reflected there, flushed and a little sweaty, but triumphant. You drop your head down and laugh. All Might was right about thinking you were ready for the cameras. Prep work has absolutely nothing on the real thing. But you shake all those thoughts out of your head as you pick yourself up and slap a charismatic smile on your tired face, waving with practiced poise at the screaming crowd, only making their screams louder.
You keep smiling as you turn back toward the tunnel, waiting for the next finisher, fairly certain you know who it’ll be. Todoroki. And hopefully, once he’s back, you’ll have a moment to congratulate him, hoping that a few words of encouragement might do something to curb his worrisome attitude. Do you think he’d be upset, since he didnt come in first? Well, this was only one event out of however many, so hopefully not. He said he would win the whole festival, not every individual event afterall. Plus, he’d been on you the whole race, so your positions almost feel interchangeable at this point.
You stepped a bit closer to the tunnel, knowing he wouldn't be much longer now. But instead. A flash of green bursts through the entrance.
Your smile falters a smidge, eyes widening just a little. As Midoriya steps into the arena, chest heaving, eyes blazing with determination as the jumbotron and monitors throughout the arena flash and change to highlight him and his position.
Second place: Izuku Midoriya, Hero course, class A
“WHOA! MIDORIYA WITH THE UPSET OF THE CENTURY! WHO HAD THAT ON THEIR FESTIVAL BINGO CARD? NOT ME, FOLKS!”
Aizawa’s voice follows, dry as ever. “His strategy was a bit reckless,” he says bluntly. “But you can't deny he’s persistent.”
He stumbles into the center of the arena like he’d been running on adrenaline alone, chest heaving, hair wild, likely from all the obstacles. And his bright green eyes shifting and sparkling under all the stadium lights. Not Todoroki. Not Bakugo. But him. Midoriya.
For a second, your brain doesn’t catch up with what your eyes are seeing. You’re still stuck on the logic of the race, the way Todoroki’s silhouette had been haunting you practically the whole event. And even at the last obstacle, you swore it was Bakugo that Mic had said also reached the mine field, not Midoriya. The idea that Midoriya somehow beat both of them to the finish line feels like a glitch in reality. But mind-boggling aside, he was still one of your classmates, so a win was a win.
You push your confusion aside as you scream out his name, smiling widely as you jog over to congratulate him. For the first time since reentering the arena, he looks up. Not at the crowd. Not at the Jumbotron. Not even at the exit tunnel, preparing for the next person to come out.
But at you.
And the moment his eyes land on yours, a frenzy of varying emotions flash across his face. In all honesty, he was so focused on doing well in the event he forgot that you’d be standing here waiting for everyone else to get back if you finished first. But the visual of you running over to him, calling his name, and telling him how proud you are of him as you congratulate him for doing so well? It probably felt just as good as coming in first did. Maybe even better.
“Midoriya?!” you call, your voice bright and loud enough for him to hear over the roaring crowd. You’re still breathless, your cheeks and barely exposed chest from your slightly unzipped gym jacket flushed, your hair slightly flatter than it had been when you all left the waiting room. How was he ever going to be able to be normal around you when you looked this effortlessly good, even after running a 4k? “Where did you even come from?!”
He jerks up as you’ve startled him. “I—um—” he stammers, then forces himself to straighten even though his legs clearly want to give out. “I-I just… ha! I honestly don't really know? I guess I just kept going. I got a little bit of a boost at the last obstacle, but that was really it! Nothing special!”
“This is insane,” you say, grinning as you trail off a bit. “I could have sworn Todoroki was going to chase me down at the end there, but…here you are! Thank God, I guess, I was so nervous!”
He matches your sweet smile as you laugh at the memory. Trying to ignore the burn in his stomach at the idea of you expecting Todorki to outperform him in the event. He knew Todoroki was… well, amazing, honestly, but how did you feel about him? He had noticed that you two had gotten a little closer in the last two weeks, but he didn't think that was cause for any kind of alarm? You were just so caring and sweet, it’d make sense for you to want to be close with all of your classmates. But he also noticed how you didn't say anything to him earlier in the waiting room when he hijacked your speech. If Kachan had done something like that while you were talking, you would have shut him up, but not Todoroki? Between that and now your certainty that he’d be the one to finish second behind you… Did you really think he was all that amazing?
Both of your attentions shift back to the tunnel just as the next wave of students begins pouring in, snapping Midoriya out of his own head.
Out of the tunnel, Todoroki and Bakugo finally appear, out of breath and visibly agitated. Great.
Todoroki appears through the tunnel first, his uneven breath visible even in the stadium air, eyes sharp. He doesn’t look satisfied, but he doesn’t look surprised either. He approaches you without a word, but his gaze flicks briefly to your face as he gets closer. You give him a small, supportive smile, and in return, he gives you a barely-there nod. Either to congratulate you or to silently tell you that he’s planning on coming for your spot in first place, you're not all that sure. Bakugo storms in immediately after, jaw clenched, shoulders tense, looking furious that he didn’t place first. They both march over to you and Midoriya in silence. You of them both a simple, ‘Great job, you guys!’ as they walk past, ignoring you completely, but glaring daggers at Midoriya, not even caring that you can see.
As badly as you want to yank them both back by the collars of their jackets for their blatant rudeness and janky attitudes, you knew it was just a slurried mix of all their negative emotions, along with their disappointment in their own performances in the race. Plus, there were like a million cameras on you right now, so you couldn't risk doing something to hurt your new image.
But you didn't let their sour attitudes stop you and Midoriya from greeting and cheering for every addition class A student that came through the tunnel. You bounce on the balls of your feet near the center of the arena, eyes locked on the tunnel entrance as you check of names of your classmates in your head, ready for each an everyone of you to get in before the 43-person window shuts. You glance up at the massive Jumbotron hanging above one side of the arena. A list of names scrolls rapidly beside a live counter displaying how many spots remain for the next round.
Your stomach is in knots, not with fear, because you’re confident your class can do this, but with the restless pressure of wanting to see it actually happen. It was just like you had said in the waiting room earlier, yes, this was a competition, so you were, of course, a competitor first, but you were your classmates' personal pep squad immediately after.
More and more students run in. Some crying. Some cheering. Some limping. Some looking like they’ve just experienced a religious awakening in that minefield.
You keep counting. The only person your class is missing is Aoyama. You look back up at the Jumbotron to check how many open sports in the next round remain. Five. Only five remain. The four, as another student exits the tunnel. Then three. Then just two. Suddenly, you feel more anxious than you have all day. You feel droplets of sweat begin to litter your brow again as your eyes remain glued on the tunnel. Hoping, praying. Needing the next person who runs through to be Aoyama. It’s not. And now it’s one. One open spot left. One. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you pull your hands together and clasp them in front of your chest.
Please, please, please
The final buzzer echoes through the stadium, loud and definitive, signaling that the last spot has been claimed. And a second later. Aoyama slowly appears, clutching his stomach like he’s just gotten off an intense carnival ride. He shuffles into the arena light, his face pale, and eyes low. Despite his appearance, you jump up and down in place, cheering loudly as you grip onto Midoriya’s shoulders as you celebrate.
“He made it! We all made it!” you scream, and you don’t even care that the entire stadium can probably hear you. You and several of your classmates run over to him, tackling him to the ground in a sort of group hug dog pile. It’s nothing but a sweaty, messy pile of bodies and loud giggles as you all can finally relax knowing that your whole class made it into the next round. Midnight’s voice crackles back through the microphone as you and your friends are all still riding the high of your relief and pride.
“Alright!” she calls mercilessly. “There will be plenty of time to celebrate later, but just not now, remaining competitors! Because we’re moving on to the next event!”
Groans ripple through your group as you all scramble to your feet and back over to the platform in the center.
“This next event is timed,” she continues, and something about the way she says it makes your skin prickle. “Which means you’ll want to think fast and work smarter, and harder.”
A screen behind her flashes to life with bold letters:
EVENT TWO: CAVALRY BATTLE
Midnight gestures grandly to the display.
“Here’s how it works!” she announces. “All remaining students will have to form teams of two, three, or four. One person will be the rider, and they will be carried on the backs of their teammates. Each student will be given a point value and a team's value depending on where their members finished in the last event!”
“The forty-third-place finisher is worth five points, with five points added to the point value with each cascading place.” The corresponding numbers flash across the screen as she details the game.
5 points. 10 points. 50 points. 100 points.
“But the first-place finisher, however…” Midnight’s grin widens as she points directly at you from her little stage platform. “—Is worth ten million points!” Bright red numbers flash on the Jumbotron screen, reading out ‘10,000,00’. You take in a sharp breath as you whisper a quick, ‘fuck’ to yourself under your breath. You can't hide the unhappy face you make, noticing out of the corner of your eye that you're back on the Jumbotron, the camera clearly eagerly searching for a reaction out of you.
“Your individual point values are added together to reach each team's total,” Midnight continues, “These point values will be displayed on headbands. Each team's rider will have to wear their team's total points headband. The goal of the game is to steal as many headbands as you can in order to raise your team's score!”
Midnight concludes her directions by explaining the final details of the game; contestants are not allowed to make each other fall on purpose. Even if a team loses their headband or falls down, they can compete until the thirty-minute time limit is up. And last but most importantly:
“Only the top five teams will advance to the final round!” Midnight sings.
Hearing that made you make another face. It didn't take you long to do the quick math in your head. Your class had 21 students, with the largest teams allowed only being 4 people; there was no way all of your classmates could make it into the next round.
Then she claps her hands once.
“Now!” she announces, and the jumbotron changes again, this time displaying a massive digital countdown.
15:00
“You have fifteen minutes to form your teams,” Midnight says brightly. “So choose wisely, and quickly!”
The timer starts.
14:59… 14:58…
The moment the timer starts ticking down, the atmosphere around you shifts.
Within seconds, a small crowd forms, and suddenly it feels like half the remaining competitors have gravitated toward you like moths to a flame. Shouting and pleading voices overlap. Hands wave. People shout strategies at you like they’re attempting to sell you their dreams.
“Pick me! I can keep people off you!—”
“Our quirks would totally work great together!—”
“If you’ve got the ten-million-headband, we’re guaranteed a spot!—”
Overwhelmed wasnt the word for what you’d call whatever you were feeling right now. You didn't know where to look, what to say, what to think. You take a slow breath, trying not to laugh or panic or physically shove anyone away. A lot of the strategies they were pitching made sense. If you’re the rider, and if you wear the ten-million-point headband, as long as your team can keep it on you for the full duration of the match, then that’s it. Automatic advancement. No contest. It’s the safest, cleanest path to the final round. The only problem was that it would also mean anyone you don't pick would be after you.
And your realization from earlier was still weighing heavily on your mind. You wanted as many of your classmates to advance as possible. You’re not about to abandon your point from this morning just because you’re holding the most valuable target in the arena. So you had to build a sturdy team with only members of your class that could be strong and fast enough to defend you from…well, everyone else in the ring. But it's not like you could do that with this many people pushing and fighting to get into your space. You slip away from the crowd and hop up onto the center platform. This gives you room to breathe, and more importantly, it gives you a much better viewpoint.
You see from the stage that a few of your classmates have already started forming teams of their own, deliberately avoiding the chaos around you. Making quiet, strategic connections instead of throwing themselves into the frenzy you’d caused on this side of the arena.
Bakugo stands a short distance away, arms crossed, eyes sharp and distant. Unlike everyone at your feet, he isn’t scrambling. It wasnt like he needed to, with his placement, he’s valuable enough to build around himself, and you can practically see him calculating how to weaponize that. Todoroki stands off to the side as well, posture composed, gaze steady. Lucky for him, he isn’t being swarmed, and yet he still has a steady stream of competitors approaching him and asking to teamup. You realized you haven't spotted your runner-up in any other corner of the arena. You focus your eyes, searching hard for Midoriya, only to realize he’s still right in front of you. He was practically treading water in the middle of your frenzied crowd, poor thing. Strangely enough, no one thought to ask him to team up? He had the second most amount of points after all. They must not be all that confident in his abilities to keep the opposing teams off him, and if they were basing that on how much he used his quirk in the last event…well, they wouldn't be wrong.
You huff softly and raise both hands. “Okay—hey!” you call out.
Your voice cuts through the noise, quieting the crowd just enough for you to be heard.
“Ok, first things first, I’m flattered that all of you want to team up with me, but I’m gonna be honest…I’m only interested in teaming up with kids from my class! So, sorry if that doesn't include you!”
There’s an immediate ripple of discontent. A few people grumble. Others exchange looks, recalculating. Slowly, reluctantly, a chunk of the crowd peels away in search of their plan B’s.
Thank God.
When you step back down from the platform, the group remaining around you is significantly smaller and far more familiar. Momo. Mina. Uraraka. Iida. Kirishima. Shoji. Kaminari. Mineta. And, of course, Midoriya. You exhale, equal parts fond and still very overwhelmed.
“Now this is already looking so much better!” you joke to them, making the other girls and Kirishima giggle. They all take a moment to state who and what they think would make the best team, as well as team strategy. All the while their all hoping they can join your team, you make sure to add where else they could apply these same ideas and strategies if they were on another person's team. These were your classmates after all, and you still wanted to see as many of them move on to the next round, so you had no issue telling them honestly what plans you were considering. And the more you spoke and ironed out your strategy in your head, the more and more you felt you had found your final team.
You look back up at the Jumbotron and see there are only around 5 minutes left to make teams. Your brain already cooking up different best and worst-case scenarios with the potential team combinations you had in front of you. You knew at most you’d only be able to take three of them, which wasnt even half of the group you had in front of you. As the guilt of the possibility of them not progressing into the next round because they landed in some shitty, unbalanced team began to force its way to the front of your mind. You quickly got their attention and spoke earnestly and honestly, telling them that if any of them knew for certain that they could make it into the top five teams with the points or strength they had, they needed to hurry and go join or build a team, not wanting anyone to go unpicked. Several of your classmates looked disappointed by this development, but they understood. And you made sure to tell each and every one of them that you were sure you’d see them in the finals regardless, so you weren't too worried. This caused the crowd to shrink once again, leaving only four people for you to choose from now:
Uraraka. Shoji. Mineta. And Midoriya.
Now, Shoji and Mineta, you understood. Shoji was a bigger dude, and intimidating as all hell, too, so you understood why he would think no one would pick him first to join their team. And Mineta, as cute and tiny as he was to you…that was exactly what he was. Cute and tiny. So you could also understand why someone wouldn't want to pick him to join their team. But Urarak and Midoriya? Uraraka’s quirk was strong, and in a situation like this one, a quirk like hers would be insanely ideal. And Midoriya, well, he had the second-highest amount of individual points. Even if he joined another team as a horseman instead of a rider, he and the rest of his team would be set. You look back up at the timer on the screen.
4:12 remaining.
Alright, time to think.
Planning. Prioritizing. Performing.
You were planning to win, obviously, or at least land in the top five. That part was non-negotiable.
But what were you prioritizing this round? If you were taking all of Sir and All Might's advice into account, you felt that you’d already made a statement in the obstacle race. Your quirk versatility, your physical ability, your problem-solving skills. The audience had seen all of that. So what was left for you to show? You looked around the busy arena as you tried to think through what would even be the main point of a game like this. Then it hit you: leadership.
Decision-making under scrutiny. Your ability to elevate others, not just yourself. Your gaze moves over the four remaining classmates again. And suddenly, the answer clicks.
“Ok! I’ve made my decision,” you say, voice chipper.
Your four finalists look at you with wide, eager eyes, waiting for your final reveal.
“I’m picking Shoji and Mineta.”
There’s a brief moment of shocked disappointment, then understanding. Before either Midoriya or Uraraka can protest or look too upset, you continue quickly.
“There’s still plenty of time for you guys to build a team, though!” You say. “And honestly, the reason it took me so long to decide is because you two are better together than separated in a game like this one.”
Both Uraraka and Midoriya break out in a chorus of nervous ‘really’s?’ and other shocked ramblings.
You chuckle at their similarities as you continue. “You complement each other perfectly,” you explain. “Mobility, control, adaptability. And Midoriya—” You look at him directly now, “You’ve got enough points that whatever team you join would also be practically guaranteed to go to the next round, so you're pretty much set already!” His ears turn pink immediately.
“But hurry up and find some people before the time runs out!” you say, already shooing both of them away. They hesitate only a second before nodding and hurrying off, already talking strategy as they go. Once they’re gone, you turn back to Shoji and Mineta.
“I have my team!” you squeal in a sweet voice as you grab both of their hands and hop in place. “Alright,” you say, more serious this time, clapping your hands once and smiling at the two of them. “Let’s talk strategy.”
You lean forward, huddling up closer to them. Shoji leans down slightly so you don’t have to shout. Mineta listens with wide, focused eyes. You can't help yourself, as you take your hand and gently pinch at his soft, chubby cheek. Laughing and cooing at him as he attempted to shy away from your hand. He was just so stinking cute!
“This round is just going to be a long game of keep-away for us, alright?” you explain. “Everyone is going to be swarming us for the ten million, so our main focus has to be defense.” They both nod slowly.
“Shoji, you’re our mobility,” you continue. “You're going to bethe one moving us out of danger, keeping us unpredictable, and providing coverage and keeping an eye on our blind spots with your arms and tentacles. While you're handling all of that, Mineta, you’ll be our lookout. Since I’m going to be wearing our team's headband, I don't want to risk it even being visible to the other teams, so you’ll have to be my eyes. As long as you guys can handle all of that, I’ll handle crowd control; disengaging attackers, dispersing them, and slowing people down.”
Mineta perks up. “So… both of us will be riding on Shoji’s back?”
“That’s right! Or that was my plan at least,” you chirp back. “That sound ok to you, Shoji?” you ask.
He nods his head while throwing up two thumbs up, making you smile.
“Perfect! Oh, and one last thing, and it's important, so listen up,” You say seriously, meeting both of their eyes.
“We’re not attacking anyone from our class. We won't let them knock us out of first place, but we’re not taking any of their headbands either. We’ll be operating strictly on defense, only attacking if we’re attacked first. If they're not class A, they're fair game, but if they are? Just disengage.”
Shoji tilts his head slightly before lifting an arm and creating a mouth on the end of it to speak. “What if an attacking team is mixed? Like, it has students from class A and others?”
“The plan still applies. We disengage them,” you say without hesitation. “If someone outside our class slips through to the finals because of it, that’s fine, it just means we’ll have to knock them out later.”
Both of them nod, accepting it without argument. A loud chime echoes through the arena. And the timer hits zero.
“TIME’S UP!” Midnight announces gleefully, reappearing on the center platform like she never left, microphone in hand, grinning as she surveys the chaos of newly formed teams.
“Alright, first-years!” she calls. “Form your cavalry and take your starting positions!”
The arena immediately shifts into motion, students scrambling into formations, arguing about who’s carrying who, testing their balance, barking last-second strategies as the huge screens above you flash the rules again just to taunt everyone who didn’t listen the first time.
You squat down to Mineta’s level and ask him if he’s ready to go. He gives you two thumbs up and an overexcited ‘ready!’ making you giggle at his overanimated adorableness. You scoop Mineta up in your arms like a baby, commenting on how he weighs almost nothing. He squeaks in shock as you tuck him against your chest, making the little freak hum in appreciation like a car motor. You turn toward Shoji as he bends slightly, already prepared to carry the two of you, and in one fluid motion, he lifts both of you with his extra arms and settles you onto his back piggyback-style. Then he loosely wraps two more arms around you both, creating a sort of fleshy tent over you until you’re securely locked into his makeshift cocoon. You can’t help but laugh under your breath a little. From the outside, you’re positive this looks ridiculous. And maybe a little body-horror-esk. But the second you shift your weight around to find a comfortable position, and you feel how stable it is? How protected you are? Oh yeah. This was perfect.
You scoot up slightly, poking your head out beside Shoji’s, careful not to jostle him. “Okay—be honest with me,” you whisper. “Are we too heavy? Is this uncomfortable for you?” Because, as great as your plan was in theory, you knew if he had to run around like this for 30 minutes, he might be dealing with some serious fatigue if the final was directly after this.
But of course, Shoji’s voice is calm as ever as he shakes his head side-to-side slightly. “I’m fine.”
You smile. “Then, are you ready to win?”
All he does is nod once and give you an affirmative grunt so deep and bassy you can feel it even on his back.
You slide back down into the cocoon and angle your head toward Mineta. “How about you? You ready to win too?”
Mineta nods mindlessly, clearly too distracted by the fact that he’s currently pressed into a tight, enclosed space with you to be entirely present.
From outside your cocoon, a bell rings. And a massive 30:00 timer appears on the Jumbotron. And the cavalry battle begins.
Immediately, you feel Shoji take off. The sudden justeling making you squeak a bit as you try to settle yourself better on his back. He takes off in a clean, powerful sprint, his stride long and deceptively fast, and it’s immediately obvious how much of an advantage you have. Most cavalry teams are clunky, unstable, and forced to slow down just to keep their riders balanced. Curious, both you and Mineta peek your heads out of the top of the tentacle tent and out over Shoji’s shoulders. You see exactly what you expected. Your team is everyone's target.
You don’t even have to look at the point board to know it, every team's pivoting like you’re a magnet. A dozen different formations surge in your direction. But their overly complex formations are no match for your sleek and streamlined Shoji.
He darts left, then right, weaving through the crowd with swift turns that would throw any other team off balance, but the cocoon holds you in tight, and you and Mineta don’t budge an inch. After you feel Shoji’s movements calm down, you assume that must mean he was successful in getting you three out of the other team's reach. But of course, you won't be risking exposing yourself or your team's headband to confirm.
So you lean in, close to Mineta’s ear. “All right, cutiepie, you ready to be our lookout?” you whisper as you lean in close to Mineta’s ear.
Mineta snaps into focus instantly, despite the petname making him feel a little lightheaded, “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I got it!” He crawls up Shoji's back to situate himself at his left shoulder, like some kind of adorable parrot, and begins surveying the field and keeping you and Shoji updated on what's happening in front of you.
“Tell me everything you see. Don't spare any details, ok?” You say from behind him, needing to know what's going on in the game.
“Okay—okay,” he murmurs rapidly. “Most teams near us aren’t Class A, they look like…support course? General studies? And I’m assuming mostly Class B too—”
You breathe out, quietly pleased. That meant your classmates were doing what you hoped they would: falling back, picking off points from other teams, not wasting energy trying to claw at your ten-million-headband.
“Ok wheres the closest team to us?” you ask.
Mineta’s voice spikes. “Uhhhhh…an all-girls team coming up behind us—and fast! I think they’re Class B—!”
You ask him how much time is left in the game, mentally calculating as he checks the board and tells you 22 minutes. You can’t have Shoji sprinting full speed for thirty minutes straight. He’s strong, but you’re not going to burn out your best asset. You hum, already thinking through your first strategic move of the game. With the rest of your team working so hard already, when 10 minutes hadn't even passed yet, you needed to do more than sit here and be worth points. The three P’s mentally clicking into place as you think.
You tap between Shoji’s shoulder blades. “Ok, Shoji, open up your arms a little for me.”
Shoji adjusts without question, cracking a small gap between his arms—just enough for you to peek out. Mineta wasn’t wrong. A team of girls is rushing you from behind. But the rider at the head of the team.
…is Kendou.
Your lips push into a pout as you press your back against Shoji’s, moving away from the crack, not wanting her team to see you plotting on them. Of all the people. You actually like Kendo. She’s smart, disciplined, and unlike Monoma, she seems like a truly sweet girl, with no ulterior or hidden agendas. You didn't want to be the one to knock her out of the game. But unfortunately, rules are rules. And you told your teammates that if anyone attacked first, you'd disengage them. But Kendou was from class B, which meant you’d be taking that headband.
“Slow down a little, kay?” you murmur to Shoji. He listens, slowing from a paced jog down to long, slow, bouncy strides. You keep your eyes on the approaching team, waiting until they’re close enough to commit, close enough to think they’ve finally gained on you. Then you extend one arm through the gap in Shoji’s arms and flick your fingers, shooting a frenzy of water droplets toward the team. Ice snaps across one girl’s foot, freezing her in place for half a second, just long enough to ruin their rhythm. And in that moment of imbalance, you send a thin water tendril out like a snake, quick and precise, slipping it cleanly under Kendo’s headband. You tug gently, slipping the headband off her head in one smooth motion. You pull it back into the cocoon and slip it over your head, pulling it down around your neck like you’re layering jewelry.
“Alright, let's move!” you tell Shoji, gently tapping his back to emphasize your sense of urgency as he takes off back to his usual quick strides.
Present Mic’s voice explodes overhead.
“WHAT A STEAL! (Y/N)(L/N) JUST SNATCHED ANOTHER HEADBAND—THAT’S POINTS ON POINTS, BABY!”
You sink back into the cocoon, heart pounding, from the rush of it all. Of course, Kendou still had plenty of time to steal another headband, but…if she didn't…that all but guarantees more spots for you and your classmates. This was going to be fun.
“Mineta,” you whisper as a sly grin spreads across your face, adrenaline still coursing through you, “I need updates. How's it looking out there, and what's our time?”
Mineta is already scanning. “Less than fifteen minutes now! Most teams are behind us—Class A’s mostly fighting other people, but—”
He hesitates, then blurts, “Midoriya and Todoroki’s teams look like they’re battling it out on the left side!”
You pause, your smile dropping as your adrenaline tanks.
“…What?”
Before you can stop yourself, you shove your head back out over Shoji’s other shoulder, eyes scanning the arena, and sure enough, there’s a cluster of chaos off to the side. Dark Shadow. Ice. Bodies scrambling. Smoke flying.
Midoriya and Todoroki. Fighting each other.
You pull back into the cocoon with a long, exhausted sigh. Of course.
Because why not, right? It’s not like there aren't plenty of other teams out here that could be taken out? Or like the two of them weren't classmates who lived with each other. So sure, why not fight each other and try to prove some petty point? They were so going to get an earful after this game. But all you could do was hope and pray that they both made it into the next round. As badly as Todoroki was pissing you off today, you really were rooting for him. If you couldn't go all the way and win this thing, honestly? You’d hope he would. Beyond his strength and his motivation, you knew what a win like this would do for his confidence. And you hoped it would light a flame under him hot enough to convince him to talk to his dad. And of course Midoriya. Despite his novice quirk and abilities, he was a powerhouse. And who doesn't love a good ol’ underdog story? He was smart and battle-savvy enough to get himself out of a situation like this without your help. And once he did, that would make it the second time today he utilized brains over braun and overpowered Todoroki. The crowd would definitely pick up on his abilities then, and he could end up just as favored as Todoroki to win this whole thing. At least, he would to you.
You swallow down your frustration, steadying yourself before replying. “Who else is tied up in some kind of fight?” you ask Mineta. “I guess at this point we could focus on making sure our classmates aren't getting picked off by other teams. So who looks like they might need help?”
Mineta opens his mouth to answer, and is interrupted loudly by Present Mic.
“OH MY GOD! A HUGE UPSET FOLKS—TEAM BAKUGO’S HEADBAND HAS BEEN STOLEN! THAT DROPS THEM ALL THE WAY TO LAST PLACE WITH ZERO POINTS!”
“Shoji,” you say immediately. “That direction.”
Mineta points with frantic urgency, directing Shoji to where the drama is.
“Can you see which team was the one that stole theirs?” you ask from inside the cocoon. Mineta begins stammering as he looks ahead, then looks up at the board, attempting to distinguish the team by their points and name.
“It’s—uhhhh—the screen says it’s ‘Team Monoma,’ and it’s some blond guy on top! I think they’re class B!”
You close your eyes for half a second, sighing out frustration again, a bit louder this time. It had to be him? Of course, it had to be him. He hated your class. Knowing him, he had probably given his classmates the exact speech you had given yours this morning. And now that blond bastard was going to get himself killed fucking around with the most unstable classmate you had. If anything, helping Bakugo’s team get their headband back would be more beneficial to Monoma than to Bakugo. Because he ends up out of the festival because of this? He’ll make sure Monoma never forgets him. But truly, if you were to help him get his team's headband back, you weren't all that convinced that he wouldn't bite your head off, too. Bakugo hated feeling weak or like he couldn't handle something on his own. And you understood that, sometimes you even feel the same. And it wasn't like you didn't think he could get it back on his own. Just like Todoroki and Midoriya, you had all the faith in the world that Bakugo would be going into the next round. This was just a minor setback. But depending on how close the game was to ending, and whatever Monoma might be doing to keep Bakugo from snatching his band back, you weren't sure if faith would be enough.
“Slow down again,” you tell Shoji, already thinking ahead, as you gently pat his back. “We’re playing this by ear, but I need you to stay close in case we jump in.”
Mineta checks the timer again. “Five minutes!”
“Five minutes is still more than enough time for them to get their points back,” you mutter, then tighten your hand into a fist against Shoji’s back. “Don’t count them out just yet.”
You reach up and pat Mineta’s back, getting his attention. “Read me the top five on the leaderboard!”
Mineta squints, reading fast. “Okay—we’re still in first place. Todoroki is second. Midoriya third. Monoma fourth. And…Team…Shinsou is fifth!”
“Shinsou?” you repeat, frowning. “Who’s on that team?”
“Aoyama, Ojirou, and some other kid I don't know!” Mineta answers immediately.
You groan, bringing your fingers to your temples and rubbing them in quick circles. This wasnt good. If Bakugo didn’t get his headband back, the final round would be stacked with non-Class A students. Your Team was all class A, but there were only three of you. So if two teams of four make it into the final, which are made up of kids from the other classes, too many of your classmates would get shut out of the final. And you didn’t like that idea. Not even a little.
“Alright, change of plans,” you say, voice sharp.
Shoji reacts instantly, pivoting.
“We’re helping team Bakugo,” you tell him. “So get us as close as you can without drawing too much attention to ourselves.”
Mineta leans out, tracking them as you approach. “Bakugo’s chasing him, he keeps launching himself into the air to get the headband back, but Monoma’s not letting him get close.”
From outside your cocoon, all you hear is explosion after explosion. Your brows furrow at the consistent booming noises. Thinking about how Bakugo sounds just as desperate as his situation is, if this is how hard he's going to try to get his points back. You can't help yourself as you peek cautiously over Shoji’s shoulder just in time to see Monoma fling an explosive blast toward Bakugo to keep him back. Your eyes widen.
“…Do they have the same quirk?” you whisper, slightly alarmed, and very confused.
You immediately sink lower, instinctively tucking your headbands out of view. As you bring a hand up to your mouth as you think. You’d obviously never seen Monoma use his quirk. And youd never thought to ask him about it. You liked to keep your interactions with him as short as humanly possible, and ever since your meeting after the USJ attack IIda had also been stepping in and making sure he didn't try to grab at you or talk your ear off.
“Mineta,” you murmur, “Keep watching the blond boy, see if you can figure out his quirk for me.”
Mineta watches, breath catching as Monoma fights like a one-man barricade. Blocking Bakugo and Kirishima’s attacks while using quirks that look disturbingly similar to theirs. Then, Mineta makes a sound of realization.
“Ohhhhhh!” he blurts, twisting back toward you. “I-I think he can copy quirks! Like…take them temporarily! I’m watching him make explosions, then turn around and harden his skin just like Kirishima can! So I’m pretty sure his is a copy quirk!”
You mirror his sound at the explanation.
“Shoji,” you warn quickly, “do not let him touch you, ok?”
Shoji’s head dips in acknowledgment, keeping his distance. Mineta keeps watching, panic rising. “Bakugo still doesn’t have it! They’re still at zero, and there’s less than a minute left!”
Your brain goes quiet as you shut your eyes tight. You want to help, hell, at this point, you feel like you need to help, but how much could you do in just a few seconds? What could you do in just a few seconds?
“Alright, Shoji,” you say firmly, “turn around and open up.”
He obeys, stopping just long enough to spin the team, then spreads his arms wide like a clam, exposing you and Mineta to the open air.
You grip Mineta like a stuffed animal and hold him tight against your chest. “Stick the teammates in place,” you order. “But don't get any on Bakugo’s team.”
Mineta doesn't hesitate as he starts raining down a frenzy of balls.
Purple spheres launch in rapid fire, sticking Monoma’s teammates in place. One by one, they’re immobilized. Hands, feet, uniforms, all glued down hard enough that their formation is frozen into uselessness.
You spin Mineta around onto your back like a crossbody, making him cling tightly onto your shoulders as you brace yourself with a hand on Shoji’s shoulder. With the other, you throw a thick water whip, snapping it forward like a lasso. It wraps around both of Monoma’s arms, pinning them to his sides mid-motion.
Right as Bakugo explodes forward.
He surges through the open space in a burst of speed and fury, with nowhere to run and no teammates able to assist. Monoma’s eyes go wide. Bakugo snatches his headband back with a vicious, satisfied jerk. Sero’s tape snaps out immediately, yanking Bakugo back onto his team just as the buzzer rings.
The arena goes dead quiet for half a breath. Then the Jumbotron updates. The final top five teams flash across the screen.
5th place: Team Midoriya.
4th: Team Shinsou.
3rd: Team Bakugo.
2nd: Team Todoroki.
1st: Your team.
And the stadium goes wild.
The cheers are like thunder, and you don’t even care how ungraceful you look as you scramble down off Shoji’s back, screaming for joy as you see your names appear on the jumbotron. Jumping from his arms with Mineta still clinging to you like a baby Koala. You use a thick water tentacle to pluck him from your back and drop him into your arms as you squeeze him so tight he’s sure he might pop. You're screaming and cheering as you jump up and down in front of Shoji before jumping up and wrapping an arm around the taller boy's neck. Causing him to reach up and hold you in place so you or Mineta don't fall to the ground. Shoji holds you in his arms, princess style, as you place Mineta in your lap, gripping his tiny hands as you shake them in excitement, repeating ‘we did it!’ over and over to both of them as they laugh and cheer right along with you.
Present Mic is going insane above you, Aizawa offering his usual dry commentary, and somewhere beneath it all, you can feel the festival shifting into its final stage. Ms. Midnight appears again, letting the excitement breathe for just a moment before lifting the mic.
“Congratulations to our winners!” she purrs. “Because now… we move on to the final event.”
She points a manicured finger up at the boards as the graphics change once more. This time, the large red bubble letters read:
THE FINAL EVENT: ONE-ON-ONE FIGHTING TOURNAMENT.
A 19-name bracket appears beneath it. You slip out of Shoji’s arms as you continue to watch the board, Mineta still on your hip as you hold him there like a toddler.
The screens flicker, and as the matchups appear on them, your smile slowly fades as the realization sets in. You’ll be fighting your friends. Because it doesn’t matter how well you performed. It doesn’t matter how confident you looked. From here on out, it was a free-for-all.
Midnight continues explaining the rules of the tournament to the remaining competitors, her voice oozing with showmanship. Since it was a 19-name bracket, that means you’d be competing by-style. Kind of like the NFL playoffs. Your team came in first, so the three of you wouldn't be fighting until the second round, regardless of your individual point averages, like the one seed. Team Midoriya and Team Shinsou had the individual players with the lowest point averages, as well as being in the last two spots to move forward in the Festival, so they'd be fighting first, like wild card teams. Everyone else would be matched up and fighting based on their individual points and progress into the next round of the tournament if they won their matchup. Fighting their way to the top, knock out style, until only one player is left standing.
“The first round will begin after a one-hour and fifteen-minute break. Plenty of time for everyone to recuperate!” Then she tilts her head, playful. “Any questions?”
A hand rises. Ojirou’s hand.
He steps forward, tail flicking behind him anxiously. “Uhhh…Can I… forfeit?”
Your head whips toward him so fast you're surprised it didn't spin right off. “Whoa,” you blurt, louder than intended.
Midnight blinks, then shrugs lightly. “Well, technically yes If you’d like? Competitors can withdraw at any time for whatever reason.”
Ojirou nods, swallowing hard. “Then… I’d like to withdraw, please.”
You're moving to him immediately, setting Mineta back on the ground as you step closer to him, voice dropping so you can address him gently. “Ojirou? What’s the matter?—Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
He shakes his head quickly. “No. It’s not that, I’m…I’m fine.”
He looks away, shoulders tense. “I just… I can’t continue in good faith when I don’t even know if anything I’ve done has made me worthy of a spot in the finals.”
Your brows knit. Confusion rolls through you.
“What are you talking about? Of course, you're ‘worthy’ of a spot, you earned your spot just like everyone else did?” you ask softly.
Ojirou’s eyes dart nervously, too nervous for your liking. He looks so?… Guilty for some reason. “I just… I wouldn’t feel right continuing…I’m sorry, but I just can't.”
Before you can press him further, another voice speaks up.
The short boy beside him, one of Shinsou’s teammates, the one Mineta did’t recognise, steps forward and asks to withdraw as well, echoing the same shaky reasoning. Your confusion sharpens into something more alert as you find yourself feeling incredibly uneased by both of their explanations for dropping out. Something is wrong.
You lean in even closer to Ojirou, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. “Come talk to me during the break, Ok?”
Ojirou nods quickly, his face pale. Midnight handles it smoothly, following usual Festival protocols as she announces that with two withdrawals, those bracket slots will be filled by the next highest scoring team.
Team Tetsutetsu.
Tetsutetsu and Ibara step forward to take the spots, and you bite back a curse as the bracket updates.
Four students outside Class A in the final. It’s not the end of the world. But it’s not what you wanted. And Ojirou deserved better than leaving like this. And he most definitely earned that spot.
Midnight dismisses you all for break, and as the remaining competitors begin filtering toward the waiting rooms again, you fall in line with your class, mind buzzing. You were still riding the high of winning two rounds, but now you’re stuck with a tournament bracket you don’t like, a friend who just quit for a reason he won’t say out loud, and a final event that’s about to force you to fight the people you really care about. You were in no position to complain, but damn, this kinda sucked.
The moment the waiting room door shuts behind you, all hell breaks loose. And it's instant worry and chaos.
“What happened to you?”
“Ojirou, why would you—?”
“Did you get hurt?!”
“Was it the other teams? Was it Shinso—?”
Voices overlap, questions firing from every direction as your classmates crowd in, equal parts confused and keyed up. The stadium is still roaring outside with distant cheers and muffled announcements, but in here, away from cameras and spotlights and the public’s hungry eyes, Class 1-A snaps right back into being…well. A class of anxious teenagers.
You hover close to Ojirou’s side instinctively, worry all over your face with one hand lightly at his back. Iida steps forward sharply, raising both hands.
“Everyone!” he calls, voice cutting cleanly through the chaos. “Please, quiet down. We’re not going to help Ojirou if we overwhelm him!”
The room slowly settles, and Ojirou swallows, shoulders stiff. His tail flicks once behind him, betraying how tense he is. Then he takes a breath, eyes fixed somewhere just above everyone’s heads.
“I…honestly…don’t remember,” he admits.
You study his face as he speaks, the basic medical training in you jumping into action as you search his pupils, checking to see how dilated they are. Maybe he had a concussion? Or suffered some kind of blow to the head? Maybe that's why he didn't remember?
“I barely remember the end of the obstacle race,” he continues, voice strained like he doesn’t like saying it out loud. “And the cavalry battle… I don’t remember any of it. Not a thing.”
Ojirou’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “All I remember is that kid from yesterday—the one with the indigo hair that came to the door.”
Your mind jumps immediately, remembering exactly who he was talking about.
The slouched posture. The tired eyes. The bored but threatening voice. Shinsou.
“He asked me something,” Ojirou says, blinking hard. “So I answered, and then… I blank. Completely. And when I come to again, suddenly I’m—” he gestures helplessly, “—going into the final round.”
You sigh, hearing this. As much as you want him in the final, you can't deny that you’d be pretty freaked out if something like that happened to you.
“There’s something weird about him,” Ojirou adds, almost grimacing. “Like…really weird.” He shakes his head once, firm. “I didn’t want to stick around and find out how much weirder it could get. So I figured I’d just drop out.”
Iida’s expression tightens behind his glasses. “But Aoyama was also on your team,” he points out, his tone careful but direct. “If this happened to you, it’s possible it happened to him as well. Aoyama, did you experience something similar?”
You all turn to look at him. Aoyama, who’s been standing off in the back of the crowd, blinks slowly. His expression does something strange, hesitation flickering across his face like he’s deciding whether or not to tell the truth. For a split second, you genuinely think he’s about to say yes. That he’s about to confirm everything. Instead, he makes a vague little shrug, lips pursing. “Hm…oui,” he says lightly, almost too lightly. “That boy is… very… strange.”
You stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Aoyama lifts one shoulder higher. “But I wanted to remain in the competition.”
A few of your classmates exchange looks, but no one pushes him. You exhale through your nose, irritation flashing quick and hot, then force it down. This isn’t about Aoyama right now. It’s about Ojirou. You step aside, getting a good look at him as you smile.
“What you did was very noble,” you tell him quietly. “Seriously.”
Ojirou’s eyes flick to you, surprised by the gentleness in your tone.
“But I’m sorry,” you add, “I’m sorry your first Sports Festival got spoiled and cut short. You didn’t deserve that.”
Ojirou’s throat bobs as he swallows again, and before he can try to brush it off or pretend it doesn’t bother him, you reach for him and pull him into a hug. It’s firm and a little protective. But you can't help yourself, all day, all you’d wanted was to see your class make it as far as they could in this competition. Never in a million years did you think something like this could happen. It broke your heart to think about. And it broke your heart even more knowing that you weren't there to help him.
Ojirou’s shoulders drop, just slightly, like his body gives up the fight of holding it all in as he brings his arms up to hug you back, thanking you in a hushed voice, and promising that he’ll be alright.
And then more arms join in, creating a massive group hug. A medley of voices chimes in, telling Ojirou how brave he is, how hard he’s worked, and how all of you left in the competition won't let his sacrifice be for nothing.
As the hug slowly ends and more and more of you begin to unlatch, you pull back and straighten up, turning slightly so you can address everyone now. Feeling like you need to say something to get these uncertain and uneasy feelings out of the room, not wanting this to ruin anyon elses time at the Festival.
“I don’t want this weird hiccup to ruin the rest of the festival,” you say, voice brightening with intention as you wave your hands to your classmates. “I know all of this is really weird, and I know the next event is gonna be…pretty nerve-racking.”
A few people huff small laughs as someone mutters, “That’s one way to put it.”
“But it’s still a festival,” you continue, letting your voice pitch up an octave. “I still want everyone having fun, and laughing, and making memories, and getting along,” You make sure to say that last part extra loud as you let your eyes find Midoriya in the small post group hug crowd, and Todroki sitting off to the side at one of the tables. “So I want to see everyone having a good time, and I want to see everyone enjoying the fact that we made it this far.” You look around the room, eyes warm and steady. “Even if you didn't make it to the finals, someone in this room did, so congratulate them! Be a good sport, and a good friend, and let's finish this Festival out strong! So go eat, and breathe, and walk around, and check out whatever ridiculous little games they’re running in the arena. But have fun, alright?”
A handful of your classmates whoop and cheer, the mood lifting as classmates begin making plans for what they want to see or do during your 75-minute break. The room starts to break apart into groups: people grabbing bags, chattering about food, about matchups, about games, and activities. Some head toward the door immediately, either wanting air or water, or a bathroom. Others linger, either on their phones or just enjoying the waiting room space. You remain where you are for a moment longer, smiling to yourself as you're watching them go.
As many things didnt go your way today, you were still immensely happy with the things that did. Your classmates dominated the first to rounds and swept over half of the spots in the finals. The crowd was loving keeping up with you guys, so you were sure everyone had gotten noticed by at least one pro or agency. And best of all, at least to you, you wereon a two-round win streak, and you refused to let minor inconveniences and technicalities slow your momentum.
With all the hard work you and all the people who were rooting for and supporting you had put into this, you knew you had to win. You owed it to them, to your support system. How they had trained with you, studied with you, pushed and rooted for you, and offered you bottomless and unconditional love and support, you had to keep going, keep pushing. After all, you knew they were watching. Even your secret supporters, they were probably watching the hardest of all.
Because when it came to you? They couldn't seem to look away.
I NEED to fix this nasty writers block I have so I can get the next chapter of this fic out yall im STRUGGLINGGGGG
Pt. 1 is here!!: 🤍————————————————————————
Denki Kaminari
In true switch fashion, he loves edging
He can’t help it!! It just makes the whole thing seem so much more fun!
Prefers it when you edge him tho bc you can be wayyyyyy harsher than he can be on himself
His tip is pretty sensitive yeah, but his balls???
Please suck them, fondle them, do what ever you want to them while you suck him off you’ll get him straight to his limit in seconds
By his third or fourth orgasm denial he’ll start begging for you to let him finish but in the back of his mind he just wants you to keep going until you break him
Don’t be too mean to him tho bc he likes edging you too!!
He’ll fuck you on your back with one of his hands pinning both of yours above your head and thumb at your clit until your shaking, then pull out and kiss you all messy until your begging and crying for him to put it back in
When he’s feeling extra mean he might not even put his dick back in, and just finger you until your at your limit again
Switch Denki really is something
Hanta Sero
Feet.
Wait, wait, waIT!! JUST HEAR ME OUT-
Does he like your feet? Yes. Would he say he has a foot fetish?? No! Your feet are just as hot as the rest of you in his eyes he’s not a freak!!
You usually drape your legs over his lap when you two are together so he’s used to rubbing your feet/legs even before he noticed how,,,,,pretty your feet are to him,,,,,
There’s just,,,,,,something about it when your toes are done that just,,,,,,,makes him,,,,,wanna put your feet in his mouth,,,,,,,
Did it for the first time as a joke when he was picking you up form the nail salon, you were explaining your color and design choices while was was driving so to get his attention you put your foot in his face to show off your fresh toes and he licked it from heel to toe,,,,,,
By the time he reached the next stop light he was rock hard with a mouth full of piggies
Had to pull over and fuck you in the back seat, there was no way he’d have been able to make it home
Now it’s just more of a heat of the moment thing, if he’s got you in missionary with your legs in the air 7/10 times that means he’s kissing your ankles and sucking your toes, which isn’t too crazy!!!
Would cry tears of joy if you gave him a footjob tho
Tamaki Amajiki
Massaging you
Very big on doing chill and relaxing stuff with you
But even bigger on doing chill and relaxing stuff TO you
Had a bad day at work?? It’s fine! Just lay down and let Tamaki massage you!
Has special candles, lotions and oils just for moments like this
Something about seeing you hum and moan in utter bliss while he rubs you down makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside
And hard.
He swears he’s not trying to be a creep!! He really does want to relax you and make you feel better!!
But once he starts rubbing down your lower back, and your hips,,,,,and your thighs,,,,,,and your ass,,,,,,,,,,,
He’s leaning over your shoulder and asking if he can touch you.
Mirio Togata
Loves phone sex and sexting
He’s the number 1 hero now!! He can’t help that he’s so busy all the time!!
But nothing makes his day more than getting a text or a voicemail from his babe telling him how much you miss him and how bad you want him when he gets home
Will never EVER discourage you when you initiate sexting he could be anywhere, doing literally anything and he’d text back telling you exactly what he’s gonna do to you when he sees you
Also loves masterbating over the phone with you
Hearing your voice and all your noises come out all choppy and ragged through the phone speaker turns him on so much it’s crazy
Something about the desperation of it too, that you can’t get off without him, even if he’s not physically there makes him dizzyyyyy
Will gift you a small army of toys to use when he’s not around and will have you test and review them thoroughly for him
Of course all the reviews need to be either sent to him via text to demonstrated to him via video or FaceTime
Jerks it in his office at least once a week during extra long shifts using all of the videos you’ve sent to him as wanking material
Shouta Aizawa
Fuck the gossip, he prefers a pillow princess!!
He’s a man of a particular age ok?? Sex doesn’t always need to be extra freaky to be enjoyable
Sometimes he wants the freaky sex with all the kinks and toys and lingerie and all of that
But most days?? He just wants to lean over and ask if your dtf and get it on and popping the minute you say yes
He has a pretty high sex drive but still has pretty low energy so a pillow princess is his favorite thing in the world!!
You wanna have sex just as much as he does, but you don’t need to roll around and put up a fight, bc he’s just too tired for all of that most days
Don’t get it confused tho, he’s still talking you through it and switching positions and doing everything to make the sex enjoyable for the both of you, he just likes that your down for the ride
Especially loves it when you start playing/fondling yourself while he’s fucking you
Also loves it when you let him be a pillow princess too
Just push him on his back and ride him until his eyes are rolling back, he won’t stop you!!
Keigo Takami
Bathing together
Has a serious body worship kink and loves it when you let him take complete and total care of you
Let him take a bath with you and clean and caress every inch of you!!
Every time you agree to taking a bath with him he swears he doesn’t wanna fuck he just wants to get clean and relax and take care of you
But every time it turns into you sitting in his lap with your back to his chest while he’s asking you if your enjoying yourself,,,,
Then it turns into him slowly dragging his fingers in and out of while he’s kissing your neck and shoulders and asking if your still enjoying yourself,,,,,,,
Then it’ll turn into him guiding you up and down his cock while he sucks on your nipples and AGAIN asking you if your still enjoying yourself,,,,,,,,,,,,
Loves cockwarming when you two are in the bath together too
That way he can keep you close so that he can do everything he needs to, like scrub your back or wash your hair,,,
Or have you gripping the side of the tub while he drills you from behind and turns the bath into a mini wave pool :)
Chapter 5.5: Superpower——————————————————————masterlist: Mrs. All American🤍
<<prev next>>
Summary: The class is preparing for the Sports Festival
tags: BNHA x fem!Reader, reverse harem x reader, slow burn, sfw, Izuku Midoriya x reader, Katsuki Bakugo x reader, Shoto Todoroki x reader, Tenya Iida x reader, Eijiro Kirishima x reader, Hitoshi Shinsou x reader, Mirio Togata x reader
————————————————————————
The classroom felt so different with everyone back in it.
Not because of the dorms, not because you’d finally gotten used to waking up with twenty other people’s voices drifting through the hallway, and not even because of the little…something you had left for Bakugo in his locker. It felt different because this would be the first time in over a week of worrying and anxiously waiting that you and the rest of your class would see your teacher again.
Your knee bounced under your desk as you attentively waited for the room door to slide open. Then suddenly, there he stood. Your whole class erupted in cheers as he slowly entered the room, wrapped head to toe in bandages as if he’d escaped the hospital, rather than been released. Aizawa stood at the front of the room like he’d never left, and he still looked as tired as usual. Which, in addition to the almost comedic amount of bandages, didn't make the most convincing case for the idea that he should be back in the classroom. But at least he was standing. And alive, thank God.
You’d been thinking about him all week. About Thirteen, too. About the way everything had gone sideways so fast. About how close it all came to being worse. It wasn’t like you could unsee it, no matter how hard you tried to force your brain to move on. So when Aizawa finally lifted a hand, palm out, the room quieted slowly, like you were all scared to ruin the fact that he was actually here.
“I’m fine,” he said, voice scratchy and low. “And before anyone says anything—yes, I know you missed me. So please try to keep the over-the-top emotional reactions to a minimum.”
A ripple of nervous laughter moved through the room, tension easing just a fraction. He took a breath, eyes sweeping over all of you like he was counting heads, confirming you were all still here and present. Falling right back into his regular teaching habits after a short break away.
“Hopefully you all had a nice break,” he continued, tone dry. “Because you’re behind.”
The words hit the room like a splash of cold water. Behind? Behind on what? You made a small face as murmurs around the room picked up again. Making Aizawa raise his hand to silence all of you again.
“The first-year Sports Festival will be held in two weeks,” he said, like he was announcing a pop quiz and not something that sounded year-making. “And because you’ve had a week off, you’re behind on your preparation for it.”
You knew about the Sports Festival in a general way. It was the school version of some kind of Olympic-style games and sports-related activities. You were also aware that non hero affiliated school in Japan had sports festivals, but they weren't usually broadcast to the whole country. So you were sure this would be a big deal. You’d always try to watch every year to see Mirio and Tamaki compete, but ironically, despite their student ranks, they’d never won it. Barely ever got close, honestly. Of course, you weren’t the kind of person to back down from a challenge, but in all fairness, who cared if you won some supersized game of cornhole or capture the flag if it did not affect your student standing? By the time the school day dragged to its end, the Sports Festival was all anyone could talk about. Speculation and excitement, fear and bragging, people tossing out ideas like they were already imagining themselves winning the whole thing.
You left campus still mentally bargaining with yourself about how much you should or shouldn’t stress over this whole Sports Festival debacle when Luke pulled up at your usual spot to take you to Sir’s.
Sir looked up from his laptop the moment you entered, tossing your bag into the corner of his office as you walked in, looking a bit agitated. “Good afternoon, my dear, what has you looking so… vexed?” he said, not unkindly. Just observational.
You stepped forward, moving to sit on top of the corner of his desk and making a small sound of concentration. “I need help preparing for the Sports Festival. Or I guess, I’m wondering if I need help preparing for the sports festival. I get that it's a big deal, like culturally, but is it really a big deal for me? Like, does it matter if I don't win?”
Sir’s eyes paused mid-email before picking back up, answering you without even meeting your gaze. “Of course you do, or at the very least you should try to,” he says, expression unreadable. Then he shut the top of his computer with the same careful precision he did everything. He leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers steepled.
“I can understand why you’d think otherwise, considering the winner doesn't receive anything other than a tacky metal and acclaim, but from where you stand now in your heroic career, the latter is the most daunting weapon in your arsenal. But I’m sure you're under the impression that the Sports Festival is an athletic competition,” he said, voice even.
You opened your mouth to respond, then shut it again. Because…yeah. Kind of.
“It isn’t,” he continued. “Not really.”
You blinked. “Then what is it?”
He thought for a beat, as if trying to figure out how to articulate his point in a manner that you would resonate with best.
“It’s more like a…a trade show, of sorts, for heroes,” he said flatly, nodding a bit.
Your brows furrowed. “A trade show?”
“Yes,” he replied, like you were the one being dramatic. “It’s an opportunity for heroes in training, such as yourself, to sell their hero-likeness to professionals as well as the general public. It’s about branding, exposure, and leverage. U.A knows that. Pro heroes know that. The press definitely knows that. So no, you don't exactly have to win, but you do need to attempt to make yourself memorable to get the most out of the experience, whether that means you win or not is up to you.” He leaned in as he spoke, driving home the importance of his answer. “Your focus needs to be platforming yourself. Make people remember you. Make them believe in you. Make them trust you. Don’t go out there and show them how great (Y/N)(L/N) is. You have to go out there and show them what an amazing hero (Y/N)(L/N) is going to be.”
He held your gaze like he was daring you to disagree.
“So outside of the obvious training you should be doing right now,” he added, voice just a shade sharper, “you’ll also need to decide what you want them to see. Who are you? As a hero, that is.”
You poked you lips in a pout as your eyes darted around the room in thought. Who were you as a hero? What did you want that giant crowd to think about you? To feel about you? This was more than just a festival and some dumb games; this was basically the public's introduction to you. You wanted to be respected, to be trusted, to bring people relief, comfort, and joy, and to show any potential foes that you were a force to be reckoned with. On top of all the training you’d be doing the next few days, you have to work on your confidence, staying camera-ready, trying your hardest to take blows gracefully and bounce back quickly, so your hero debut wouldn't be tainted by unflattering pictures and videos of yourself.
Essentially, you were going to have to…perform.
“Alright,” you say, finally slipping off the desk and turning to face Sir. “I know what I want them to see.”
Every day after school, you don’t linger. You don’t hang around campus or let yourself get pulled into whatever chaos the rest of the class is buzzing about. Luke is already waiting most afternoons, engine warm, door opening before you can even reach it. And every afternoon, without fail, you head straight to Sir’s agency. Training with Sir was intense, but that was everything you needed right now. With his quirk, you quickly gained a better grasp of your most predictable moves and combinations, leaning to adjust and pivot on the fly to attempt to get the better of him, even if you both knew that was virtually impossible.
He watches everything to make comments and corrections on everything. Your posture. Your timing. The way you hesitate before committing to a movement. Even your faces and your breathing. He breaks things down until there’s nowhere left to hide, until every choice you make feels intentional or painfully obvious in its flaws. He exposes what you give away with your eyes, with your stance, and with your footwork. Some days, Mirio trains with you too, when his schedule allows. Those are the days that are the hardest for sure. With Mirio and Sir working together against you, you feel like all you're doing is dancing around the training room. But you know it's purposeful. They're preparing you for what it feels like to know your out matched and be forced to strategize rather than break out of a situation using brute force. As well as what to do and what not to do when you're frustrated in a fight, how to stay calm and not let your emotions dictate and slow your movements.
But it’s not all blood, sweat, and tears. Even when your muscles scream and your lungs burn. Mirio fills the space with encouragement and jokes, while Sir overencourages you not to give up, complimenting you every time you remember to act on one of his comments, reminding you that effort matters just as much as execution.
You leave the agency every night exhausted and sore, while buzzing with excitement and thoughts of how much you're progressing, and how great the payoff of all of this is going to feel. Every night as you slip back into the passenger's seat of Luke’s SUV your more and more convinced that you're going to win this thing. Maybe even dominate it.
And then you get back to the dorms. Back to homework spread across dining tables. Back to people calling your name from across rooms because they need help with something, math, hero theory, laundry settings, or just reassurance that they’re not messing something else up.
You can't complain, though, you love it. The feeling of being busy. Staying busy. It clears your head after hours and hours of teeth-clenchingly aggravating training with two of the most intense people you’ve ever met. After hours and hours of doing the wrong thing, being told you did the wrong thing, trying to correct it, and being told that was wrong too. And after hours of hearing Mirio urge you to “just try it again, you’ll get it this time!” But you don't get it this time, or the next time, or the time after that. Of course, you love getting home and being right, being helpful, being useful, and hearing everyone sing your praises and thank you for all of it. Sure, it sounds narcissistic, because it is. But after training with those two, you're sure you deserve it, just a little.
You check in with everyone. Make sure assignments are done or at least attempted. Remind people about uniforms and curfews and the importance of eating something that isn’t vending machine food. You cook dinner more nights than not, especially when no one else steps up, and you don’t even mind; you love it, in fact. Being able to work away all your stresses while you quietly play music from your phone and skate around the kitchen. You don’t even mind it when half the class crowds the kitchen, pretending to help when really they're just there to pick food out of pots and pans when they think you aren't looking.
This, this, is what you were sure being an RA was supposed to feel like. Being someone everyone could depend on, someone everyone could feel comfortable coming to, talking to, or anything else. It made you happy, so happy. Especially since the feeling came so naturally to you. You were born and raised in a busy, activity-dense, and hectic house. So the fact that the dorm mirrored that for you made you feel so at home on top of everything else.
And your original goal, the one you’d set at the beginning of the year, has been blown out of the water. Getting three classmates to trust you had felt ambitious back then. But now? You talk to almost everyone daily. People you assumed you’d never really be close with stop you in the hall just to talk. Sit next to you without hesitation. Ask your opinion. Confide in you for small things. You’ve learned who needs daily reminders and who needs their space. Who jokes to deflect stress and nerves, and who goes quiet when they’re anxious or overwhelmed.
You’re caring, you're intentional, and you try your hardest to spread yourself evenly across the whole class. You don’t linger too long with any one person. You don’t want anyone thinking you play favorites. You don’t want anyone feeling left out when there's plenty of you to go around. But it’s in that effort of constant awareness that you notice a gap. A steadily growing gap as you feel you and the rest of your classmates get closer and closer, this person just…stays stagnant. And you just can't seem to find a way to break the ice with him.
Todoroki.
He’s never rude. Never dismissive or mean. He listens when you speak in group settings. He follows the rules. He shows up where he’s supposed to be. If anything, he’s polite to a fault. But he always chooses to stay…separate. You and he share the same floor, so it’s not like you never see him. You exchange nods in the hallway, brief words when necessary. Like a neutral space that neither of you pushes past. And it isn’t uncomfortable, exactly, just distant. Like there’s a locked door between the two of you that neither of you has thought to knock on yet. And you're not quite sure why that is yet.
Maybe it’s because you rrelationshios with everyone else have naturally shifted into something bigger and warmer. Maybe it’s because you haven't found anything to naturally anchor you to Todoroki. He’s a strong student, so he wouldn't need your help with homework. He’s naturally tidy and well organized, so he wouldn't need any reminders from you in that regard. And he rarely ever eats dinner downstairs with the rest of the class, opting instead to take a plate up to his room and just return the dirty dishes later in the night or when he comes down the next day. Or maybe it’s because, much like what you’ve been learning and practicing with Sir since the Sport festival has been announced, maybe both of you aren't sure what you want the other to think of you yet. To feel about you. But you were starting to get an idea.
For the third day in a row, you spot Todoroki walking back toward the dorms from the train station just as Luke’s car pulls up near the station. Same timing. Same route. Same steady, relaxed pace. He keeps his hands tucked into his pockets, eyes forward, posture straight but not rigid. The train that comes to that station is one of the ones that ride all the way into the city. You see lots of working adults and college students waiting on that platform when you walk to school in the morning. If he’s coming back from the city, he must be coming back from after-school training, you realize. Just like you.
You lean forward in your seat, looking just about ready to jump from the moving car. “Hey—Luke,” you say, pointing lightly out the window. “Can you let me out here?”
Luke follows your gaze, already frowning. “You sure? We’re only a few minutes out from the dorm?”
“I know,” you nod. “I think I’ll just walk the rest of the way.”
He sighs, slowing the car anyway. “You know, we made a deal that as long as you're in the dorms, I’m responsible for taking you back and forth. ”
“I know,” you groan. “But we’re so close you could literally watch me from here! I just want to talk to one of my classmates really quick, and I’m worried he won't want to talk once we get inside.”
“Alright, but I'm parking here, and I’m not leaving until I see that door close behind you,” he mutters, pulling over. “Plus, I’m not sure how I feel about you going out of your way for someone who won’t want to talk to you when you get inside?”
You laugh as you open the door. “Oh, stop it! He’s shy.”
Luke watches until you’re safely on the sidewalk before pulling away, and you immediately pick up your pace, falling into step beside Todoroki a few seconds later.
“Hey, Todoroki!” you say, gently, so you don’t startle him.
He turns his head slightly, surprised but not startled. “Oh—hey.”
You walk together in silence for a moment, matching each other’s pace naturally before you speak again.
“I’ve noticed we usually get back around the same time,” you say casually. “I figured you must be coming back from training after school, too.”
He nods. “Yeah. I’ve been…keeping busy, I guess.”
“Makes sense,” you smile. “How’s Sports Festival prep going?”
He exhales quietly through his nose. “Fine. I’m just ready for all of it to be over. All this excitement and nonstop talking gets exhausting.”
You hum in agreement. “Yeah, I pretty much feel the same.”
There’s another brief pause before you take a small risk.
“What part’s been exhausting you the most?” you ask. “If there is one. I mean, you don’t have to answer. I just figured, if there was something, maybe I could help.”
He’s quiet for a moment, eyes fixed ahead as the dorm's front doors come into view.
“It’s not one thing,” he finally says. “I just…don’t like all the attention. I don’t think that's going to go away until the festival is over, anyway.”
You already know what he means. He must be talking about his dad, or how his dad being his dad makes him feel. He hadn’t told you about him yet, but everyone else seemed to know without Todoroki having to explain. The girls in your class brought it up almost as much as they brought up how attractive Todoroki was. He was the youngest son of Japan's #2 hero. Endeavor. Just another detail you could sympathize with him over. Familial expectations, legacy, and the fear of living in someone else's shadow. All feelings you knew all too well. You slow just a fraction, choosing your words carefully.
“I get that,” you say softly. “Not wanting to be…an extension of someone else instead of being your own person.”
That makes him glance at you again for just a second longer.
“I actually came here because I didn’t want to be like anyone else in my family,” you continue. “I didn’t want to be the next version of anyone, or feel like I was a part of a matching set. I just wanted to be…me. So I get how frustrating it can feel when people don’t give you the space to do that.”
His expression shifts, subtly but noticeably. Something thoughtful settles behind his eyes. You stop just short of the dorm entrance and turn slightly toward him.
“But honestly?” you add. “You shouldn't worry too much about your dad and the sports festival. I recently learned it's not so much about winning as it is about trying to make a name for yourself as a hero, so just do your best and let everyone see how good you are, and what kind of hero you intend to be. Not how impressive a hero’s son you are.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he gives you a single, slow nod as you both step inside.
“…Thanks.”
It’s not much. But it’s sincere. You smile, “Of course! But if you ever want to talk about anything else, just let me know. I try my hardest to be a pretty good listener.”
He nods again as you both break apart, hedging in different directions, you to the common room to greet everyone there, and him to the stairwell to head up to his room. Todoroki’s thoughts linger for a second as he walks alone on the steps. Your words replay quietly in his head as he drags himself upwards.
Not a hero’s son. Just himself.
It was sound advice, the only problem was he wasn't sure who ‘himself’ was yet.
And for some reason, that thought stays with him the rest of the night. A few more nights after that. He had always respected you as a peer and a would-be hero, but that was really it. Of course, he noticed how the class flocked to you, though. He was withdrawn but not blind. You had a sort of aura or glow about you that made you seem more approachable, more palatable than most people. In the first few days of school, he assumed it was just because people thought you were attractive and wanted your attention. But ever since the USJ, he’s seen the difference, the shift.
And as much as it filled him with confusion, it also filled him with envy. It wasnt that he was envious of your popularity, or the joy you brought people. He was envious of the way you seemed to always know what everyone in the class needed. And if you didn't know, you could quickly figure it out. You were so sure of yourself, always seeming so confident and untroubled. You ruled over your classmates with care and calculated control. You had even seemed to have tamed Bakugo somewhat, something that Todoroki was sure not even gorilla tranquilizers could do.
Todorki had been basically born with two quirks, but he’d never met anyone else who had two powers. Until he met you. While it would take him weeks to place a name to a feeling, you had his latest affliction figured out in seconds. He was amazed at how you could so easily slip in and out of different sides of yourself to cater to just about anyone, on top of everything else you did for your classmates. Maybe it wasnt a second quirk, but it was most definitely a superpower, and he wanted it. And he wanted to know if somehow, you could give it to him.
But on your end, you were more than happy to report that you had finally, finally broken the ice with Todoroki. Your conversation on your walk home didn't make you two overnight besties, but you were able to find your voice in finding more ways to include him in your day-to-day around the dorm. And you were even happier to report that he was seemingly very receptive to your various invitations. In just a few days, you two had made bounds of personal progress. Todoroki didn't rush upstairs anymore the second he got back. Now he sometimes lingers in the common room, leaning against counters or sitting at the dining tables with his books instead of retreating behind his bedroom door. And your absolute favorite, when you speak to him, he answers fully. Not particularly long answers, but real ones, nonetheless. And even better, now, sometimes, he asks you questions.
Unbeknownst to you, though, he was trying his hardest to break the ice with you as well. Hoping that coming out of his shell to you would allow him to better understand your demeanor. And ideally, how he could replicate it.
One evening, you’re both seated at the dining tables, notebooks open, the soft hum of post-dinner quiet settling over the dorm. A few classmates are scattered nearby, but the energy is calm. You’re mid-explanation about a hero theory assignment when Todoroki closes his book, fingers resting flat against the cover.
“…Can I ask you something?” he says.
You glance up, smiling easily. “Of course! What’s up?”
He hesitates, thoughtfully pausing and searching for the right words. “How do you…manage everything?”
You tilt your head a bit, like a confused puppy. “What do you mean? ‘Everything’?”
“Like…your schedule,” he clarifies. “Training. School. Helping out around the dorm. You’re always looking so busy, but not busy at the same time. So how do you keep yourself from seeming—or feeling…overwhelmed?”
You lean back in your chair, considering his question. “I think I’m just used to it at this point,” you say honestly. “I grew up in a really busy house. My parents worked a lot, my sisters and I were always doing something—sports, clubs, after-school stuff. So helping each other keep up was just…normal to me.” The words hang in the air as Todoroki absorbs your answer.
“That sounds,” Todoroki starts, then stops. “…very different from how I grew up.”
Your posture shifts slightly, attention sharpening. “Different how?”
He looks down at the table.
“I guess I was busy too,” he says. “But only with one thing.”
You stare at him with a kind but blank look on your face, as if you were trying to wordlessly urge him to go on.
“My training,” he continues, voice even but detached. “Once my father got home from hero work every day, everything revolved around that. Training. Studying. Eating. Sleeping. Then, training again. I would go to bed every night exhausted from working with him.”
You slowly set your pen down as you listen.
“I didn’t spend much time with my siblings; he made sure they knew not to bother me when I was training since he thought they would just distract me or hold me back,” he adds. “And I didn’t really…socialize with people my age. Anyone outside my house wasn’t important to my dad, so they weren't important to me either.”
Your brows knit as he continues, sadness and concern washing over you as new opinions of Todoroki and his father begin twisting and turning in your mind.
Todoroki notices your expression and tilts his own head slightly. “So I guess I wanted to know how you handled it all and seem so? Happy about it? I want to be able to manage all the things I need to prepare for the sports festival without this…? Feeling of dread? Or anger? And you seem so well adjusted when it comes to stuff like this, so I was hoping you could give me some more advice?… Is that strange?”
You sat like that for a moment after he finished talking before snapping back into the conversation and shaking your head wildly to let him know you didn't find him strange at all. But you did find him very sweet. So sweet, and so innocent. He was so emotionally withdrawn due to his upbringing that he struggled to place basic emotions with feelings and situations. And yet he still felt comfortable enough to share all that with you, and ask for your thoughts and advice. You were hugging him before you could mentally talk yourself out of it. Despite the conversation being about how well you handled everything you did in your day-to-day, one quick conversation with Todoroki had you feeling more emotionally overwhelmed than you had been in weeks.
You weren't even sure if a licensed psychiatrist would know what to do after hearing something like that. But all you could think to do was hold him. For a second, he stiffens, then relaxes in your hold, arms remaining awkwardly at his sides.
“Thank you,” you say quietly. “For trusting me with that.”
When you pull back, he looks…totally unbothered. Like what he told you was completely ordinary.
“Is all that why the Sports Festival has been stressing you out so much?” you say gently. “Training with your dad again—it’s bringing all of that back. And you're not sure what to do with the feelings?”
He thinks for a moment, then exhales deeply.
“…Yeah,” he admits, sounding faintly surprised. “I thought it was just because he pisses me off so much. And it’s not like it’s all bad all the time. I mean, he’s the number 2 hero. It would be stupid of me not to work with him if my goal is to get better.”
You offer a small, understanding smile. “That's true, but you’ve gotta decide if you feel that it's worth it. Sure your getting stronger, but how does it make you feel?”
He sits with your reply, turning in his seat so that he’s fully facing you now.
“Well, things are different than before. It’s like he’s calmed down with time. Maybe it's because he’s getting old, but I don't know. I can tell he’s trying to change,” Todoroki says after a moment. “To be better. But the way he does it just feels…wrong? Like it’s too late.”
“That makes sense,” you reply softly. “Trying doesn’t erase what already happened. Have you ever thought of trying to try and talk to him about it? Your childhood and all that?”
He shakes his head. “No,” he says slowly, like he’s not proud to admit it. “I don't think either of us is the…chatty type.” His gaze lifts to meet yours. “But maybe I’ll consider that, when all of this is over, and I won't have to see him as often anymore.”
You smile weakly at him, “That sounds good, making a plan is usually what I do first when I start feeling overwhelmed, so it's great that you're already thinking about solutions,” you say, placing a hand on his knee and giving him a tiny, reassuring squeeze. “But as far as advice goes, I’d say that anytime you come back from training with your dad and you're feeling extra pissed or extra overwhelmed, you might just need to take some time and organize your thoughts. Some people like to write down what they're thinking, others like to talk it out, some people like to do some kind of physical activity to help them think more clearly, so you’ve just got to find what suits you.”
He leans back a bit, eyes drifting up to the ceiling in thought as he takes in everything you just said, weighing all of his options.
“I think,” he starts after a bit, “I want to try and talk my feelings out when I’m feeling like that. I’m worried part of the reason I’m in the situation I’m in now is that I don't usually talk enough…”
You quietly hum and chuckle at his thoughtful self-reflection.
“Alright, so you want to try and talk through your feelings. Do you have anyone you’d feel comfortable enough talking to about all of this when you get in one of those moods?”
Silence falls between you both again as he stares into your eyes, as if he thought you’d recommend him someone.
“Well…Do you think—you would be available to talk with me sometimes?” he asks, suddenly sounding incredibly sheepish.
You smile again, much bigger this time, and you can't help the laugh that his reaction draws out of you. “Of course! We can talk whenever you want, I may look super busy—” you say, turning to your books and pens spread out all over the table as you quickly gather them up, “But I promise, I’ll always try and make time for you when you need me.”
You turn back to look at him, arms full of your school work and supplies as you slowly rise form you seat. He watches you stand, something in his expression softening as he listens to your kind words.
“Thank you,” he says, tone sounding much more secure than before. “I had a feeling you’d be able to help me with this.” His gaze stayed steady on yours. “Your emotional awareness, the way you can tell what people are thinking or feeling based on their actions, how much you go out of your way and care for others, it's really incredible.”
You blinked, caught off guard by such a detailed compliment. “I don't know if I would say all that,” you admitted, pushing in your chair. “But I appreciate the kind words, and I really appreciate you for putting your trust in me. I know that's probably not easy for you, so thank you.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “You're welcome,” he says quietly. “But the decision was easier than I thought.” His eyes lowered for a moment. “You're very trustworthy.”
You met his gaze again, and he looked back at you, certainty and sincerity written all over his blank face as he focused in on yours, really looking at you, all of you, for what felt like the first time since meeting you. Just looking at you, he felt at ease, like he could tell you anything. Like he could trust you with anything.
hey hey don't know if you've done it yet, but if you haven't—that mha boys eating ranking???? would you mind doing one for hawks and sero? 🥹 thank you love you ❤️
i loved the eaters hcs! i was wondering, are we able to get more characters..? im talking denki, sero, aizawa and any others of your choice! thankyou!
glad you guys match my freak in here,,,,,,I feel so seen😌
Rating Them as Eaters pt. 2
Pt. 1 here!!: 🤍
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Denki Kaminari
A 8/10 eater
Loves eating it he really does but he’s one of those guys who considers sex to be the penetrative act rather than that AND foreplay so sometimes he skips that step
Loves that he can make you cum without putting his dick in tho
A huge enjoyer of toys in the bedroom too so don’t look too shocked if he uses a vibe on you while he’s down there
Speaking of shocked lol yes he has used his quirk on you during and yes it will happen again
Huge freak in general so pls let him stick a finger in your butt while he’s eating you out he loves butt stuff
You can try and crush his head with your thighs, or hide you faces with a pillow or even yank at his hair like a crazy person he doesn’t care but you will NOT hide your noises or cover your mouth while he’s munching
Needs to hear all your moans and groans he has such a voice kink
Fav position is absolutely face sitting every second you spend sitting on something that isn’t his face or his dick is a second waisted as far as he’s concerned
Pls pls pls give him praises while he’s down there or just talk to him in general it gets him so worked up so quick
Has to make out with you once he’s finished kissing your lower lips starts making him miss your other lips too and he’s such a makeout lover
Will ask you to suck him off right after tho sorry he loves head
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Hanta Sero
An 11/10 eater
Another Cookie Monster fr Jesus Christ
Eating it is more than just a sexual activity for him it’s a way of life a state of mind even
Has a NASTY oral fixation he’s sucking and licking you head to toe before he even gets to the cat this man is INSATIABLE
believes that eating it is a full body workout he’s using his tongue obvi but he’s also using his lips, his nose, his fingers nothings off the table here
He’s biting those thighs and he’s eating that ass stop asking stupid questions and take your damn panties off
Another man that needs to eat it or he’s going through withdrawals except he’s pleading and bargaining with you like a true addict
It’s so much worse when he’s high too he’ll genuinely enter a flow state and could be down there for hours just slurping your shit
Doesn’t have a fav position he’s just easy lol please put it on him pls pls pls pls
Loves 69ing tho but he likes to throat fuck you while he eats so you don’t have to work too hard
he’s going back in for seconds once you two finish fucking btw (has absolutely eaten his own cum out of you and will DIE if you tell anyone but will DOUBLE DIE if you tell anyone he wants to do it again…)
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Tamaki Amajiki
An 11/10 eater
A master munch but he keeps it undercover
Truly believes it’s inhuman to have sex without eating it first
Prefers giving to receiving bc he finishes pretty quick when you suck him off
But for some reason doesn’t have this problem when he’s eating it
He’s also the most confident sexually when he’s down there
It’s good, you know it, he knows it, everyone knows it
Probably bc of his quirk he’s just comfortable with eating any and everything and not thinking too hard about it
Speaking of his quirk…….yes……yes he is turning his tongue into a tentacle……and yes it’s amazing
Another man who loves to tongue fuck you he’s absolutely burying his face in there and nosing at your clit while his tongue cleans you out like he’s eating a pudding cup
Fav position is missionary he’s a freak but he can still be a little basic
Loves massaging your thighs while he’s eating it he really does just want you to relax and cum for him
——————————————————————
Mirio Togata
A 9.5/10 eater
This bitch thinks everything is a damn joke so -.5 points
Lives to tease you thinks sex should be carefree and lighthearted but sometimes you want to get obliterated and there’s nothing wrong with that
He’ll always take care of you if you ask him to but if you don’t say anything? Prepare for him to go down there and tease
Lovessssss the two finger combo uses his hands constantly in the bedroom they’re always grabbing or pinching or pulling or spreading something
Since he’s such a tease he can’t take it when your quiet when he’s eating it he thinks if your quiet that means he’s not doing enough
Loves getting a response out of you so he is talking to you while he’s in it and he is absolutely slapping that cat when you don’t answer him quick enough
No too hard just enough to get you to yelp and get your thighs to twitch
This freaky frog loves him some ass so he’s definitely eating it and if he’s not eating it he’s 100% grabbing it, smacking it or fingering it can’t keep his hands off it fr
Fav position is face sitting or 69ing wont ask you ‘hey can I eat you out?’ Almost EXCLUSIVELY asks you ‘come sit on my face?’
Another freak who sees 69ing as a competition so he’s pulling out all the stops, he’s slurping, he’s spanking, he’s spreading, he’s fingering, he’s pinching he doing it allllllll
You’ve only squirted for him a few times and 80% of times it’s been when he’s eating it
——————————————————————
Shouta Aizawa
A 9/10 eater
Finds eating it to be so relaxing
It’s the perfect pastime
You can both lay down, spread out and relax and have a great time
Or he can pin you to the bed and hold you hostage while he lets all his daily frustrations out on your kitty cat
Isn’t always chatty in the bedroom but looooves to talk to you while he’s eating it
Tell him about your day, what you did, who you saw, what your thinking, what your feeling, if you like it whatever you want he just wants to hear you talk, or try and talk that is
Loves when you play in his hair while he’s eating it but if you pull his hair back into a makeshift pony and use it to guide his head he’ll go full slut in seconds omg
Doesn’t know why it turns him on so much but now he’s going pussy drunk and when he’s finished eating your getting fuckkkkked
Fav position is missionary or from the back
Not above ass eating but he does prefer a modest finger from time to time rather than a full butt munching
Also huuuuuge ass slapper while he’s eating it he’s moaning in it every time his hand meets your ass
——————————————————————
Keigo Takami
A 10/10 eater
But you already knew that
This whore lives on his knees
Mega into body worship so when he’s eating it he’s eating it for a while so get comfy
Keeps one hand free so he can touch and grab and feel you up but also makes sure the other is holding one of yours at all times
Another man who liiiiiiives to makeout with your pussy
He’s also so unintentionally nasty he’s doing the nasties shit, he’s saying the nasties shit, he’s making the nastiest noises, all the while he’s got heart eyes and is experiencing pure bliss
If he’s eating it for foreplay he’s not stopping until you’ve cum at least twice but if he’s doing it for pure love of the game he’s not stopping until your shaking and crying
Tbh he’s not stopping until your BOTH shaking and crying
Gets so pussy drunk so fast when he’s eating it he could cum in his pants and not notice until he starts getting hard again
Fav position is absolutely missionary with your thighs over his shoulders and your feet resting on his back
Every time he gives you head he is not expecting head in return but if you want to suck him off your gonna have to cough up that cat first
Chapter 5: Piece of Work———————————————————————masterlist: Mrs. All American🤍
<<prev next>>
Summary: Moving into the dorms sure is something
tags: BNHA x fem!Reader, reverse harem x reader, slow burn, sfw, Izuku Midoriya x reader, Katsuki Bakugo x reader, Shoto Todoroki x reader, Tenya Iida x reader, Eijiro Kirishima x reader, Hitoshi Shinsou x reader, Mirio Togata x reader
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Barley two months living in a new country, and you were already on your second move-in. This had to be some kind of record.
You and Iida arrived just as the dorm doors were being unlocked, Ms. Midnight already there with a clipboard tucked under her arm and a smile on her pretty face as she welcomed the two of you inside. Morning light filtered through the entryway as you and Iida stepped inside the dorms for the first time.
“It looks even better than our map,” you note in a hushed voice, as if you didn't want to be the first loud voice to disturb such a pristine space.
“It’s absolutely incredible,” Iida remarks from behind. “Not that I expected anything less from an institution as prestigious as ours.”
You chuckle at his overeager nature as you continue to cautiously tour the first floor's common areas. The living room was massive, with two large sectional couches, a coffee table, and what looked like at least an 80-inch TV smack dab in the middle of the furthest wall from the entryway. To your left was the kitchen, with stacked double ovens, a stainless steel barn-style sink, and an industrial-sized 6-burner gas stove top. Next to the refrigerator, there was a small tablet that connected to all the electronics in the kitchen, so they could be shut off in case of an emergency or let someone know when something was damaged or required maintenance. The table could also be used to make grocery orders for pick up at the convenience store that was within walking distance from the dorms, so student wouldnt have to worry about paying for food while they were on campus. Perfect for the cooking needs of 20+ hungry high schoolers. Just across from the kitchen was the dining area with three long, solid wood dining tables that could seat at least 8 people per table. The glass windows beside the dining tables also doubled as sliding doors that led out to a backyard patio area with more seating and afire pit. The first floor also included two bathrooms, one for the boys and one for the girls, a stairwell that led to the other three floors, and, of course, the elevator.
As you continued your silent tour of the space, thinking of how just in a few hours these rooms will be full of noise and life, you were interrupted by the sound of an unfamiliar voice asking Iida if he was ready to start moving in his boxes. You turn to put a face to the voice, only to wonder if you're seeing double as Iida answers him. There was no denying that whoever this was was related to Iida; he was practically his carbon copy, even down to the way he styled his hair. He’s just barely taller than your classmate, with a generously heroic build not unlike the slightly smaller boy. Not wanting to seem rude, you step closer to both of them, preparing to introduce yourself, only for Iida to beat you to the punch.
“Ah, (Y/N), how rude of me! This is my older brother,” Iida says, stepping slightly aside to gesture toward him. “Tensei Iida. Also known as the pro hero Ingenium!”
Tensei looks almost uncanny up close, like someone took your Iida and turned the contrast up just a notch. Even the way he stands, hands placed proudly on his hips as Iida introduces the two of you, mirrors his younger brother’s orderly posture.
“It’s very nice to finally meet you,” Tensei says, offering his hand with a wide, toothy smile. “Tenya’s told me a lot about you.”
You're caught slightly off guard by that, teasingly glancing over at Iida with a tuanting smile before laughing softly and shaking his hand. “I’m so glad to hear that! All good things, I hope.”
“Only the highest praise,” a voice kindly chimes in from behind Tensei, whom you can only assume is his mother. Her eyes warm as she looks between you and her son.
“A-and this is my mother!” Iida nervously chokes out with pink cheeks, his voice a bit too high and a bit too loud. Only making you giggle more as you bring a hand up to hide your laughter. You bow deeply to her before offering your hand to her as well.
“Well, it’s so nice to meet both of you! Iida is one of my best friends in the class, so I’m so grateful to meet both of you and tell you what a sweet and intelligent hero-to-be you're raising.” You express, gingerly placing your hands behind your back and looking between all three of them as you compliment your now blushing classmate. Just as you were about to ask about the specifics of what kinds of praise you’ve been receiving from your friend in the Iida household, you hear heavy footsteps approaching from the front doors.
“Oh—!” you say, turning. “That must be my cousin.”
Luke approaches with two large white bakery boxes balanced effortlessly in his hands, jacket thrown on over a T-shirt, eyes already scanning the space like he’s mentally checking off details. The moment he spots you, his gaze softens.
You step toward him, wrapping yourself around one of his arms as you pull him toward the small crowd. “Luke, this is Tenya Iida, my friend I’m always talking about. And this is his family.”
Luke straightens immediately, offering a polite nod and juggling both boxes in one hand so he can freely extend a hand to Tenya, Tensei, and their mother. “Luke. It’s nice to meet you.”
Tenya mirrors the gesture instantly, posture snapping into something even more formal. “The pleasure is mine. I can only assume it’s no easy task to watch over a young lady such as (Y/N) while her parents and siblings are so far away. Your dedication to her safety and her studies is exceptional and truly inspiring. I can only hope that in our time working together, she can come to trust me even a fraction of the amount she trusts you.”
Luke pauses, his brows raising slightly in shock at Iida’s proclamation, then smiles faintly. “Glad to hear it. I’m sure you're well on your way there already. She can’t seem to shut up about you!”
You gasp at that last bit, looking up at Luke as he looks down at you and laughs at your reaction. Now it was Iida’s turn to laugh. You scrunch your mouth up in agitation as you snatch the bakery boxes out of his hands and walk them into the kitchen. Before heading over to the dorms this morning, you’d made Luke detour to a nearby café, insisting on grabbing a few boxes of assorted breakfast pastries. It felt wrong to have everyone hauling trunks and furniture around on empty stomachs, especially with parents in tow.
“My cousin Luke is sooooo funny,” you say, cutting your eyes at him from over your shoulder as you begin separating and opening the boxes as Luke approaches you, offering to take over.
“Wow,” Tensei says lightly, glancing between you and Luke. “Tenya mentioned that you were from the States. Other than the villain attack, I hope you’ve been enjoying your time here in Japan.”
You laugh as you look over at Tensei. “I have, U.A is a great school, and I’ve met so many great people,” you say, gesturing to Iida. “I hope the rest of the year only gets better from here on out.”
Ms. Midnight clears her throat pointedly from the entryway, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Alright, relatives and representatives, let’s get this show on the road.”
And just like that, move-in day officially begins.
The early morning air had a chill, but the energy around the new building was warm and buzzing, voices overlapping with laughter, excitement, and the scrape of shoes and suitcases against new waxed floors.
The dorm quickly filled with motion. Parents and students lugged trunks up staircases, laughter echoing down the halls as rooms were claimed and immediately transformed. Posters went up, beds were claimed, and furniture was rearranged before it had even properly settled. Your classmates were practically vibrating with excitement, already arguing over décor themes and which common spaces would be claimed first.
It was all so cute. So sweet. Almost overwhelmingly so.
You stood by one of the dining room tables, watching so many of your classmates move in alongside their parents, stirred something soft and gentle in your chest. Moms fussed over bedsheets, while dads double-checked locks and water pressure in bathrooms, and siblings teased and helped carry boxes. You continued to watch, to stare, as all the noise and sounds of life disappeared from your ears, leaving only a dull hum in its wake. In an instant, the weight of distance of your own family tugged at you, the reminder that your own parents were thousands of miles away, reduced to video calls and text updates instead of being here in person. Just days ago, you were trying your hardest to get them all to leave you alone and give you room to breathe, room to grow. But now all of that seemed so trivial. As much as you loved Luke and all that he did for you, it's not like you were some kind of orphan. You had parents, you had a family, they were just an ocean away. You blinked away at the solemn thoughts as Mina and Uraraka moved in beside you, leaning against the table you stood by. Making you smile at the pair while trying to seem as unfazed by the sights in front of you as possible.
“Oh my god, look at how locked in (Y/N)'s cousin is,” Mina whispered loudly beside you, nudging Uraraka with her elbow, directing her with her eyes to look at Luke as he hurried from the stairwell back outside to his car to grab more boxes, more things, more clothes, all while helping other families and students when he was left empty-handed. “He’s so sweet.”
You glanced over just in time to see Luke help grab a cheese danish for one of Sero’s little sisters as he walked past the kitchen back out to the car to grab another moving box. Uraraka covered her mouth to hide her grin.
“I know, he’s like perfect,” she added. "Look at how fast he's moving in all her stuff. I almost want to ask him to help with some of my things."
You laughed, warmth blooming where the melancholy had been moments before. Watching Luke take care of everything for you, making sure everything was just right, made up for the loneliness you had been feeling before. Whatever you lacked in physical distance from family, you weren’t lacking in care. You smiled as he passed again, thinking about what Iid had said to him earlier. All of this probably wasnt easy for him; he just made it look so easy, and you were grateful for that. And him.
“I don't know (Y/N),...” Mina mumbled, sitting up from her spot, “your cousin is kinda—”
“—Stop!” you interrupt before she can even continue that sentence.
Hours passed faster than you envisioned.
Eventually, parents began filtering out, leaving their students with lingering hugs and bittersweet goodbyes. Once the last of them had left, Ms. Midnight gathered your class in the common area to go over dorm expectations and basics, with her usual playful but firm tone as she laid down the rules.
Just before she departed, she paused, tapping her clipboard once for attention.
“And before I go,” she said with a smile, “I know it’s been a stressful week. But by Monday morning, things will be back to normal. Classes resume as usual, and I’m happy to report that Mr. Aizawa was released from the hospital last night. So be sure to give him a warm welcome when you see him tomorrow morning.”
A ripple of relieved joy and some whoops and cheers passed through the room. Normal might look a lot different for all of you now. But standing there, surrounded by your classmates in what was officially your new home, it was finally starting to feel real. With the good news still buzzing through the room, you and Iida exchange a glance before stepping forward together.
“As class representatives,” Iida begins, straightening instinctively, “and now resident assistants, we wanted to formally introduce ourselves in this new capacity.”
You pick up smoothly beside him, explaining what that meant in practice. Being points of contact, helping with living questions or concerns, and making sure everyone adjusted safely and comfortably to dorm life. Nothing too crazy, nothing too overwhelming. Just reassurance, structure, and of course, support.
A few questions come your way almost immediately. Curfews. Quiet hours. Who to talk to if something breaks. Where to go if someone feels unsafe. You and Iida answer them with practiced ease, the two of you falling into a familiar rhythm. Picking up where the other left off and speaking as though you both shared one mind.
Once things wind down, Mina suddenly claps her hands together. “Okay, rules are great and all, but now I wanna see everyone’s rooms!”
A chorus of agreement follows almost instantly.
You laugh, surprised but pleased. “Ohhhh! Me too!” you say, bringing your hands up to your chest as you turn to look at Iida. “I want to see how everyone chose to decorate their rooms, especially after all that hard work everyone put into moving.”
“Respectfully (Y/N),” Jirou says from one of the couches, “I didn't see you move a single thing all day. Is your room even unpacked?”
You drop your hands to your hips as you look over at her, “That's not my fault! I wanted to help more, but Luke was very aggressive about not wanting me to see my room until after he left. I think he might have left a little gift for me or something in there, but I’m pretty sure he put everything up on his own,” you explained.
“Yeah, your cousin was like a one-man moving crew!” Kaminari pokes.
“He’s just a really…efficient and independent person,” you say, hoping someone can take the conversation off of Luke’s overachieving ass.
“So why don't we start on the third floor and work our way down to the second?” Iida offers. “That way, you can go first and see if your cousin left anything for you in your room.”
After a quick medley of side conversations, everyone agrees with Iida’s idea, and you all head up to the third floor to see and judge your new room. You were being completely truthful when you told everyone you hadn't the slightest idea what Luke had done to your room. You hadn’t even seen your room yet. Luke had insisted on handling everything himself, shooing you away every time you tried to peek while you stayed downstairs helping classmates or introducing yourself to their families. And seeing how he exposed you in front of Iida and his family, maybe it wasnt a good idea to get your first blind reaction with your entire class waiting expectantly behind you.
You lead the group down the hall, heart thudding with a mix of nerves and excitement as you unlock the door and turn the knob.
“Please God…” you whisper in English as you push the door open.
The moment it swings open, you freeze. hands flying up to your mouth in awe. The room is…perfect.
Soft blue hydrangea peel-and-stick wallpaper lines the walls, just like in your room at home. The wallpaper is paired with delicate art prints and photos set in gold frames. Your exposed wooden desk has been transformed with white contact paper, your electronics neatly organized atop and within it, with a white plush scalloped desk chair pushed under it. Beside it sits a matching white dresser with antique-style hardware, a French Baroque-inspired gold-trimmed mirror perched on top, instantly recognising both as furniture pieces your mom had sent you photos and links of. A European-inspired area rug stretches across the floor, separating the space, your study table centered atop it with decorative pouf pillows tucked around invitingly. A small white nightstand sits beside the bed, finished with a powder-blue plaid pull-cord lamp. And the bed, your bed boasts an off-white upholstered headboard with gold rivets and a white-and-navy blue comforter piled high with decorative pillows. And above your bed on the wall where your headboard rests hangs your ivory cowgirl hat, tying the whole room together visually and emotionally.
It’s like a dollhouse replica of your room back home. Like a little slice was shipped right to you. No wonder Luke was running all those boxes in and out of the car.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, voice thin from shock, stepping inside slowly as if the room might disappear if you move too fast.
Your classmates pour in behind you immediately.
“Oh my God! This is adorable,” Mina says, spinning in a slow circle.
“It’s so Pinterest in here!” Uraraka adds. “Luke did all this by himself?!”
You nod slowly as you walk over to your desk, looking at one of the pictures he’s hung on the wall beside it. It’s a black and white portrait of you and your sisters, all smiling and happy. You couldn’t have been more than 5 in the picture; it was one of your favorites.
“Yup,” you say on an exhale, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. “All by himself…”
Jirou pauses near your dresser, eyes landing on your record player. “Whoa! You didn't tell me you had a record player! I didn't even know you were into music like that!” she says, impressed as she slowly drags her finger tips across the closed top of it. “This’s got to be one of the best models out there. And not cheap either. How’d you ever score this?”
You blink a few times, caught off guard by her questions as you turn to see what's caught her attention. It was the record player Amara had given you the day your family went back home. “Oh— uh. My older sister,” you say, walking over to her. “She got it for me when I got into U.A. and gave it to me the day I moved in. She said she’d been saving up for months. We both really like old music, so she wanted to give me something that reminded me of her when she’s not around, so…” you open the player staring at the turntable as you think of her, missing her all over again. “Maybe I’ll play something on it tonight.”
“That’s so cool,” Jirou breathes, satisfied by your explanation.
“Well, if you ever want to hear one of your records on it, just bring it over, and we can listen together!” you say as sweetly as you can manage to her as you push your homesickness down even deeper.
Sero lifts a brow as he steps deeper into your room, walking over to your bed and pointing toward your cowgirl hat. “You into country music, too, or something?”
You laugh softly, knowing exactly what he's talking about before you even turn to look at him. You walk over, lifting it from the wall and placing it on your head. “I tolerate country music, I’m a H-town baby, what can I say?” you say. “But this is actually from a cheer uniform from my old school,” you say, flicking the back of the hat with your fingers.
Hagakure gasps. “Wait—you were a cheerleader? That’s so cool. You must’ve been super popular.”
You make a little face as you pull the hat off, making sure to straighten your hair out as you place it back on its hook on the wall. “I wouldn’t say all that,” you mumble, already ushering everyone back toward the door. “But, c’mon, let’s keep going! I wanna see everyone else’s rooms too.”
You step out into the hall, closing your door as you follow the group to the next room, laughter echoing down the corridor.
By the time you finished touring everyone’s rooms, a unanimous verdict had been reached.
“Sato wins,” Mina announced, dramatically wiping fake tears from her eyes. And honestly? No one could argue with her. Sato stood in the doorway of his room, smiling bashfully as the class crowded around, plates in hand. Somehow, he’d already managed to unpack and bake an entire chiffon cake in his room’s personal oven, the warm, sweet smell filling the hallway and sealing his victory without question.
With the tour officially concluded and stomachs happily filled, you all migrated back down to the common room, settling into couches and beanbags, sprawled out across the floor as Kirishima fiddled with the TV and stereo system. The dorm felt lived-in already, voices overlapping comfortably as music played and laughter bounced off the walls. A few of the boys discovered the game console tucked neatly beneath the TV. with a drawer full of controllers and cords to go with it.
“Oh, no way,” Hagakure said, scrolling. “They’ve got Just Dance!”
Within minutes, the room was split into teams, a makeshift bracket sketched out in your notes app. Floor three versus floor two. Tournament-style. You were glad to have a new activity to take your mind away from missing your home and your family. Your heavy heart is now light as a feather, as it burned with a new feeling: overcompetitiveness. You hated losing. Especially losing at something you knew you were good at, and you were an amazing dancer. Maybe it was the cheer and the hours upon hours a week of practice, but you liked to think you were naturally talented. You also knew Just Dance had very little to do with actually dancing and more to do with just swinking your wrists on beat. But that didn't mean being a good dancer didn't give you a decent edge over your competition if they weren't as rhythmically blessed. So all in all, you were going to win this thing for your floor.
On your team, you had: Jirou, Bakugo, Kaminari, Ojiro, Sero, Shoji, Todoroki, Uraraka, and Momo.
And the other had: Aoyama, Mina, Tsu, Hagakure, Iida, Kirishima, Koda, Midoriya, Mineta, Sato, and Tokoyami.
In a not-so-unexpected turn of events, Bakugo and Todoroki both outright refused to play. Todoroki insisted that he was more of a video game spectator anyway, and Bakugo claimed Just Dance was one of the worst games ever made. So to prove your dedication to your floor as their RA (and totally not because of how badly you wanted to mop the floor with as many of your classmates as you could manage), you offered to play in their places in the lineup. A few of the third-floor team players tried to stop you, claiming that it wouldn't be fair, but you insisted that you could handle it, not wanting to make anyone do anything they weren't comfortable with on their first day in the dorms. Plus, you didnt want to hear Bakugo’s mouth.
“But it’s not like it matters that much,” you explain, trying to silence both sides' bickering. “Besides, we’re going to win anyway! So why prolong the inevitable by fighting about it!” You say swinging one of the Joy-Cons around your finger by its strap. Kirishima quickly rebutted your empty threat, letting the whole class know that whichever team Mina was on would win for sure, since she practically ate, breathed, and shit dancing. But you accepted his warnings, claiming it wouldn't be any fun if you just massacred the competition. So after a short tiff of smacktalk, the tournament began.
From the very first song, it became painfully obvious that the two of you were operating on a completely different level than everyone else. You moved like you’d been born for this, while Mina matched your energy beat for beat, a blur of rhythm and confidence as she danced. Round after round, opponents fell. Groans filled the room as scores flashed across the screen. Soon enough, it came down to the inevitable.
You versus Mina.
The room fell into an expectant hush as the first song started, and ended in a tie. You didnt even know matches could end in ties in Just Dance. But apparently they could. And they did. Again. And again. And again.
By the third stalemate, everyone was howling with laughter, chanting both your names as you both collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air.
“Okay, okay,” you laughed, wiping sweat from your brow. “I don't think it's going to get any better than this.”
Mina grinned, holding out her hand. “I know! Should we just call it a tie?”
You nodded without hesitation as you sighed, out as if you’d just run a 5K. The room erupted in a mix of satisfied cheers and displeased groans. As the music kept playing and people drifted back to couches and conversations, you sank into the moment, looking around at your classmates, well, your roommates now, feeling joy settle deep in your chest as you looked at all of them. You’d been through so much as a class already, cute moments like this almost made them seem kind of worth it.
By the time evening crept in and the energy in the dorms began to mellow, you and Iida took it upon yourselves to corral everyone back into the common room.
“Just a reminder,” Iida announced, hands folded neatly behind his back, “no one is required to officially stay in the dorms until Monday. So, if anyone would prefer to return home for the remainder of the weekend, you’re more than welcome to do so.”
A few relieved murmurs followed. Some students exchanged glances with friends, trying to decide whether or not they should stay or spend a bit more time at home. Bakugo left without much fanfare. A couple of others trickled out as well, offering tired goodbyes and promises to see everyone on either tomorrow or Monday. When the doors finally shut behind the last group heading home, the dorms felt much quieter.
Only a handful of students remained, some of the girls curled up on the couches, chatting softly, and a few of the boys sprawled out on the floor with the TV playing low in the background. Your perfect idea of winding down on a Saturday night. As more and more of your group refocused on their phones or whatever was playing on the T.V you took advantage of the lull to slip away, back upstairs to your room. The pristine interior greeted you just as warmly as it had earlier, lamplight casting a soft glow across the wallpaper and framed photos. And for the first time all day, you were alone with it all. Your throat tightened as you scanned the space, taking in every detail. You sat on the edge of your bed and pulled out your phone, opening your contacts and dialing without thinking twice.
Luke picked up almost immediately.
“Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”
You smiled despite yourself. “Yeah. I just— I finally got to see my room. And I wanted to say thank you.”
There was a pause on the other end. “For what?” he asked through a soft laugh.
You glanced around your room, at the familiar touches, the care in every corner. “For my room!” you said softly. “You didn’t have to do all of this, but… I love it. I don’t know how you pulled it off in such a short window of time, but you did. And I love it. So thank you.”
You could hear the smile in his voice when he replied. “I’m glad you love it. I just wanted you to have something that reminds you of home while you were away. Y’know, now that I’m not there, I just wanted to make sure you had somewhere you’d feel safe no matter what.”
Your chest warmed at that. “Well, you really outdid yourself, Lukey-Pookie,” you added. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he said gently. “You deserve it. But remember, if you ever get extra homesick, you can always call me. I’ll be there in a heartbeat, and you can always come home and stay with me.”
“I know,” you mumble through a soft chuckle. “I love you,” you say firmer.
“I love you, too, kiddo.” He replies quickly, “You know that. Now go have fun.”
You hung up a moment later, lingering in the quiet of your room, feeling that gentle comfort settle over you again.
When you head back downstairs, the smell of grease and cheese hits your nose as you step out of the stairwell. Pizza boxes are stacked neatly on the kitchen counter, soda bottles sweating beside them. You pause mid-step, blinking in surprise, wondering who ordered all this food.
“Oh—where did all this come from?” you ask loudly, glancing around the common area.
Iida looks up from where he’s seated at the dining table, with everyone else who was on the couch and the floor when you had slipped upstairs. His posture was uncharacteristically relaxed, he must’ve been tired.
“Since you and Luke took care of breakfast this morning,” he explains, “I asked my parents if they’d be willing to treat the class to dinner. It seemed only fair.”
Your smile as you walk over to where he's sitting. “That was really sweet of you,” you say sincerely, leaning over him to rest your cheek on top of his head as you spoke. “Thank you, Iida.”
He adjusts his posture as you lean against him, just a touch flustered. “Of course! I made sure to refer to our RA folders to make sure I was mindful of anyone's allergies or dietary restrictions.”
You giggle and pat his shoulders at that, walking back over to the food. “Thorough as usual, I see.”
You grab a plate and slide into an open seat at the table between Hagakure and Jirou, joining the loose conversation already in progress. Hagakure is practically vibrating with excitement, her voice carrying even though she’s seated.
“I can’t believe this is our first night in the dorms!” she says. “I just wish more people stayed tonight.”
Jirou snorts from across the table. “You’re only saying that because Ojiro went home.”
“That is not true!” Hagakure protests immediately. “I was talking about Momo and Tsuyu! We could have had an awesome sleepover down here in the common room!”
She pauses, then adds thoughtfully, “Though… I’m not too shocked that they went home. Momo is a Libra, so being away from family is probably pretty hard for her.” That earns her a look from you and Mina.
Mina perks up instantly. “Wait, you know their signs?”
Kirishima laughs, shaking his head. “No way. You guys don’t actually believe in that stuff, right? It’s total nonsense!”
You scoff lightly, feigning disbelief, leaning your elbows on the table. “Hey! Zodiacs are not nonsense.”
“I think people are a little too complex to only have 1 out of 12 personality types,” Iida states matter-of-factly.
“Well, of course, your zodiac doesn't just dictate your personality; it just tells you more about the broader aspects of your life depending on the placement of the stars when you were born,” you explain while taking a bit of your food.
That gets Midoriya’s attention. He looks genuinely curious. “What do you think they affect, then?”
You hum, considering. “Personality, but just a few aspects. Goals. Desires. Compatibility,” you list easily. “Though that can also depend on which elemental group the sign falls under. Fire, earth, air, water—all of that.”
Iida blinks at you, tilting his head to the side a bit. “You seem very knowledgeable about all this.”
You grin. “My dad is extremely superstitious, so he loves this kind of stuff. He’s a Taurus, by the way.”
Sero snaps his fingers. “Wait—I actually think I have a zodiac book in my room, I thrifted it a couple of months ago. Let me go see if I packed it!”
That immediately sparks interest around the table.
“We should totally do everyone's readings,” Mina says.
A chorus of agreement follows, and Sero is on his feet in seconds. When he comes back, book in hand, he drops it in front of you without hesitation. “Obviously, Little Miss Superstitious goes first.”
You roll your eyes but flip through the pages, finding your sign and skimming before reading aloud. You list off the personality traits first, then the goals and desires associated with your sign, voice steady and amused as you read out in your best teacher voice.
“And—okay,” you continue, scanning the page. “Platonically, I’m most compatible with Libras, Capricorns, Scorpios, and Leos. And romantically—Taurus, Cancer, Gemini, and Pisces.”
Mina grins wickedly. “Guess all you have to do now is find out who’s one of those in the class.”
You shove the book toward her, rolling your eyes as you laugh. “You’re next.”
She laughs and reads through her Leo horoscope with dramatic flair, followed by Kirishima insisting on going next “just to see if it’s accurate.” When he finishes reading his own Libra description, he stares at the page in discomfort as if it just told him his own death date.
“This is… a little too on the nose.”
The table dissolves into laughter. One by one, everyone takes a turn, passing the book around until it lands back in front of Sero. He taps the cover thoughtfully.
“I can put this back if we’re done.”
“I just wish I knew everyone else’s birthdays,” Hagakure sighs. “So we could do the rest of the class.”
You freeze for half a second, then your face lights up. You shoot Iida an excited look as you stand, heading for the kitchen bar. “Actually,” you say, grabbing your RA folder and holding it up next to your face as you walk back to your seat, “We do have everyone’s birthdays.”
Hagakure gasps dramatically, bouncing in her seat. “Okay—okay, then tell me Ojiro’s birthday!”
You glance down at your folder, already flipping pages, when Iida’s concerned voice cuts in.
“Uh, (Y/N)?” Iida says, sitting up straighter. “Are you sure it’s appropriate to disclose private information like that? Birthdates are, technically speaking, confidential.”
A collective groan ripples around the table.
“C’mon Iidaaaaa, it's just harmless fun!” Hagakure adds, slumping against the chair.
You hesitate for only a second before nodding. “No, guys, he’s right,” you admit. “You can just ask him next time you see him, he’ll be back what, tomorrow?”
Jirou tilts her head, thinking. “What if you don’t say the birthdate or name his sign,” she suggests, “just whether his sign is compatible with hers? That’s vague enough.”
You look at Iida, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?” you ask quietly, “Sound fair to you?”
He considers it carefully, then nods once. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”
You grin and flip through the pages again before closing the folder again so no one can take a peek at the dates. “Alright—let’s see,” you say, glancing up at Hagakure, “romantically? Very compatible.”
She squeals, clapping her hands. “I knew it!”
Kaminari leans forward, suddenly energized. “Okay, new game,” he says. “Since you know everyone’s birthdays, what if we name someone, you check their sign, and then you tell us if you think theirs signs description accurately matches them.”
You laugh. “That sounds kinda judgey, no?”
“But fun,” Mina adds immediately.
“Alright,” you sigh, not wanting to argue with the crowd again. settling back into your seat, you open the folder back up. “Who’s first?”
“Todoroki,” Mina says without hesitation.
You scan the list, then flip to the correct page in the book. After a quick read, you nod thoughtfully. “Yeah,” you say. “I’d say this tracks. This sounds a lot like him, actually.”
Sero chuckles. “What about Shoji?”
You check again, first the folder, finding his birthdate at the very bottom of the sheet, then the book. Humming quietly as you read. “Also, yes. Very on-brand.”
Your fingers pause, searching for his name and birthdate. You glance back down at the page, eyes quickly skimming the full list. You realize you must have skipped over his name, as it was at the very top. After another drag up and down the page, you notice that the list is in age order, meaning if Bakugo were at the top, that would make him the oldest person in the class. And if Shoji was at the bottom, that would make him the youngest.
“Huh,” you murmur.
Midoriya leans forward. “What? Is something wrong?”
You squint slightly, doing the math in your head. His birthday was close. Like really close. You shake your head, breathing out a quiet, ‘no nothing’ as you refocus and flip to the correct page anyway. You read silently for a second, and immediately have to poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue to keep from laughing.
The page read: “Taureans are grounded, practical people who value stability and comfort. They’re known for their sensuality, their appreciation for good food, luxurious textures, and artistic beauty.”
You don’t even make it to the end before breaking. “No,” you declare flatly. “Absolutely not.”
The table erupts in laughs.
You shake your head, grinning. “Either the book’s lying, or Bakugo missed the memo on literally everything about his sign.”
Once Kaminari’s game finally fizzles out and the laughter starts to taper into yawns, you clap your hands together softly to get everyone’s attention.
“Alright,” you say, smiling but firm. “As fun as this has been, quiet hours start at 10:30, so we should probably start heading to our rooms.”
A chorus of groans answers you.
“Already?” Mina whines.
“It’s not even that late,” Kaminari adds, slumping dramatically over the table.
“I never said you had to go to sleep,” you tease, nudging him with your foot. “You just need to be quiet, and it’s much easier to be quiet behind a closed door than it would be if you stayed down here. Besides, we have our first full day of dorm life tomorrow. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
Eventually, everyone begrudgingly agrees, pushing chairs back and drifting toward the stairs and elevator. You head up to your floor, the hallway quiet now, footsteps echoing softly against the carpet as you reach your room. Once inside, you lock the door behind you and lean back against it for a moment, exhaling.
Then a sudden bout of curiosity gets the better of you. You drop onto your bed, kick off your slippers, and pull your phone from your pocket, opening your calendar. Your thumb scrolls, pauses, and your stomach flips.
Monday.
Bakugo’s birthday is literally this Monday.
You stare at the screen for a few seconds longer than necessary before locking your phone and setting it aside. You go about your usual nighttime routine, your thoughts already swimming.
He was turning sixteen. Sixteen was a big deal. Too big a milestone to ignore, even if he’d likely pretend otherwise. Maybe you should get him something? Like a card or something small? But would that be weird? You weren’t close, not really. Who were you kidding? Not at all. But it wasn’t like you were strangers either. He was a part of your little 1-A community now. He was technically one of your dormates and you were literally his RA. And you knew at the very least if you didn’t do anything, it would bother you.
You crawl into bed, pulling the covers up and curling onto your side, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of your new room. Your mind won’t let it go. A birthday like that shouldn’t just pass by unnoticed. You sigh softly, burying your face into your pillow as sleep finally starts to pull you under. Hopefully, an answer will come to you tomorrow.
You wake up early the next morning, sunlight filtering in through your curtains and casting soft patterns across your new room. For a split second, you almost feel that you are home, tucked back in your bed in your parents' house, then it all comes rushing back. Reality setting in and causing you to sigh out as you sit up in your bed.
By midmorning, the building is already alive with movement. Doors open and close, music drifts through the halls, and laughter echoes from the common areas as everyone settles into a loose, comfortable rhythm. It feels like a lazy Sunday multiplied by twenty people, each trying to figure out what “normal” looks like now. You bounce between floors, chatting, helping where you can, and enjoying the novelty and newness of it all. Though you can't lie, workers' fatigue is already starting to set in. You love your class, but you were starting to feel more like a babysitter than a peer point of contact. ‘Don't touch that, don't take that down, no, your feet don't go on the furniture, no metal doesn't go in the microwave.’
Around lunchtime, you duck back into your room and pull out your phone, thumbs hovering for a second before you text Luke, desperately needing a break and a hasty getaway.
‘Can you pick me up and take me back to the house for a bit?’
The reply comes almost instantly.
‘Everything okay?’
You smile to yourself and type back quickly.
‘Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just wanna be home for a little while.’
A moment later, he responds with a simple ‘On my way.’
Before heading downstairs, you make a quick detour to the second floor. You knock lightly on Iida’s door, and he opens it almost immediately.
“Hey,” you say. “Just letting you know, I’m gonna be heading out for a few hours, ok?”
He nods at once, a hand firmly on the side of his door as he listens. “Understood. Though you know, you don’t need to ask for permission to leave.”
You laugh softly. “I know. I wasn’t asking. I just wanted you to know where I was in case you need me for something, and I’m not here. Now that we live together, it feels weird to text when I can just come and tell you.”
He pauses in thought, then smiles. “That’s a good point. Much more efficient anyway.”
You grin, patting his arm that rests on the side of the door. “I know, right? But anyway, I’ll be back later tonight.”
“Alright, I’ll see you then,” he says.
With that, you head back downstairs to meet Luke, who’s already waiting when you step outside, leaning against the car like he always does. Standing up straight the second he sees you, opening the door before you even reach it. You slide into the passenger seat and shut the door behind you, the familiar scent of his car instantly settling your nerves.
He pulls off, glancing at you after a moment. “So,” he says carefully, “you wanna tell me what’s up? You don’t usually bail from something you’re excited about unless there’s a reason.”
You huff softly, leaning back against the seat. “I told you, everything’s fine,” you promise. “Really. I just… wanted to come home for a bit.”
He raises an eyebrow but lets you keep going.
“Now that I’m living in the dorms, it already feels like all I'm doing is telling people what to do and what not to do. I was starting to get on my own nerves. But it’s not anyone's fault, its everyones first day just as much as it’s mine, so I can't be too worked up. So I just wanted to get away for a bit,” you explain. “And besides, I promised Mirio I’d try my hardest to make time for him any time I could, so I thought it’d be better for me to spend my spare time with him rather than nitpicking my classmates. I wanted to see him, and hopefully Tamaki too. And you, duh.” You shrug, eyes drifting to the window. “After move-in, seeing everyone with their families… I don’t know. I just wanted a little more time with mine, y’know.”
“I don't see anything wrong with that,” he responds, voice soft with emotion.
You glance over at him, smiling wide. “Exactly. I mean, what’s so bad about wanting to hang out with my cousin for a few hours?”
He laughs quietly, shaking his head as he turns onto the next street. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” He says fondly, he reaches over briefly, giving your knee a gentle squeeze. “You’re also incredibly sweet. And very, very cute.”
“I’ve been told.” You smirk as he laughs, the tension easing completely as the house comes into view.
Once you’re back inside, shoes kicked off and the door locked behind you, you pull your phone out and open your group chat with Mirio and Tamaki.
‘You guys free? Come hang out with me plz 🥹?’
Mirio replies almost instantly.
‘Yeah! Let me shower and throw on something clean, I’ll be over in like 15.’
Tamaki’s response comes a few minutes later, predictably slower.
‘I can come too. Fifteen minutes should be okay.’
True to their word, there’s a knock at the door not long after. Mirio sweeps you into a hug the second you open it, while Tamaki lingers just long enough to let Mirio get it out of his system before leaning in for a more peaceful embrace. You kiss Mirio’s cheek as you squish his cheeks together as usual, and press a quick kiss to Tamaki’s temple, and usher them both inside and into the living room.
The three of you end up sprawled across the couch, limbs overlapping in a comfortably uncomfortable tangled mess. A movie playing mostly as background noise. Mirio’s arm slung lazily around your shoulders, and Tamaki tucked close on your other side as one of his large hands rested on top of your head. For a while, you let yourself exist there, laughing quietly at dumb scenes, half-watching the screen, half-soaking in the comfort of being home and whatever nonsense conversation Mirio was keeping alive.
But your mind doesn’t stay still for long as you wonder what your other classmates are doing right now. And then you remember, your thoughts drifting back to that same something that had been nagging at you last night. You shift slightly in your human nest, letting your head fall against Mirio’s shoulder, eyes still on the screen even as you continue to think hard before speaking.
“Hey,” you murmur. “Have either of you ever gotten a birthday gift from a classmate?”
Tamaki blinks, processing. “Mirio does,” he says simply, not looking away from the screen. “All the time. Even when it’s not his birthday.”
Mirio laughs, rubbing his face in embarrassment. “Okay, first of all, that’s not my fault. People just— I don’t know. Sometimes they do?”
He glances down at you, curiosity sparking as his tone quickly shifts. “Why? Did someone in your class give you something?”
“No,” you hesitate, then sigh. “It’s just… there’s someone in my class whose birthday is tomorrow, and I don’t know if he’s even the kind of person who likes celebrating that stuff.”
Tamaki tilts his head. “What does he like?”
You open your mouth, then close it again. “…Honestly? He doesn’t really seem to like anything.”
Mirio hums thoughtfully, looking at you again with sharp eyes, “Do you like him?”
You tilt your head thoughtfully, a bit confused. “...Like him how?”
“Any way,” Mirio says easily. “Just— do you like him at all?”
You pause, longer this time. “I… definitely like him more than I used to.”
Tamaki glances down. “How did you use to feel about him?”
You don’t sugarcoat it. “Hate…Well, not hate, I just…We didn't get along.”
Mirio snorts, biting back a laugh. “Okay, and now?”
You stare at the screen, thinking. “Now?” You exhale. “I don’t know. I guess I tolerate him? After the attack, I feel like I have a little more respect for him, but that could just be trauma bonding, in all honesty. But that’s probably as far as it goes.”
Mirio finally laughs outright. “Then why are you even stressing about getting this guy something? If you don’t even like him?”
“Because,” you say quietly, “it’s gonna be his sixteenth.”
Both boys look at eachother.
“That’s a really big birthday,” you continue. “Like, too big to just let pass. And he’s not exactly Mr. popular. So I don’t know if anyone else is going to do anything, and I just—” You shake your head. “I wouldn’t wish a sad birthday on anyone.” You hesitate, then add softly, “Not even Bakugo.”
They both stay quiet for a moment, the movie forgotten entirely as Mirio and Tamaki exchange another look over your head, both clearly realizing this might be more complicated than you’re letting on. You didnt know why you cared so much. Everything they asked you, you answered honestly; you felt you’d answered honestly. You didn't like him before, but you hadn't fully figured out how you felt about him now. You did still felt a bit guilty about losing it on him at the USJ and bashing his head into the floor. But you also couldnt lie to yourself about whether or not you still thought he deserved it. He definitely did. So how did you feel about him? He got on your nerves, that was for damn sure. But he was one of your classmates, and you did care about him. And you cared for him as a person, not just as a classmate. He was strong and smart and…conventionally attractive when he wasn’t telling someone to kill themselves or growling and grimacing like a rabid dog. But if you were tasked with establishing a definitive answer about how you truly felt about him, your mind would just go blank.
After your movie ended, your friends left, Mirio ruffling your hair affectionately as he stood by the door, as the three of you exchanged goodbyes, Tamaki offering you a small, shy smile and a quiet promise to see you soon. Luke drove you back to the dorms a bit after. Stepping back inside the dorm building, most of the students who had gone home the night before are back now, more voices filling the first floor than there had been when you left. Some were sprawled across couches, others gathered around the kitchen and dining area, a few leaning against walls near the stairwell and elevator, mid-conversation. As much as the move has stirred up loneliness and homesickness, you loved how home-like your dorm already feels. All of your classmates brought a touch of something that made the space so different, and at the same time, they were all bringing something that reminded them of their homes or how they were raised. Obviously, this was much different than the house you were raised in, but you knew you could do more to add your own touch of something to make the space feel more like your own home.
Suddenly, a spark of inspiration hits you, making you grin. You make your way into the kitchen, pulling the tablet from its dock and opening the grocery app. You start building a cart quickly, planning a simple but hearty first-night dinner. Something comforting, but not too heavy, and most importantly, the kind of meal that you’d need to sit down to eat and enjoy with others.
Once the order is placed, you poke your head out, looking into the common room from the kitchen. “Hey,” you call out, hopefully catching the attention of a few people. “I need two volunteers to help me grab a grocery order.”
Shoji and Sato immediately perk up, eager to help, and you show them the pickup details for the order you just placed and walk them through how to get to the convenience store and what to do as you walk them to the door.
As they head out, you turn back to the kitchen, washing your hands and taking a moment to organize your thoughts and figure out what you could prep while you wait for Shoji and Sato to get back with your ingredients. You find where the pots and pans are stored and fill a stock pot with water, and turn on one of the back burners of the stove so the water can boil. As you check all the lower cabinets and drawers for cutting boards and cookie sheets after pre-heating the oven, the very subject of all your most complicated thoughts as of late appears in the kitchen beside you. Bakugo.
He looks like he’s just come back from a workout, tank top clinging to him, hair slightly damp with sweat, jaw set in its usual permanent scowl. He doesn’t acknowledge you at all, heading straight for the sink to fill his water bottle.
You hesitate for a second, finally finding the cutting boards and sliding one out of its cabinet. You wanted to say something to him. You wanted to know what was going through his head right now. Was he also thinking about tomorrow? Was he excited? Did he have plans? Was he actually planning on letting the day pass without a second thought? As much of a mysteryas he was to you, that wasn't what infuriated you most about him. You hated how you couldnt just talk to him. Sure, you could be shy and second-guess yourself, but you were a great conversationalist. When you needed to be, you could talk or explain anything to anyone, but him? Something about him just made your brain reset. He sucked you in with his awful attitude and smart mouth, and just danced on your nerves. Living with him was going to have a steep learning curve on your end. But you were too competitive to let him know how much he got to you. And too competitive to back down from a challenge, even if the challenge was getting along with him. So you cracked first, breaking the ice.
“…So Bakugo,” you try placing the cutting board down on the countertop. “What do you think of the dorms so far?”
Nothing. He keeps moving like you’re not there at all. You bite the inside of your cheek as you fold your arms over your chest. “Bakugo…”
Still nothing. Your shoulders tense as you inhale deeply, trying to remain calm and in control. You glance over just in time to see him walk over to the fridge and begin scanning the interior for something.
“Don’t eat anything too filling,” you say, irritation creeping into your voice despite yourself. “I’m making dinner for everyone.”
He rolls his eyes while letting out a gruff noise. “If this is what living here’s gonna be like,” he spits, finally looking at you as he slams the fridge door shut, “don’t expect to see me out of my room much.”
You roll your own eyes at his theatrics and step back towards the stove to check on your boiling water. “I’m just letting you know, that's all. ‘M not trying to bother you.”
He scoffs. “Then why are you talking?”
You cut your eyes at him and can't help the way your top lip twitches at his disrespectful tone. “Because all you had to do was say you weren’t in the mood to talk?” you shoot back. “Not outright ignore me like an asshole.”
He groans, dragging a hand through his hair like you’re the headache here, then goes quiet. For a moment, you think that’s it, that he’s going to disappear like he threatened. Until Shoji and Sato enter the kitchen with your grocery order in hand. Or hands in Shoji’s case.
“Aw! Thank you guys, so much! That was so quick!” you say, glad that you're being rescued from this horrendous conversation. They offer to unload everything for you, and you shoo them off, telling them not to worry about it, since you’ve already taken up enough of their time. You begin laying everything out on the counters so you can finally prep the food. You notice out of the corner of your eye that Bakugo is still standing off to the side, leaning against the fridge. Watching you.
He stays there, arms crossed, eyes following your hands as you move through the kitchen. You feel the weight of his eyes on you even when he’s pretending not to care. Now it was your turn to ignore him. Mirio was right. Why would you even bother considering what this jerk was doing with his crappy birthday? Let alone get him something for it! At this point fuck him and his birthday! According to Sero’s book tuaruses were supposed to be stable and sensible people who appreciated the ‘finer things’. The only stable thing about this guy was how consistently he could piss you all the way off.
You continued to cook in a tensed state of silence, occasionally glancing over at him to see him still standing and still watching. You enjoyed cooking, it was soothing, it was peaceful, and it was rewarding. But you weren't enjoying any part of this. Just his presence was enough to make you want to scream right now. As you carried your tray of chicken cutlets to the oven, you looked over one last time to see him still standing there. Still watching. You slid the chicken into the oven and slammed the door shut as you stood, hands clutching the oven's handle so hard your knuckles were turning white.
“What!? What is it? What are you staring at?” You bark, still trying to keep your voice as low as possible to not disturb your other classmates in the other room. He jerked his head back a bit at your voice, as if he was shocked by your reaction. Silence lingered again as he looked around the kitchen at your tools and ingredients before shifting in his spot against the fridge a bit.
“…What’re you making?” he asks flatly.
You don’t hide your disgusted face as you blink back at him. “What?”
“I said what are you making?” He repeats, enunciating his words more, as if that was your issue with him.
“Just some pasta,” you say, shaking your head as you stare at your boiling pot on the stove. “I wanted to make something since it's our first night here all together before school starts up again, so…I don't know.”
He hums, unimpressed but not dismissive as he watches you move back over to your cutting board, “What d’you gotta do next?”
You brace both your hands on the countertop and bow your head in defeat, exhaling hard through your nose before turning to look him in the eye.
“What are we doing? Alright, what do you want? Because whatever this is—” you move your hands around in circles as you speak, as if to gesture to the entire situation. “I’m not interested. You don't want to be nice to me? Fine. You just wanna ignore me? Sure. But you're not going to do both of those things and then sit in my face for what?”
“All I asked was ‘what are you making?’ What's the fucking problem?!” He groans out.
“You're my problem! You don't get to be an asshole and then ask me what I'm doing! You don't get to be interested in me if you refuse to talk to me or treat me with basic respect and watch me like this is TopChef!? Why is it so hard for you to comprehend that I’m not just going to let you treat me any type of way?” You continue working as you speak, pulling your veggies from their plastic produce bags and speedily chopping them. “I know these last few days have been really hectic and stressful, so I get it if you're not the happiest camper in the world, but regardless of how you might be feeling right now, this is going to be our everyday now. Where I ask you how you're doing or how you're feeling, and I won't always need an answer or even expect one 100% of the time, but what I won't accept is your disrespectful ass mouth and your shitty ass attitude. So quit it! If you wanna talk to me like we’re buddies, you better start treating me like one.”
You carry your cutting board full of veggies over to the stove and pour them into a saucepan. The cautious silence in the kitchen is quickly replaced by the sound of vegetables being sauteed.
You hear him sigh out again before speaking up, “Alright, M’sorry, damn.”
You don't even justify his apology with a look in his direction. “Apologies don't end in ‘damn,’” you state firmly. “Try again.”
He scoffs at you, and again you don't look at him. “Go ahead,” you coax.
“You're a real piece of work, y’know that?” He says, stepping a bit closer.
“Takes one to know one,” you reply casually as you pour your remaining ingredients into your sauce. “Now try again.”
He makes another noise beside you before straightening up and finally moving from the fridge to the other side of you. “M’sorry, Alright? Sometimes I just—snap like that, I don't know. It’s just been a shitty day,” he rambles out, his voice low and his back to the rest of the class in the common room, as if he didn't want anyone to see him apologizing to you.
You finally look up at him, your eyes cold and unreadable, while his looked slightly more tame than usual. “Thank you,” you say flatly, as you crack the oven door open a bit to check on your chicken.
“So now are you gonna tell me what you're making?” he asks as he backs away, choosing to now lean against the kitchen sink.
“I already told you what I’m making. It’s just pasta,” you answer, your tone still cold and short.
“Usually pasta has a name.”
You shoot him another long look, “It’s bruschetta chicken over pasta, I’m sure you’ve had it before.”
“It looks Italian,” he notes, craning his neck to look into your pan. “Is that what you like to cook? Italian food?”
“Why are you so interested in this?!” you snap quietly.
“I like cooking! God forbid I show a little interest in something!?” He shoots back, hands flying up in a defensive pose. You tilt your head at him, giving him a sort of ‘really?’ face, and he shrugs. You sigh out again and continue stirring your sauce as you turn off your water and move the pot off the burner, not wanting to overcook your pasta.
“You like to cook?” you ask, still not believing him.
“Sometimes, yeah?” he replies, sounding unconfident for the first time in your life.
You let the silence sit for a beat before gently nudging it. “What kind of food do you like to cook?”
He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest again. “The kinda food I like to eat,” he says simply.
“And that would be? What?” You persist.
“Spicy stuff, fresh stuff, or anything that can be put over rice. Hate over-processed crap.”
You nod. “Ok, nice.” You walk over to one of the cabinets and pull out a colander. “Well, since you like to cook, you think you could do me a favor and drain this pasta?” you ask, presenting the utensil to him. He looks at it, then you, and reaches for it, placing it in the sink behind him and moving to the stovetop to put two oven mitts on and carry the stock pot over to the sink. He returns the steamed noodles to the pot once drained, and places the pot back on the stovetop for you in silence. You smile a genuine smile as he retreats back to his spot in front of the sink, crossing his arms in front of his chest again, as if he were waiting for further instruction, or for you to take over again, so he can go back to watching.
“Why, thank you,” you chirp, lifting your sauce pot over the noodles to pour the finished sauce over. This might have been the longest you and Bakugo have been civil with each other, and you didn't even have to get physical this time! He was just having a bad day, apparently, but now he was speaking, and even helping you out in the kitchen. You swear every time you think you can form a solid opinion of this guy, he does something to throw a wrench in your plans. All over again, your mind is brought back to the fact that tomorrow is his birthday. His sixteenth birthday. You hope tonight can at least set the tone for tomorrow.
“So what’s your favorite food?” you press.
He pauses again, thinking. “Mapo tofu.”
You don’t react beyond another nod, possibly taking mental note of that for later if necessary.
“Ever try American food?” you ask next.
He snorts. “You mean like burgers and fries and shit? Of course.”
You laugh quietly as you open the oven again to temp check your chicken. “Not just that, I meant more Western stuff.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Obviously. I like Italian, French food’s good too.”
Your brows lift slightly as you pull your finished chicken out of the oven and place the pan of chicken on the cutting board behind you to cool. “Hm. Then you’d probably like Southern or Creole cooking. It’s really French-inspired and usually kinda spicy.”
He mutters, “Never heard of it.”
“Maybe I’ll make something like that tomorrow night if I’m not too exhausted after class,” you say lightly, glancing at him just to see if the word tomorrow triggers anything. You turn back to the stove to turn the oven off, letting the conversation ebb again before asking, You think you could help me plate this up for everyone?” walking over to one of the cabinets and pull out as many available plates as you can. Again, he says nothing, only moving stacks of plates out of your way and opening the utensil drawer to pull out a pair of tongs to pinch out a serving of pasta and a single chicken cutlet for each plate. You stand aside and give him space to work, only moving the finished plates out of the way when he starts running out of counter space.
“Are you more of a sweet or savory person?” you ask, growing tired of the silence.
He looks at you, passing you another made plate. “What?”
“You know,” you flounder a little. “Desserts. Snacks. Stuff like that. Do you like more savory or sweet stuff?”
“Savory,” he says immediately.
“But you eat sweets sometimes?” you push.
He thinks, jaw tightening. “Not really. If I do, it’s gotta be cakes or pastries. Not too sweet tho, and no icing. I can tolerate whipped cream but not icing, shits disgusting.”
You can’t help the small smile that curves at your mouth at the image of Bakugo eating some fluffy dessert with whipped cream, but you keep it to yourself.
As you continue to work side by side, you both grow quiet again. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, feeling it was his turn to revive the conversation, “You got any other invasive questions?”
You chuckle at his impatience and pretend to consider the question seriously for a moment. “…What’s your favorite color?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Orange.”
“Orange, huh?” You hum thoughtfully, committing that to memory too as you turn your head toward the common room and shout that dinner is ready.
Your first meal in the dorms turns into exactly what you hoped it would be. The whole class utilizes your dining area for the first time, as they huddle together into small groups and cliques, like a miniature version of the lunchroom. You watch it all from your seat, your heart full as your friends enjoy your cooking and their first real dinner in their new home. Everyone looks so content and at peace. And you can't deny how good it feels to get an outpour of compliments on how good your food is. But of course, you couldn’t take all the credit, making sure that Bakugo received his due credit for assisting and keeping you company in the kitchen.
When things start to wind down, you excuse yourself just long enough to text Luke.
‘Any chance you could grab something for me and drop it off tonight?’
Again, his reply is almost instant.
‘Of course. What do you need?’
You smile to yourself as you type, already picturing tomorrow.
Your first official day back at school feels unusually good, you can't deny how much you’ve missed it. The dorm buzzes with movement, doors opening and closing, people smoothing out their uniforms as they enter the hall, and students hurrying downstairs in search of breakfast. You hurry downstairs and spot Iida in the kitchen, quickly moving in beside him to tell him in a hushed voice that you’d be heading to the building a little early, telling him not to wait up for you. Of course, he asks why, and why you're whispering, but you tell him that, unfortunately youv’e been sworn to secrecy since it was a surprise, but insist that he doesn't have to worry. As it was a good kind of surprise. A surprise for a friend.
Bakugo opens his locker as usual. The metal clang of the locker door echoes as usual, and he steps out of his shoes, moving to replace them with the ones in his locker as usual, but just as he was about to place his shoes inside, something unusual stops him. It’s a small, clear dessert box sitting neatly in front of his school shoes.
He makes a puzzled face as he reaches inside, removing the small box. Inside is a single slice of strawberry shortcake, fluffy layers visible through the plastic, a small bright orange candle pressed carefully into the top. Resting on the lid is a folded note. He snatches it off and peels it open, slowly reading the message inside.
‘Happy 16th! Hope it’s not too sweet!’
There’s no name. He scoffs under his breath as he shoves the note into his pant pocket, ripping open the front compartment of his backpack, and gently placing the box inside. He closes his locker slowly this time, hand lingering longer than usual as he stares down the busy hallway.
He’s an 8 only bc eating it always leads to more after so sometimes the eating gets cut short :(
The whole time he’s in there, he’s just thinking about getting you to finish on his tongue, so then ofc his brain starts thinking about you finishing on his fingers, or his dick, and now his thoughts are swimming and he’s gotta start doing something else or he’ll work himself up and cum in his pants with his face between your legs
Has 100% finished untouched by giving you brain…and it will 100% happen again
Talk him through it or tease him while he’s down there and he’s not coming off that thing unless you pry his face away
Ask him if he likes how you taste, or if he’s having fun, or if he’s been thinking about this, or if he missed you, and he’ll start moaning and groaning in it like he’ll die without it (and will probably cum in his pants…)
Fav position to eat it in is definitely missionary with your thighs over his shoulders
That way he can touch and grab wherever he wants while he’s eating
Loves to keep one hand on your stomach and one gripping or wrapped around your thigh
The type to dj on the bean while he’s eating it
Likes it bc everytime he does it, you squeeze his head with your thighs
The little freak likes to suffer
——————————————————————
Katsuki Bakugou
A 9.5/10 eater
-.5 points bc he’s not listening to you when he’s down there
He's like a cat in a pile of catnip
No thoughts in that head other than: eat, eat, eat, eat
He’s like cookie monster
Doing this for his own pleasure, leave him alone
Eats it like he’s making out with it
Will tell you/ask you if he can eat it, then just go about his day once he’s done
That's all he wanted dont worry about the tent in his pants, he just wanted to eat you out
Will never ever turn down head from you tho but don't expect it or think he requires reciprocation just bc he ate you out
Fav position to eat it in is missionary or mating press
Is only eating it if he can see your face at the same time, hates eating it from the back, unless your infront of a mirror, but that's his only exception
——————————————————————
Shouto Todoroki
A 10/10 eater
This isn't 5 peepee man, this is captain coochie
Doing it for the love of the game btw he just loves eating it
Sometime your worried he might like it too much
100% the type to pull out and start eating it some more after you two have already started fucking
If you don't let him eat it at least once every 2-3 days he will genuinely start going through withdrawals
The position doesn't matter, the time doesn't matter, the location doesn't matter, nothing else matters. When he wants to eat it he wants to eat it!!
However, if he HAD to pick a favorite position it would either be you standing while he eats it or you sitting on his face
King of the two-finger combo, too. Don't ever think he’s eating it and not using his fingers on you at some point, so be prepared
Like Bakugo, he’ll never turn down head from you but if you ask to 69 or ask if you can get him off while sitting on his face, all he hears is “Let's race and see who can get the other off first.”
He’ll genuinely start going crazy in that thing so be cautious
Doesn't know why he gets so competitive in those moments but he just does, plus you don't seem to mind
——————————————————————
Tenya Iida
A 9/10 eater
Enjoys giving and receiving equally
But loves the way you look and sound when he’s eating it
-1 point on the eater scale bc he likes to talk and eat it at the same time
And sometimes you love it but sometimes you HATE it
He knows when it annoys you too he just likes to tease sometimes
He makes sure to do his best and give you attention all over when he's down there but LOVES tongue fucking you its his absolute fav
DEMANDS eye contact when he’s down there, and if he’s feeling extra mean he’ll stop if you look away
Fav position to eat it in is any position where you're perched or sitting on something with him in between your legs on his knees
Loves it bc he can use his hands on you while he's eating it and usually has one or both playing with your tits while he’s in it
Also loves it bc its easy for him to get back on his feet and slide right in
Will sometimes get impatient and start palming himself or jerking it while hes eating it
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Eijiro Kirishima
An 11/10 eater
Something might be wrong with him fr
Lives to eat you out
Something about it just turns him on soooo muuuuch
The second he sees you naked hes on his knees
Is 100% a begger
Everything about the whole experience drives him crazy
If you moan, he’s moaning, if you say his name hes saying yours, and if you try to run or push him off, he’s chasing after you and begging you to let him keep going
Is humping or grinding his hips into the bed the whole time with zero shame btw
Fav positions are face sitting or from the back, but if he’s eating it from the back TRUST that ass is getting ate too
If you're sitting on his face tho he's jerking off, he doesn't care, you taste too good and you feel too good for him not to
Doesn't feel like he’s actually done his job unless his face is absolutely drenched in your juices after
——————————————————————
Hitoshi Shinsou
A 9/10 eater
Likes getting head more than he likes giving it but only bc he’s not confident in his skills
Another lover of the two-finger combo
Is super talkative when he’s down there but not in a teasing way (most of the time)
Talks to your pussy like you two are independent of each other
“She loves this” “That feel nice, baby?” “So pretty and wet for me” yeah……..
Fav positions are mating press and missionary, but he prefers to hold your thighs open and apart than drape them over his shoulders, bc as cute as it is when you try and close your legs around his head, he doesn't want to be disturbed when he's eating it
Likes 69ing but the second he feels your mouth on him he loses contact with his brain so don't get too mad if he can't focus and finish you off
That being said tho he LOVES when you take control and grind on his face while you tease and stroke him, will literally cum in minutes
Even though he’s not that confident in his eating skills he loves it when you ask him to eat you out
But he extra loves it when he’s eating you out and you beg him to fuck you, that's the only way he feels like he’s done his job
Sometimes tho he’ll stay down there and keep going just to tease or overstimulate you, but you’ll know when he’s in a teasing mood vs an overstimulating kind of mood if he starts mocking your begging. He’ll just ignore you and keep eating like a crazy person if he wants to overstim you
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