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Being Enji Todoroki’s favorite son wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows. Touya would never forget the first time his father struck him, with such force it had left a bruise that lasted days. Enji didn’t pull his punches just because Touya was a child. A son of his would need to withstand the strength of someone much larger than him. Time and time again, Touya was sent to the floor of the dojo, limbs aching, body bruised. He’d stare up at his father, a man who showed no care when his own beloved son was injured. He’d search for any sign of love in those ice-blue eyes. He’d get back up again, hoping that this time, his resistance would earn him praise. It never did.
It made Touya wonder sometimes why he was jealous of Shouto. Why did he want so badly to be beaten bloody by his own father? He should have been grateful when Shouto’s flame quirk developed, when it didn’t leave him with burns to match Touya’s. Shouto was his salvation. He’d never feel his father’s fist again.
He’d never feel his father’s love again.
Touya had felt it. He believed that from the bottom of his heart. Maybe it never showed in the dojo, maybe Touya’s strength would never be enough to bring it out, but it was there. Enji Todoroki was not incapable of loving his son. It just took something a bit unconventional to make it show.
It was Touya’s earliest memory of his father touching him gently. Enji hadn’t been the one to bathe him or dress him in his younger years, and he wasn’t fond of hugs, so when Touya felt his hands it was only in the context of blows. But Enji had made an exception that day. Something had come over him, and he’d taken Touya gently by the wrist, lifting his limp, bruised body off the floor of the dojo.
“Come with me.” His voice was somehow softer: still demanding, but there was no threat behind it. There didn’t need to be. He knew Touya would obey. “There’s something I need you to do.”
Touya stood and did his best not to limp as he followed his father to his bedroom.
“Kneel.”
Touya’s knees were bruised. He remembered how much it hurt to support himself on them. He remembered how the pain faded as his father began to stroke his face, pressing a finger gently to his lips.
He remembered his mind racing when his father suddenly began removing his pants. At the time, his cock seemed unfathomably large, given that Touya had never seen an adult cock before and that it was already swollen with arousal. Still, he didn’t dare protest when his father guided it to his mouth. He opened wide and took it in.
His father’s hands carded through his hair, which at the time was still mostly red, a mirror image of the man making love to his mouth. In that moment, his father’s hands were more gentle than ever, but the experience still wasn’t without discomfort. His jaw ached from straining to keep it open, and he had to struggle not to gag on the pressure at the back of his throat. Even in his moment of gentleness, Touya’s father was still hurting him.
Except this felt different from the training sessions, from taking blow after blow and watching his father’s expression remain unchanged. Touya could see his father’s face blushing a gentle pink, his eyes flickering shut, his mouth hanging open slightly. His father’s cold exterior melted, his mask fell away, and for the first time in Touya’s life, his father was satisfied with him. Touya knew that when he tasted his father’s release, when he heard a moan of pleasure escape his mouth, when he could have sworn his father muttered good boy.
It didn’t make the brutal training sessions stop, but it made them hurt a little less when Touya was anticipating the reward that would come after. It didn’t come every time, but that only made it so much sweeter when his father finally took him by the hand and led him to his bedroom. The second time, he didn’t need to say a word. Touya sank to his knees quickly, always a fast learner.
He never faltered at satisfying his father. Touya would cling to that, even as his quirk began to backfire and his body showed its imperfections. Even as his father’s disappointment during their training sessions grew, Touya would always make up for it between his legs. He could lick and stroke his father to orgasm in minutes, or he could tease, draw out their session and milk as much love out of his father as possible.
But it wasn’t enough. Touya’s skill with his mouth gave his father pleasure, but it wasn’t enough to make him an heir, and it was only a matter of time before his father sired a replacement. The day Touya saw his baby brother’s crimson hair, he knew his fate was sealed. He looked in the mirror at the ever-growing patches of white atop his own head, and he mourned the inevitable loss of his father’s love.
It wasn’t immediate. Touya had to wait years, agonizing years for Shoto to begin his training as an heir. It was more painful than the burns that appeared in increasing number on his body. It was more painful than his father’s blows. He would have burned himself to nothing, would have let his father beat him senseless every day as long as it meant his father kept loving him. He’d cry as he knelt between his father’s legs, not because he was upset at what was happening but because he never wanted it to stop.
He knew it was over the day he saw his father carding his hand through Shouto’s hair, weaving through the crimson lengths on his left side. It was a touch he’d reserved for Touya alone. Even Natsuo and Fuyumi, who were spared the painful training regimen, were not granted that touch. Enji did not love them the way he had loved Touya, the way he now loved Shouto. And now, he’d never love Touya that way again.
Maybe Touya really was sick to long for the love of a man who would beat his own son. Maybe he was sicker still to look back fondly on what most would call abuse. But if he was sick, his father had made him that way. It wasn’t fair to mold him into such a terrible shape and then throw him away. It wasn’t fucking fair.
All Touya wanted was to be loved again. Was that really so wrong?