Archive of Our Own

This was it, the last straw.

Shouto was done. He’d been putting up with his father's tyrannical rule for way too long. The social isolation from his siblings and peers, the relentless and ruthless training sessions and the very strict diet he'd been put on as soon as he got his quirk, were all things he'd been able to deal with. Poorly maybe, but deal with nonetheless. The physical abuse against his mother and him had been more difficult to handle. They had managed for a while though. Well. Until his mother couldn't manage anymore and burned half his face before being quietly shuffled into a mental hospital, that is. Shouto had still bore the weight of his father's expectations, this time alone.

But this was five steps too far.

Shouto seethed with quiet hatred as he stared at the smouldering remains of his rarest, most exclusive All Might comic book in the living room's fireplace. He didn’t have many to begin with. This one had been an ironic birthday gift from his brother Natsuo, which Shouto had treasured nevertheless. If only because of his father's sour scowl each time he caught a glimpse of the book. Now the boy didn't even have that little thing to bring him joy.

Endeavor had to go. He wasn't a hero. No, he was a secret villain, using his hero licence to hide his ruthlessness behind. He was a jerk, an abuser and a defiler of birthday gifts.

Nobody outside their little family bubble knew, however. They all saw the number two hero as a 'larger than life' figure who could do no wrong. Which was why Shouto would need to take matters into his own hands. Well, matters or a knife.

Using his quirk to do away with Endeavor wasn’t advisable. The police would know immediately what happened if he did. Stabbing seemed less conspicuous, but bloody and messy. Not to mention his father was a large, physically strong man. Shouto wasn’t sure he'd be able to deal a deadly blow before being overpowered. Would poison work? Possibly, but he had no idea where to even find something like that. It also wouldn't be a very satisfying method. A gun might work best.

He tucked away his musings as soon as his father barked at him to get to the gym. He kept his face blank and his fury hidden deep down.

As Endeavor forced him to run faster on the treadmill, he imagined grinding out his stupid flame beard on the machine's moving band. 

When they sparred for hours on end without a break, Shouto imagined his father slipping on a patch of ice and slamming his head against the ground hard enough to gain a lethal injury.

When he was dismissed to go study with his private tutor, he gazed wistfully out the window and envisioned pushing Endeavor out of it. Maybe if he timed it right, he'd land in the pond and get attacked by the resident angry swan.

During dinner, as he forced down carboard-tasting supplements and bland, healthy food, he imagined stabbing his dad with chopsticks to stop him ranting about the latest hero rankings.

As he retired to his room that evening, he'd made a decision. He’d go through with it. That was a future hero’s job, right? Taking care of villains, even if the world wasn't aware of the threat they posed. Booting up his computer, he idly browsed for a while before an idea struck him.

He thrummed his fingers against his desk, hesitating. After mulling it over, he opened a new incognito tab. Shouto had come across the website accidentally, whilst browsing through cute llama videos on Youtube. A video of viciously fluffy llama attacks had led him somehow to watching a documentary on bigfoot. He’d ended up watching some guy teaching how to pick locks in the end. Just a usual late night browsing session for the teen, really. But it had led him somewhere rather....suspect. it wasn’t his fault really! A link hidden in the comments had looked very mysterious, consisting from a jumbled assortment of numbers and letters and being shared by someone with the username: ‘IStanStain69’. Shouto had clicked it to sate his curiosity.

From there he'd gone down a rabbit hole, following links left and right until he'd ended up on a less-than-reputable looking forum. A lot of the requests on the 'Seeking' section were oddly worded, like requests for 'powdered snow', 'Alien greens' and 'black steel'. There was even someone who was selling a large cat, that rather resembled a tiger cub! Shouto was certain that this was where criminals were doing business. Surely, someone on there would know a way to help Shouto with his problem! But how to reach out and ask...

In the end he settled on just putting out a request in the ‘do away with your problems’ sections.

*Help needed taking care of the humongous, bearded cockroach causing a fire hazard at home. EXTREMELY STRONG and discreet ‘pesticides’ needed. Money not an issue, payment on delivery of ‘pesticides’. Pick up only.*

There. Certainly someone would read that and understand his need for something to take out a grown villain with. He went to bed oddly excited that night.

The next day he woke up like a kid on Christmas morning, jumping out of bed and immediately checking his post. To his annoyance he'd only gotten four replies, two of them being pictures of cockroaches with beards photoshopped on them. The third one asked for a ridiculous amount of money upfront, but the fourth...looked promising. A simple request for a meeting to discuss his pest problem privately at a bar. Sadly, a quick google search showed It wasn’t even remotely close by. The bar was located all the way in Kamino!

Oh well. Shouto was just going to have to steal Endeavor’s credit card again and pay for a cab. He smiled serenely at the thought of paying for his father's murder weapon with his own money. Irony at its finest. He quickly sent a reply to agree to the suggested date and time of their meeting, then turned off his laptop, just in time to hear his father yelling at him to get downstairs. With a sigh, he set out to get ready for the day. At the very least he had something to look forward to now.

Two days went by just like usual, in a whirlwind of training and studying. On the third night after his request, Shouto snuck out of the house with relative ease. He'd chosen an inconspicuous outfit, consisting of dark blue jogging trousers and a black hoodie. His very recognisable candy cane coloured hair was neatly tucked away under a black beanie. He hadn’t really found anything to hide his face with, but seeing as he'd be travelling so far for the meeting, he didn't really see the need to.

Two hours, a cab ride and a new, sizable expense on Endeavor’s credit card later, Shouto wandered over to the bar he was expected at. It was tucked away in an alley, out of plain sight. He eyed the front face of it critically. It didn’t look like much. Hell, it didn’t even look like a bar from the outside! Just a steel door with the house number painted on it.

'But maybe that's the point,' Shouto mused. 'Maybe the people coming here don't want it to be found easily.'  He nodded to himself, pleased with his logic and headed inside.

The interior of the bar was much nicer looking, all dark mahogany wood, red brick walls and small white tables accompanied by matching chairs. Red barstools lined a beautiful looking bar, of which the countertop gleamed in the dim yellow light. Rows upon rows of bottles of alcohol lined the shelves behind it.

Only after he'd taken it all in, did he notice all the eyes on him. Multiple people were scattered around the space. The bartender, a man appearing to be made from some type of smoke, was drying off glasses behind the bar. Three of the barstools were occupied by a strange assortment of men. One of them wore a hoodie much like Shouto was wearing, although his looked more frayed at the edges. He had red eyes, papery looking skin and very light blue hair. The oddest thing about him was the severed hand sat on the countertop in front of him, holding a phone. It was playing some kind of gameplay video. As Shouto watched him, the man reached up to scratch at his throat.

On his left, sat a guy with a lizard mutation quirk. His long, purple hair was partly hidden by a pink snapback hat. On the right side of scary, severed hand-man sat a guy with spikey black hair. He hadn't turned around, so Shouto could only see part of him.

A guy wearing a paper bag over his head was seated at one of the tables at the other side of the room. He was facing a blonde teenage girl, who had her hair done up in two buns. Another table was occupied by a rather plain looking middle-aged man smoking a cigarette. The satin purple suit he donned was such an awful shade, it nearly made the boy’s eyes hurt.

Shouto hesitated for a moment on what the proper etiquette was in an establishment such as this. This certainly wasn’t like one of the expensive restaurants he got dragged to from time to time to be shown off like a prized show dog. There weren’t any champagne flutes or posh canapés in sight, which was maybe for the best. If Shouto had to pretend to like miniscule pieces of toast heaped with caviar one more time, he wouldn't be able to contain his murderous urges to only his dad.

Before he could decide whether to nod coolly at the bargoers in acknowledgement or just ignore their stares and approach the bar, the choice was made for him. The man smoking whistled and gestured lazily at him to come over. The teen complied, sliding into the seat opposite of him.

"You're Giran?" he asked promptly. At his bluntness, the guy blinked. He looked taken aback for just a second before smiling pleasantly. His teeth had yellowish stains on them.

"Indeed I am. Not one to beat around the bush, are we? A rare trait in someone as young as yourself," he chuckled.

Shouto cocked his head, continuing to blankly stare at him. When it became apparent the boy wasn't going to verbally respond, Giran cleared his throat.

"Ah. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, about this...pest problem of yours. Are you looking for a specific kind of 'pesticide', or will any sort of elimination method do?"

A small frown creased the teen's forehead as he mulled it over. While letting others take care of Endeavor sounded nice, he'd much rather put an end to the man himself. He felt like he’d earned that privilege at this point.

"I'd like some way to deal with my problem myself. It's uhm...a rather large critter. Strong too, and on fire most of the time. Oh, it's also a very famous cockroach, so...are there discreet options for that?"

There was some low murmuring coming from the bar. Shouto didn't notice. He also didn't notice the black haired man tense and sneak a long glance at them as he shifted in his chair to eavesdrop more effectively.

Giran blinked. He took in the boy’s face more closely, one eyebrow raised. "Ah. Is this a...heroic cockroach?" he inquired cautiously.

Shouto's lips twisted into a sneer. "Most seem to think so, yes. Unfortunately," he spat.

"Well, that makes it MUCH more expensive, I'm afraid. So expensive, in fact, I'm unsure a kid like yourself could even manage to scrounge up a tenth of the price," Giran stated dryly.

The young teen calmly pulled a shiny gold credit card out of his pocket, shoving it in the guy's face. Blue eyes widened in shock, the cigarette falling out of the information broker's mouth as he gawked, awe-struck. A greedy look appeared on his face. "That's...a gilded credit card. Endeavor’s gilded credit card, to be precise" he breathed out, squinting at the name written on the plastic in bold letters, "I've never even had the pleasure of seeing one in person, they're that exclusive."

As soon as Endeavor's name fell, the black haired man at the bar choked violently on his drink. Coughing wildly, he twisted around on his barstool to goggle at them. "You're trying to off Endeavor? You?" His tone dripped with shock and disbelief.

Shouto scowled and shot him a glare, gaze lingering on the impolite conversation disrupter's severe scarring. "I never said that. I just need help with a pest infestation."

"I've never really heard of any such infestation that has fire involved. Or heroics," the guy grunted.

He stalked closer, stopping next to the hoodie-clad teen, who craned his neck to look up at him. They got locked into a staring contest, one gaze grumpy and annoyed, the other grumpy and inquisitive.

Their silent battle of wills was interrupted by a raspy voice. "So, you're looking to kill your old man, huh?"

Shouto stiffened, head snapping towards the man who was obviously in need of face cream at the bar. Red eyes swept over his face, lingering on the scar around his left eye.

Shouto swallowed uneasily. "How did you..." 

"You made it quite obvious, genius," the raven haired guy snapped, promptly pushing a protesting Giran out of his chair and claiming it for himself. "And while I applaud your passion and cause, you're going about this entirely the wrong way."

 Shouto raised an eyebrow, lips pulling into a cold sneer. "You don't know anything. Maybe don't stick your ugly, pierced nose in places where it doesn't belong."

There was a sharp giggle from the sole girl in the room. "Ooh! He's got sass! It's like a little mini you Dabi!!!" She cooed, getting up to get a closer look at the boy. "Aww! He's even got your quiet murder face! Cute!"

"Yeah! I see the resemblance, spot on!-You two look NOTHING alike!" The person wearing the bag over his head exclaimed in a slightly muffled voice.

Shouto leaned back, slightly alarmed at the girl's sudden approach. He swore he spotted a silver glimmer of some type of knife in her left hand. Before she could invade his personal space further, Lizard-mutation guy sighed and got up to pull her away by the back of her cardigan.

Dabi rolled his eyes. "Hey Shigaraki," he drawled "how do you feel about gaining a new club member, dear president-leader-overlord? This idiot is gonna ruin his life otherwise. Also, I called dibs on ending Endeavor."

Shouto frowned at the last part, but didn't speak up. It was only normal shady people would have beef with the number 2 hero. And all these people looked like they could be on one watchlist or another.

Shigaraki idly scratched at his neck, thinking it over for a second before shrugging. "You're vice president. Your call. Just make sure the brat doesn't get in the way."

"Right." Dabi's face twisted into a demented grin, causing a shiver to run down Shouto's spine. He frowned. "...Club? Are you a group of villains, or something?" His voice was steeped with distrust and a little alarm.

"Nah," Dabi replied nonchalantly, "Welcome to the Fuck Our Fathers Faction, also known as FOFF. Consider yourself properly initiated and kidnapped."

Dual coloured eyes widened in shock. Nobody else in the room looked surprised or even bothered by Dabi’s statement. In fact, aside from Shigaraki, Giran and Kurogiri, everyone seemed oddly excited. Bag-head man and blonde girl were positively shrieking with glee.

The bartender let out a longsuffering sigh. "I shall prepare another room upstairs for our unexpected guest."

Shouto swallowed. Well...at least he didn't have to return home again. He counted that as a win.

The following hour, after Giran had begrudgingly left, everyone introduced themselves. Shouto was more than a little overwhelmed being around so many new people at once. He wasn't exactly the most socially well adjusted of kids. Afterwards, he was shuffled to one of the rooms upstairs by Kurogiri, who sternly informed him it was well past his bedtime.

Shouto thought he ought to fight to escape. Oddly, he didn't really want to at that moment. After his mother had been sent away, the only thing for him back at the house was relentless training, mental abuse and isolation. Staying here for a little while might be a welcome reprieve.

The room he was provided didn't have any windows, and was painted a soothing blue colour. The bed looked soft and inviting, and the lamp on the bedside cabinet was perfect for reading one of the many books stacked inside a bookcase against the left wall. After reluctantly handing over his phone to Kurogiri, he was locked inside the room and left alone. He wasn't afraid, which was probably strange. He still had his quirk, and had full confidence in his ability to break out if necessary. His captors didn't really seem to want to hurt him, after all. With a huge, jaw-popping yawn, he took off his shoes and pants and settled under the covers before turning off the light.

He slept and dreamt of being free from everything. 

Meanwhile downstairs, Dabi slammed his forehead into the bar top with a heavy thud. "Kurogiri," he groaned, voice muffled against the polished wood, "I don’t care what it is, but give me the strongest stuff you have and hand me the bottle. I want to obliterate my remaining braincells."

"What braincells?" Tomura murmured under his breath, getting a vicious elbow to the side in response.

A bottle of whiskey and three crystal tumblers appeared in front of Dabi, who ignored the glasses and took a long drink straight from the bottle instead. Shigaraki pulled a face, glancing up briefly from playing Candy Crush to send him a reproaching glare. "Gross, Dabi. Have some fucking manners. You've unlocked a new quest, after all...your duty as an older brother." He smirked at the scowl that little jab earned him.

Tomura knew all too well the only reason Dabi didn't try to set him on fire more regularly, was because they'd gotten to be pretty good friends over the past few years. They'd met in the skincare isle of an apothecary of all places. After exchanging scathing (but amusing) insults about one another's looks and battling it out via a rousing Mario Cart duel later, they'd become pretty inseparable.

Dabi huffed. "Ugh, don't remind me. I was so willing to throw the kid in a blender to spite Endeavor just a few hours ago. Can't do that now I know he hates Fire-Fuck as much as me," he lamented.

Spinner pat him on the back. "There there. I think it's very adult of you to put your past feelings aside and help your sibling. Even if by uhm...kidnapping him. This is what FOFF is for, isn't it? Giving those with bad parents people to rely on!”

Spinner himself sure had found that with his friends. His father had accused his mother of cheating when he was born, since neither of them had a lizard related quirk. His parents had stayed together, unfortunately, and made him take the brunt of the distrust and verbal abuse while growing up. He'd left the house at sixteen in order to pick up a job at a factory and live on his own. He was content now, though. Especially since he found like minded friends.

Dabi grunted and took another sip. "Uhu, sure. Like I'm not gonna screw this up six ways to Sunday. If dad treated him like he treated me, he's bound to be pretty fucked in the head. And I aint no therapist!"

Toga grinned, skipping over and draping herself over Dabi’s back. "Aww, come on! You've got us, right? We can all work together to raise little baby Todoroki!"

Dabi grunted and attempted to shake her off, giving up when it became apparent she was practically glued to him. He groaned. "Raise...the fuck? That makes literally no sense, you're only a year or so older than him. Heck, none of us are old enough to viably have kids! Unless Twice or Mr. Compress managed to magic up a kid whilst being in their teens themselves."

"Disgusting," Shigaraki huffed, stealing the bottle of whiskey and pouring himself a glass. He ignored the icy blue glare sent his way for the theft and continued, "But do you really wanna stop Dabi Jr. from committing patricide? I thought you ultimately wanted to see Endeavor and him destroyed?"

"Well, sure. The only issue is that Shouto is fourteen, and not at all clever enough to commit a murder without getting caught. I mean, that little shit walked in here without anything hiding his face! I'm just starting to warm up to him now for trying to escape from being daddy's little puppet. If he's thrown in jail..." Dabi shrugged, rubbing a hand over the staples in his chin, obviously conflicted.

"Well, we can just keep him until he's old, big and strong enough to do so then!" Toga chirped cheerily. "If he doesn't want to be adopted by us and tries to run, I'll stab him in the kneecaps."

"That's not very nice Toga-chan-Go for his ankles too!" Twice exclaimed.

Shigaraki snorted. "Keep him? Toga, he's not a stray mutt. You can't keep collecting stray people like pokemon either." He jerked his head at Twice, who'd been picked up and brought to the club by the orphaned girl. He'd had a fairly normal childhood without any real parental issues, so he didn't really qualify. After a while of Twice hanging around though, they'd declared him an honorary member of FOFF.

Compress, who wasn't currently present, was also one of Toga's recruits. She’d found him doing a street performance, and had been so impressed by his magic tricks, she'd forced him to come to the bar at knifepoint. Mr. Compress had given them all a special performance, partly out of his love for the craft, and partly out of fear of the stab-happy high schooler. He was way too much of a gentleman to defend himself from such a young lady.

Afterwards when he’d heard about their little club, he'd decided to join. Apparently, his father never had supported his magician dreams. So, obviously Atsuhiro had ran off and joined the circus as a teenager for a while to rebel. He fit right into their little clique.

Toga pouted, puffing out her cheeks. "Eh? I haven't brought anyone new in ages. And this boy just walked in by himself, so he's fair game for keepsies! Besides, we're doing this for vice-president. It's his little brother, so..."

A strangled noise, like a dying elephant choking on a peanut, ripped free from Dabi's throat before he snatched up his beloved whiskey bottle again. "I'm way too sober for any of this. Let's just keep the brat here for now so I can figure out what do next... Though we should be careful. He's my dad's ultimate creation, so he's probably strong. Don't let him turn any of you into a popsicle."

And with that, he left to go crash in one of the many guest rooms upstairs, taking his whiskey with him. He had an important brooding session by candlelight scheduled.

Shouto wasn't quite sure what he'd expected from being kidnapped. Of course, his father had taught him all about how to escape a lot of situations, including if he ever he got taken by villains. He'd drilled many possible scenario’s and ways to escape them into his son's head. But Shouto wasn't tied up and hadn't been beaten or hurt in any way. Instead, he was currently sitting at the bar eating Belgian waffles for breakfast. There was even powdered sugar and artfully arranged strawberries on top! Kurogiri truly was a master in the kitchen. Shouto never had such a sugary breakfast, or even waffles before. He swore he could feel the sugar rushing to his head, making his brain buzz!

He decided he'd be fine with being kidnapped just a bit longer.

Kurogiri was currently mopping the floor, having explained the house rules to him earlier. Basically, he wasn't allowed to destroy anything or leave. The bartender/owner had carefully explained his own quirk called Warp Gate, and that even if Shouto managed to run, he'd be warped back to the bar in an instant. Which was fine, as long as Kurogiri kept providing waffles.

Shouto would die for his waffles.

He would start a revolution for these waffles. His father would be the first to fall under the new, sweet and sugary regime. Death by guillotine sounded like an acceptable punishment for depriving a growing child from all unhealthy breakfast foods.

He sipped his cup of coffee and watched as a dishevelled Shigaraki stumbled into the room from upstairs. He looked only half awake, wearing jogging pants and yet another black hoodie. With a grunt, he took a seat next to Shouto and waited to get his breakfast served. "So, kid," he grumbled when Kurogiri handed him his own plate of food, "you tell anyone where you were going?" 

The teen noisily slurped his coffee, staring deadpan at Shigaraki from the corner of his eye. A minute of silence ticked by. The man hissed out an agitated breath, scowling as he scratched at the skin under his right ear. "Well? Answer me, brat!" he growled.

"I came here to find a way to commit a murder, so nobody knows,"  Shouto stated impassively.

"Good. I'd rather not deal with the second ranked hero busting down the door of my establishment. I've worked too hard to find a secret place to get revenue from." Shigaraki sipped his coffee and began picking at his meal.

"You're the owner?" Surprise coloured the boy’s tone, causing red eyes to narrow at him. "Yes. What, did you think I wasn't capable?"

Shouto shook his head. "That's not it. You just don't seem the type to own or work at a bar. You look more like a shut-in, or maybe a NEET." He shrugged, unrepentant.

"Well, you sadly do need money to level up and continue playing the game in this world," the young man bit out before aggressively shoving a piece of waffle into his mouth.

Dual coloured eyes studied him, a slight frown creasing the teen's forehead. "Why does it have to be a secret place, though? ...I was right, wasn't I? FOFF is a villainous organisation, and your mission is to destroy every dad in existence."

"What? No! Fuck, I'm beginning to see where Dabi gets his paranoid conspiracy theories from. No, there's a reason I'm the president here. That reason being, if my adoptive father finds me, I'm worse than dead." Cracked lips twisted in a murderous scowl as Shigaraki glared balefully at his plate of food.

It had been quite the shock, finding out about All For One's plans to turn him into his new meatsuit. It had been by pure chance, a moment of sloppiness on the doctor's part causing Tomura to find a notebook describing the process of transferring one's subconsciousness into someone else’s body. There had been detailed drawings of himself in those notes. It hadn't been difficult to draw the right conclusions from there. Suddenly Shigaraki's many, strange doctor visits over the years made more sense.

He'd snatched Kurogiri up and ran as soon as he could. Luckily the Warp Gate user had been specifically programmed to obey Tomura’s every word, quite the oversight on his old 'sensei's' part. The big time villain probably hadn't suspected him to have the balls to ever escape. He’d been playing a survival game ever since, working to keep under AFO’s radar.  

Shouto's frown deepened. "Oh. What happened to your first father?" he asked curiously. The answer he got was blunt.  

"I killed him."

"Oh." The teen blinked owlishly at Shigaraki's plain confession to murder. He stared quietly at him for a while, before turning back to his breakfast. To Shouto's utter dismay, the only thing left on his plate were crumbs. He mourned the loss of his sugary food and then turned wide, hopeful eyes on Kurogiri, who was finishing up cleaning.

"Do you have more?"

Shigaraki and his friend exchanged a bewildered look at his easy acceptance of Tomura's status as a killer, before the warp gate user nodded. He disappeared into the kitchen, presumably to fetch more waffles.

And thus began another, tumultuous chapter in the Fuck Our Fathers Faction's history.

Aizawa wasn't happy. His sleeping schedule had been even more of a mess lately, due to finals which had recently ended. This last part of the school year was one of Shouta's least favourites, for it reminded him of just how tremendously moronic some students could be. If he had to see one more idiot spelling their own name wrong on a test, he might actually lose his fucking mind.

Same with the cheaters. Aizawa would mind those less, if they'd all actually had the decency and skill not to get caught. Unfortunately most lacked stealth. As it stood, he'd take great joy in failing every single one of them, and maybe inviting every one of their parents for a parent-teacher conference afterwards. The pure terror that would shine in their eyes, was something the teacher looked forward to every year.

It was all hands on deck for the teachers of U.A. while doing revisions. Which, inevitably, turned the staff room into something of a madhouse. Midnight started smuggling her cat to work in her backpack, since Nedzu had confiscated all the bottles of wine from under her desk. Present Mic had destroyed three mugs and a window so far, by bursting into quirk-powered sobbing sessions.

Cementoss' desk was constantly hidden from sight by four, giant concrete walls, and Power Loader had built a coffee machine that a) never ran out of coffee and b) played soothing lullabies whenever the user's stress levels were too high. Shouta felt vaguely homicidal whenever he heard anything even remotely resembling 'Twinkle twinkle little star' as a result. 

...Maybe Cementoss would erect some walls around his desk too, if he asked nicely enough. 

All of this insanity would be manageable, if it weren't for the urgent mission the HPSC had personally assigned him. Apparently, Endeavor’s kid had gone missing which, while worrisome, shouldn't be Shouta's problem. But it was. Of course it was. As soon as the promising golden child from the number two hero went missing, the commission had scrambled to keep it under wraps. It wouldn’t be a very good look on Endeavor if he let his kid get kidnapped from straight under his nose, or if Shouto himself picked up the title of runaway youth.

Therefore the investigation and subsequent retrieval of the boy had to be done in utmost secrecy.

Therefore a spotlight hero wouldn’t fit the bill.

Therefore an underground hero had to be responsible for locating and retrieving the child.

And apparently, all the other underground heroes around were currently unavailable. How, Aizawa wasn't sure. Maybe all of his colleagues had wised up about how underappreciated their work was, and quit the job en masse. It would certainly serve the commission right.

So yes, Eraserhead was highly strung as he stalked down a street in Kamino, late at night. He might’ve been just a tad more rough apprehending a rapist in a nearby alley earlier as a result. Oh well. If the police inquired about it later, he'd tell them the vile man tripped and fell face-first into a brick wall.

And, alright... Maybe he was worried for the kid too, which didn’t help settle his nerves in the slightest. They'd found evidence of engagement with criminals on Shouto's laptop, one of which had lured him out to an address of a bar around here. They couldn't be sure that was where he'd actually gone, of course. But, a charge on Endeavor’s missing credit card confirmed the boy had paid for a trip to Kamino.

The hero spent some time scoping out the area from the opposite building's rooftop, watching some suspicious looking patrons enter and leave. The establishment practically oozed shady, 'stray kids welcome to come in but never leave'-vibes. The likelihood of the smallest Todoroki having run into trouble here increased.

Aizawa swung down to the ground using his capture weapon, slouching nonchalantly as he entered the bar. His relaxed posture didn't seem to matter much though, as he still drew every single eye in the establishment. He grimaced, quickly took in the room's layout and did a headcount before shuffling over to the bar and taking a seat on one of the barstools.

The bartender turned to him. "Welcome to The Lobby. I see you're a newcomer, so please allow me to go over the rules." The hero blinked in mild surprise but stayed silent, giving a small nod at the other to continue.

"Everyone is welcome here during opening hours, to either relax or do business. We only ask that there's no harassment, fighting or otherwise things that disturb other patrons. This is a neutral zone. Failure to comply with these rules is ground for an immediate ban."

Aizawa hummed. "And what sort of 'business' does that entail?" he asked casually. At first glance, he'd already gotten the impression that this might be a place where the more unsavoury of the population mingled. That impression grew only stronger at hearing the rules. "That is for our customers to decide," the bartender replied. "Now, what may I serve you?"

Shouta ordered an overly expensive beer, resolving to sip at it very slowly. It wouldn’t do to get drunk on the job, after all. He turned and let his eyes wander once again.

The customers present were varied. Two men from different gangs, judging by their striking tattoos, were seated at one of the small tables, holding a whispered conversation over some beers. A man wearing a pinstriped suit with a leather briefcase on his lap glared down at his phone in annoyance. Aizawa suspected a client of some sorts bailed on him. A woman who fit the description of an infamous vigilante by the name of Tripwire, sat at the back. She donned a golden venetian mask and was currently sipping a cocktail through a heart shaped straw.

The person seated next to him at the bar, however, had caught Eraserhead’s attention the most. As soon as the hero had taken two steps into the room, the hoodie clad man's eyes widened and his shoulders went rigid. He'd tried to surreptitiously send a text to someone, but Aizawa had managed to catch him at it before the phone disappeared into the pocket of his hoodie.

Both men sat in silence for a while, seated so close at the crowded bar, their elbows nearly touched. Eraser didn't mind this in the slightest. Uncomfortable silence could be an excellent interrogation tool, after all. And he was well aware of his appearance. He wasn't good at charming potential targets with pretty, meaningless words, but he was excellent at putting pressure on them by merely using his presence and deadpan expression. Many a villain had cracked under his stern glare.

...It might just be why he made such a good teacher.

Just as he predicted, the hooded young man broke the silence first with an irritated grunt. "Do you mind?" Shigaraki growled, inching his chair a bit further away from the scruffy looking hero encroaching on his personal space.

"Not at all," Aizawa replied calmly, taking a sip of his beer. He didn’t make the slightest effort to put more space between them. Red eyes glowered at him. "A bit far from home aren't we, Eraserhead?"

Even though it was said flippantly, the words still managed to unsettle the dark haired man. He carefully kept his expression neutral. Being an underground hero meant that his existence was mostly a well-guarded secret. Obviously he was known by some, mostly inhabitants of Naruhata and Musutafu. Places where he'd patrolled regularly.

Someone knowing his hero identity so far from either of those places, was troubling.

Although Aizawa had made sure not to give any visible reaction, a triumphant gleam lit up the red eyes fixed on him. He lifted an eyebrow. "I thought a change of scenery might do me some good, Mr....?"

The guy scoffed. "Drop the honorifics, hero. You're not going to get anywhere kissing up to me." Long, pale fingers scratched at the skin of his throat, leaving angry red lines behind.

The bartender spoke up. "Young Shigaraki, if you must vent your frustration, I would prefer you do so on anything but your skin,” he chided.  

Shigaraki shot him a venomous glare, but grudgingly stopped scratching. Aizawa allowed a smug little smirk to quirk his lips. "Now that we both know what to call one another, mind telling me how you know me?"

The younger man snorted. "If you tell me why you've felt the need to join my lobby. Your type is bad for business," he rasped.

"I see," the hero drawled, "I'll make sure to be out of your hair quickly, if you tell me about the kid that wandered in here two days ago."

Shigaraki arched a non-existent eyebrow, tilting his head mock-innocently. "We're a bar. Minors are permabanned here. It wouldn’t do to break the law, after all."

Eraserhead sighed. It didn’t seem like he'd get anything of interest out of this man. Him knowing his identity as a hero, had put him too much on guard already. Instead, Aizawa got up and wandered over to the probably-vigilante in the back. As he made his rounds amongst the patrons to probe for possible info, he was hyperaware of the heavy red gaze following him.

After nearly getting into a brawl with the vigilante, making one of the possible gang members burst into tears and causing the shady looking businessman to flee the bar, Aizawa was left with no tangible leads. He sighed. This is why he mostly relied on capturing villains via stealth as a hero, and not on information gathering.

A low, annoying snicker came from the bar. He shot Shigaraki a glare, which unfortunately didn't do much seeing as the infuriating young man was currently playing on some gaming device.

"Wooow. Forgot to put any points in charisma, did you?" Shigaraki commented snidely.

Eraser huffed, running a hand over the scruff on his chin and heading over to the bar again to reclaim his previous seat. Before he could figure out a response, the door opposite the entrance flew open. A guy wearing black trousers and a white tank top strolled into the room. His attire wasn't the most striking thing about him though, the severe scarring all over his body and surgical staples were.

The newcomer blinked at them, eyebrows raising when he took note of Aizawa sitting next to the bar owner.

"Well, hello there. Don't think I've seen your ugly mug around here before..." Icy blue eyes flicked between the both of them, a smirk slowly stretching the staples on his cheeks. "Name's Dabi. And you must be the esteemed Eraserhead. I've heard so much about you!"

Shigaraki twitched, almost dropping his Gameboy as his head whipped around to face Dabi. "Shut your mouth, you no-good, useless NPC!" he hissed through gritted teeth. Interestingly, his pale cheeks were beginning to redden. With his hair, it rather made him resemble pink and blue-coloured cotton candy.

Dabi rolled his eyes, then resolutely ignored the angry red-eyed devil spawn in favour of addressing the now-intrigued hero further. "Ah, yeah. Little Tomu-chan over here wanted to be a hero when he was a kid, you know. Has a HUGE Eraserhead crush as well, I swear. When it's about heroes, it’s always: oh Eraserhead is sooo cool, Eraserh-GHUACK!"

He was cut off abruptly by Shigaraki's decent attempt at strangling him.

Glasses of booze went flying, shattering on the ground.

The three remaining bargoers roared in approval, vigilante Tripwire yelling at the pair to 'get down and dirty'.

Small blue flames flickered to life around the scarred young man's hands, said young man's tank top starting to crumble into dust as it got grabbed by pale fingers.

A dark, swirling portal opened under their feet, and in a flash, the fighting pair were gone

Kurogiri sighed. "It seems the non-fighting rule must be explained to them once again. Excuse me," he murmured in a tired, disappointed voice before pulling a broom from seemingly nowhere. Aizawa blinked and took another pull from his almost finished beer. He didn’t think he'd make any headway on the case tonight, but at the very least he could console himself a little with the memory of the Shigaraki brat's face, as he was unceremoniously dropped into a portal. Small consolations.

He would  have to become a regular at the Lobby for a while. Hopefully he'd catch a break that way and get a clue on where the youngest Todoroki had gone.

He'd just have to make sure to keep his mission tightly under wraps to avoid unwanted tag alongs, like Nemuri and Hizashi.

Hopefully the kid would be okay, wherever he might be.

It didn’t take long until Shouto started to get bored. He’d read a lot in his designated bedroom the past three days, spent some time every afternoon and evening downstairs at the bar with several interesting individuals and ate more delicious food than he ever had in his 14 years of life.

On the second evening, he'd been forced to stay in his room by Dabi, who'd brought a laptop to watch some crappy gameshow with him. It’d been about doing obstacle races, where the paticipants could only use their quirks to aid them win. While they’d watched, the scarred man had often shot him weird looks, though. Like he was trying to figure something out.

His stay there as a kidnappee had been relaxing so far, sure. But Shouto was ready to return home by now and take care of the problem living there. Maybe his mother would be able to return to him and his siblings afterwards.

When he got downstairs and attempted to walk out the front door though, he was immediately teleported back into his assigned bedroom.

He frowned and tried it again, this time pulling the hood of his borrowed hoodie over his head. This time he waited patiently until Kurogiri's back was turned before making a break for it. He made it only a few steps further than previously.

Alright. Now he was getting severely annoyed. He lamented the fact that there weren’t any windows in his bedroom or the hallway outside to break and escape from. His heart started to pound as the severity of the situation sunk in. Since his captors hadn't injured him, nor tied him up, he'd assumed they would not truly mind if he'd leave. Apparently he'd been wrong.

This complicated things. It wouldn't stop him, of course, but he'd hoped to avoid injuring anyone. Especially Kurogiri, who'd shown him a great kindness by providing him delicious meals, snacks and drinks while he’d been in his care. He didn’t want to hurt the man who introduced him to the concept of waffles.

But if they weren't going to let him go, well...

As he was busy mulling over his options, there was a knock at the bedroom door.

"Uh, kid...? Can I come in?"

Shouto blinked. "Yes," he said.

Spinner poked his head in, frowning in obvious confusion when he spotted the teen standing in the middle of the room. He entered and closed the door behind him.

"Uhm...Kurogiri said you've been trying to run off. We'd prefer if you didn't. I know it's been long and stuff, but I mean..." he trailed off awkwardly as he saw Shouto's cold glower.

"I'm not going to stay here. Give me back my phone and wallet, then let me go. Or I'll make you."

The words hung heavy in the air between the two. Spinner groaned and shook his head before running a hand through his purple hair. He seemed honestly apologetic. "Caaan't. Look, I know we don't know each other well yet. That doesn’t mean I, or anyone in FOFF should let you ruin your life. We stick together and watch out for one another, and seeing as you're family, we--"

Dual coloured yes widened. "Family?" Spinner shut his mouth with a snap, his green face paling. "Ooh, uhm...I mean we're like a family here! Which we want to make you a part of. Haha...ha."

He swallowed heavily as Shouto's eyes bored into him, unwaveringly. "We just wanna help, man! Come on..." the man groaned. Before he could say another word, ice shot out over the floor, reaching him lightning fast and securing his boots to the ground. He squawked, and made a grab for Shouto as he calmly walked by. The boy dodged and went on his merry way back down the stairs, leaving Spinner cursing and calling after him.

This time, instead of just blatantly walking into the bar, he first made sure the bartender's back was turned once again before throwing the door open, letting ice form a path under his feet to skate to freedom. The bargoers present yelped and cried out in different levels of surprise as he hurtled by.

He ice skated right out the door. The fresh air felt amazing on his face, the watery sunlight warming his cheeks just a little. As he made it out of the alley and onto the main street, he smiled a little. He'd made it! Before he could truly relish in his victory, however, a now-familiar purple swirling vortex opened right in front of him. His eyes widened, but he couldn’t react in time, flying right through it at breakneck speed.

To his amazement, he didn't break his neck hitting a wall. Instead, he crashed right into a soft mattress. He blinked, disorientated. Icy blue eyes glared down at him, and before he knew it his hand was being grabbed in a tight grip. A metal bracelet of some kind clicked tightly around his wrist. "There," Dabi grunted, "No more playing Elsa. You're not getting out of here, so let it go."

Shouto frowned down at the quirk suppressor cuff. "Why are you going this far...I don't understand. What exactly do you guys want!?  Money? Leverage? A mascot for your stupid club?" he demanded sharply. His cool expression had once again slid into something even colder.

Dabi let out a long suffering sigh. He rubbed a tired hand over his face, running his fingers over the staples in his cheeks. "Fucking hell...was I that annoying at your age? Surely not. You must’ve gotten the full genetic dose of dad's bitchyness," he grumbled.

Shouto's eyebrows shot up as he stared at the older man questioningly. A slow, lazy smirk curled Dabi's lips. "What, don't recognise me, little brother? Can't blame you. I had quite the makeover."

The boy’s jaw dropped, expression like that of a deer in headlights. "...Touya?" he whispered, incredulously. "Are you...a ghost?"

Dabi snorted. "I share more qualities with a zombie, than I do a ghost. Why do you think I'm stapled together?" he joked drily. When Shouto's wide-eyed look and pale facedness didn't abate, he sighed again. "Christ. No, I'm not a ghost or a fucking zombie, you moron." He glared as Shouto cautiously reached out a hand to poke his cheek.

Batting the offending hand away, he growled. "Yeah. So be a good little kid and stay put. I'm pulling rank as the oldest sibling." He ignored Shouto's souring expression and continued, "Now, tell me how Natsuo and Fuyumi have been the last few years. Does he still cry at the sight of little birds in the garden?"

The tiniest smile graced Shouto's lips as he responded. They talked for over an hour and a half, awkwardly at first but gradually more comfortably. At the end of it, Shouto agreed to stay for just a little longer. The quirk suppressant cuff, however, stayed firmly in place despite his protests.

The following days were spent in a variety of ways. Dabi had taken Shouto's complaints of boredom to heart, and chucked the kid at his different friends to stay entertained.

The young teen played darts down at the bar with Twice and Mr. Compress, the latter being skilled at it, the former less so. Many minor injuries were gained at Twice's hand, the man apologising and laughing at everyone he wounded in equal measures.

Shouto played videogames with Spinner and Shigaraki, finding amusement in the lizard-quirked man's enthusiasm, Shigaraki's quiet intensity and sometimes loss-induced rage.

He learned how to paint his nails from Toga, finding the blood red of the nail polish intriguingly stunning. She insisted giving him a few makeovers too, which he cared less for. He didn’t need pigtails in his hair, and didn't enjoy the weird breeze wearing her skirts made him feel. Although Dabi assured him he was the prettiest girl in the room wearing it, so perhaps there was some merit wearing them. He wasn't a girl, but he did like being considered pretty, despite the ugly scar on his face.

Shouto had also begun raiding his oldest brother's closet. Since he was, to Dabi's chagrin, only a bit smaller than the man, the clothes fit him decently enough. They were, surprisingly, very much to the boy’s taste. He felt powerful, sliding on Dabi’s black leather jacket, white tank top and dark ripped jeans. Powerful and adult.

Sadly, that's not how everyone saw him. They hid him away back in his bedroom at seemingly random times, without giving him a proper explanation at all. Something about having dangerous company visiting downstairs. Why would they think Shouto wouldn’t be able to handle dangerous situations? He was going to U.A. later in the year! He was old enough to deal with being close to dangerous people!

Sighing, he stared at the ceiling of his room, counting cobwebs during one of his banishments from the bar. Boring. He wished he was playing darts again, or maybe bothering Kurogiri for waffles again. It surprised him how much he enjoyed hanging around the FOFF members. It was dangerous. It was stupid. He should be escaping, heading home and planning Endeavor’s murder. He ought to check in briefly with his two other siblings, still stuck in that godforsaken mansion.

Instead he was stuck here, kidnapped and actually enjoying himself!  It was pathetic. Grumbling under his breath, he set out to while the time away sulking and reading. Hopefully someone would come get him soon.

Meanwhile downstairs, Eraserhead slouched in a chair at one of the little tables. It was his only option, since all seats at the bar were taken. It was a rather busy evening with more patrons than the hero had seen there before. The air inside was thick with the scent of cigarettes, booze and body odour. The Duke box against the wall was playing some type of soft rock music. As always, his assessing gaze swept the room, taking note of every possible threat and escape routes.

Aizawa had been dropping by sporadically and at different times the past few days, in an attempt to catch the owners off guard or come across another lead. He'd already staked out the building, but to his dismay it had no windows anywhere. Honestly. Shouta hoped that whichever villainous architect had designed the place, was currently rotting in hell.

The only entrance apart from the front door, was a metal hatch on the roof. It was, however, tightly locked and deadbolted from the inside. So unless he wanted to get creative with explosives, using that to get inside wasn't viable. He wouldn't be so bothered, if it weren't for his gut feeling that the people running the place definitely knew more about Shouto Todoroki than they let on. So he was stuck visiting the place often. For now at least.

To his annoyance, before he could turn to the man with the mushroom head at the table next to him, Shigaraki dropped into the chair opposite him. There wasn't a gaming device in sight this time. Crimson eyes swept all over his body before meeting his. Aizawa hid his grimace in his capture scarf.

They exchanged a long look, Aizawa's deadpan and Shigaraki's amused. A hint of a grin twisted scarred lips. "Back already huh? Careful, I might start thinking you're here for more than simply a lost brat."

Eraser held back a groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. This again. The young bar owner had come to meet him every time he'd visited so far, no matter what time of day. He'd tried to interrogate the hero, asking about both his career (how he’d trained, how exactly his quirk worked, how being an underground hero was treating him etc,) or other more meaningless things. Like what he liked doing in his spare time, if he enjoyed games and what his favourite drink was.

Aizawa had remained as vague and uninterested as possible, but Shigaraki seemed hell bent on figuring out more things about him. Which was getting honestly weird. There was an excited gleam in the younger man's eyes each time they met, which looked a bit manic on his pale face. Shouta wondered if he'd inadvertently gained himself some type of crazed fan. It would be just his luck.

He sighed and thrummed his fingers against the tabletop. "That 'lost brat' is underage and in constant danger due to familial ties to a highly ranked hero. If you finally tell me what you know, I'll leave and won't tell any authorities about this place."

Something in Shigaraki's expression softened, the enjoyment on his face turning into something lighter, more real. It made him look almost handsome. "Hah, like you could find anything to pin on me. And who said I want to get rid of you now? You're entertaining, a lot different than other heroes too.”

Eraserhead rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. Before he could respond, there was a flurry of movement as two figures rushed their table. The hero tensed, instinctively grabbing his capture weapon in case he needed to defend himself.

A candelabra with four lit candles was swiftly put between them, followed by an opened bottle of champagne with two champagne flutes. A platter of chocolate covered strawberries appeared next to it. Twice and Toga smiled widely as they finished arranging the things they brought before bowing and backing away. Aizawa watched them go with narrowed eyes. He turned his attention back to Shigaraki, who looked oddly flushed.

“Don’t mind those moronic NPC’s,” the blue haired man hissed, “they think they’re hilarious.” He shot a venomous glare in the direction his two friends darted off in.  

Eraser arched an eyebrow. “I see.” He reached out and picked up a strawberry between two fingers, studying it closely. “And why do they think this is funny, pray tell?”

Shigaraki swallowed, tracking the movement of the hero’s hand with great interest. “…Because they’re idiots. If they weren’t club members, I’d have permanently dispatched them all for this idiocy already,” he grumbled. His lips parted and cheeks pinked, as he avidly watched Eraserhead take a bite out of the fruit.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. That was an interesting reaction to watching someone eat, indeed. “So,” he murmured, “which ‘club’ do you people belong to?” He didn’t immediately get an answer, as the younger man was busy idly scratching at his throat. Red eyes were fixated firmly on the hero’s lips, on the strawberry juice staining them, more specifically.  

“It’s FOFF, silly!” Toga had returned, skipping over to the hero’s side and beaming down at him excitedly. She’d dragged Twice over again by the elbow too, who was adjusting the paper bag over his head nervously. “All of us had shitty fathers or parents in general,” she chirped, “so we kinda just support one another! You know, therapeutic ranting sessions, burning pictures of our parents and other stuff. It’s fun!” Twice nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

Shigaraki, however, looked very much like he wanted to either expire from embarrassment or cause his friends physical pain.  

Eraserhead blinked at the girl, brow furrowing slightly in thought. Endeavor’s scowling face swam to the forefront of his mind, dark hatred and rage shimmering in those cold blue eyes. Something in his mind clicked. “Bad parents, huh? Are there any members who’re underage, aside from yourself?” he probed casually. As she opened her mouth to respond, Twice flailed his arms wildly, smacking her shoulder on accident. “Of course not!” he squawked, “We’d never kidnap kids and keep them away from bad parental figures. That’s illegal!”

Black eyebrows raised dubiously. He slowly looked between the three club members, something assessing in his dark gaze. “I see…but let’s speak hypothetically. If a kid wandered in here, with a bad homelife…”

Shigaraki growled, glaring daggers at the hero. “That would never happen! As I mentioned before, kids are strictly outlawed he-”

“IMMEDIATE ADOPTION, NO MERCY!” Twice interrupted loudly. The blonde next to him cheered and clapped her hands.

Aizawa hid his Cheshire Cat grin in his capture weapon as he watched Shigaraki freeze and his face go blank.

“…Hypothetically, of course,” the bar owner deadpanned. Aizawa nodded. “Of course,” he reassured.  He frowned as he mulled things over. This complicated things. The kid HAD run away of his own accord, at least at first. If he wasn’t kidnapped somewhere…If these people were correct and young Todoroki had a bad homelife…well.

Shouta would still need to find him, obviously. But he wasn’t willing to thrust a child back in a bad situation, even if their dad happened to be a bigshot hero. Especially then. Who knows how much familial abuse someone with Endeavor’s wealth and influence could hide. Shit. Not to mention the HPSC, who’d so adamantly forced this case on Aizawa in the first place and told him to keep it very confidential… They wouldn’t want any news that could incriminate the number two hero reaching the public. The trust in the entire system could be shaken.   

Sighing and rubbing at his eyes (he sorely missed his sleeping bag), he drained the rest of his beer in one go. “I believe I’m beginning to understand,” he murmured tiredly, “however, I still need to see him. If only to reassure me of his wellbeing.” He fell silent and watched the others share loaded glances.

“I think that could be arranged, on one condition,” Toga stated. Ignoring Shigaraki’s hissed warnings, she continued. “One super romantic date with our club president, and we’ll give you what you want!”

Black eyes widened in shock. Aizawa sat rooted in his chair as the young man in front him shot to his feet and without hesitation, lunged at the girl with outstretched hands. She let out an ear splitting shriek and bolted, scurrying for cover. Twice both cheered and tried to stop them in equal measures, while Kurogiri behind the bar let out a sigh so loud, it was audible in the entire room. Everything devolved into chaos for a while.      

If anybody would’ve told Shouta in the past that he’d agree to go on a date with a shady individual in exchange for information, he would’ve laughed in their face. But, heroics was a chaotic career indeed. Did this mean he was going to have to go to Hizashi and Nemuri for fashion advice? He didn’t think he really owned anything suitable for going on such an outing. Fuck. He was never going to live this down. It still was the most logical course of action, however. Even if he’d rather arrest each and every person in that bar. He hadn’t managed to find anything truly incriminating on any of them yet, after all. Just that a lot of criminals visited the place to talk ‘business’.

When he went home for the night, he resolutely resolved to sleep for a full twelve hours straight. He’d earned it.

Four months later

Shouto shuffled down the stairs and into the bar, finding most FOFF members already there. He returned both Twice’s and Toga’s hug, then moved to accept the cup of tea Kurogiri offered him. He sat down at the bar, took a sip and pursed his lips. As soon as the bartender had his back turned, he swiped the sugar bowl and scooped a staggering amount of it into his drink. His oldest brother sitting next to him with some coffee, snorted disdainfully. “Fucking hell. Can you not try to give yourself diabetes before the age of 16 for once?” he huffed.

The boy arched an eyebrow and took a long, satisfying gulp. He smiled, tapping his immaculately painted fingernails against the cup. “…No.”

Touya rolled his eyes and mumbled, “I cannot believe we’re related,” under his breath. Then he said more loudly, “You got everything ready for school? First day’s tomorrow, remember? I reckon I’ve got to check these things, now I’m your legal guardian. If I’d known what sort of headaches you’d cause me, I’d never have agreed to that shit.” His tone was grouchy, but his blue eyes glittered warmly. He reached out and ruffled Shouto’s hair when the kid replied, “I’ve got everything. Aizawa said so, at least. He gave me a list.”

He gestured at a lumpy, yellow sleeping bag lying on the ground in a corner of the room. “Aizawa-sensei,” said sleeping bag grumbled tiredly. A head of messy black hair popped out one end, black eyes staring balefully at the boy. “If you forget to use my proper title in class tomorrow, I won’t hesitate to give you detention until the end of time.”

“No you won’t,” another voice rasped out. Another head appeared out of the sleeping bag, this one with messy, light blue hair instead. “If you do, I won’t be able to see you as much. That’s unacceptable.” Tomura yawned and stretched out his arms, before snuggling back under the fabric and wrapping himself around his boyfriend. He’d exhausted himself last night, planning a lesson with Shouta where he’d get to come in and play a villain during heroics training. He’d insisted on modelling the exercise after one of his favourite fighting games. Aizawa huffed, but couldn’t stop the little smile curling his lips. “…Fine. He can just serve out any detentions over here, then. Kurogiri always has cleaning work to do, after all.”

“The help is unneeded, but always appreciated,” the portal quirk user stated. As always, there was something oddly warm about his voice when he spoke to Aizawa. Nobody could quite figure out why though.

Shouto took another sip of his tea and looked around the room, watching his friends interact. He felt a pleasant warm feeling settle in his stomach as he did so. Somehow, he didn’t think it was because of the overly sweet tea.

He hadn’t gotten what he came here for in the first place, no. His father was still alive and kicking. Sadly. But, after a lengthy process involving paperwork, police reports, statements from all Todoroki family members and some blackmailing of the right people, custody over the teen had quietly been assigned over to Touya. Endeavor obviously hadn’t taken that well. But, he wasn’t Shouto’s problem any longer. 

He'd vehemently disagreed at first with the idea, insisting that he was old enough to be emancipated. Everyone in FOFF and Aizawa had said no to the idea. The teen had sulked for weeks after that decision.

So nope, he hadn’t gotten what he came for at all. But he didn’t care anymore.

What he had obtained, was much better anyways.