𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 ↳ shoto todoroki x reader

1 | Music box

A/N
Quick note before we dive in:
(y/n) - your first name
(l/n) - your last name
(e/c) - eye colour
(h/c) - hair colour
(f/c) - favourite colour

Just to let you know, relationships in this book will develop gradually. I love hearing what you think: feel free to vote and comment :)

---

The week before fire blazed through your cherished middle school life, an old music box caught your attention. You picked it up from the cluttered pile of gadgets with care. Your father had pushed those aside because he believed that they couldn't be mended.

You looked down at the music box in your hands. "Can we fix this one?"

Rolling up his stained sleeves, your dad sat back into his chair. "No, I don't think so. Sorry, (y/n), even with my quirk, it would require a lot of time and effort. Can you see it there? It's badly rusted."

The air in the room was stagnant. The many old pieces of junk almost made it feel cramped, but you were so used to visiting your father's office after school that the atmosphere comforted you instead.

You looked down at the music box again and put your hands over it, emitting a faint emerald light. Pouting, you scratched your head, and tried again, only to be disappointed with the results. The silver music box stayed as useless as it was to begin with.

Your dad pushed his chair away from his desk, rubbing his temples. He glanced at you and stifled a laugh. "You know your quirk doesn't work like mine but you still try, eh? Of course, we can always try to fix it together, can't we?"

With your eyes sparkling in excitement, you nodded. "Yeah, we can always try."

"Let's have something to eat first, alright? We will need the energy for later."

After you both had eaten plenty of dinner, you resumed the fixing of the sophisticated music box. "Another complication, another mystery," your father said while wiping the rusty metal plaque.

You leaned in, resting your head on the table. Although you thought this might be a good time to bring up that you wanted to become a hero, you remembered that your dad always tensed up whenever you tried to talk about that subject.

While you treasured this moment, you yet again decided to leave it to a later date. "That makes me really happy."

"A keyhole in a funny shape, look. It's like a star." He gave you a warm smile. "Unfortunately, we haven't got the key."

---

A few days later, you threw your bag on the floor and continued marvelling at the various machines and gadgets your father returned to good use and later sold off. Many villagers would come in and ask for simple objects such as their watches to be fixed, day in and day out.

As a villager came into the shop, you gasped, realising that you had forgotten to change the sign so it would show that the shop was closed. Still, you welcomed the tiny elderly lady, letting her in.

She limped towards you before she took a bunch of colourful flowers from her moth-eaten bag. Her sorrowful, worn eyes darted towards you, as she offered them to you, her hands shaky.

"I read it in the newspapers. It's unfair that it had to be this way," she said. "I hope you can use these on your altar. You'll be in my prayers, young one."

You tilted your head sideways as you thanked the lady, not sure why she would say that. At the same time, you thought that perhaps she had confused you for someone else. An odd feeling settled on your chest. You shrugged your shoulders as you returned to fix the music box in your father's office. He would be coming back soon, so you wanted to have it sorted before he arrived.

While the village was small and not many heroes were needed to keep peace, sometimes customers from the city requested your father's repair services. He was coming back from his job in the city today. You liked to imagine that he himself was a hero because he supported the pros.

Tapping the wrench again the heavy-duty desk, you blew out your cheeks, content with your progress so far.

But, out of the blue, the door to your father's office was flung open.

"I fixed the gears and..." You eagerly turned around and stood up from your stall. However, your prideful grin faded.

The man by the door wasn't your father.

He gave out a couple of vicious coughs and dropped the end of his cigarette on the floor.

"Uncle Daiki?"

His face was stern, his light blue eyes more tired than you had ever seen. He cleared his throat. "There was a fire. Your father's in hospital. He might not be coming back."

You let go of the small engine on the floor, staining the carpet black, frozen in shock and horror. A couple of days ago, you had been working together, which now seemed like a distant memory you might never get the chance to experience again.

"Pack your things. You're coming with me."

You blinked a few times, trying to take in what he just said. You couldn't believe it. You wouldn't believe it.

"Quick." Daiki beckoned to you before turning on his heel.

As the pair of you walked along a narrow road, you shivered, shoving your hands into your pockets to retain some warmth. Your breath condensed in the frosty air, and so did your uncle's as he spoke. "You'll be my apprentice at the agency, and I'll teach you how to take care of the village."

---

"These were built years ago, but everybody's forgotten them." He showed you around the station. You had heard from your dad that your uncle had fought long and hard to obtain sufficient funding from the government. The concrete walls were yet to be painted, as if someone had abandoned the job half-way. You could never stand to see something broken, unfinished. It had always been in your nature to try and fix things. Though, at that moment in time, your heart was so broken that you doubted you would ever be able to repair anything again.

Your uncle shook his head, too deep in grief face you. "Your bed's on the corner, so go get some good sleep. We start tomorrow at five o'clock in the morning."

"What about school?"

"There's no time for school," your uncle huffed at you. He looked down at your hopeless (e/c) eyes, which were the carbon copy of your father's. Then in a softer voice, almost as if he was reminding himself, he said, "There won't be any time once you're left in charge of this place, (y/n)."

You looked down to your hands and dragged your feet to the thin, worn-out mattress - your new bed.

"And (y/n)..." He pointed at you. "Remember that, without me, they'd put you in care."

You nodded at him, tears threatening to escape your eyes. You didn't understand why he needed to be so harsh, but then it hit you just as dry coughing fits caught him by surprise.

Daiki had always been so brave and straightforward, though he was now hurting like you were. He lit another cigarette, though it was his first time smoking in years.

You roughly rubbed your eyelids with your sleeve. "Can we please go visit him in hospital tomorrow?"

"Time... What time is it?" Your uncle set the alarm clock for tomorrow and headed out of your new room.

Time to tell me all of this is the cruellest joke ever. Please.

He stopped and looked over the shoulder pads of his hero costume. "We definitely can. (y/n), I don't know anything about taking care of kids, but I'm not that bad. I'll make sure you turn out strong. You are a (l/n), after all."

A tremor overtook you, but you nodded at him as you tried to swallow the painful lump in your throat. With a sharp intake of breath, you willed the tears at the corners of your eyes to go away.

Even after hearing your uncle's more reassuring words, you couldn't help but cry yourself to sleep. You hugged the music box, hoping that one day you would be able to listen to its delicate tune. At the same time, it felt like reaching out to your father, as you desperately wished he was okay.