anyway here’s a TodoMomo fanfic that I’ve never gotten the chance to finish and i need ideas for… ts is supposed to be 30000 words at the very least btw.
Momo Yaoyorozu has lived through war. Which is why she shouldn’t be this worried about a former classmate — a friend, if you will. She feels almost the same worry she felt during the AFO War when she hears a news reporter say that the Pro-Hero ‘Shoto’ received second-grade burns from a rescue mission. It’s been a week, but she still cannot shake the feeling that she should visit Shoto in the hospital — it is her duty, she thinks, to make sure a former member of Class A is alright.
“Yaomomo,” Kyoka warns her, because, yes, this is a warning. “You are going to the equivalent of the Met Gala for heroes, you’re well-known, and you have your own agency. Focus on those things. The Commission took care of Todo, you shouldn’t worry so much.”
Momo sighs. She puts Kyoka on speaker and lays her phone down as she begins to brush her hair, and swallows back her worry. “I know, I know, but — he’s… he’s important to me.”
She hears Kyoka also sigh, but in contrast to Momo’s, her sigh is out of exasperation. “Denki.” She demands flatly, “Will you tell Momo that our block-head of a friend is alright?”
Momo can practically hear Kaminari raise his eyebrow over the phone, “Why? Is she worried about him?” Both she and Kyoka know what he’s insinuating with that, but she lets it go in favor of having an update on Todoroki’s status.
“Bakugo’s his sidekick at the moment, so I assure you he’s having the best time of his—” Kyoka smacks him, “Ah–Kyo!”
“Denki Kaminari.” She warns. Because Kyoka is like that, very affectionate but in a rough-love kind of way.
“He’s doing fine, Momo! He was discharged two days ago. He’s getting ready for some kind of event-thingy, you know Todo-bro.”
‘Todo-bro.’ She did, in fact, know ‘Todo-bro.’ She knew him more than she would let herself admit it. Momo chuckles, “Kirishima is still a big influence on you, huh?”
“You bet he is.” He says enthusiastically, maybe a little too much so. “We have lunch together every Wednesday!”
“Like two old ladies.” Kyoka retorts, and, again, Momo can practically hear her smile.
“Three old ladies,” Kaminari corrects her, “Katsuki joins us sometimes.”
“Anyway,” She clears her throat, “As you heard, Todo’s fine. Now, go to sleep, we have a flight to catch tomorrow.”
Momo feels a weight lift off her shoulders, but the knot of worry doesn't entirely disappear. "Thank you, both of you," she says softly, gratitude evident in her voice.
“Anytime, Yaomomo,” Kyoka replies. “Now, get some rest. We need you at your best tomorrow.”
Momo hangs up the phone, placing it on her nightstand. She finishes brushing her hair and sets the brush down. Her mind is still on Shoto. She knows she shouldn't let her thoughts drift back to him, but it's difficult not to worry about someone who has been through so much. No, it’s difficult not to worry about him.
The next day, in the Hero Commission annual Gala — and after a couple of drinks, because why on earth would she deny them now? — she is relieved to find Shoto sitting beside the bar, talking to a foreign hero.
“Yaoyorozu.” He says in acknowledgment, taking in the sight of her. She put some effort into making her dress — long, red, and silky; Chinese-inspired — so she expects him to.
Momo also takes in the sight of him; dressed in a button-up shirt and a navy vest that matches his dress pants, a copper tie and sleeves rolled up to reveal bandages. She sits down beside him, and the foreign hero takes his leave. “Todoroki. I heard about the incident in the news,” Momo circles her finger in the air, pointing at his bandages. “How are you holding up?”
He gives her a small smile, and her heart skips a beat. Probably the alcohol, she thinks. She is a lightweight after all. “I’m doing well. I stopped by UA, and Recovery Girl told me the burns would heal in a few days.”
Of course, he did. Recovery Girl must exhausted, having to deal with him even two years after graduation. But Momo doesn’t dare say this out loud, instead, she tilts her head. “Good to hear.” She reciprocates his smile with one of her own, and it makes her feel… weird. “You want drinks? On me.” She offers.
Shoto takes a moment to think. Then he nods, “I’ll pay you back.”
“Not necessary,” She dismissively waves her hand. She still has an hour or two before Kyoka finds her, and only then will she ask the occasional tequila lover to pay her back just a bit. She did give Kyoka her credit card, though, so it is on her. Momo calls over the bartender and asks him for two cups of his finest wine. It is not often that she gets to drink European delicacies, so she will indulge as much as she needs to. “I hear Katsuki is your subordinate nowadays.” Momo muses.
Shoto, to her surprise, grins. “Subordinate is… one way to put it. If I were to put it the way he does, my agency is only a stepping stone for the great ‘Dynamight.’”
“Ah, of course.” Momo grins as well, crossing her legs under her dress. She pulls at her gold necklace, adjusting it. It doesn’t evade her the way Shoto’s gaze adverts to her hand and the way he blushes after. The damn alcohol, she thinks. “Your number on the hero charts must’ve been high for you to get an invitation.” She comments.
Shoto shakes his head, “I wasn’t invited.” Then, he quirks up an eyebrow, “You haven’t checked the Hero Charts this year?”
Before she can respond, the bartender arrives, handing each of them a cup of a cold, dark red wine — ‘Zinfandel Grapes’ He claims. After taking a proper sip from her cup, Momo shrugs guiltily. “I haven’t had the time. Crime rates in Tokyo have been all over the place, and mine and Togata’s agency are the only ones actively working there.” She tilts her head, “Why weren’t you invited?”
Shoto mimics her shrugging, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Past controversies with my father, I believe.” And Momo hates the way he says it so casually, because, why in the actual living hell would he have to pay for his father’s abusive tendencies against himself? “Regardless,” Shoto continues, “Eijirou brought me as his plus one.”
Oh. Shoto has dated girls before, namely in the support and general courses at UA, so Momo has assumed he is… well, straight. But, apparently, she is wrong. It isn’t a problem, not at all. She can still vividly recall having to politely reject Kyoka during the first three months of her first year, and tell her that she couldn’t reciprocate. Now, after years of mutual pinning, Kyoka is — much to Momo’s delight — dating Kaminari. She knows about Kirishima not being completely straight… but, him and Shoto? That’s unexpected. Not unwelcome, though. She is going to make sure Shoto knows he has her full support.
Momo clears her throat, “Oh, wow! Shoto,” And, yes, the use of his first name is intentional, “You should’ve told me sooner!”
Shoto’s eyebrow is raised further up. “Huh?”
“About you and Kiri, I mean!” She smiles at him sweetly and takes another sip of her wine. “Ah, let me guess, you guys have been a thing since March? At the U.A. reunion?”
It takes a moment before Shoto processes what she’s saying, and then, very unlike him, he dopplers over and holds in a burst of laughter, and it escapes him through tiny little giggles. Momo looks around, making sure he isn’t under the effect of any sort of quirk. “Oh—Yaoyorozu, goodness, no.” He sits up, running a hand through his hair, “He brought me here because he thought the Number-Four-Hero not getting an invitation wasn’t very, ‘manly’, on the Commission’s behalf.” Damn right, Momo thinks. But Shoto continues, “He wanted to contact Keigo himself, but I refused to.”
Momo frowns, “Why did you refuse?” Because, if anyone would solve the invitation conflict in a heartbeat, it would be Hawks — the lead commissioner, and the husband of Shoto’s sister Fuyumi.
Shoto takes a long sip of his wine, downing almost half the cup, and then he chuckles. “I didn’t want to come.” He, apparently, notices Momo’s confused expression, because he explains further. “Well, now that I’m here, I’m enjoying myself, but… to be honest, running an agency is taking a toll on me. I prefer to spend most nights at home.”
She nods, understanding the strain all too well. Her agency, despite Momo working more than is plausible to keep it going, is still new. She is Creati, the renowned Number-Twelve-Hero in Japan, but she is only twenty-two years old. At times, she still feels as helpless as she had at the beginning of the war — when Midnight had passed away right in front of her, and she could do nothing about it. So she can’t even begin to think how Shoto felt, the war having had the strain it did on his family. Does he, sometimes, feel like a helpless sixteen-year-old too?
“It’s nice to see familiar faces, though,” Shoto adds, raising his cup and clinking it against Momo’s. “To the Hero of Creation, yeah?” He’s offering a toast to her, Momo realizes, and the gesture makes her face grow warm.
She recalls his hero name, from their first few classes together at U.A. Shoto: The Divergent Hero, he’d told her. During their third year though, he’d told her that he chose to change his Hero name. She was afraid he’d changed it to something ridiculous, like Aoyama’s or Katsuki’s, but he’d simply changed the wording. Shoto: The Convergent Hero. So, when he clinks his cup against hers, offering her a toast, she replies with what she deems appropriate — it has nothing to do with her personal feelings. No, of course not. “To the Convergent Hero.” She reciprocates his incoming smile with one of her own and downs her entire cup in one sip.
The night goes on like that, with shared stories and inside jokes, and former classmates finding them at the bar, saying hello, and leaving. And, it’s not like Momo loves wine, of course not. Because of her quirk, she’s a physicist, a chemist — she knows the effects of alcohol on the body, she knows when she’s had too much. It’s just that tonight, Momo doesn’t really care. It’s more like she doesn’t really notice, to be fair. One second she’s sitting at the bar next to Shoto, discussing their finals during their second year at U.A., and the next she’s on the dance floor with him, feeling more alive than she has in years.
So Momo Yaoyorozu does something incredibly stupid. Once they’re out of the dance floor, and she’s made sure Kyoka is safe somewhere — because, yes, she’s drunk, but she would never forget about her best friend — she pulls Shoto aside. Without thinking, she reaches out and places her hand over his. The gesture is simple, but it feels significant. “Shoto,” She starts, unsure of what exactly she wants to say, but knowing she needs to say something.
Before she can continue, he closes the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s gentle at first, a question more than an answer, but when Momo doesn’t pull away, Shoto deepens the kiss, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. His touch is warm, his fingers lightly tracing her jawline, sending shivers down her spine.
Momo’s head is throbbing when she wakes up the next morning. She opens her eyes as much as she can manage to without the dim light of sunrise burning her from the inside out — which, isn’t much — and examines the room she’s in. Well, it’s definitely not her hotel. The walls are painted a dark gray, and she can at least tell that the light that is burning into her eyes is to her right.
Fuck. What the hell happened?
Momo racks her brain, looking for answers. Okay, so, no answers. She decides that living hell — opening her eyes a bit more — is worth it if it’ll give her answers. And she immediately regrets it. Because laying on the bed beside her is none other than Shoto Todoroki. He’s still sleeping soundly, and his face looks softer than she’s ever seen it look. If she smiles the sweetest smile she’s ever smiled at him, it is irrelevant. He’s also shirtless. Oh, shit.
Evidence: Momo’s throat aches, so does her head, and her stomach, and… well, that’s unimportant. She’s also naked, and she’s laying beside Shoto, who upon further examination — looking under the covers and being met with a view she was not ready for — is also naked.
Then, it all comes back to her. The alcohol, the Gala, the dance floor, the kiss — god, the kiss — the dress she put so much effort into making that is probably laying somewhere on the floor.
Conclusion: She slept with Shoto. Fuck, she slept with Shoto. Holy crap, she slept with Shoto.
And it’s not like Momo intended to end up in his apartment; like she intended to sleep with him, or wake up with his arms around her hours before her flight back to Tokyo… it just happened. But, in a panic, Momo runs. She picks up her clothes from the floor, gets dressed, makes coffee for him — because judging by his fancy coffee maker, he’s one of those people — and doesn’t leave a note.
As Momo’s struggling to find a cab to her hotel, she receives a text.
go to the airport, i’ve got your luggage and a change of clothes
Momo has never been more grateful that her best friend is Kyoka Jirou, and not one of those people that sleep with their former classmates and wake up two hours before their flight…
As soon as she gets off her miracle of a cab, Momo spots Kyoka. She has sweatpants on, and a hoodie — meanwhile, Momo is still wearing her red, silk dress. As soon as she approaches her, Kyoka smirks. “You slept with Todoroki.” She says, and there is not a drop of doubt in her voice.
Momo gulps and her jaw falls to the floor. “What?” She gulps again, and she’s never felt more embarrassed in her life. There have been a lot of strong emotions she has been feeling lately. “How do you know?” She manages, after a full minute of silence, in which Kyoka hands her a sweatshirt and shorts.
“How do I know?” She retorts, hands on her hips, “You two were all over each other last night.”
Momo sighs, “Who else knows?”
Kyoka takes a moment to think — a moment that is way too long because Momo is itching to know the answer — then, she lets out a deep sigh. “Kirishima, probably. He was sober.” Before Momo can respond, she continues, “Also, Kendo knows I think. She walked off to find you and, when she came back, she told me you were ‘busy.’”
Momo wants to actively melt into a puddle, but Kyoka sets her firm hand on Momo’s shoulder. “Get changed, we have a flight to catch in an hour.”
Momo quickly changes into the clothes Kyoka brought for her, feeling a little more comfortable but no less anxious. The flight to Tokyo is going to be long, and she has no idea how she’s going to face Shoto again — or her own thoughts, for that matter. No, she can’t do it at all. New plan: Momo is going to ignore and dismiss every thought regarding Shoto that reaches her mind. Easier said than done, but, oh well…
Once they board the plane and settle into their seats, Momo finally allows herself to relax, just a bit. Kyoka sits next to her, flipping through a magazine, but Momo can feel her best friend’s eyes on her every few seconds.
“So,” Kyoka says, breaking the silence. “You gonna talk about it?”
Momo sighs, leaning her head back against the seat. “I don’t know where to start.”
“How about the beginning? You guys were at the Gala, you had a few drinks, and then…?”
“We talked. A lot, actually. About our agencies, the past, everything. And then we danced. It felt… nice.” Momo’s voice trails off, and she feels a blush creeping up her cheeks.
Kyoka raises an eyebrow. “Nice enough to end up in bed together?”
Momo nods, biting her lip. “I didn’t plan for it to happen, Kyo. It just did.”
“It never just ‘happens.’” Kyoka says. A pause. “Do you regret it?”
Momo opens her mouth to answer, but she hesitates. Does she regret it? The night had been wonderful, and she had felt closer to Shoto than ever before. She isn’t old enough to say she felt ‘young’ but… god, would it be bad if she did? She felt cared for, spoiled; the whole night it was like there was no one in the world except them. “I don’t know,” She finally says. “Can’t I just… pretend it never happened?”
Kyoka doesn’t lift her eyes from the magazine — which, Momo realizes, is not a magazine but the plane’s menu — she only chuckles. “I think you know the answer to that.”
The day after returning, Momo realizes that talking to Kyoka and Kaminari hasn’t alleviated her overwhelming guilt and regret — not enough, anyway, because Denki was incredibly biased towards ‘Todo-bro’ — so she turns to her last resort.
“Mina,” Momo announces as she barges into her apartment. Her heels feel like they’re burning, and Mina, who looks disturbingly accustomed to this, simply raises an eyebrow.
“Hi, Yaomomo,” Mina replies, closing the door and turning to face her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Remember when you told me to get laid because work was stressing me out?”
“Yes.” Mina looks puzzled, and Momo is not surprised. Being roommates with Tsu, Kirishima, and Kaminari simultaneously for a year — before Kaminari moved in with Kyoka — could not have been a… gain in brain cells. “I still stand by it, by the way.”
“Well, I did,” Momo says. She pauses. “Get laid, that is.”
Mina sighs. “Did you finally decide to stop being so boring and start talking about your sex life with me?”
“First of all,” Momo begins, “even if I did, that is a very… erm, poor misconception of me!”
“And second, do you remember the event I told you about? The one only the top thirty heroes get invited to? Super fancy?”
“I do,” Mina says, tilting her head, “The Hero Commission Gala, right?”
“Yes, that one,” Momo confirms. “Well, I saw Shoto there and, um.” She sighs, “You’ll never guess whose bed I woke up in the day after.”
Silence again. Momo waits.
Then Mina bursts out laughing.
“I should have gone to Ochako with this,” Momo groans, sinking onto the couch. Mina stops laughing, grinning as she sits beside her.
“Ochako would just enable you,” Mina says. “She’d tell you everything’s going to be okay.”
“Exactly,” Momo agrees. “I love her so much.”
“She’s too nice for her own good,” Mina says, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, tell me. You hooked up with Mr. Icy-Hot himself?”
“I didn’t know it would end up like that!” Momo exclaims, pinching her nose with her index finger and her thumb. “I never thought Todoroki would... and I thought he’d be lean but not... not—” Momo leans back — more like throws herself on back — on the couch and sighs deeply. “I mean everyone knows he’s hot, and it’s not like I don’t like him,” She mutters. “I slept with him.”
“Refrain from speaking to me ever again.”
“So it was,” Mina nods. “Well, good for you. It was about time.”
Momo really should have gone to Ochako. “You’re right,” Momo says, “in return, all I have to do is sacrifice my mental sanity.”
“You’re a pro hero with your own agency. You don’t have any mental sanity.”
It has been a week since The Incident™— as Momo has taken to calling it — and she still can’t get it out of her mind. Well, it’s not necessarily what happened during it that she can’t get her mind off of, but the damn consequences of it in general. Even now, as she stands in front of Hawks — because she still cannot bring herself to call him Keigo or Mr. Takami mentally — the Lead Commissioner of the Japanese Hero Commission, who is assigning her to a mission that will last four weeks, she can’t get Shoto off her mind. This is very unlike her, because, she would normally be thinking about someone capable of entrusting her agency to during said time.
“Your partners are arriving from Kyoto, so they’ll be here a tad late.” Keigo — ugh, see? it just sounds wrong — informs her, gesturing for Momo to take a seat in front of his desk.
Momo does as she is… gestured to (?) and then gives her — and every hero in Japan’s — boss a smile. He reciprocates it, gaze lifting to acknowledge her own and quickly turning back to his laptop. “So, Creati, how have you been recently? It’s been a while since we’ve assigned you to a mission like this, right?”
Momo sits down with a faint, distracted smile, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her hero costume's jacket. "I've been well, thank you," She replies, trying to sound more composed than she feels. "It’s been a while since I’ve been on a mission of this scale, the last one you assigned me to was with Dynamight and Mockingbird, when I was just fresh out of U.A. But I guarantee you, I am ready.” No, she is not. But this is Hawks, a retired hero and informant from the war, the man who has reshaped the Hero Commission — Momo is not going to disappoint him.
Keigo nods, tapping away at his keyboard. "Good to hear. You will be partnering with Dynamight again, actually. This mission is crucial for maintaining our operations in Kyoto. We need to gather intel on a potential threat that’s been developing there — think of it as a drug bust." He sighs, “I’d appreciate it if you could insist on Bakugou reading the mission packet this time, though.” Hawks has dealt (read: covered up his irrational bullshit) with Katsuki before, on several occasions, so the use of his surname doesn’t come as a surprise to her.
Momo nods, “Don’t worry sir, I—”
But before Momo can continue, all hell breaks loose. Shoto and Katsuki walking through the door together is all Momo needs to know that her life is nothing but a series of unfortunate events.
As the door swings open, Momo's breath catches in her throat. There they are, standing side by side—Shoto Todoroki— who, after seeing her, lacks in his usual composed demeanor — and Katsuki Bakugou, exuding his usual air of barely-contained aggression. "Hey, Hawks, what the hell is this about a month long mission?" Katsuki’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. He strides forward, his eyes fixed on Keigo.
Shoto, on the other hand, offers Momo a brief nod, his heterochromatic gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "Yaoyorozu," He says softly. Her heart skips a beat, and she forces herself to respond with a weak smile.
"Hello to you too, Bakugo," Hawks acknowledges Katsuki with a curt nod, and proceeds to extend a hand to Shoto. "My dude!” Shoto ignores him, clearing his throat. Keigo sighs, “Fine. Take a seat. I’ll explain."
Katsuki grins at Momo once he sees her, “Sup, Ponytail.” She shakes his hand, and then he sits down besides Todoroki.
"As I was explaining to Creati, this mission is fairly important.” Keigo continues, unfazed by the palpable tension in the room. “We've received intel about a new quirk-enhancing drug circulating in Yokohama." He yawns, stretching as far and as well as he can in his leather-covered chair — which, to Momo, looks more like a throne made up of soft cotton — and then he sighs. “Creati and Shoto will handle infiltration strategy, while Dynamight will handle battle and confrontation strategy, and such.” Oh yeah, this is great, so so great that Momo suddenly wonders if she could break the window in Hawks’ office and jump out of the building if she tried. She then wonders if she’d have enough time to create a parachute in mid-air.
“So,” Momo exhales, because god knows she needs deep breaths right now. “We’re going to be undercover for a month.”
Hawks nods. “Four weeks.” He corrects.
“All three of you, yes.” He repeats.
Shoto swallows, and leans closer to Momo — which, in turn, makes her wince. “If you’re not hearing well, I could lend you my seat, it’s closer to—”
“I’m perfectly fine, Todoroki!” Momo shrieks (read: she quietly screams) and almost jumps out of her seat. Momo then covers her face with both of her hands, earning her a suspicious look from Bakugo, and a confused one from her boss.
Keigo clears his throat. “Anyway, it is up to you three to determine which one of you will command the mission. Deku—” Ah, yes, Momo forgot Izuku was working part time for the commission, and as a hero, “---informed me that all of you are fit for it. Just, put your names on the paperwork this time.” He levels Bakugo with a look.
Katsuki and Shoto exchange a look, after which Shoto smiles abruptly. “Yo, old man–” Bakugo begins.
“I’m twenty-eight, but go on.”
“--last time we met, you told me if I managed to command the next mission I was on successfully, you’d give me half of what I needed to start my own agency.”
Keigo’s eyes widen, but a sheepish grin wipes the surprise of his face in no time. “Did I?” He muses.
Katsuki mumbles under his breath, “Yes, yes you did you fucker—”
“Well, guess we’ll have to see.”
Once the three of them are out of Keigo’s office, mission packets and paperwork in hand, Bakugo stops them in front of the elevators. “You two fucked.” It isn’t even a question, not in the slightest. He knows, Momo thinks, in absolute dread.
They look at each other, and all of sudden — not really, this was expected — Katsuki barks out a laugh. “You two are a mess,” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t even need to read the damn mission packet to know this is gonna be a shitshow.”
