Author's Note: Yep. This is pure lesbian indulgence.
"To y/l/n - for kicking ass and finally taking a night off!" Your friend toasts you. Similar cheers echo her as shot glasses clink together.
Rolling your eyes, you throw your head back and take your shot. You are well-acquainted with burns but the shochu is an unfamiliar one in the back of your throat, making you cough. Your old schoolmates laugh, jokingly asking you when you last actually drank. A second later, you remember to laugh with them. The sound scratches itself out of your throat, hoarse from the recent burn of liquor.
It feels...off.
Even if you weren't on shift, even if you were having fun with friends and tossing back a couple of well-deserved drinks, you couldn't help being hyper aware of everyone in the room: The group of salary men, somber when they first arrived, now laughing hysterically. Some girls' night out, tipsy women giggling over cocktails. Random tourists in the back going nuts over sake bombs. You watch it all on the mirrored wall behind your friends.
Eventually, your eyes wander to your unsmiling reflection next to your friends and realize… You look older than them. Your friends glow with this vibrancy, this carelessness, that made them feel younger to you. You listen to them talk - about classes, about apartment hunting in Tokyo and midnight convenience store runs, about dating. A whole different life than the one you live now. You're the same age as them, have known some since high school, but you somehow feel ten years older. A part of you always feared your friend group growing apart as you all got older. But you never expected you would be the one to age so quickly ahead of them. There is too much weighing on your mind, too much you'd seen.
You close your eyes and the images are vivid on the back of your eyelids. The memories sweep over you, drowning out the surrounding laughter and clinking drinks. Phantosmia clogs your senses like smoke. The taste of ash soots the back of your tongue.
"Seriously, though. It's been forever!" one of them exclaims.
You jerk back to the present, blinking.
"Does your new boss own you or something?"
You stiffen.
Another friend nudges her, shooting her a reproachful look.
"I actually don't see him that often," you say, tone sharp. You don't want to kill the mood, not when it's been so long since you'd seen any of them, so you try to lighten it. "He's busier than I am."
There are few people you respect as much as your boss. It's a privilege to work under someone with so much experience and skill. You worked your ass off for years before you became qualified to even apply, and that was only the beginning. If you couldn't keep up with the team, you weren't needed. Too many lives at stake. The only person held to higher standards were the ones your boss set for himself.
"Right, right," says the friend who made the sarcastic joke. "And we're grateful to him, really. But..."
"But we really do miss seeing you, y/l/n," another chimes in, sincere.
Your best friend intervenes. "Besides, he's not all bad if he let you and that cute coworker of yours off for the night. Speaking of…"
Knowing what they're getting at, you check your phone. "She says she got caught up in...something."
"Really? Even the salary men over there are taking a break."
Your table looks over to see the middle-aged men, completely sloshed, start their own improv karaoke. Your friends immediately crack up and imitate the off-key singing.
While you laugh with them, a part of you itches. You think of your coworker and the ongoing case. It feels strange, almost wrong, to be joking with your old schoolmates and making fun of drunk salary men while they were risking their lives.
Maybe you are becoming something of a workaholic, you privately admit. But it's good work, important work. You help so many people everyday. You love your job.
But what's the point of if you don't have someone of your own to protect? a voice whispers, the same quiet voice that speaks up when you leave the agency dorms for your own solitary apartment.
Now's a good time for another drink.
Ignoring the teasing requests for another round from your friends ("C'mon, y/n, we know you're getting paid more~!"), you slide through the small crowds until you find an open space at the bar. The bartender's swamped with orders piling in from a sprawl of college boys. Some sports team, you think as you subconsciously size them up, too rowdy to be an academic club. Harmless but stupid.
Still, you watch them from the corner of your eye.
"Could I get the matcha highball, please?"
Her voice should have been too soft to hear in the loud bar but somehow it rings out clear as a bell. Everything slows down. Your eyes widen, snapping to look at her.
At about average height, she stands out among the bar patrons in her modest white blazer and high-waisted jeans. Her soft-looking hair is white like the snow outside, vermillion streaks ribboned throughout the light strands. She shifts from foot to foot, full hips swaying with the motion.
You stare.
"Oops~"
You snatch the college boy's wrist before he could "spill" his drink after he purposely bumbled over. The boy (really, he could only be a year or two younger than you) jolts, gawking at you.
With a stony expression, you look him dead in the eye. "Careful."
"Oh!" The woman startles at the sudden commotion. She turns and you still.
Her face is cuter than you'd imagined it: a pert nose, soft jawline, and pretty pink lips that look like they're made for things like smiling and laughter and other nice, soft things. Large, bright eyes like a winter sky framed by glossy eyelashes blink at you behind glasses.
The entire world around you just...freezes. The only conscious thought you can think is her, her, her, her. The inner mantra matches the tempo of your heartbeat.
"Uuh...hey?" the college boy speaks up. You realize that you haven't let go of his wrist - oblivious to his attempts at pulling away from her vice grip. And that you've forgotten to breathe.
Feeling your face turn warmer than usual, you swiftly look away from her. It's pure autopilot that allows you to say, "Be a little more careful. We don't want any 'accidents'."
Driving your point home, you squeeze just a little - a silent show of your strength - before abruptly letting go. He stumbles back slightly, nearly bumping into another person, and stutters, "Y-yeah, whatever. Sorry."
Partially to avoid contact with pretty turquoise eyes and also to drive the intimidation home, you stare after him stoically until he disappears.
"Thank you."
You take an extra second to breathe, willing the concerning heat in your face - and the rest of your body - to lower before you face her.
Then she smiles at you.
The heat returns tenfold. Damn.
Light-headed, you quickly realize she isn't merely cute. This stranger is so stunning that she knocked the air out of your lungs with just a look.
"No problem," you croak.
The bartender saves your life. "Matcha highball!"
You have exactly 5 seconds to breathe and get your shit together while she gets her drink. You flounder for something, anything, to say. You could bench press the bar counter itself but you can't talk to a random (beautiful, alluring, breath-taking) woman at said bar counter. But would that be weird? Would that make you no better than the creep deliberately spilling drinks on people?
Drink in hand, she turns back around and smiles again. It's just as debilitating the second time around. Your knees weaken. "Thanks again."
"You come here often?" you blurt out. And promptly wanted to blast yourself.
You expect her to lift a dainty eyebrow and walk away, pretending your existence never happened, but instead she honestly answers your terrible cliche. "No, not really. I'm...usually at home around this time. But some work friends told me I couldn't skip out on happy hour again."
Given her the simple sincerity of her answer and the way she completely missed the near "spill", you deduce that she doesn't come to bars often or at least doesn't have much experience with the nightlife. You almost want to ask what a (beautiful, damn near ethereal) girl like her is doing in a place like this but thankfully quash the impulse.
"Me, too," you say quickly, straight-faced. "Except they're not so much work friends. More like actual friends. Not that friends from work can't be actual friends but they're my friends outside of work. Except I haven't seen them in a while. Because I work. A lot. Not that I'm a workaholic or anything. It's just an intense job. But I'm not intense. Well, kinda. Some people say I can be. Only because it's important - the job, not me. Um. Not in like a self-deprecating way but like in a self-important way - which I'm not. Or I try not to be. I just care about people which is kinda a requirement for my job. Mostly. Or at least it should be. Some people, you know? And I'll just stop talking now."
It's a wonder steam doesn't hiss out of your ears with how hot your still stoic face is. You almost wish a villain would tear through the bar and knock you against the wall right. Now. Damn it, y/n.
Yet miracle of miracles, her polite smile slowly widens into an amused one - and one of those genuinely nice ones, without so much as a trace of mockery. "It's like that with my job, too."
How is she still here after that? And was she really...making conversation?
You swallow and try not to seem overeager when you ask, "What do you do?"
Her face lights up. "I'm a teacher."
You can't help the rare, almost timid smile that wobbles onto your lips. A teacher. Of course the angelic-looking woman is also a sweetheart with a sweet job. God, that sounds so precious. "Yeah? What grade?"
"Third." Thinking about her class, her smile broadens. Your first impression was dead on: her face was made for smiles.
"Third grade…" you repeat. Not just a teacher, an elementary school teacher. No wonder she seems so - wholesome? Patient? Kind? You damn near melt at the mental image of her working with little kids.
She tilts her head, bangs moving with the cute motion. You try not to get distracted. "What about you?"
"I - " You hesitate. It always feels weird when you tell people your vocation, almost like you were bragging. Besides that, another part of you - the increasingly paranoid, always on guard part - is cautious. "I'm a civil servant. Public safety."
She makes a small noise of interest. "That does sound intense."
"It has its days. But your job is probably a lot harder."
Something in her eyes flashes. "You think so?"
"Mm." You nod. "Teachers have to take on a lot, right? You're not just teaching kids - as if that's not a big enough responsibility, teaching the next generation. You're also their counselors, social workers, referees, lawyers, motivational coaches. Sometimes even surrogate parents."
Her expression softens into something more thoughtful. "Yeah… Yeah, sometimes."
Whereas before you were hyper aware of everything, now your entire attention is narrowed in on her. It's the first time in a long time you weren't subconsciously counting every head in the room or checking for emergency exits. And she's quiet, considering you. The two of you spend an unusually long time analyzing each other.
She licks her lips. You try to keep eye contact but can't help yourself, gaze flickering at the deft movement.
"My name's Todoroki. Todoroki Fuyumi."
You briefly linger on her familiar but common family name before zeroing in on her given name, Fuyumi. Fuyumi. As in winter beauty. You inwardly applaud whoever chose her name; they had the right idea.
You bow politely. "Nice to meet you, Todoroki-sensei."
She laughs a little, cheeks flushing pretty and pink. Her returning bow is shorter, a little awkward with a drink in her hand. "Please, you don't have to call me sensei. I'm off the clock."
"What should I call you then?"
"How about…" She seems to internally debate this. "Fuyumi? We're about the same age and besides, hardly anybody calls me Todoroki outside of work."
"Fuyumi-san…" Your lips naturally curl upward while saying her name.
Her eyes flicker away and back, catching your own. "And yours…?"
"Y/l/n y/n. But y/n is fine," you say, an almost lie. No one but your closest and dearest call you by your given name. But you can make an exception for this stranger at the bar, for Fuyumi. A small, greedy part of you simply wants to hear your given name in her voice, see how those pretty lips move around it. And besides...
Something tells you it won't be long before you can count her in the small, tight-knit circle anyway.
"Nice to meet you as well. Please take care of me."
"Of course." You pause, realizing what you just said. "Uh…
Her rosy cheeks brighten but she's still smiling, still looking at you with those bright eyes. "Can I get you a drink, y/n-san?"
Yeah, your name definitely sounds good - really good - coming from her. Almost as good as her own name feels on your tongue.
"I'd love that, Fuyumi-san."
Another kneecap-shattering smile is sent your way.
Cool it down, y/n. Cool it. Down. You tug on your collar to alleviate the growing heat under it.
Despite their earlier hassling over you not spending enough with them, your friends are more than okay with you (temporarily, you insisted, lying to them and yourself) ditching them to talk to someone new. They seem almost more excited than you are - "almost" being the operative word. You feel like you'd been hit by someone's electric Quirk, and the feeling persists the longer you talk to Fuyumi.
You find a little two-seat table near one of the windows of the bar. It offers you both an open view of Tokyo, bright and alive in the dark winter night, where flurries of snow roll through the neon-lit streets. A nice sight, you're sure, but you're all but ignorant to it in front of Fuyumi who sits across from you. White blazer draped over the back of her chair, she wears a form-fitting black turtleneck. A simple gold band glints on her wrist as she fiddles with her glass, tracing the rim with an elegant finger. You notice that despite having gotten her drink sooner, the ice cubes remain perfectly intact while your own drink is now a watered down version of your original order.
Not that either of you are really drinking, consumed in conversation - in learning each other.
You learn that Fuyumi is 22 years old. Less than a year ago, she completed her bachelor's in elementary education at Showa Women's University. This is her first year teaching, and she loves it. She adores her class. You listen attentively as she talks with her hands and a brilliant smile, describing one shy student's increasing confidence and another's improved reading score. You learn that your earlier deduction was correct: she isn't much of a nightlife person, preferring smaller get-togethers and home-cooked meals. You learn that she loves the weather outside, attention sometimes drifting to the falling snow outside. You learn that she loves to read but is weak to the same soap operas you are. You learn that she's kind and smart and passionate.
And that if you look directly at her for too long, you forget how to breathe.
Your conversation delves deeper. You both talk about your work, how a passion for helping people brought you to your chosen professions and how it's that very passion that sustains you through the hard parts. You talk about the constant paperwork, tracking every incident and expense and flickering concern, in order to protect the people you look after and yourselves. Fuyumi quietly expresses her frustrations with the Ministry of Education, the intense focus on academics and Quirk development, and how she can already see the pressure on her young (too young) students. Expression grave, you tell her about the moral concerns in your job, how people - people who have it hard, people who are just having a bad day - are practically dehumanized for their mistakes and how your colleagues treat even milder, non-violent cases like they're scum of the earth.
You and Fuyumi both lament over the bureaucracies that get in the way of actually doing your jobs. You talk about what it's like to be in that weird "in-between" age, feeling too old around people your own age who don't have the responsibilities which your jobs demand yet so young - naive - next to most of your colleagues. Compassion fatigue is common in both your fields, you find. It's just as fulfilling as it is utterly exhausting, taking care of people. You talk about how tiring it is to work for the public, how underappreciated you sometimes feel, how helpless some cases are.
"And then after all that, coming home at the end of the day can just be so…" Fuyumi cuts herself off, covering her mouth.
"Draining," you finish, solemn.
She slowly lowers her hand, turquoise eyes wide and serious behind her glasses. "...yeah."
You tap the edge of your cocktail glass, contemplative. You hesitate before saying, "Sometimes it's hard seeing people I really care about…after taking care of people all day. I know my loved ones need me, too, and I want to be there for them. But sometimes it's too much on top of everything else. Somedays...I feel too tired to care and caring's the whole reason I even got into this job."
You didn't realize how true this was until you said it. It's an ugly truth, hideous as it lingers in the air, but the truth nonetheless. You wonder if this is the real reason you don't go out with your friends anymore, why you rarely saw your family as of late.
You also wonder about the intent look Fuyumi wore. Intelligent blue eyes meet yours behind rectangular frames and you can't bring yourself to look away. You don't know how long you two stared at each other, only that you'd stopped breathing entirely.
Pop!
"Aaaayyy!"
You shoot up and whip around, physically blocking Fuyumi - an automatic shield. Your hand goes to your waist and of course - of course you aren't wearing your tactical belt. You're off duty.
You start to activate your Quirk, let it hum unseen but ready under your seething skin. Off duty but still -
But still, it was just the crazy salary men anyway. All drunk off their asses. One of them bought champagne, hence the pop. The man must be in his forties yet there he is, drinking straight from the bottle. The college athletes nearby start to chant and soon the rest of the bar is joining in. Somewhere, you hear your friends (the hooligans) cheering among them.
A gentle hand touches your arm, cool fingertips pressing against your wrist. Her touch sends off an immediate spark at first contact.
Electric Quirk?
Turning around, Fuyumi's face is gentle but her eyes burn with an unexplained fervency. It kindles something in your stomach, makes you swallow.
"Let's go outside for a bit. Get you some fresh air."
With the din of the bar behind you, you exhale and watch your breath condensate in the cold night air. It's quieter here. Only a few other bar patrons mill about, one smoking several feet away and others waiting for a rideshare. The warmth from nearly activating your Quirk slowly seeps out enough to bring you back to a safer, more civilian-appropriate temperature but it's still enough to keep you warm in your simple leather jacket.
You glance at Fuyumi. The falling snowflakes surround her like a vision, bright against the dark of turtleneck but blending in with her hair. "Aren't you cold?"
She smiles, pushing her glasses up. "I'm fine."
"Quirk thing?" you guess wryly, curious but also avoiding directly asking about her Quirk. It's fine as a kid but as people get older, outright asking people about their Quirks is something of a social taboo. It would be more polite to ask what her bank statement said.
"Something like that. What about you? Are you cold or is it a 'Quirk thing'?" When she speaks, you notice that her breath doesn't come out in a misty cloud. Trained to automatically identify hints of what a person's Quirk could be, you pick this out. Ice Quirk then, maybe snow? It suits the winter beauty.
The corner of your mouth twitches. You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and lean against the building behind you. "Something like that."
You both stand in companionable silence. It's easier to breathe outside with the city lights to distract you, though you sneak occasional glances at the way the blue and red neon lights reflect off Fuyumi's snowy hair. The red streaks glow burgundy under the lighting.
"About what you said earlier…"
You say nothing now, simply pressing your lips together and staring obstinately at a distant flashing billboard: First a soda commercial, then some car insurance ad. You glance away when you see an ad for Burning Coffee and the familiar face with it.
"I get it."
Schooling your expression into a neutral one, you look at her from the corner of your eyes.
Fuyumi tucks a stark white strand behind her ear. You try not to get distracted by the way she bites her lip. "Even before I started this job, I…I have two younger brothers. I love them a lot but it's - I…. I've had to take care of them for a long time now."
You mull over this for a moment. "Because someone had to, huh?"
"Someone has to."
You nod slowly. "Caring for other people is why humans are here but it's hard. There are limits."
"Yeah, there are..." That intense light in her eyes appears again. "But someone has to care, even when it's hard. Someone has to bring people together."
What about your parents? You want to ask, want to know who left her alone with such a heavy responsibility when she was so young. Something dark simmers in your stomach at the thought of a small Fuyumi burdened with the care of two little brothers while a child herself. But you bite your tongue.
Instead: "Who takes care of you?"
She blinks. "Huh?"
"Who takes care of Todoroki Fuyumi?"
"Who… I - " Her face is pink from the cold, you vaguely notice. Which is odd, if your hunch about her Quirk is right. "I... My brother does. The older one, Natsuo. He…"
You realize too late that you're raising your eyebrows, high and skeptical in your otherwise neutral countenance.
"People care," she finishes lamely. At your unimpressed stare, she turns her head away. The gesture is as bashful as it is stubborn.
"...there's a difference between caring for someone and taking care of them," you say softly.
Lifting her face, Fuyumi meets your gaze. You step closer without breaking eye contact. Her lips part, and you're undeniably staring now - more than staring. You're leaning closer, into her space, and she tilts her head back.
"Te ni shitai hikari ga aru kiiiimiii wa ima yorube mo naku hitori de kiro niiii tatsu~"
You both jerk away.
"Sorry," Fuyumi mutters, covering her mouth. You catch a pink flush before she turns her head away.
Clearing your throat, you fumble for your cell. "No, my bad. Uuuh, hold on. Lemme just turn it off."
Even saying that, you habitually check the caller ID and immediately turn serious. You look at her apologetically. "It's work."
Still pink-faced and cute, Fuyumi waves a hand. "It's fine!"
"One sec…" Praying it's not an emergency but prepared nonetheless, you answer brusquely, "Talk to me."
"Woah, there, y/l/n. No need to sound so serious. You're off the clock, remember?"
"Are you?" you retort.
"Yeah, just got off and on my way. Your friends still there or you guys get bored waiting for me? 'Cause I also know this one place in Shinjuku with some cute girls who maaay bat for our team if yanno what I - "
You nearly choke on your own spit. "Uuh, no. No, that's not necessary."
"Y/l/n, you need to get laid. Like, I'm pretty sure boss man gets more than you and - "
"Hey!" You cover the receiver, as though fearful Fuyumi would hear about your sad (lack of a) sex life. Also you never want to hear anyone talk about your boss like that. It's worse than if someone were to bring up your father in that way. You shudder at the thought. "I do not want to think about that. Do not put those images in my head!"
Your coworker cackles. "Then get out and get some! Pretty sure with the overtime you pull, you got some cobwebs down there."
"I will report you to HR," you warn, too low for Fuyumi to hear.
"See? This is why he hired you. He needed a bigger wet blanket than him in the office to make him look chill in comparison."
Ha. Your boss. Chill. Even you can privately admit that's a good one.
"Then he owes me a raise," you grumble. After some thought, you also add, "...besides, Shinjuku isn't necessary."
"Wait. You met somebody?!"
Hyper aware of a pair of pretty blues on you, you choose your words carefully. "We just received word from Team Lambda that things were...unexpectedly successful."
"SHIT IS SHE WITH YOU NOW! Why are you still talking to me?!"
"Do you still require back up at the agreed location?"
"Pffft. Y/l/n, you dork. Nah, I'm good. I'll swing by for a drink and say hi to your cute friend but you do who you gotta do."
You clear your throat. "I'll do my best."
"Damn right you will. With how diligent you are, you're bound to be a good lay."
"I do have HR's number saved on my phone," you deadpan.
"Of course you do, you stick-in-the-mud. Now get off the phone and talk to your girl!"
Even when she abruptly hangs up on you, you can't help the sudden grin while you silence your cell. Your girl.
That has a nice ring to it.
But you're getting ahead of yourself.
"Is everything okay?" Fuyumi asks, tipping her head. She looks at you with such concern your heart flutters. "You sounded real serious."
Your voice comes out half-strangled and high-pitched. "Fine. Ahem. Everything's fine. My coworker was just checking in. We were supposed to meet up and, uh…"
"Oh." Fuyumi lowers her eyes. She adjusts her purse over a dainty shoulder. "My coworkers are probably waiting for me, too. We should…"
No!
"Something came up," you say quickly.
She pauses mid-step.
"Do you want another drink?"
"I think I've had enough to drink," she admits.
"Oh…" You visibly deflate despite your attempts at keeping up a nonchalant demeanor. "I...I understand."
"...didn't you come here with your friends?"
"I met someone," you say bluntly. You pin her with a look, one that sears through Fuyumi and says you. "They'll understand."
That pretty blush returns tenfold, rising in her cheeks and spreading all the way down her neck. You want nothing more than to discover where else it goes. "Oh."
You tuck your hands in your pocket to hide how they shake, try to relax your body but even you can feel the intensity in your own gaze. "And your coworkers?"
"They'll understand, too…" She fiddles with her purse's strap, shifts her weight from foot to foot. Again, her hips sway with the motion and you start to wonder if there's anything Fuyumi could do that wouldn't attract you. "But I still think I'm ready to leave this bar."
"Just this bar?" You peer at her from under your eyelashes.
If just looking at her wrecks your breathing, the way she bites her bottom lip will be your absolute end. "Just this bar," she confirms quietly.
"Hm." You step forward, edging closer but just shy of her personal space - maintaining a respectful distance but near enough to feel the energy passing between you two, the intense and immediate chemistry. It's strange and unfamiliar and gravitational.
Fuyumi stands completely still but she's tighter, tenser, with a white-knuckled grip on her bag and fair skin brightening to new shades of red. There's a light in her eyes that keeps drawing you in, like a moth to a blue flame. They dart heatedly between your own darkening gaze and your mouth.
"Do you have plans for the rest of your night, Fuyumi-san?" Maybe at least a dinner, you hope, somewhere warm and cozy and private. Something you think she would like.
She shakes her head, blushing yet unhesitant.
You swear you can feel your own heartbeat in your throat. "Any younger brothers to take care of tonight?"
After some deliberation, she says, "They're 19 and 15. I think they'll survive one night without me."
"Yeah?" you ask breathlessly.
"Yeah," she says, just as quiet, and she just...looks at you. Really looks at you.
Then she steps closer and suddenly she's right in front of you. A cloud of vanilla-and-jasmine fragrance surrounds you. You do nothing, say nothing, simply let her come to you. You watch her with a deliberately calm mien. Fuyumi lifts up a delicate hand and brushes through your hair. A whirl of snowflakes scatters around you.
She sees you shiver and whispers, "You're going to catch a cold out here."
Her hand lingers in your hair. The touch is light but it's like being connected to a live wire. A second more passes. Then her hand flutters back to her side.
"Then I guess we should find some place warmer."
"Y/n-san…"
"Let me…" Let me call you a rideshare. Let me walk you home. Let me take you home. Please. Just let me stay with you a little longer. You swallow all those other words, better words, and come out with, "Let me take care of you."
Those impossible blue eyes widen. "What?"
Face much warmer than you're used to off-duty and braver in ways you've never had to be before, you ask her softly, near pleading, "Can I take care of you tonight, Fuyumi-san?"
Fuyumi's lips part. Then slowly, shyly, they curl into that heartbreakingly beautiful smile. "Okay."
You nearly trip over a chair on your way over to your friends' table.
"Aaww, did you strike out?" your best friend teases you.
You let out a shaky laugh, pushing your hair back. "Actually, I came to say bye real quick."
This earns you a chorus of jeers and whistles around the table.
"That's my teammate!" a familiar voice crows behind you. You catch tendrils of green flames from the corner of your eye before you see her.
"Kamiji!"
Kamiji moves easily between the tables, as graceful as a cat and grinning like one, too. "What are you still doing here?" she teases while pulling you into a side hug. "Didn't I tell you to clean out some cobwebs?"
You add a little heat to your embrace - enough that would have made anyone else flinch away but with Kamiji, with anyone in the Flaming Sidekicks, it's more like a playful punch. "I'm calling HR on Monday."
"They'll be the only ones you'll be calling if you don't catch up with your girl," Kamiji retorts, nudging you away with a discreet flicker of flame at the tip of her finger.
Your girl.
"Look at that grin! Just an hour ago, she was moping over her shots," a friend teases.
"I can count all the times she's smiled at work on one hand and still have fingers left over," Kamiji says, joining the min roast session. Her eyes gleam. "Introduce me to her later, yeah?"
"We'll see," you say non-committedly.
"Pfff - get outta here. Some people need a drink."
"I gotcha," your best friend volunteers. You notice them already making eyes at Kamiji and silently congratulate yourself on introducing them.
"I'll see you guys later," you say with a quick wave.
"How much later?" a friend snarks.
"Have fun!" another offers, waggling their eyebrows.
"Be safe," one teases, a joke coming from a civilian.
"For real," Kamiji adds. From her, regardless of her playful demeanor, it's definitely not a joke. "Call me tomorrow morning. Or afternoon. Whenever you wake up."
"Sure."
It's a good night, you think as you wander back to the entrance to meet Fuyumi. You have a feeling it's about to get better.
So caught up in her, you miss your best friend and Kamiji lingering on their way to the bar. Both are curious to see who could possibly catch their overly serious workaholic of a friend's attention. They exchange sneaky grins, instant co-conspirators, as they shadow you.
"Y/l/n's usually the first to pick up when we're being watched on stakeouts," Kamiji confides in your friend. "Either she's had too much to drink or this girl is something."
They snort. "A couple of us literally walked by their table five times and she didn't so much as glance our way. You literally came by the one time this entire evening where she's taken her eyes off her."
Kamiji's sharp canines glint in her grin. "Oh, really~?"
She peers over at the door to take a look at your mystery girl and...stops. Her grin drops like a stone.
"Oh, shit."
Your friend quirks a brow. "What?"
"Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit," Kamii mutters. "Y/L/N! HEY, Y/L/N!"
The bar's noise drowns her out.
"Fuck." Kamiji whips out her cell and dials your number. When she goes straight to voicemail, she tries again. And again. She sends you a barrage of texts.
"What's wrong?" your friend asks. "Do you know her?"
There's no humor in Kamiji's caustic laugh. "Pretty much everybody at the agency knows her - except our newbie apparently."
"At the agency? Is she a villain?"
"Worse."
On the way to your apartment, you check and double check if this is what Fuyumi wants. She laughs a little as she reassures you. You insist that she texts someone, anyone, and give her your address ahead of time. You even ask her to sing the English alphabet backwards to make sure it's not alcohol's decision rather than her own certain and sober one. Between your protectiveness against...well, in this case, yourself and her laughter, you two trade giddy glances and secret smiles throughout the entire drive.
You've never seen anyone who looks so...pretty in the city lights. You'd long lost any awe over Tokyo's shining lights but find yourself gaining a new appreciation for them. They look good on her, reflecting off her hair and fair skin and glasses. It's like Fuyumi is made of light and glass and something so bright that comes from within you can't even fully fathom it.
And holy hell, she agreed to come to your apartment. Is this actually happening?
Your fingers tap a nervous rhythm in the middle seat. Suddenly, a cold hand slips over them - halting them. You jump, glancing over. She smiles and squeezes your hand, reassuring you even with that blush and her own fidgeting.
You're the one who's supposed to be taken care of right now, you think.
But now you're so focused on leveling your breathing you can't risk looking at her. You do, however, lace your fingers through hers.
And it just fits.
When you arrive at your place and slide out of the car, you're the one to reattach your hands while you jostle for key with your other hand. You're suddenly entirely too grateful to have a first floor apartment.
Reality socks you in the stomach when you're inside. With Fuyumi.
It's strange...seeing her in your apartment. You can't remember the last time you had anyone else in your home, hardly in it yourself between patrols and paperwork and stakeouts. But having Fuyumi here? With you? Barely visible in the dim light of your entryway, hair bright like a halo and face barely visible?
It's like a dream.
But it's not. Your heart wouldn't be hammering like this if this were a dream.
Fuyumi still hasn't let go of your hand. If anything, the situation seems to dawn on her, too, going by how she clutches it. You both stand together in the dimly lit genkan, quiet, a little awkward. But the small space between you is purely electric.
"I've never done anything like this before," Fuyumi admits quietly.
"Me, neither…"
"Work?" she guesses.
"Yeah," you mutter. "You?"
"School. Then work."
You force a smile through your nerves. "And taking care of other people?"
Her words are hushed. "Yeah… That, too."
"Guess we both missed out on the crazy party phase other people our age got," you say dryly.
That earns you a soft laugh. "I guess so. Never looked all that great anyway."
You snort. "Yeah, I'm not too upset that I missed out on all my friends' college hangovers. But when was the last time you got to just...let go? Not care what anyone thinks or says?"
You yourself could at least count some fond high school memories.
Fuyumi, however…
She says nothing, bangs covering her eyes.
Tonight, you decide. Tonight is her night.
And suddenly, something clicks into place. You're not nervous anymore.
"In that case..." Hands still connected, you step out of the genkan. "I think it's about time someone took care of you."
Her eyebrows furrow in concern. "What about you?"
"Don't worry about me."
"But… Aren't you tired from caring so much?"
I don't think I could ever get tired of caring for you.
Gently, you bring your intertwined hands to your mouth and smooth light, unhurried kisses over her fingers. Your lips trail along her knuckles until they press against her wrist and linger there over her pulse. You look at her through hooded eyes. Her breath catches.
Then you drop your hands.
"Trust me," you say, your voice low in your own ears. "This is as much for me as it is for you. But only if you want it."
There's an unspoken question there.
Fuyumi meets your gaze directly, heat rising in her eyes, almost like blue fire in how they scorch you with a single look. You start to rethink your original guess about her Quirk.
"I want it."
You. I want you.
Sucking in a long, slow breath, you smile at her. "...then come get it, Fuyumi-san."
She stumbles forward, as though in a trance. Shaky hands land on your strong shoulders, seeking stability, and she steps into you. Your chests brush against each other, and you're submerged in her creamy vanilla and jasmine perfume. That gravitational pull tugs at you but you stop yourself just shy of her lips.
Hers. This is her night, her decision.
Her cool breath fans across your lips. Starlit eyes peer into your darkening ones.
You wait.
"May I?" The words vibrate against your mouth.
Your heart melts.
"Of course."
Fuyumi closes that last centimeter of distance and presses her trembling lip to yours. She tilts her head, mindful of her glasses. The kiss is slow and careful, closed mouth, testing the boundaries. Even with your verbal consent, it asks, Is this okay? You follow her lead, tenderly coaxing her lips along your own. Warm and welcoming and reassuring her yes, yes, yes. This is okay. This is perfectly okay.
I want you, too.
Her hands tighten on your shoulders. Yours slide into her feather-soft hair. You tug out the ponytail holder and delve your fingers in the tresses. You pull away, separating you with a soft pop, and watch the silky strands float to her shoulders.
Breathing hard, Fuyumi is still clutching your shoulders. Her face is flushed, roses blooming in her cheeks, and her pupils are blown wide.
"Whoever named you had the right idea," you mutter, completely dazed.
You don't get a chance to recover.
Fuyumi surges forward, grabbing your face, and pulls you to her. You slant your head just in time to meet her kiss, eyes fluttering shut. Her lips are soft, soft yet pleasantly chilled. And they move fervently along yours. Currents spark from her to you, tingling down your spine and electrifying your senses. You meet her passion with your own, shaky and reverent hands moving up to grip her blazer.
Without breaking the kiss, she steps out of the genkan and strides forward - backing you into your own apartment. Her hands slide from your cheeks and into your hair, tugging. You gasp, startled, and Fuyumi's tongue is like ice in the warm cavern in your mouth. You groan. She uses her grip on your hair to angle you just so, completely taking over the kiss, and you let her. You want her to.
You move your hands up her back, into her hair - earning you another tug in reprimand - and down again until they find her full hips. You squeeze, enjoying the plush give under your fingers. Fuyumi hums, low and appreciative. You smooth your hands over her curves, slipping your thumbs under the shirt and rubbing circles against her hip bones.
Fuyumi breaks the kiss just long enough to slide off her blazer, lets it fall to the floor with a muffled foomp and your leather jacket joins it soon after. Then she's on you again, looping her arms around your shoulders. Pressing close, closer, her full breasts soft against yours. Her lofty exhale condensates in your warm apartment, chilling your lips. Your eyes flutter.
Gripping her hips, you kiss her - kiss her like you wanted to from the moment she first smiled at you. You kiss her like you want to consume her. And Fuyumi meets you, passion for passion, ice for fire.
You slide your hands further up her turtleneck and skim along cool, soft skin with heated palms. Fuyumi arches, making soft appreciative noises that falter into disappointment when you remove your hands. Next you wind your arms around to fully embrace her, crushing her to you. Fuyumi moans.
You pull back enough to land several pecks on her smiling lips, making her giggle, and then shower the rest of her face in kisses. Your eager mouth finds her swan-like neck and becomes more sensual, mouthing along the arch. Kissing and sucking and just breathing her in. Fuyumi leans her head back to accept your affections in full.
"You're so warm," she sighs happily.
Your brain dies and comes back to life. And then you promptly realize the full implication of her words.
Panting, you pull away. You're still foggy and lost and looking at Fuyumi, Fuyumi with that glazed over expression and slightly parted lips, certainly does help. But you have to check yourself - make sure you're still in control.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
"Just wanted to look at you," you say. Not a complete, as your gaze sears up and down her body.
"Don't just look then." Fuyumi tugs you forward by your shirt. You lean back at the last moment and grin at the frustrated sound she makes in the back of her throat.
"Y/n-san…"
You kiss her, a quick peck, and dart away before she has the chance to deepen it.
Her nose scrunches up. You kiss that, too. She chases after your lips but you dodge, her lips landing on your cheek instead. You snicker.
"Y/n-san." There's a warning in her tone. The sternness in it, the sudden assertiveness, makes you light-headed and eager to obey.
Damn. You make a mental note to explore this later.
"Just wanted to be extra sure this is what you want," you say breathlessly.
"I told you that I wa - "
You catch her open mouth in yours, kissing her longer, deeper. Your lips smolder against hers. Her responding hum shoots straight to your core.
When you go to move away again, Fuyumi snares your bottom lip between her teeth and pulls you back in. A hand on your waist slips under your shirt, teasing the skin it finds there. She palms the small of your back. Pushes you closer. You squirm at the unexpected cold, inadvertently pushing yourself closer. She uses this to pull you into her, hands skating up your ribs, palms freezing, touch burning. The air grows hot and humid, a perfect clash between your Quirks, and you're shivering from something far beyond temperature, beyond arousal.
"Oh, god…" you eke out as she sucks on the corner of your jaw. You're too far gone to process it, lost in a strange space between too much and not enough.
It's only Fuyumi's mercy that allows you to catch your breath. She pulls back, leaving our lips kiss-swollen and red and panting. You gawk at her.
Her demure smile isn't kind; it's the calm before a storm. "Where's the bedroom?"
A small, pitiful sound - a whimper - escapes you.
This woman is going to be the death of you.
Wordlessly, you grip her thick thighs and lift her up enough to wrap her legs around your waist. Fuyumi yelps. She winds her arms around your shoulders, beaming down at you. You grin up at her adoringly, even when she laughs at you when you bump into your own furniture in your own damn apartment.
"I can't remember the last time anyone's carried me," she says.
Nudging your door open with your foot, you hum thoughtfully. "I can't remember the last time I had a pretty girl in my arms."
Fuyumi hides her burning face in your neck. "...you, too."
"Mm?"
"You're pretty, too," she murmurs, burrowing in your shoulder. She nestles into you endearingly. "Prettier."
You press a kiss to the side of her head, nuzzling into her hair and breathing in her conditioner. You whisper, "Don't get in a fight over who's prettier with me, Fuyumi-san. You'd lose."
Then you promptly drop her on your bed.
Yelping, Fuyumi bounces on the mattress. She's still smiling and giggling even when she tries to glare at you. "No, I wouldn't," she protests.
Amused, you place one knee on the bed. "Yes. You would."
"No. I wouldn't. Have you seen yourself?"
"Occasionally," you drawl, raising your other knee to fully kneel in front of Fuyumi.
"But you're so fit and strong and - " She bites her lip again, face tinted pink. "You're gorgeous."
You take your sweet, sweet time looking Fuyumi up and down. Body half sprawled across your bed, her beautiful hair fans out like a halo. The hem of her shirt is partially pushed up, revealing her pale stomach where a diamond navel piercing gleam and the full flare of her waist.
"I don't compare," you say simply, bending down to crawl over to her.
Fuyumi rises up on your elbows to meet you halfway. You straddle her hips, having to stretch out your thighs to fully seat yourself over them. Damn. They're so solid and soft underneath you. You never want to sit anywhere else again.
Fuyumi's breath hitches, staring up at you as though entranced. Her hands slip over your thighs. "I think you don't give yourself enough credit."
"I think you," you carefully slide off her frames, removing the one thing between you and the intensity of her gaze, "need new glasses, Fuyumi-san."
You fold up her glasses and lean over to put them safely on your side table. The movement moves your hips, unintentionally grinding. The small friction makes you release a stuttery breath.
Hearing it, her own breathing starts to get heavier. Fuyumi tightens her grip on your thighs and pushes back. You groan, long and low in your throat. You start a slow rocking motion, core grinding down. Fuyumi's hips meet you movement for movement. Her hooded gaze flares.
You place your hands on top of hers, looking down at her with half-lidded eyes. Taking all of her in hungrily. "Fuyumi-san, when you say you haven't done this before…"
"I mean going home with someone I just met," she murmurs, caught in the rocking motion. "This isn't - it won't be my first time."
Her earlier ferocity - and the current undulations of her hips under yours - suggested as much, but it's always good to check.
You brush your fingers over her slim wrists and up her arms and down again. Feather light. Your touch ghosts over her exposed stomach and then up her lower ribs, pressing fully against her velvet skin.
Fuyumi arches her back, eyelashes fluttering. Her lips quiver.
She's already starting to sweat, slick under your palms. You slide your hands back down and curve over her waist, kneading the bit of fat there. Her fair skin pinkens where you touch her. A small, desperate sound escapes her.
"God, I love the sound of your voice," you rasp, grinding harder. "From the moment I first I heard it."
She laughs a little. "I'm surprised you even heard it. The bar was so loud."
Rather than respond, you scoot down her thighs in order to bend down and nip a hipbone.
"Y/n-san."
You groan at the sound of your name before trailing your lips from one hip to the other, your tongue briefly circling around her piercing. Throughout your loving ministrations, you push your hands further up her shirt to her heavy breasts and squeeze softly. Fuyumi arches her back, crying out.
Eventually, you push her turtleneck up. Fuyumi sits up and you help pull it over her head. Your mouth dries.
Her beautiful hair is a beautiful mess, red tangled in white. Darkened blue eyes stare at you hazily. You finally learn that her flush extends from her round cheeks to her sternum, rosey and warm in the ivory of her skin. Her simple black bra barely restrains her heaving breasts. She's all curves and supple skin and vanilla-and-jasmine perfume and -
"How did I get so lucky as to bring you home with me tonight?"
In answer, Fuyumi kisses you. Her insistent lips move from your needy mouth to your neck. You gasp when she finds the sensitive place behind your ear. Her chilled breath makes you tremble.
"How did I get so lucky as to end up in your bed?" she croons. Then she sucks your earlobe into her frigid mouth.
"Ah!"
She wrangles your shirt off and sends her mouth down the valley of your breasts. You wrap your legs around her waist, squeezing her between your thighs and pressing her into your aching core. Your head lolls, hair falling back. Your breathing is heavy under her. Her fingers tangle with the back of your bra and unclip it with ease.
Peppering your shoulders with chilled kisses as she slides the straps over them, Fuyumi tosses your bra over the side of the bed and pulls back to admire. You shiver at the dark, glassy look in her eyes. And then put up absolutely no resistance when she pushes you down on the bed.
Freezing hands caress your breasts, making you hiss and raise your back, as they come in contact with your sultry body.
"Sorry," Fuyumi says, not sounding the least bit put out. "Quirk thing."
Your chest heaves. "S'fine. Do whatever. Just - just keep touching me."
Her eyelids lowered, and that demure smile returns. "That's not a very polite way to ask for what you want, y/n-san."
You're not a proud person, and you know what you want. "Please, Fuyumi-san, please keep touching me - aah!"
Fuyumi leans down to circle a nipple with her ice-like tongue, sucking it in with a lewd suctiony sound. Glacial fingers pinch the other. Her other hand trails down, breezing across your ribs, until they find the hem of your pants and toying with the zipper. You pant, grasping at her shoulders for purchase. Forgoing the zipper entirely, Fuyumi cups you through your jeans - fingers rubbing tantalizing circles against your heat.
"Fuyumi-san!" you whine.
"Such pretty noises…" Fuyumi murmurs against your breast. "And you looked so stoic and serious at the bar. But look at you."
Fuyumi grinds the heel of her hand into you. You squirm helplessly underneath her wintery body. It feels so good but so intense. You wonder if you'd somehow managed to lure a yuki-onna to your bed.
"You just fall apart at the simplest of touches." She bends her head over your other breast, biting down gently. She continues to palm at your throbbing core.
You buck your hips, desperate for more friction. "Please…"
Then, in retribution for your earlier teasing, she removes her hand out from between your trembling thighs. You whine. Making direct eye contact with you, Fuyumi pulls back with your nipple still pinched between her teeth. Only after you let loose a satisfactory whimper does she release it. Your other nipple, however, she continues to roll leisurely between her thumb and forefinger.
"Apologies. You seemed to like how assertive I was earlier. Was I mistaken?"
You don't deny it. Instead, you say weakly, "Didn't expect this from an elementary school teacher."
Smiling amusedly, Fuyumi nuzzles into your too-warm cheek. "I can't be nice, patient sensei all the time."
"So you like to get back some control in the bedroom," you say dryly.
Fuyumi's answer is scraping her teeth down your throat and sucking a mark into your collarbone. Cold hands seize your breasts, squeezing. A knee slips between your thighs to push against you. You cry out.
"Based on that lovely reponse…" Fuyumi croons, running her hands up and down your sides, "and your clear deflection from my original statement, you like to let go of control in the bedroom. It's a release."
Somewhere in the haze of your lust, you catch on. You raise an eyebrow.
She sighs. "Let me guess: high stakes civil service job, demanding work environment, lots of pressure, extremely stressful. You have to be in complete control at all times on the job, always alert, and need your phone on even after hours just in case."
"...maybe." She has a scarily clear cut understanding of your "civil service job", even without the full details such as what exactly it is.
She smiles understandingly, though there's a strange twist to it. "I noticed how..alert you were at the bar. Even though you came with friends. You really don't let yourself relax, do you?"
You turn your head, averting your eyes.
Gentle fingers pinch your chin and bring them back to meet Fuyumi's compassionate gaze. "It's okay, y/n-san," she soothes. "I'm sorry. It wasn't my place - "
"No, you're right," you cut her off, voice hoarse. "I - it's just I… I love my job."
"I know," she murmurs, caressing the side of your face.
Your draw in a breath. "I'm lucky to have it. Especially being a woman. It's what I've wanted since I was a little kid. And it - I get to help so many people. Every day. I feel like I make a real difference, you know? But it's not easy."
Fuyumi strokes your hair. "When was the last time you took some time off?"
You scoff, covering your eyes with a forearm. "I just transferred to a new agency a little while ago. I still have a lot to prove."
This makes Fuyumi frown. "They chose to hire you. You shouldn't have to prove anything!"
"Fuyumi-san," you drawl, "you're taking care of other people again. Didn't I say it's your turn to be taken care of tonight?"
"Is you taking care of me just 'helping people' like you do everyday?" she asks.
"No. Is you asking about my work life and the personal toll it has just another way of asserting control?" you deadpan.
Fuyumi sputters, turning red. "N-no! And how's wanting to help others 'control'?"
"'Help is the sunny side of control,'" you quote, bone dry.
Semi-amused, you watch realization dawn across Fuyumi's face. "That's - I never thought about it that way. That's...quite insightful. Did you come up with that? Or is that from somewhere?"
"Anne Lammottt," you say dryly. "She wrote this sorta half self-help, half memoir on hope and how to find it when things are at their bleakest. My therapist recommended it. I'll lend you my copy."
The bed creaks as Fuyumi sits up, straddling you. Poker faced, you make a herculean effort to keep your gaze directly on her face rather than stray to...well, the gorgeous half-naked body on top of you.
"You have a therapist?"
"High stakes job with heaps of pressure and stress, remember?" you quip. "It would be irresponsible of me not to take care of my mental health. Like skipping a dental cleaning or a vaccination."
"Yeah…" Again, Fuyumi has that intent, searching look in her eyes. The same one she gave you after admitting how tired you were, how draining caring can be. Without her glasses, it's only about 100 times more intense.
And there you are, titties out, laid out like a spread eagle underneath Fuyumi like you're her personal throne. Not a bad position to be in, of course, but a little odd when her face looks like she's trying to solve the world's hardest math problem and not contorted in the throes of passion as gifted by yours truly. You wait it out, though. It seems important.
It's a nice view anyway.
Finally: "You're really something, y/l/n y/n."
You smile up at her lazily. "Thanks. You're something special yourself, Todoroki Fuyumi."
Fuyumi smiles down at you like a real life Madonna icon. You're suddenly reminded of your recently developed Fuyumi-related asthma. And how her luscious thighs are actually a little warm after hugging your body for so long.
You drum your fingers against them, enjoying the feel even through her jeans. "Hey, Fuyumi-san?"
"Mm?"
"How did we go from the hottest foreplay of my life to talking about our mutual tendencies for compulsive caretaking?"
Fuyumi slaps her hands over her reddening cheeks and groans. "Oh, no. I'm sorry, y/n-san!"
"It's cool," you say, nonchalant. "We can do a naked book club instead, if you like. Anything you wanna recommend?"
"No! No naked book club - well, maybe later. Wait!" She drags her hands down her face and half-heartedly glowers down at you. Somehow, that stern look makes you throb. "You're making fun of me."
"A little," you admit. You stroke her thighs soothingly. "But I'm also a little serious. If you'd rather do something else, that's okay. I think I have some puzzles somewhere."
Snorting, Fuyumi shakes her head. "I want to keep going. I do, I really do. But if I made it too weird or - "
"Great. I want to, too," you state bluntly.
"I didn't make it weird?"
"Sex is weird sometimes. Besides…." You look up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, feeling your desire thrum back to life at her bold reassertion. Your voice turns smokey when you speak next. "I want to make you feel good, Fuyumi-san."
Fuyumi shudders above you.
Gripping her thighs, you slowly sit up to avoid jostling her from your lap. Warm hands smooth up her thighs, following the curves of her wide hips and her waistline. Fuyumi shivers when you linger on the sides of her plump breasts. You trace her bra's outer edges up to the elastic straps and unhurriedly lower the right one. You press a kiss to her bared shoulder, as soft as the newly fallen snow outside.
"I want to make you really, really good."
You feel how the exhale shudders out of her. "Y/n-san…"
"Will you let me? Will you let me make you feel good, Fuyumi-san?"
She laughs softly, hugging your shoulders. "How do you do that? "
"Do what?" you mumble, sucking at a beauty mark you find.
"Just - mmph, right there - just turn the situation around? It was so a-aah! Awkward and now it's like this again."
You laugh huskily. "A little trick I learned on the job."
"Seducing people?"
"Are you seduced?" you purr.
"Y-yes. But seriously..."
"Let's just say... I learned how to assess a situation and Turn. It. Around. In my favor." You kiss up her neck with each word, breathing in deeply.
She gently scratches down your back, soft lines that make you shudder. "Mm, you're a good civil servant."
This draws a smirk from you. "Thanks. Now...back to my question."
"Mm?" Fuyumi's eyes flutter.
You whisper hotly against her ear, "Will you let me make you feel good?"
"Yes, please."
Grinning, you kiss her ear and set to work.
You unsnap her bra clasp, sliding the silky undergarment off and lazily letting it fall from your hand. Her supple breasts fall free with gentle bounce. Hand on her shoulder, you lightly push her onto her back and Fuyumi goes down willingly. Lips parted, you stare down at her darkly.
Expression hazy, she smiles up at you. "Please take care of me."
"I'll try my best," you promise, voice low and gravelly.
You cup her breasts, relishing the soft weight of them in your hands, and rub slow circles over them. Then you bend down to tongue a slow circle around a dusky nipple before sucking it into your eager mouth. Fuyumi sighs, cupping the back of your neck. You hum, then go to turn your attention to the next. Gently heating your lips, you press gossamer-like kisses all over her flushed chest. From there, you kiss down her sternum and down her chest.
"Y/n-san," she calls softly as you leave marks along her stomach.
You sink blunt teeth into her left hip and she gasps. Trembling underneath you, Fuyumi grips your hair and moans.
You slip a finger under her jeans, looking to her with lifted eyebrows. At her nod, you unbutton her jeans and - in return for her icy teasing - unzip the fly with your teeth. She gasps. You tug at the loosened denim, to which she lifts her hips, and you slide down her jeans past her hips where you kiss and suck and nip. Then you pull the jeans down her thighs. You swallow at the sight of her pink panties, pupils dilating at the dark stain over her folds.
Still, you take your time - gently pulling her jeans off one creamy leg at a time. You kiss every inch of new skin revealed, reveling in Fuyumi's increasingly shallow breathing. You watch her chest rise and fall, breasts heaving.
She's easily the most beautiful thing you've ever seen in your life.
Not looking away once, you toss the jeans to some far corner and settle between her thighs. You're not even aware of where you are, so consumed with the sight and smell of her.
"Y-y/n-san," she calls.
"Shh, darling," you murmur, landing a kiss on the inside of her knee. You trace your lips down the soft skin of her inner thigh. "I know, I know."
"Hurry."
"Almost there. I'm going to take such good care of you, I promise."
She moans, the precious noise pitching louder when you press your lips to the sweet wetness pooled between her thighs. You flick the full length of your tongue over her. Delicate fingers grip the back of your head, cold and insistent, and you groan. The vibrations send her hips rolling and you follow along with the motions, licking and sucking through her underwear, breathing through your nose, tenderly thumbing circles into her hip bones. Despite the delicious press of her clenching thighs against your ears, you hear her call your name - broken between a plea and a command. And you obey.
Without wasting another moment, you pull away and hook your fingers under the hem of her panties. You slide the garment down her hips, groan at the pearly strands of her essence clinging to her puffy inner lips, and pull it down her lush thighs.
Impatient, Fuyumi sits up enough to shove her panties the rest of the way off. Then her hand returns to the back of your head which she immediately guides to her cunt. You grasp her thighs, spreading them open for better access. You latch onto her hot bundle of nerves and suck into your mouth. Encouraged by her cries, you lave your tongue between her folds while your thumb continues toying with her clit.
Nails scrape against your scalp, sending shocks of pained pleasure through you and inciting another moan. You bury your tongue inside her, reveling in the full taste of her. A mewl rewards your efforts. Chin shiny with her juices, you pull back only to return to her clit. You press a kiss there, two, three, before sucking it back into your hot mouth. Your fingers slide inside her; velvety walls clench around them, pulsing rhythmically as you slide in and out.
Lashes fluttering, you lift your gaze to meet Fuyumi's piercing blue eyes - bright and demanding above the flush of her cheeks and her neck and her heaving chest. Her grip tightens in your hair. You close eyes, blissed out, and delve your tongue deeper inside her until your nose is pressed against her clit. You delight in the wet friction.
Her legs tremble, one hooked over your shoulder. Her cries rise - higher, higher, pitching into the dark ceiling. The sweetest of noises. You whimper when her thighs clench around you, following the undulations of her hips. Your own squirm against the sheets, arousal pooling in your underwear, as you listen. You feel it before she cries out: hands grasping, thighs shaking, labia twitching, her inner walls clenching around you.
Ecstasy. Pure ecstasy. All because of you.
Fuyumi calls your names.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes -
Cold.
Cold, cold, cold.
Under Fuyumi's hands, ice coats your shoulders and spreads down your back. Your hair is stiff and frozen. Where her juices coated your lips and chin, now frozen. Even the tip of your nose has frost.
You blink.
Fuyumi gapes at you, horrified.
"You know...when the weather forecast said snowy night in Tokyo, this isn't what I expected."
"I am SO sorry!"
You burst out laughing.
She hides her bright red face in her hands. "I'm sorry, y/n-san! Do you have a hair dryer? Let me - "
"Nah, I'm okay. See?" You channel your Quirk, focusing on the warmth always present in the center of your chest, and let the heat spread throughout the rest of your body. Steam rises from your skin as the frost melts, not leaving so much as a droplet of moisture behind.
Hands lowered, Fuyumi's jaw drops. "You...you have a fire Quirk."
"Opposites really do attract, huh?" Eyes crinkling, you laugh.
It's the only sound in the bedroom.
"...Fuyumi-san?"
Speechless, Fuyumi stares at you with wide, wide eyes. The climax-induced flush is gone, bleached from her skin. She covers her mouth with a shaky hand.
You immediately recognize that expression. It's the look a civilian had before they were saved, before help arrived. Fear. Seeing it on her face makes your stomach turn. It reminds you of the time you rescued a child from a burning building after a villain set off an electrical fire - the initial relief on the boy's face evolving into sheer panic when you activated your own flames to fight the villain off before back-up came. You'd hated yourself for reigniting that fear so soon after the initial trauma.
And now? You're bewildered and cautious.
"Hey...you alright there?"
"I - yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Fuyumi swiftly looks away, shrinking in on herself. She brings her arms up to her bare chest.
Resisting the urge to frown, you put up an air of calm. You wordlessly lift a sheet and - avoiding sudden movements - wrap it around her shoulders.
She blinks at you.
"A lot of people have had bad experiences with fire," you say, non-judgemental. You smile softly. "I get it. It can be pretty scary sometimes. But I can guarantee you that I have better control over my Quirk than most people. Haven't had an accident since I was 10."
"I'm not - that's not it, y/n-san." Even saying that, Fuyumi pulled the sheet tighter around herself.
You lifted and lowered your shoulders in a languid shrug. "It doesn't matter what it was or wasn't. And you don't have to explain it to me, either."
Her bottom lip trembles. "Y/n-san - "
"Fuyumi-san," you say, hushed. "It's okay."
You won't lie to yourself, though: It hurts. But you recognize a trigger when you see one. If years of general wariness of your flames didn't teach you that, your training certainly did.
It's that same training that allows you to smile at her reassuringly. "Hey… Look."
You hold your hand out, palm side up. Watching her face carefully, searching for even the slightest flinch, you focus the heat under your skin to converge at the center of your palm: A spark, then a shimmer, and a small flame comes to life. No bigger than a birthday candle, it casts a soft light across your face.
Fuyumi's eyes flicker between your tender expression and the tiny fire. Your own gaze doesn't waver from her face, even as you slowly twist your hand and will the flame to move sluggishly along your palm, your wrist, over your knuckles, and between your fingers. Fuyumi watches all the while.
You urge the flare to your to the very tip of your index finger and hold it up to your mouth. You purse your lips, not unlike a kiss, and extinguish it with a small puff. You wink at her. "See? Perfect control."
While she is still hunched under the sheet, it at least earns you a small, wobbly smile.
You hold out your hand, again palm side up. She immediately looks at it, clearly expecting another flame. The corner of your mouth twitches and you wiggle your fingers a little.
It's a relief when she accepts the silent offer, placing her small hand in yours. Your fingers wrap around hers. Tenderly, carefully, you brush your over her knuckles. Like you're holding something infinitely precious.
"I was a pretty stupid kid, you know. You would've hated having me in your classroom," you say suddenly, still fixated on your joined hands.
Fuyumi looks almost offended. "No, I wouldn't!"
It makes you grin a little. "You're right. You're an amazing teacher - one of those saintly ones with tons of patience for even the brattiest of kids. I can tell. But trust me, even little me would have given you a run for your money. I was pretty full of myself, just because of an accident of being born with some flashy Quirk. Always showing off and playing around with it."
At this, your smile fades into a grim line. "But you know what they say about playing with fire. 'Cept I can't burn but others sure can. I learned that the hard way...at someone else's expense."
"...the accident when you were 10," Fuyumi recalls, voice faint.
"It was someone I really care about," you say. Your mouth twists into a self-contemptuous sneer as you shake your head. "I knew how to start fires but hadn't yet learned how to put them out. So much for the little show off."
Suddenly, her hand squeezes yours. You blink.
"You were only a child, y/n-san," she whispers. Her eyebrows scrunch together and without her glasses, there's nothing between you and those fierce eyes. "It was an accident."
"Doesn't matter. Someone else paid for it," you say, uncompromising. She opens her mouth to protest. You raise her hand to kiss her knuckles which immediately snaps her mouth close. "And I've been a whole lot more careful since then. I promised myself that I would use my Quirk to protect people, not hurt them. Especially not someone I care about."
At that, you press your lips to her slim wrist. You gently suck at the blue-ish veins beneath delicate skin, kissing the heel of her hand and then her own palm and finally the tips of fingers. You look up to see Fuyumi's cherry red face.
"Are you hungry?"
"W-what?" She sounds half as breathless as you felt most of the evening. Payback, sweetheart.
"I promised to take care of you tonight, remember? So. Are you hungry?"
Fuyumi stares at you, taking in your still half-dressed state and kiss-bruised lips. "What about you? I didn't...you know."
You shrug. "It's fine. Lemme get you a glass of water at least."
After her near panic attack and the sudden turn in conversation, you figure she might not be in the best headspace to...reciprocate. Besides, nothing dashes the libido quite like your partner almost freaking out at your Quirk.
You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stretch your arms out, oblivious to Fuyumi's sharpened stare where your back muscles ripple with the movement. You push your hair back, lightly scratching your head as you lazily search the floor for your shirt.
"Wanna watch a movie or something? I think I have some popcorn. We could - "
Cool hands smooth over your waist, meeting in the middle of your stomach. You feel the swell of her breasts against your too-warm back, tight nipples on your shoulder blades. Chilled lips brush the junction of your neck and shoulder, following the curve of your neck. She catches your earlobe between her teeth and tugs.
Your breath hitches.
Her hands trail up your abdomen, leaving shivers in their wake, before cupping your breasts. You arch your back, consequently pushing yourself further into her. Her thumbs smooth twin circles around your nipples, her natural chill sensitizing them.
"Fuyumi…." Her name is a weak moan from your mouth.
"Thank you for taking care of me," comes her wintry whisper. "Let me return the favor, okay?"
"A-are you sure? A-ah! Fuyumi!"
"I told you, y/n, I want it. And I'll take it if I have to."
There is a higher power and apparently, that higher power fucking loves you.
It's habit that wakes you up in the early morning. Drowsily, you blink up at your ceiling and then turn your head on your pillow to find Fuyumi's face inches from yours. Her cheek is squished against a pillow, snowy strands caught in her mouth.
You stare at her in silent awe.
Eventually, your stomach reminds you of your basic needs and by extension Fuyumi's eventual needs as well. You sit up slowly, taking care not to wake her. You swing your legs over the bed and pad your way around fallen clothes. You pick them up, sorting out which were whose. Your cell drops out of your pants.
You remember your promise to Kamiji. Turning on your cell, you grimace at the low power and then pause at the many...many messages on it.
Burnin' 🔥💪💪: RED ALERT RED ALERT
Burnin' 🔥💪💪: YO Y/N PICK UP
Burnin' 🔥💪💪: As GREAT as a time you're having right now...pick up.
Burnin' 🔥💪💪: Yl/n.
Burnin' 🔥💪💪: Y/l/n.
Burnin' 🔥💪💪: Y/l/n y/n.
Frowning, you press "call" on her contact. A few rings carry on, setting your nerves at ease. You know that if it really was an emergency, she would be awake and pick up immediately.
A groggy voice answers. "Must've been a fun night."
"Kamiji, what's up?" you murmur.
"Did you take that girl home with you?"
"Uuh…" You glance at Fuyumi's curled up form. The sheets drape over the curve of her hips and tangle between her legs, leaving her mostly bare. Her arms stretch out above her head, feathery hair a tangled mess, carmine streaks vibrant in the sunrise. A few of your marks stand out, red and violet, on the fair skin of her waist and chest. Perfect matches to the ones all over you.
You don't realize you're smiling like an idiot until you hear your name repeated, louder and louder. "Y/l/n… Y/L/N! HEY!"
You scowl, soundlessly slipping out of bed and snatching a robe on the way out. You muffle your phone against your collarbone until you're safely in the kitchen where Kamiji's yelling won't wake Fuyumi up.
"Yes, Kamiji, I took her home with me and now I'm going to make her breakfast. There a problem?"
Coffee. You need coffee.
"Well, at least you're treating her right. Hopefully that'll work in your favor."
"What are you talking about?" you grouse, getting your coffee maker ready. You mentally go over what you have in the fridge. Do you have enough to make something? Or should you run to the cafe to grab something? Would you get back before Fuyumi wakes up? Maybe you should wait and see if she'd want to go with you...
A dark laugh from the receiver. "You really have no idea who she is, do you?"
You freeze. Tightening your grip on the phone, you glance warily at your closed bedroom door. "...why, is she a villain?"
"You wish."
Your brow furrows. "What?"
"You're completely fireproof, right?"
"Yes," you say, frowning. "It's pretty much why Endeavor hired me."
Kamiji makes a small, aggravated noise. "He hired for more than that, y/l/n. But we'll get into that later - before our boss gives a whole new meaning to firing you."
"Fire me? For what?"
"What's his name, y/l/n? His actual name?"
You really do not like where this conversation was going. "Todoroki Enji?"
"And who did you take home with you last night?"
"...that's not funny, Kamiji."
"I'm not joking."
"It's a common last name," you protest, "and they look absolutely nothing alike - "
Except.
Except for the red in her hair.
And the color of her eyes, the curve of her nose, the angle of her eyebrows...
The same family name.
Her reaction to your fire Quirk.
You even met at a bar close to the Endeavor Hero Agency.
"No."
"Yeeeaaah. You fucked the #2 hero's only daughter."
For the first time since you were 10, you lose control of your Quirk - setting your favorite robe aflame.
"SHIT!"
Kamiji's laughter is barely heard over the smoke alarm. Burnt cotton fills the kitchen air and you tear off the robe to throw it in the sink, immediately turning on the faucet. And then there you are, wearing nothing but a few love bites, as you fight with the smoke alarm to shut it up.
Having taken the batteries out, you snatch up the phone and hiss, "I slept with our boss's daughter? Our boss boss? Endeavor?"
"You work for my father?"
You swear you feel the blood draining from your face. Slowly, mechanically, you turn around. She stands just outside your room, a vision in white sheets. The girl you met last night, the girl you're pretty sure you fell a little in love with at first sight. The one you took home with you.
Todoroki Fuyumi.
Endeavor's only daughter.
The higher power fucking hates you.
Author's Note: looooooooooool
98% of this sat in my Google docs for literal months because I kept wimping out on that oral scene because despite reading smut for some 10ish years, I've never written it before. Hopefully, posting this here (and on tumblr and my AO3 account MxIrony) will bolster my confidence up a bit and I'll continue to write more. I have some more ideas for this story, including how reader and Fuyumi both react to this, tip-toeing around Endeavor (maybe fucking on his desk), sneaking around the Todoroki abode, analyzing burn out in service professions, PTSD in hero society, and reader interacting with a very skeptical Shoto when he interns at the Endeavor Hero Agency lol