they call us dreamers,
but we're the ones that don't sleep

LEAVING THE HOSPITAL on the same day as her soulmate, Izuku and Todoroki noticed the slight change in Ivette's attitude. The greenette was awfully quiet, shuffling out of the room they were assigned, mumbling a faint goodbye to her twin brother and classmate, boarding the train and sticking close to the half-and-half boy, offering no form of conversation as the duo travelled back to Endeavor's agency.

Todoroki glanced down at her, his hand curled around the metal bar running along the top of the train's roof. A frown donned his plush lips. He didn't like this Ivette, for it wasn't the Ivette he had come to know. The Ivette he had come to love. He had come to admire and fawn over.

"We are arriving at our destination," called the lady over the train's announcement radio, broadcasted throughout every compartment harbouring a plethora of people ready to head home, head to work, or head elsewhere. Neither teenager cared who these people were or where they were going. "Please secure and prepare your belongings."

Getting off the train, Todoroki laced their fingers together, guiding them through the crowd. Many people noticed their uniforms and gathered the courage to talk to them. None of them made it close, though. A translucent green barrier stopped them before they could take a step forward, preventing them from approaching the couple.

Todoroki didn't notice.

Ivette didn't tell him.

They made their way to the Endeavor's agency building, flashing their ID badges to the security guards and heading to the large office on the top floor. Ivette kept her head down and her mouth shut. Her mind was working overtime, and Todoroki respected her enough to stay silent and allow her to work her own issues out. He'd help her if she asked. But she hadn't asked, and as much as it pained him, Todoroki, too, remained quiet.

"Ah, Shoto, Midoriya-san, welcome back," greeted Endeavor as they walked into his large wood-based office. A desk sat towards the back, a humongous chair situated behind it to give vacancy to Endeavor's thick ass.

Ivette tilted her head forward as a sign of recognition. Shoto did the same, staying beside his soulmate's side, his hand clasped around hers.

"We'll begin your training today," the hero informed them. "Come. I'll show you your room."

"Room? Only one?" Todoroki questioned as the duo followed after the flaming hero.

"Per your request," Endeavor grunted. Was he going to mention how he wanted Ivette to bond with his son the most so they could have powerful children to continue carrying his name? No. Of course not. Endeavor knew his son. One mention of marriage and kids would have the boy exploding into a petulant fit.

( as he should. he's not some breeding tool )

Endeavor unlocked one of the various dorms in his agency. They were normally used for those —his sidekicks— that had a late shift and needed to rest, but they were also used for the seldom times he took in interns.

"Here," he said. "Unpack and change into your hero costumes. We'll begin in an hour."

And just like that, with minimal interaction and conversation, Endeavor left the soulmates to their own business. Todoroki's eyes widened, spotting one large, king-sized bed sitting in the middle of the room. Dark cupboards were lining the side of a wall, two mini tables seated on either side of the bed and a desk at the front with a little lamp in the corner. His heart jerked in his chest.

They were going to sleep in the same bed.

On the other hand, Ivette didn't seem to care. She dumped her duffel bag and case on the floor and plopped onto the bed, sighing at the fluffy feeling under her. She buried herself into the sheets, relaxing her muscles.

"You can't sleep now," Todoroki stated, interrupting her peace and quiet. "Father said we have to go train in an hour."

The greenette rolled her eyes. She shifted onto her back, staring at the boy before her. She spread her legs, a silent invitation. Todoroki took it, albeit he had no clue what the other meaning was. Don't worry, though. With a bisexual queen and two horny idiots as his soulmates, Todoroki would soon know everything about sexual activities.

Cue the uwu symbol.

And the innocent emoji.

"Are you okay?" he asked, running his hands over her leggings. He stared down at her with concern lining the crease of his brows, the corner of his lips turned downwards.

"Just peachy," she sighed, hooking her legs around his waist and tugging him closer. Her eyes moved to the blank ceiling.

"Peachy? Should I get you some peaches?"

Ivette blinked.

And blinked.

And blinked, again.

"It's an expression, Sho," she explained, sitting up. Their noses were a few centimetres apart, chests pressed together. Todoroki took no notice of the sexual innuendo. He had not been exposed to it yet. That would be fixed in due time. "It means I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" he pressed.

"Yes, babe." She reached your and carded her fingers through his hair. Todoroki nuzzled into her gesture. Her lips quirked upwards. "Though, I wouldn't mind avocados for breakfast tomorrow."

"Okay." He nodded. "I can make that work."

A smile blossomed across her face for the first time since their hospitalisation. Todoroki felt himself become at ease with the predicament. This was her. This was his Ivette. With eyes greener than the sea and darker than the world's cypresses.

"Now, let's go rub our victory in your father's face."

And a vindictive attitude.

༺═──────────────═༻

Training with the Number Two Hero was...eventful. A simple one-word summary. Why? Well, that's because the author of this book can be quite lazy, and she has lost the willpower and energy to write about the one thing that had been on her mind for ages now. So, allow me to give you a quick rundown of what happened during the course of their internship.

Number One!

Todoroki and Ivette were taken to a privately owned forest and were forced to exert their quirks. Todoroki had to use up as much fire and ice as he could, whilst Ivette had to use her telekinesis to lift up heavier things among other shit. All Might had contacted his colleague earlier, discussing the details of her quirk. It was strong, powerful— detrimental, even. The two understood that harsh training was required, lest Ivette succumbed to her power and let it control her every thought and movement.

( winks in foreshadowing )

Number Two!

The two did, in fact, have avocados for breakfast the next day. Ivette taught her soulmate how she liked them: sliced up with a drizzle of lemon and chilli flakes. Bakugo had actually introduced her to the combination a few months ago, and she had fallen in love.

Number Three!

Ivette refused to spar with Todoroki. I'm feeling a bit generous, so let me write it out for you lot.

Drops of sweat rolled down their bodies; the air humidified as the sun slowly began to set, beckoning her companion to fulfil her role. Ivette stood in one of the training grounds Endeavor owned. Her chest rose and fell, heaving violently from the lack of oxygen. Her muscles burned, her bones ached, and all Ivette wanted to do was shower and pass the fuck out in her bed, wrapped up in Shoto's arms— leaning closer to his cooler side.

But noooo.

Sir Flaming Beard wasn't done for the day.

"We have one hour. Use this time to spar together." He wasn't asking. They knew that. But Ivette couldn't find a single fuck to give.

"No," she said, straightening her back. She grabbed the bottom of her shirt and used it to wipe away the sweat precipitating on her face. Her hero costume consisted of a loose white shirt and a pair of black leggings. Similar to her situation with the hero, Ivette did not give a fuck about costumes. As long as she wore something she could move in, she was fine. There was no need for extra layers just to seem cool. I mean— this is Ivette Midoirya. She's a queen. An exaggerated outfit and a jewelled crown were not needed.

Endeavor's beady eyes narrowed. "What do you mean no?"

"I mean no. Want to hear it in Spanish? Noh."

There were times that Shoto Todoroki absolutely loved Ivette Midoriya. The times where she straight up —metaphorically speaking— spat in his father's face were his favourite times. The half-half boy rose his fist to his mouth, covering the smile threatening to break out across his face.

"You'll never become a pro if you don't put aside your emotions," Endeavor told her. His words went in one ear and out the other.

"I have no intention of being a hero," she said, shocking both parties. "I'm only here to correct a broken system."

Shoto was confused. Endeavor wasn't. He knew what she meant; Ivette had already told him before. And as he stared at the girl who carried the strength of a thousand fires in her veins, the unknown darkness of the deep blue ocean in her eyes, the knowledge of a hundred books in her mind, Endeavor knew not to take her lightly. She was not made of sugar and spice and everything nice. That much was obvious.

Endeavor saw a plethora of similarities between the young child in front of him and the Hero Killer that said child defeated— easily, apparently. She was powerful enough to gain the villain's recognition, and not just his. No. No, no, no.

Not at all, my dear readers.

Do you know what was happening right now? As the three stared each other down, as the sun set for the day, making way for darkness to linger around the city? No? Let me tell you.

Circulating the dark web was a lovely video of Stain, the infamous hero killer, and his bold declaration from the days before. His assertion that all heroes were fakes except for All Might and Ivette Midoriya.

"Spar with me then."

Ivette perked up. Malice laced her blood.

"Oh?" She smirked and gladly welcomed the challenge.

Dressed in his hero outfit, Endeavor readied himself into a fighting stance. Ivette did the same, her eyes glimmering fiercely under the darkening firmament. Her quirk activated, and her misty green wisps enveloped her fists.

...fast-forwarding...

Endeavor found himself having a difficult time with Ivette's fusion blasts. She was intelligent, that he understood, courageous and quick on her feet. However, the teenager had no technique and experience, so obviously, the man managed to overpower her. Did he show that he was struggling? Of course not. His pride could encapsulate the world three times over.

Ivette grunted as she fell onto the floor with a harsh thud.

"You're inexperienced," was the first thing the Pro Hero said as he towered over her. Ivette's head snapped upwards, a fierce glare piercing through him. "With the right training, you'll be able to utilise your quirk properly. But until then, you're just wasted potential."

Ivette gritted her teeth.

She activated her quirk and quickly used her energy to throw Endeavor off-balance, aiming a ball of psionic energy to his chest and forcing him to the ground. His eyes widened, and he had the breath knocked out of him.

"You can piss off with your whole speech. You sound more like a villain with those words." Ivette stood up, brushing the dust off her outfit. "I will train. I will get stronger. And I will protect those I love. That is a promise I can make. A guarantee. I'll do it with or without your help."

And voila. For the rest of their internship, Endeavor had them training more and more. He had gotten up from the floor with a smirk broadening across his face. That was all he wanted to hear. He wanted to see the determination shining furiously in his son's soulmate's eyes. In the eyes of a future hero.

Perhaps a villain?

JK.

Unless...

Ivette and Todoroki returned back to their homes, parting with a tender hug. They would miss spending each day with each other, waking up to each other's beautiful faces, going to bed in each other's warm embrace.

Ivette cupped Shoto's face, heterochromatic eyes melting with liquid emerald. They leant forward. Inch by inch. Closer, closer. Their breaths fanned their skin.

"Thank you," whispered Todoroki.

"What for?" replied Ivette, her voice soft and soothing.

"For everything."

He pressed their lips together.

Todoroki never knew the stars had a flavour until he kissed Ivette. Turns out, they tasted like ambition and ancient fire, desperation and self-destruction, determination and dark matter, and the mind-numbing fear of being left alone again.

She's not alone anymore.

"̵̳̦̮̜̌̽̾͆̌̇͌̉́̇̀̋̿̿̓̔͋͊͆̀̈́͆̓̕̕͠͝Ț̷̡̢̡̛̛͖͇̟͉͚̭̣̰̜̮̬̲̤͍͓̯͕̼̣͎̮̖̞̮̜͒̂̈́͗̂̀̍͌͌͌̆̄̉̔̓̂͆̎͋̈̿͒̅̿̀̆̌͘̕͝h̴̞̘̹̘͒e̸̩͒̈́̈́̄͌͛͐̿̋̒̈́̈͒͆̑̓͐̌̊́̾͂̃̿̀͌͑̽̃̚͝͝͝ ̸̡̧̡̳̺͕̟̩͔̹̯̼̫̰̖͈̙̯̳̻͉̗̻̪̦̤̝̖̳̳͔̦͎̯̦̫͌̊̈̃̑͐b̴̨̨̜̠͍̥͙̥̣͓̥̦̗͖͑͆̈͊̐̏͋̈́̄͛̊̎̃̽̔͝͠͠͠ȏ̸̢̻̞̲͓a̸̧̧̡̢̹͙͇͈̼̟̮̗̼͍͖̳͈̮̭̭̥̒̈́̅̀̾̋͊ͅͅr̵̛̬̪̩̞̤̤̫͙̞̒̋̓͐̓̍̉͂̔̋̾̅̏̑̍̆̀͒̓͑̈̍̚͘͜͠͝͠ḑ̵̡̛̫͇̯̫̩̝̭̩͓̳͍̾̀̓͆̎̍̎͒̃͆͑͐͝͝ ̴̧͇͎̓̎̉̍̀̍͌̋͝͝ͅȉ̸̢̡͔̠̟̙̤̀̃͆̊́̎̌͑̓̽̋̎̄͂̎̑͊̌͐̄̌̉̚̕͝͝s̴̳̼͓͕̱̜̺̙̫̺̭͔̥̺̬̘͍͖͋̇̒̉̃̿͗̌̾̀̂͝ ̸̛̛̲͈̠̙̹̬̟͍̗͔̻̤̋̑͑͊̈͑̀̂̅́̊̾͌̄̑͂̾̔̔̀̓̎͐́̄̇̀́̋͠͝͝͝a̸̧̡͈̲̹̣̺̟͈̝̙̙̪̘̺̯̗̜̫̩̦̻̹̹̭̲̖̠̣̬͚̞͈̾͒̇͒͜͜ͅl̸̡̧̨̢̪͔͉͉͇͕͖̼̪̜̪̬͎͚̺͍̺̻̖̼̟̯̫̱͖̫̠̣̊̆̌̉̒͊̆̑̋͋͌͒́̍̂̋̈̅̍̉͋̿̽͆͘͘͜͜͜͝͝͠ļ̶̛̹̞̘̻̫̻̫̮̲̹̫͕̠͇̱̘̱̌̈́̄̊̍͆̔̈́̅͛̇̎̉̃̉̓̈́̌͊̔̇̈́̽̓̆̚͜͠͠͝͠͝ ̸̨̨̜̮͔̲̞̺̟̳͇̘͑́̄͂̄͠s̶̛̛̺̟̲̬͚̲̹̺͙̈́̂͗̎̀̑̊͋̓̉̉̈́̆͊̿̓͐͛͛͠͝͝ẹ̸̛̛̛͉͚͙̬̭̮̯̹̌͗̊͗́̆̌͗̏̇͑̄̔̾́͛̌͆̄͒̈́̎̏̒̈́͆̋̚̚͜͠ͅţ̵̱̤̺̝̱̯͓̙́͐̓̌̆̋͛̈̈̉̎̽͠͠,̸̡̢̨̢̡̛̮̗͍̠͖͈̼̪̮͖̠͉̫̼̫̬̻̩̯̺̼̭̟̝̱̑̃̌̆͗̌̃͂̋̐̒̈́͑̈́̇͑̊͒͐͌͂̕͘͘͘͝ ̵̢̢̨̢̢̛̜̠̞̭̦̬̦̥̼̟̺͙͙̰͉̯͔̞͔̹̦̪͍̳̠͚̼͉͂͊͒̈́̈́͐̈̀̊͑̕̚͜͜͜͝͝͠m̸̧̛̗͎̹͚͎̹̮̪̙͇͓̦̦͓̙̾̀̑̓̌͗͂̅͑̎ȳ̴͕̩̽̉̊̈́̾͂̇̊̊͆̂̔̇̈̒̅͐͌̽̇̎̚͜͝ ̴̲̦̩̥̳̠̟̱̩̥͎̮͐͋͒̇̑̊́̓̍̃̀̒͗̓̀̃̇̆̀͑̓̂́͐̔̑̕͘͜͝͝͝d̶̨̞͍̖͇̝̯͕͕̞̈́̓ȅ̸̡̼͇͚͉͖̺̦͔̰̱̖̉͗͗̂̊̈̄̍̿̒̉̿͑̾͑̿͐̃̂̀̚̕͘͝͠ä̷̧̡̢̛̛͉̪͎̺͕̣̙̦͉̙̭̜̞̗́̋̎͐̒̌̑͌̿͐͑̎̌̏͗̌̒͗̀̿̓̈́̋̀͝͝͝͝͠͝ṛ̴̨̡̼̀̇̊̒́͗̾̌̒̄̏̈͂̈͌̂̀̐̆̈͊̈̊͋͘̚͠.̶̛̬̣̬͉͈̟̗̻̞̮̯̐͌̅̅̆̓̀̋́͊͌̐͊́̌͂̇̍̉̅̌̑͘͘͜͜͝ͅ ̸̢̛̳̥̥͎̘̀̇̉̒̅̓̅̐͗̓̾̈́̄̄͑̈́͂̀̀̇͌͗̐̈̿͐́̿̾̆͝͠͠͠
Į̷̡̰̯̻̪̥̫͕̤̦͍͔̞̖̱͓̆̅͜t̷̢̡̛̤͔̝̙̩͈̱̭͈͎͑̊̔̋̾͋̄͆̀͆̓͑̅̍̀̿̿͛̃͆̌͊̀͆͑̎͂̚̕̕̕̕͝͝͠'̵̦̣̘̣̦̻̭̈̓͐̈́s̸̨̛̛̛̼͙͔̞̙̘͑̐̋̉͑͋̌͛̓̒̈́̀̐̂̇̅̊͑̍͗͋̀̉̇̏͗͌̈͋̽͘̚͝ ̶̨͍͚̣͎̭̝̱̰͙̱͈̜̭͉͈̿͋̐͒͛͛͑̊̃͋̄͒̀̕̕͜͠͠͠ͅt̸̡̨̧̯͔̳͎͈̹͔̫̜͓̱̱̫͎̹̦͌͐̂͋̔̾͑̀̓̍̀̾̊͛́̇͌̽́̽̂̉͊͗̉̿̋̚͘̚͘͜͜͜͝͝i̵̧̨̡̡̟̱͈͔̘̪̞̝̙̠̼̠̹̣̭͙̗̝̥̥̺̳̫̬̹̠͚̩͔̪͖͂̒̐́m̸̡̡̢̧̯̭͇̩̮̝̻͙̻̘̜͈̭͓̺͙̯̍͗̾̄͐̅̀̈́̌̔̔̓̄̅͗͊͛͘͘͠͠e̴̛̳̘͖͉̬̱̥͓̯̦ͅ ̷̘͇̣͋̿͋̑̋̌̈́̒͐͑͑̄̂̐̆́̐͛͒̀́̀̕̚t̷̡̺͙̜̫̖̳̤͇̤̣̗͕̬̤̙͇͍̙̥̠̰̻̿̓̐̔͊̏̀̏̽͝ő̷͓̺͙͕̱͍̯ͅ ̸̢̳̘̦͓̰̬̘͚̟̝͌̔̇̐̊̆́͒͆̊̎̾͑͗̕͘͝ͅb̶̦̠̖͙͛͆̎̓̑̇̔̑͛̔̒̉̈́́͊̅̈̓͋̋̿̓̌͑̀̓̕͝è̴̢̧̘͙̤̜̠͚͙̗͔̰̟͍͎̝͕̩̗̮̫̹̰͕̦̰̜̀̌͒͗̈́̃̐́̑̐͌̈́̑͘̚g̸̨̖̲̯͖̦̰͙̗̪̓̽̊̅̅̀̇̐̂̄̅̎̾̾̆̀̈̀͋̑͑̍̀̀͑̆̓͊̓̆͒͘͝͝͝ḯ̶̧̢̨̻̭̞̞̝̩̹͔͉̻͓̭̻̂̆̑̓͋͂̇̒̾̏̄̉̑̍͛̎̐̄͑̌̔̐̆̓̀́̕̕̕͘͜n̶̨̧̢̨̞̲̟̫̥͚͇̲͕̞͇̗͖̼̼̪̠̳̠͇̯̱̲̠̟̣̰͆͆̎̈́͆͋̅͑̑̓̎̿̈́͐́̋̚͘͝͠͠͠ ̵̨̾̓̓̉̾͒͂̿̆͑̔̀̊̂̈̽̌̒͗͑̋̉́̈́͐̀͂̈̚̚̚͝͝ȍ̶̡̧̢̭̦̱͈̥̮͈͕͓͇̘̲̻͚̻͇̪̰̤͔̦͉̱̤̭͍̟̌͂̌̍̏̔͗̉̏̾͗͂̔̓̕ͅữ̵̡̯̮̯̩͇̯͓͚͕̪̩̖̹͔̰̟̰̤̟̣̀̈́͗́̾́̈́̒̽̂̃̏́̃̆͘̚͠͠͝ͅr̴̢̛̛̰͉͎̯̰͚̦̰̭̘̺͖̞̫̟̹̦̣̠̪͍̈̑̈́̓͐̿̉͛̃̔͊̀̌̿͂̅͒̀̿́́̒̀̓̈́͗̇̐̾̄͘̚͠͝ ̶̨̧̧̛̛̣̼͇̟̜̥͖̬̘͚̒̀̊̔̆̓̽͆͋̈́͑̀̀̐̇̀̊̊̆̈̚͝ͅg̸͚͉͛̈͒́̈́̒̈́̃̏̂̊̆͂͐̅̋̈͑̂̋̔͘͘͘͠͝ã̷̟̪̭̼͒̽́̀͆̀̋̽̒̃̍͑̓̚ḿ̷̧̨̢̡̛͚̳̬̜̠̝͇͕̘͕̻͍̪̰̬̞̭̥̞̟̲̲͙̯̖̇͑̎̿̍̓̇̏̎͆̃̌̿̏́̌̌͋̃̌́́͆̍͋͌͗͛̏̚̚͜͝͝͝ͅe̸̡̢̢͖͎̳͔͙̞͎͕͈̳͖̯͍̼̝͈̺̣͚͚̫͔̯̗̤͖̖̺̬͛̇̈̐̐̀̈́̒̂͌̈͂͂̌̓̍̓̑͂̐̓͆ͅ.̶̧̙̯̺͚̦̪̜͔͍̫̹̪͍̠̻̯̞̬̬̜͊̂͌"̷̛̛̫̬̠̖͔̖͋̋̿̆̃̇̏̿̈́̿̀̇̓̀̄͂͆̿̌̌̚̕͝