Todoiida U Have Enamored Me, Have A Fic Abt It

todoiida u have enamored me, have a fic abt it 🔥🧊🏃🏻‍♂️

Iida touches Shoto a lot. 

It’s scary, at first, because his hands are broad and callused and vaguely familiar in a way that sends a spike of panic down Shoto’s back. But he never uses them in the way Shoto expects him to. 

He’s gentle, so, so careful, even when it’s a high-speed scoop up in the midst of battle. It’s odd to be considered in those kinds of situations. Nice. And maybe Iida isn’t giving him any special consideration, maybe he’s like this with every person he rescues because he’s just that kind of man. It’s still nice, though.

He noticed it, first, when they fought class B, and Iida had rushed to fish him out from where he’d nearly drowned in liquid concrete, trapping himself under literal tons of it to do so. It was a frantic situation, Shoto was only half-conscious, he could’ve gotten away with being a little rough. With putting comfort to the side in the name of saving a life. But he didn’t. He’d cradled Shoto close, holding him lightly against his warm, humming armor and tossed him to safety. 

Then there was everything after his grueling fight with Dabi. Bleeding, and feeling more cavern than boy, Shoto had crumpled. It was over, but at what cost? Everyone was cheering. He’d done what he was supposed to. The mission was a success.

Then why did he feel so sad?

Iida caught him, with hovering, sturdy arms. Hugged him to his side when he needed it and let him cry, without judgement. Because he understood what it felt like to lose a brother, even if that brother didn’t stay lost. 

Defeating Toya was just the first step, they had been in the middle of a war. There was more to do, always more that needed doing. Iida could’ve urged him to stand. Tried bolstering his courage to get back into the fray. He should have. But he didn’t.

Not until Shoto had been allowed to feel everything he needed to. 

Shoto thinks back on that day, often. And not just to torture himself with images of Toya’s last stand. Of the memories of his sizzling fists against his skin. Sometimes it’s just to remember how Iida’s fingers felt against his face, as he fitted him with his mask. Brushing hair away from his eyes—careful, but not pitying against his scar—and asking if it was too tight. 

If he lets himself, he starts thinking about how it might feel without the mask, without their hero gear in the way. He imagines leaning into it. 

He wonders if that’s okay. If he should be recriminating himself for his thoughts. He’s never had time or mind to fall into these kinds of fantasies before and he’s not sure what to make of them. All he knows is that he likes Iida’s touches, and that he wishes there were more of them.

Not all of them occur in the battlefield, of course, but that’s where they’re most abundant. Shoto’s in the line of fire often, given his quirk and years-long training for it, while Iida excels at rescue. They make a good team. 

It’s nice in the dorms, though, because then it’s really Iida’s hands. Without gloves. 

They’re fleeting, little touches. A brush against his side as Iida sidles past, apologizing for encroaching on his space. A gentle shake to his shoulder when he falls asleep on the couch, waking him and directing him to his room so that he doesn’t wake with a crick in his neck. 

Small things. But Shoto cherishes them the same as he does every other touch Iida deigns to give him. It’s addicting, almost, now that he’s got a taste for them he’s ravenous for more. 

Iida’s hands are so warm. Shoto thinks this extends to the rest of his body because of his engines but he can’t be sure. He wonders how his right side would fare against it. If Iida were to touch him there long enough, with enough pressure to really feel.

He feels a little wild with it. The longing he has for these touches. Shoto doesn’t think he’s ever wanted something like this before; badly enough to consider asking, even if the answer will probably be no.

Standing at the door of Iida’s room at one in the morning, shivering with the memory of a cold so intense that it froze the tears in his eyes, Shoto considers his options. He could knock. Iida’s probably asleep right now so that would either wake him from sleep (which he would feel immensely guilty about) or go unanswered. 

Shoto doesn’t wonder why he’s come to Iida’s door, in the haze of gloom that had descended upon him immediately after waking. He knows why he’s here. 

Iida feels safe. Is safe. But it’s also one in the morning. And just because he touches him nicely when touching Shoto is necessary, doesn’t mean that he’ll want to touch Shoto otherwise.

He bites his lip, pulling some chapped dead skin from it with his fingers and wincing at the sting. His other arm clutches his pillow to his side. 

Before he can make up his mind, the door to Iida’s room slides open with a near-silent whoosh. Suddenly, standing in front of him is a yawning Iida Tenya, sans glasses. 

After rubbing his eyes, Iida squints at him.

“Todoroki?” 

Shoto swallows around something large clogging his throat. Coughs once, twice.

“Uh. Hi. Iida.” He says, wincing at himself. Even he knows that isn’t the way to greet someone whose door you were lurking outside of at one in the morning. Iida steps closer, still squinting.

“Are you- alright? Todoroki?” He cuts himself off and the sentence comes out choppy, but unlike his usual confident staccato.

“Yeah- yes. I’m fine. I’m sorry.” Faced with the reality of having to ask Iida to touch him, Shoto shrinks. He can’t do this. Not with Iida’s hair all mussed up, cheek slightly imprinted with the wrinkles of his sheets. 

Iida squints at him for another moment before holding a finger up and retreating into his room. He leaves the door open, though, and that is the only reason Shoto doesn’t turn tail and leave. 

Perhaps he’d disturbed him. Maybe, somehow, he heard Shoto’s engrossed shuffling outside the door and decided to investigate. He was owed an explanation, at the very least, and another ten apologies.

Just under a minute later, Iida returns, now sporting his usual square glasses and a small smile. 

“Ah. That’s much better.” His brows furrow as he looks at Shoto. “You’ve been crying.”

It’s not a question and Shoto doesn’t argue. He has. Or, had been about a half-hour ago, when he woke from the nightmare. He hadn’t bothered cleaning himself up before marching over here; mirrors are a little difficult when he’s like this. 

“Yes. I’m- I’m very sorry if I woke you…” Shoto can’t bring himself to finish the thought. To explain why he’d come here. What if he’s disgusted? What if he never touches him again?

The thoughts are irrational— Iida has always proven himself to be kind to a fault, he’d never judge Shoto for this— but that doesn’t stop them from occurring.

Iida’s gaze slides down to where his hands are clenched around his pillow, trembling slightly.

“Please, don’t apologize. You didn’t wake me, I was going to get some water.” He says.

Shoto nods without saying anything and angles himself so that he’s no longer standing in his way to the elevators. 

“Right. Well, you should go. Do that.” He’s looking resolutely at the ground unwilling— and perhaps unable— to meet Iida’s eyes.

Iida hums. 

“Why don’t we go together? I think I’d rather have some tea, now, and it’d be nice to have someone to share it with.” He smiles at Shoto, who just barely catches it when his eyes dart up and then back down to his feet. That sounds nice. And Iida is being so kind. 

He jerks his head into a stiff nod, following slightly behind Iida as he makes his way to the elevators.

Iida presses the button and they wait in silence, side by side, for the doors to open. When they finally do—after what feels like an eternity but can’t have been longer than thirty seconds—Iida brushes a hand, flat, at the small of Shoto’s back to usher him inside. The unexpected (but much yearned for) touch causes a jolt of electricity to flow through him. Unfortunately, it manifests as a flinch, and Iida steps back into the far corner of the elevator, apologizing. 

“No!” Shoto bursts out, going to follow him before staying himself. No one likes getting cornered in an elevator. 

Iida raises his brows, likely not expecting to see Shoto so fired up about something so trivial.

“I-“ He wars with himself over the correct words, now committed to being honest. The want is too much, especially after getting a taste of that warm, addicting touch. Iida waits patiently.

“I like it. When you- when you touch me.” He flounders. “It’s…” Shoto squeezes his fingers further into the soft down of the pillow, searching for a way to adequately express how Iida makes him feel. Nothing is big enough.

“Safe.” He decides on, and it’s still woefully lacking. “Warm.”

The elevator doors slide open and Iida steps closer, hovering his hand above the same place he’d placed it before. 

“Alright.” He says. “Is this okay?”

Shoto nods fervently and allows himself to be steered towards the kitchen. Iida’s hand is a nice, solid weight against his back. Something to focus on. He breathes deep and relaxes slightly.

“Thank you.” It’s more whisper than words but Iida hears it. They come to a stop just in front of the island, where Iida retracts his hand.

Shoro mourns the loss of it, but tries not to let it show. Iida has already given him so much tonight. His time, his touch, his understanding. Who is Shoto to ask more of him?

But Iida doesn’t move away. Instead, he shifts on his feet and asks, a little shyly, “Would you like a hug?” 

Shoto would love a hug. Hadn’t even let himself imagine a real one (and not a side hug or a piggyback in the midst of desperate fighting) lest he become too enamored with the idea. Before he started wanting too much.

He nods, a little frantically, and looks up to find Iida already staring at him, something inscrutable in his eyes as he holds his arms open. Shoto sets his pillow on the island and steps forward, wrapping his own arms around Iida’s middle, tense, at first, but melting to push his face into his neck with each passing second. The tears return, but Iida doesn’t mention them. Doesn’t do anything but rub at Shoto’s back in rhythmic, circular motions, muttering variations of “It’s okay.”, and “You’re okay.” As he cries. 

Iida is warm. Shoto was right. Enough that the right side of his face fits blissfully against his skin. 

Before long, though, Shoto becomes acutely aware of how much of Iida’s time he’s wasted. How long has it been? Minutes? An hour? He should pull back. Should let him get back to his night and content himself with what he’s been given. At this point, he’s just being greedy.

With effort, Shoto pulls himself away from Iida, swiping viciously at his eyes as he does. 

“Thank you.” He chokes, again. “I’m sorry.”

Iida’s expression cracks, a little bit, before righting itself. “You don’t have to apologize, Shoto. In fact, I must insist that you don’t. It is natural to want to be touched, it’s ingrained into us as human beings.” 

He coughs, averting his eyes to the side. “And… and, well, I liked it, too.” 

Shoto stalls, processing the words.

“You did?” He asks, voice small. Iida smiles at him. “Of course I did. It’s you.”

It’s like a bomb has detonated deep within Shoto’s chest, blasting open a whole slew of possibilities he used to keep under lock and key. 

“Then- then can you hold me again? Would you? Your hands are so kind.” It’s an odd way to say it, and Shoto knows that, but it’s also the only way that he can. Iida understands, anyway, or seems to, if the complicated twist to his mouth is any indication. 

“I will. And you deserve to be touched kindly. You don’t have to beg.”

Iida draws back into Shoto’s space—who had sat himself in one of the stools at the island, ready to spend the rest of the night just watching—and settles himself between his legs. 

With tickling, tender pressure, he cups Shoto’s cheek, then slides his hand back to cradle the back of his head and hold him to his chest. Iida’s heart beats slow and steady, a deep thrumming beacon of warmth inside an already warm man. 

Shoto uncurls his fingers from his pajama pants to pull himself closer, breathing deep as Iida’s fingers toy with some of the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“This is nice.” He breathes, because he knows Iida doesn’t want to be thanked again. Something light presses against his hair for a lingering moment before retreating.

“It is.”

Another bkdk after the leaks so,,, SPOILERS 🧨🥦 boys need to talk

Part of Katsuki wishes he’d stayed dead. At least, then, he wouldn’t have to watch Izuku struggle through losing a quirk he had worked so goddamn hard to master. That still had so much potential.

And, well, he’s a little tired. He’d done something good. Helpful. Kept Shigaraki’s attention away from the others for a bit. Bought some time.

He did what he could, and it wasn’t enough, and he’d made his peace with that. Dying for Izuku was infinitely easier than living like this. Weak, and injured, and liable to cry at any moment, or stray word.

Izuku needs Katsuki to be strong, and Katsuki is failing him.

There are embers. There’s a spark, a possibility, but Izuku isn’t letting himself hope. Katsuki wishes he would, that he’d stop looking so goddamned sad all the time. His eyes were meant to shine.

The hope is heavy, and it hurts a little, but Katsuki has done much worse for Izuku. To Izuku. So he holds it for him, until he’s ready to pick it up himself. He asks about the embers often, little nudges to remind him that it’s not over, yet. Not if he doesn’t let it be.

Izuku tolerates it, the first few times, but he gets snappy after a while, defensive. Katsuki recognizes himself in it, and wonders when they’d started acting so much like each other. But he keeps on because Izuku had never given up on him, not through years of his terrible attitude. He can do this, at least. At the bare fucking minimum.

His arm heals, slowly, but it still hurts when it rains; his chest, too. No one lets him participate in clean-up or relief efforts until he gets an OK from the doctor. Izuku drifts into himself, pulling back from the class, talking less. Katsuki can only watch as he isolates himself, prepares to leave because he can only believe in a sure thing, not measly embers. Katsuki gets it. Getting his hopes up for nothing would break him. But it seems like he’s already breaking, anyway.

Katsuki has quieted, too, but for medical reasons. Although, after the initial shock, he’s found he likes how his classmates treat him for it. They’re tactful, don’t try to rile him. The anger is still there, but it simmers, and most of it is for himself. Whys and what-ifs, internal beratements for not being man enough to actually talk to Izuku, when the other boy had given so much of himself to make Katsuki good. When he’d saved the fucking world.

Part of him is annoyed at Izuku’s refusal to want something for himself, too busy jumping around to help with relief efforts, clinging to the vestiges of a world he’s already counted himself out of. Makes him grind his teeth at night, ‘til his jaw’s sore.

Everything comes to a head—not on the battlefield, not standing opposite one another in a dying city—in the kitchen. Katsuki wanders in, thinking of the ingredients on his shelf, what he could make from them in bulk enough to feed the leeches, and finds Izuku staring up at a jar just slightly out of reach.

Before Katsuki can speak up, offer to grab it for him while dodging accusations of pity—God, is this what he was like?—Izuku bends his knees, once, twice, and jumps. In a fluid set of movements, the jar is snatched off the shelf and he lands, cat-like, on his feet.

Fa Jin. That had looked exactly like Fa Jin, and Katsuki swears there was something green and crackling around his ankles. He almost wants to laugh- how does Izuku not see it? Instead, he asks, “That was the embers, wasn’t it?”

Izuku startles, but nothing more than a slight flinch of his shoulders acknowledges Katsuki’s presence.

“I told you to stop with that.” He says, voice low. Katsuki shrugs and steps further into the room, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Just telling it like I see it. That looked like Fa Jin.”

Izuku snarls and whirls on him.

“Do you like rubbing it in? Fuck, Bakugo, I thought we were past this.”

‘Bakugo’ hurts. Stings and aches somewhere shallow, close to the surface. But he deserves it. Deserves more than that, really, so he takes it on the chin and lets it roll through him. Katsuki averts his eyes.

“I’m not trying to rub anything in, Izuku. Just wish you’d stop taking this shit lying down. There’s a chance. What happened to the Izuku who only needed that much? Who’d reach out and dig his nails into any scrap of a something?” His voice cracks halfway through. Izuku smiles, but there’s no joy in the expression.

“I don’t know what you want from me. ‘That Izuku’ went to war. He couldn’t save anyone. Maybe he’s realizing he’s not cut out for this.”

Katsuki sneers.

“Cut the shit. You’re scared, I get it, but don’t you ever tell me you don’t want to be a hero. Don’t fucking lie.”

“They’re embers! Just embers!” Izuku laughs, a little hysterically. “I can’t be a hero with a dying quirk.”

He’s tugging at his hair, curling in on himself in a way Katsuki hasn’t seen in years. He hates the look of it on him. Wishes he wasn’t the one making him do it, again. It’s necessary, he tells himself, he needs to hear this. Doesn’t make doing it feel any better.

“Embers become flames if you fan them, if you coax them back. You can still be a hero, you just need to start believing that. Stop stifling yourself!” Katsuki takes a deep, watery breath, stepping forward and clutching at his chest, as if that will push the emotions bubbling up back inside. Stupid tear-ducts, it’s like they’re on a hair-trigger these days. At least with Izuku.

“Stop giving up!” He gasps, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from crying. It’s pointless, trickles of warmth carve their way down his cheeks, thin and slow.

“Fuck.” He mutters to himself, swiping at his eyes and turning his head. Izuku needs to focus on himself right now, not another pathetic mess of tears.

“Kac-Katsuki.” Izuku stumbles, shell-shocked by the sudden shift. This is exactly what Katsuki didn’t want.

“Fuck off.” He says. “Just- just think about it.”

And without even attempting to check his shelf or start preparing dinner—it can wait an hour or two, until he’s calmed down, until Izuku’s left—he turns to leave the room. They’re not getting anywhere. He’s said what he needs to say and it’s up to Izuku whether or not he’ll listen. As much as he fucking hates it, he can’t do more than that. He’s never been good with words, anyway.

 Just as he makes it to the doorway, something tugs on his wrist. Too thin to be fingers, more like a rope, but not nearly coarse enough for that, either. It’s familiar, very familiar, but he- that can’t be right. He stops in his tracks.

“Kacchan.” Izuku’s breathless voice sounds from behind him, all previous frustration gone from it. Katsuki furrows his brows and turns his head, slightly, enough to see behind him from the corner of his eye.

Izuku is standing a few feet away, hand outstretched towards him. A thin, black ribbon protrudes from his palm, extending to where it’s wrapped tight around Katsuki’s wrist. Blackwhip. It’s the first true sign that Izuku’s quirk is not all lost. They both stare at the line connecting them, but Katsuki’s gaze quickly wanders. He already knew Izuku was capable of this. He looks into the other boy’s eyes, searching for that spark, and he is not disappointed.

A tiny, glinting shine has come back to his irises, highlighting the green ever so slightly into a bright, clear happiness.

“What’d I tell you, nerd.” Katsuki says, just the slightest bit fond. He presses his fingers to the tendril still curled around his wrist. Izuku’s gaze snaps up to him and he grins. Before Katsuki can ask what the look on his face is about, Izuku thrusts his other hand forward and another tendril unfurls, drifting towards Katsuki and wrapping around his waist.  

Izuku then pulls both hands toward himself, hurtling Katsuki towards him at speeds the blond hasn’t felt in far too long. He can’t help the smile creeping onto his lips.

“Thank you.” Izuku whispers, wrapping Katsuki in his arms as soon as he’s in range. Katsuki has to scoff.

“I didn’t do anything.”  

Izuku just squeezes tighter. “I couldn’t do this without you. I don’t know what I’d do if- if I ever had to.”

Now that’s just not at all what they were talking about. Something hot and wriggling awakens in Katsuki’s stomach.

“Fuck off.” Then, taking courage from the fact that he doesn’t have to look in Izuku’s eyes as he says this, “And- I- you did save me. Way before I. Y’know.” It’s choppy, near incomprehensible, but Izuku understands. Before he died.

Something warm and wet drips onto Katsuki’s shoulder. Fucking finally. The crybaby needs it. It’s not platitudes, and Izuku knows better than to accuse Katsuki of something like that. Katsuki only says exactly what he means. And it seemed like Izuku needed to hear it.

Can’t go around thinking every goddamn thing is his fault when it isn’t.

Finally, after a few minutes of unsettlingly quiet crying, Izuku speaks.

“Still. You died because of me. I can’t forget that. It’s the second time you’ve put your life on the line for my sake and I can’t- I don’t think I could handle a third.”

His voice is slow, careful around the words as if he’s thought through them a million times. Katsuki sighs, closing his eyes.

“I’d do it again. Will do it again, if I need to. I’m not going to apologize for that, and I’m not going to promise not to.”

Izuku pulls away, brows furrowed as he steps back to look at Katsuki.

“You can’t just throw your life away-“

“It’s not throwing it away if I’m stepping in for a purpose, shithead.”

Still, Izuku shakes his head.

“It is! I don’t care what you’ve told yourself to justify it, I don’t want you to do that anymore. It scares me.”

Emotions keep bobbing up and down in Katsuki’s chest, like buoys in a storm. He scratches at his elbow, unable to meet Izuku’s eyes. They weren’t here to talk about him. They should be celebrating Izuku’s breakthrough, not wasting time with this.

“Izuku, I told you- it’s fine. It’s my life. I choose what I do with it.”

“But that’s just it, it’s my life, too, shouldn’t I get a say in what happens?”

Katsuki grinds his teeth against each other. Now that he’s not shrouded in gloom, Izuku’s back to being just as stubborn and insufferable as ever.

“That’s not the same. Idiot. You’re going to be the next ‘symbol of peace’ or whatever. Fuckton of potential.”

Izuku tilts his head. “What, and you don’t have potential?”

Katsuki looks away.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re joking. Kacchan-“

“I’m injured. It’ll only get worse with time, Izuku. And my quirk can only do so much. Shigaraki was able to kill me because I wasn’t strong enough. If I keep going like this, I won’t be able to get much stronger before I bite it. Might as well use what I’ve got to do something. Make up for the bullshit. I had a lot of time to think, after our talk in the hospital. I’ve made my peace with a life like that. I think it’s a worthwhile goal, keeping you alive.”

Izuku isn’t speaking, but a new wave of tears has started streaming down his face as he shakes his head, frantically. See, this is what Katsuki was trying to avoid. He only looks like that because Katsuki had opened his big fat mouth and ruined the moment. Fuck. He cringes at himself and is gearing up to switch the conversation to something less catastrophic when Izuku speaks.

“Shut up.” He says, voice ragged. “God, shut up. What happened to being the strongest?” When Katsuki doesn’t answer, he continues, nearly snarling. “You want to make up for your shit? Stay alive, then, asshole. Fuck.” He scrubs at his cheeks, muttering to himself. “Right after I fucking told you I couldn’t live without you?”

Katsuki doesn’t think he’s seen Izuku curse like this, well, ever. Maybe he’s rubbing off on him? All he can do is stare, dumbstruck, trying to parse through the words. It’s not like- he isn’t trying to die, it’s just that if it came down to it, and it was his life or Izuku’s, the choice would be easy, he’d make it in an instant.  

Katsuki scrubs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Alright, let’s drop this-“

But Izuku isn’t having it. “Promise me.”

“I’ll- fucking- do my best.” Is all Katsuki can manage. Izuku watches him for another minute, dubious, before accepting that’s the best he’s going to get.

With a disbelieving laugh, Katsuki straightens, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“Shit. We weren’t supposed to get into all this at once. Just wanted you to get your spine back.”

There’s a warmth against the back of his neck as Izuku pulls him in for another hug. He can’t find it in himself to protest. It’s just the two of them, and he kind of likes it.  

“Thank you, Kacchan.”

The thanks curdles in Katsuki’s gut, unearned and unwanted.

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m enlisting you to help with dinner, now. Since you’re already here.”

Izuku laughs and it feels like fireworks against Katsuki’s ear. He’s missed that sound.

Wrote a fic after watching the new deadpool & wolverine movie ❤️💛

SPOILERS !!! Just FYI :) marvel are cowards they should’ve fucked

help me help feras help his family in gaza 🙏

this morning i woke up and as i was scrolling through the fundraisers gaza funds share every day on twitter (@/gazafunds) I thought "hey i wonder if the one i donated to the other day reached it's goal" and found out that they didn't which is crazy cause they're literally so so so close and it has been three days so !! ↓↓

i will literally draw you any character of your choosing if you donate either 5$ or 10$ to his fundraiser (just dm me the receipt!) and if you can't donate please share 🙏

edit: by receipt i mean even just a screenshot of that thing gofundme shows you after you've donated, no need to send me any personal information/lh

Are u one of the three ppl who is both obsessed with MHA and Do androids dream of electric sheep?? Then oh boy have i written the fic for u (it was mostly for me,,, but im not NOT gonna promote it its 16k words!) welcome to todoiida blade runner where todo is an android and iida is deckard also its not bladerunner its DADOES :) also i get tired and it rushes a little at the end also my finance major becomes so incredibly obvious :) please i need to find my people,, there must be someone who is as crazy abt this concept as i am

Out of curiosity, what ships do you take requests for? Is there anything banned?

Well nothing illegal (obvi) and im not super into writing smut that isnt overly fluffy asf (if you couldnt tell from my prev fics lol) but other than that I can’t think of any categories that are all yay or nay so if I ever get an ask I’m uncomfortable with I’ll probably just ignore it :) but im not against writing m/m, f/f, f/m, nonbinary folx basically i don’t discriminate based on that kind of thing if thats what ur wondering :) it’s my belief that limiting urself in that way limits ur writing