cloud 9 - shouto x reader

8. didn't choose this

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i didn't choose this town, i dream of getting out
there's just one who could make me stay
you're on your own, kid. you always have been

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The work-study goes... suspiciously well. You'd fully prepared yourself to be dumped onto some poor sidekick, someone who definitely did not sign up for the task of supervising you and who definitely was not getting paid extra to do it. Endeavor had yet again surprised you by taking you out on patrols, letting you handle paperwork. He's still a piece of shit, but at least the work is fun.

He took a pretty minimal approach to his instructions: stay out of the way, put out the fires, beat him to the scene once. It's easier said than done. Motherfucker's fast—way faster than he looks on TV. He uses his fire like an engine and he's got crazy instincts, like he's aware of the crime before it even happens. It seems impossible until, somehow, you do it.

Aizawa had said the weapon would take a long time to get used to fully, that you'd be able to manage small feats until then. But here you are, looking up at some petty criminal as they dangle in the air, held up the way your teacher had held Shouto up during the exams. You huff, a little bit of guilt mixing with your pride.

It's nothing flashy, no world-class villain begging for mercy, but it's your arrest. It only took the whole weekend for me to beat him, you think bitterly, slowly lowering the man as the police arrive to handcuff him. I wonder if anyone can see how bad my hands are shaking—

"Good work," Endeavor says. Woah, a compliment from Mr. Eugenics? "Took you long enough." Yeah, okay, should've expected that.

You've got a bit more energy that afternoon when you're sat at your temporary desk, hunched over paperwork. One of them is a little packet of papers that you have to fill out because you took down the villain. You bite your lip, smiling. Once you've filled it all out, you place that particular packet on the top of your pile, quietly bringing it to Endeavor's office for him to sign and finalize.

You stand in front of his desk, looking anywhere that isn't him as he checks your work. The room is barren, for the most part—decorated, but devoid of anything truly personal, like snacks or silly photos on the wall. It almost makes it more personal to him, in all honesty. Genuinely cannot imagine this man eating a snack. On his desk, though, are several framed photos that you catch only glimpses of.

One is a family photo, a shot of Endeavor and a white-haired woman that must be his wife, considering she's basically identical to Shouto in everything except half his hair. In her arms is a little bundle of half-red and half-white hair, a precious little snot-nosed Shouto. In front of the mother is a little boy with white hair, who you presume is Natsuo based on the few photos of him Shouto has shown you. In the center, little Fuyumi, not yet wearing glasses.

On the far right, standing in front of the patriarch, is a little boy, maybe ten years old at most, with hair like Shouto's. The division of red and white isn't clean, though. It's jagged, uneven, almost like it's unnatural. Sho mentioned a dead brother, right? What was it...? Touya...? He's got some striking eyes, damn. Rest in peace, king.

"Right," Endeavor says, startling you into reality once more. He plops the paperwork onto the furthest corner of his desk, leaving it for his assistant to file away later. That poor guy. "I have an assignment for you."

Blinking, you look around at the empty room—cold, much like the asshole in front of you. "For me?" You repeat.

"My assistance has been requested by another agency. You're the only member of my staff I can afford to spare right now." Ouch. And here I thought we had something special. "Do you think you can handle it?"