[shibaraki]

TO BUILD A HOME ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: todoroki shouto is the ideal roommate. he is tidy, quiet, considerate, and one of your dearest friends. you almost wished he were a tactless slob. it would certainly make navigating your feelings for him easier.

tags: GN reader, friends to lovers, pro hero shouto, quirk support engineer reader, living together (and they were roommates!), mutual pining, fluff, alcohol, other character interactions, domesticity, jealous shouto, a little angst, minor oc, love confessions, making out + frottage

wc: 14K+

Shouto’s home strikes a dissonant note with you.

You’re a statuesque centrepiece in his living room, staring out his tall standing windows, paneled wall to wall and making for a beautiful view of the city. There’s a soft shine to it, iridescent from corner to corner. A privacy film to block any view into the apartment from the outside, you’re guessing.

Despite your closeness you’ve never had reason to visit until now. There’s far too much space for one man, you think. Jarringly, it’s as if you’ve stepped into a studio display. A picture perfect bachelor pad— but really, what bachelor pad needed three family sized bedrooms?

It feels awfully lonely.

Shouto heaves the last of your boxes onto the kitchen island with ease. The muscles in his arms flex under his loose shirt, fabric briefly tightening. Unfair, you think. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.

Back straightening, you watch Shouto roll back his shoulder and rub at the joint. The movement causes the hem to lift and flash a pale swath of skin, his shorts hung low on his hips. The weight in your arms is somehow heavier with his eyes turned onto you.

“You can set it down,” he says, his tone full of warm mirth. The disbelief must be written plain on your face. Your fingers tighten on the corners as he walks over. Tilting his head, the red strands that have been haphazardly pushed back into white slip over his forehead. You watch his gaze dart over the label scribbled onto the card that reads ‘toiletries’.

“I know. I’m just…” your jaw shifts and you swallow, a frown etched into your brow. “I don’t know. Got a little lost in my thoughts”.

“Feel free to change whatever you like,” his mouth curls into a small smile, scar wrinkling by his eye. You are taken by just how happy he looks to have you here. Shouto seemed the type to appreciate his own space. “I want you to be comfortable”.

“Whatever I like?” you echo teasingly, shucking the box up in your embrace and bumping his shoulder. “Famous last words. Maybe I’ll decide to renovate your other guest room into a mini workshop”.

Shouto exhales a quiet laugh. The air around him is displaced by an ephemeral wave of heat that seeps through your sweater; it cools back to room temperature as quick as it came.

“I wouldn’t oppose it,” he says, and your breath catches. Reaching to poke at the box, he adds, “Do you want me to help you unpack?”

You begin to shake your head. “No, no. I can do all that, don’t worry,” you demurred nervously.

“It wouldn’t be a problem”.

Memories of all the things you managed to salvage in the wreck flicker across your mind's eye. Mugs and plates, a few clothes, oil stained tools and various other inappropriate things you’d rather die than have him accidentally discover.

But he’s staring at you like a restless puppy. You relent, “Maybe you can put away the kitchen stuff then”.

After Shouto retreats you are left adrift to navigate the narrow corridors. The room he directs you to has the biggest guest bed and it shares a wall with his own room. You shuffle in, processing your surroundings. Your linens are freshly washed, tucked in tight at the corners, and they smell like him.

You lower another box on top of the bed and sit by the headboard. The mattress yields. Admittedly it is much more comfortable than your old bed used to be. Soft, you sink into a foamy embrace, smoothing a hand over the matching pillowcases, then reaching up to the shared accent wall.

Reality has hardly set in for you yet. It’s been four days since you lost your home, most of your earthly possessions along with it, and the life you had spent years building. The villain that managed to frisbee a car through your living room had been apprehended but not before destroying half the city block.

Shouto immediately volunteered his own place. You have been close friends for years now, having met during your second year at UA as a support course student. You’d worked with Yaomomo on redesigning her costume for your portfolio and managed to worm your way into their quaint friend group.

Your initial crush on him all that time ago burgeoned into something you’re too anxious to put a name to. When he first suggested you live with him while the city fixed everything you’d wanted to refuse. So far lack of proximity has been your only saving grace.

But you really had nowhere else suitable to stay. A hotel would be too costly in the long run. Your other friends are scattered across different prefectures and those who are in the city are too far from work.

Shouto practically sparkled when you agreed, plucked right out of a shoujo manga.

You remember this as your fingers curled into a loose fist and gave the wall a quiet knock. All the tension accumulated in your shoulders relaxes at the dull sound. “Atleast it isn’t thin,” you mused.

There’s a large closet adjacent to the bed, deep enough that you could crawl inside comfortably. Windows that stretch above your head and overlook the busy streets. You notice that same iridescent sheen, alongside a large blind connected to the control pad fixed by your doorway. They roll down as you fiddle and remind you of those old school projectors from the pre quirk era.

The walls are almost entirely bare. Your imagination drifts to the countless books and photo albums you managed to bring, envisioning them taking up the empty space. It makes you wonder what Shouto’s room looks like. You squash that thought.

When you rejoin him he stands with his back to you, blades shifting under the material as he plays with a small round object held between his fingers. Closing the distance you realise it is one of your stress balls.

His expression is entirely relaxed, bright with a little child-like satisfaction. He pulls at the flexible rubber, rolling it under his thumbs, flattening in between his palms. Your novelty mugs are lined up in the open cupboard right beside his own, entirely forgotten.

As not to startle him you call out gently, “Hey”.

Your voice stalls his movement. Shouto pivots and meets your eyes; they widen as you laugh, amused by his forced nonchalance. He clears his throat, “Hi. Are you happy with the room?”

Humming an affirmative, you sidle up next to him and poke at the ball. “It’s fine, thank you. Nicer than my old place”.

Redirecting his attention to the ball, he squeezes it so hard the foamy rubber protrudes through the gaps in his fingers and lets go, smiling as it retains its original shape. “I liked your old apartment,” he murmurs. “It suited you”.

“Because I’m a mess, you mean?” drawn back into Shouto’s orbit, you lean against his left side. He mirrors your weight until you are like two pillars braced against one another, standing uselessly in the middle of his obviously unused kitchen. Your heart aches recalling all those nights he spent at the agency doing unnecessary overtime. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to come back here.

“No,” Shouto huffs lightly, passing the ball hand to hand. He doesn’t elaborate. Instead he bumps you with his hip, “Come with me. I’ll give you a tour so you know where everything is”.

You are guided back to the genkan; it’s gorgeous, modernised with a calligraphy feature wall that breaks up the light colours. There is a narrow door leading to a coat room and two white cabinets under a granite countertop housing a small decorative bowl painted in Deku’s colours. Inside are your keys and his, the chains entangled.

Very quickly you realise Shouto doesn’t even know where ‘everything’ is. He opens the cupboard doors hesitantly, in a way that suggests he had no idea what is in them. One filled by his shoes and slippers, the other left empty.

The coat closet holds a few jackets you only ever see him wear in winter. He pinches the waterproof puffy sleeve between finger and thumb with a curious sound. Quietly, “I forgot that I had this”.

“You wore it once and Bakugo said you looked like an ugly toasted marshmallow”.

“That’s right,” a smirk pulls at his lips, mouth thin to restrain his laughter. You dip your chin to hide how infectious it is. “He hated it. Maybe I should take it with me tomorrow and wear it around the agency”.

“Please don’t. He’s coming to see me later in the day and I need him in a good mood”.

Shouto glances at you from the corner of his eye, sunlight reflecting through the blue iris. You would recognise that air of mischief anywhere. “I mean it, Shouto!”

“The day after, then”.

“As long as I’m not in the line of fire,” you snort, itching absentmindedly at your forearm where the skin feels tender. Probably bruising after carrying everything up. “Antagonising Pro Heroes should be listed as a hobby on your wiki page”.

You fall in line with his footsteps once more and keep pace until he stops by another door. There’s a laundry room and a separate toilet by the genkan, first door to the right. Upon opening the door the white toilet lid lifts.

You gasp and clutch his bicep, far too excitable to register how firm it is. “You never told me you have a happy toilet. What the hell, Shouto?”

Still nestled in his palm, you notice Shouto squeezes the stress ball until the foam is straining under the stretchy skin but you say nothing of it. He swallows and echoes your words, “A happy toilet?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it's happy to see you! Isn’t it cute?”

He turns with his cheek between his teeth, exhaling a warm puff of air through his nose. “Yeah,” Shouto rasps. “It’s cute”.

The entrance leads to a hallway, opening at the end to an open plan living area and kitchen. A black and white palette, dark stained wood flooring from room to room. You stand by and watch fondly as he opens every half empty drawer. The sectional couch is a welcome splash of colour— deep royal blue, huge, L shaped and plush, facing a 60 inch TV held up by a cabinet with a few books and photographs inside.

You toe at the fluffy grey rug laid out under the coffee table. His place is spectacular, sure, but it isn’t Shouto. While left unspoken it seemed you both knew that. There’s an abashed pinch to his expression that’s endearing, yet sad; you thought he might be embarrassed by how threadbare his home life appeared to be.

“You ever use that thing?” you ask, pointing to the TV. Predictably, Shouto shakes his head.

“Not very much. These days it feels like I only come here to sleep,” he leans over to pick up the remote from between the cushions and balances it on the arm of the couch. “Every few months Uraraka and Midoriya will visit to order food and watch movies with me. You can use it whenever you want”.

The bathroom is opposite your bedroom doors. He taps his own in passing but does not open it. You step into a bright, white tiled room with a double vanity sink and murmur in awe. Above are ceiling lights that give a soft glow, giving it a warm toned hue. Behind a glass door is a bowl shaped bathtub, big enough to fit two.

“Damn…” you whisper, running your fingers over the control pad connected to the tub. There’s a big bath cover propped by the wall. “A sauna button, too?”

“Not that I need it,” he muses, standing by the doorway, hands loosely interlocked as he observes you navigating his space. Intuitively, you get the sense that this is the beginning of a true paradigm shift. His offer had been the fork in the road and your agreement took you down a path soon to be irreversible.

You could survive seeing him at work or out with the mutual friends you shared. You’re not sure how you’ll weather the domesticity that comes with living together.

The reflection in the mirror shifts awkwardly and you grimace at how hard you’re trying to act like a normal human being. This is just Shouto: your good friend and longtime supporter. Just the man you might possibly be in love with.

“We should probably talk about ground rules and stuff,” you begin, hoping it’ll wipe that gentle look off his face before you say something stupid.

“Ground rules?” Shouto pushes off from the door frame with his back straight. He tilts his head, sight following you closely as you scoot past him back into the hallway.

“Like a chore rota and stuff. Rules so we can live in harmony or something. And you still need to let me know how much I’m paying you”.

“But I don’t want you to”.

You pause mid step and turn to stare at him in soft incredulity. “Why not? It’s only right I contribute”.

Steadfast, he holds your gaze and bluntly says, “I have a higher income than you. There’s no need for you to pay me rent”.

“Way to rub it in”.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you laugh at the rare wobble to his voice and knock your hands together as a sign of forgiveness. His eyes squint into a smile. “It just feels unfair for me to ask that of you”.

The hallway falls dim as clouds gather, casting shadows that make the private bubble you’re in seem that much smaller. “But I want to,” you reassured him. “Come on— forty percent?”

“Thirty”.

You hold out three fingers up on the right and five on the left. You try again, “Thirty five?”

“Thirty,” he doubles down, covering the entirety of your left hand with his own. You feel his thumb skim your inner wrist and your resolve breaks.

“…Fine”.

Shouto grins boyishly and you do not acknowledge the flutter in your stomach.

The first few days are cautious despite your desire to behave as normal. At night you found yourself acutely aware of Shouto’s presence behind the bedroom wall. Your senses latched onto every muted bump and creak; the quiet drew thoughts you so valiantly avoided the surface and you could do nothing besides parse through them.

It made sleeping difficult.

You’d wondered if Shouto was having the same issue but the drowsy gait and hair plastered to one side of his head only ever spoke of a good night's rest. He wears loose silk pyjama pants to bed, low on his hips and an inch or so longer at the leg so they always caught under his heel as he walked.

Seeing him relaxed and fumbling like a fawn before his morning tea felt as if a big star was fizzing in your chest. It’s strange, in a tentative way, not an uncomfortable one.

The dust settles and a chore rota is scribbled out on a white board and pinned to the refrigerator with a worn All Might magnet. Your hours are less hectic so you offered to do the weekly shopping. Shouto volunteers for the laundry— his sister set the machines up for him when he first moved and he hasn’t moved the dials since— and taking out the garbage. Together you build a precariously clumsy peace, a mimicry of home.

Things started to change.

A kaleidoscope can take on an entirely new pattern with just the subtle turn of the lense. Weeks lapse. You stopped asking for permission and he no longer sought reassurance that you were happy. Existing parallel to one another, your lives fit seamlessly, though not without effort.

You’ve never known him to be a tactile type of guy— back when you rushed to hug him at graduation he’d brandished his diploma like a weapon before noticing it was you. Now, Shouto playfully hip checks you in the kitchen, he sits closer than he needs to on the couch and texts you at random throughout the day. He brings you a treat if his route overlaps your commute, keeping it hot in his left hand. He even greets you by the door on the rare occasion he finishes a shift first.

Your heart is fatter than ever and you aren’t quite sure what to do with it or where to put it down. After the city has rebuilt your apartment block and deemed it safe you’ll be returning to a normal you don’t recognise anymore.

You’re finalising the upgrade for Dynamite’s summer gauntlets when your phone buzzes on your bench. The vibration carries it closer to the edge and you scoop it up before the inevitable fall, cursing at the oil smeared around the case. The screen lights up.

shouto : 1 minute ago

There’s an image attached with no explanation. You are met with the open skyline, dense clouds of every shape and size dotted across a blue canvas. Shouto’s arm is in the shot, finger pointed towards one cloud in particular.

You squint at it. Zoom in on your phone, tilt it to the side, flip it in the editor and outline it— and nothing rings a bell. It’s a white blob. 

Another notification drops down at the top of your screen. You wipe your hand against your overalls and open it. 

shouto : just now 

ヾ(=^・ｪ・^)

Your nose wrinkles as you glance back to the photo. Granted, it does have two pointed edges that could be interpreted as cat ears if you squinted. Maybe. This isn’t new — he burned his toast three days ago and took a picture simply because it looked vaguely feline. 

you : delivered 

aren’t u supposed to be on patrol? 

The message turns to ‘read’ quicker than expected. You panic and click off the conversation, setting the phone face up on your workbench and reading from your locked screen. Lately, despite living together and seeing one another every day, Shouto seems to have more to say to you than ever. 

shouto : just now

Divine intervention. We should get a cat. 

The use of ‘we’ pings around your head like a pinball. Ever since the initial dubitation smoothed out he's become much more flippant about things— treating your situation as though it were permanent. 

An intern shuffles into the workshop with a thick binder. Not one of yours, you realise. One of Mei’s. They blink curiously as your phone buzzes again, loud where it clatters on the hard surface, and you bite down on your inner cheek, hard, keeping your feelings at bay. 

When handed the papers you breathe in recognition. They’ve been coordinated into two groups, and you’d know that logo anywhere. “The costume applications for the upcoming UA students! I wondered why they hadn’t come in yet”. 

“Yes, for 1A and 1B. Hatsume-san said these ended up on her desk,” they said, gesticulating nervously, “and that I— I should give them to you?”

“Well If not for you I’m sure these would’ve ended up buried under all her discarded prototypes,” you demurred, offering what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thank you”. 

Abruptly, your phone gives another violent jerk and disrupts the moment. The intern squeaks, rigidity returning to her posture, and scurries out with a rushed goodbye. You sink into your arms, forehead pressed to the cool metal. Surely you aren’t that scary.

Turning the screen, you read the texts and sigh fondly.  

shouto : 4 minutes ago

An older cat would be nice. 

shouto : just now

Should we order tonight? 

My treat. 

Your gaze lifts to find the time at the top of the screen. It blinks back at you, the hour changing. Not long until you can head out. 

you : delivered 

it isn’t a treat for me if it’s more cold soba. give me variety or give me death (งಠ_ಠ)ง

The cursor flickers. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, hesitating on the final letter. Something so minor that feels bigger than it has any right to be. 

“Stop being ridiculous,” you mutter, sending it before your mind can change. 

you : read 

be safe ok? I’ll see you at home. 

When he doesn’t reply you figure he’s returned to his job, thus you return to yours. 

Dynamite was once again trusting you with his gear. Bakugo had been extraordinarily protective over his initial design in highschool. Great bulbous things strapped to each wrist, grenade-like appearance, so big that his arms became pendulous and swung away from his body as he walked. The shoulder strain was immense. 

You fought tooth and nail to get him to accept your adjustments. Now every summer you remodelled the gauntlets to be lighter and ventilated, and in winter you added in insulation and flexibility. 

Respectively, the gauntlets still weigh a lot without additional stored nitroglycerin. You lift, bending at the knees and groaning as you lower them both down into a protective case, slotting into foam padding for protection. No doubt they’d end up rough on the first day but you still wanted them to arrive without a scratch. 

Evening draws near. Closing the lid, it gives a satisfying click. You fiddle with the lock pad and calibrate it to open only for Bakugo’s thumb print before lugging the case to the built-in vault in your workshop, where it’ll be kept over the weekend. 

Mei’s lab is directly opposite your own. Despite the dense soundproofing and reinforced steel concrete the jarring screech of a saw echoes throughout the hallway. You press your hand to the towering door, muscle fibres wracked by vibrations. Bidding her goodbye would be futile— she’s been working on a new patent for months now. The rest of the world fell away when she got like this. 

Heading through to the main lobby, you greet those passing by with a nod, exchanging hurried words. It was always as though time didn’t exist here. People worked all hours, any hours. Flexibility was a point of pride for your company, and seeing someone eat breakfast after midnight wasn’t uncommon. 

You preferred a regular schedule. Routine keeps you moderately sane. A cool breeze gusts through the sliding doors as you duck into the street; you hiss at the immediate change in temperature. Patting down your coat pockets you dig out your phone, sending a one-handed text to Shouto while you slip in your earbuds. 

Cacophonous bustling of the streets now muffled, you scroll through a playlist and click at random. An upbeat melody carries you to the station, scooting through the throngs of people and tapping your card at the barriers. 

You pick up the pace, scurrying onto the train right before the doors close. A stranger glares, looking over your dishevelled state with judgement. You find a narrow corner, left standing on the far end of the carriage, squashed up against the window to make room for other passengers. 

Conscious about the volume. you turned down your music a tad and sank into the confines of your coat. Shouto’s apartment is miraculously closer than your old one, meaning the commute is much shorter, and your time spent in bed is much longer. Three stops pass and the sky begins to bruise. Purple hues blend gently into red, the sun a fiery hearth on the seam of the horizon that blinks abruptly between the passing buildings. 

When you reach home Shouto still hasn’t texted back. You bend to arrange your shoes, coat hung beside his terrible winter puffer. The floor is cold under socked feet, pottering through to the living room in search of the TV remote. 

You flinch as the newscaster's voice blurts out of the speakers. Shouto must have left it on the news channel this morning. Watching the scene unfold on the screen you feel your heart climb your throat. 

Shouto is a hero— a number of your friends are. Villain fights are not only inevitable, they’re a requirement. The truth of it doesn’t make reality any easier to swallow. Uravity is a welcome sight. She’s fighting diligently alongside Shouto, up against multiple villains seemingly working in tandem to destroy the area. 

You always thought villains were a good example of how versatile and powerful even the most innocuous quirks can be. Topspin can morph their limbs into a whirling top, and with years of training has gained the ability to form small tornados using momentum. Another you recognise is Cryo, a woman capable of making her body intangible similarly to Lemillion— though she is able to freeze you temporarily if she phases through your body. 

There are others, too. Criminals you don’t recognise. It’s been a long time since a big group tried to organise in this manner. You worry at your lip, bracing against the back of the couch for support. What you find most concerning is they don’t seem to have a goal. Just mass destruction, plain and simple. 

“Come on,” you think anxiously, nails digging into the cushion as you watch Shouto brace a falling building with his ice, creating an emergency slide for those left inside to escape. You’ve always marvelled at his parallel processing skills— Deku, too. Their thoughts must be running a million miles a second. 

The cameras switch to highlight the other heroes and you realise you’ve been holding your breath. You exhale, physically deflating, feeling the weight of your phone in your pants pocket. Clean up would take a while once the battle is won; curry night is off the table. 

That’s fine. You could forgive it as long as he came back in one piece. 

Evening sinks into night. Shouto comes home after you’ve retired to your bed, though you aren’t asleep yet; you took to staring at the ceiling, waiting for a call from the hospital that you hoped wouldn’t come. 

The distant sound of his boots hitting the floor has relief flooding through your system. You strain to listen as he makes his way through the apartment, deliberately quiet. You hear him head straight to the bathroom. The echo of running water muffles after the door closes with a soft click. 

You check your phone once more, scanning over the recent updates and not finding much. You consider leaving him alone. Villain fights are hard on the body and the heart. Shouto likes space to process things before he speaks on them, and so you don't want to overstep. 

That sentiment dissipates steadily. Five minute intervals that feel like hours. Shouto is in the bathroom for a long, long time. You are seated on the edge of your bed with the covers pulled back when he finally comes out. 

Warm light streams beneath your doorway. Muscles clenched, you daren’t move an inch as a stretch of shadow moves across. Shouto stands outside your room and you stare, silently urging him to knock and give you an excuse. 

After a beat, Shouto turns away. He flicks off the bathroom light and shuffles down the hallway, away from his own bedroom. Your feet tentatively touch the floor and you slide off the bed with hands held out, careful not to knock into any furniture on the way. 

Goose pimples raise across your forearms. You’re in sleep shorts and a ratty old shirt on a cool spring night. No wind and no clouds, the moon hung high and bright. You have never seen the city so eerily still at this hour. 

The air always retains the warmth of his body for a while, and you feel it lingering when you step into the hallway. 

Voice kept to a whisper, you softly called for him, “Shouto?” 

You find him sitting in the middle of the couch. The blinds are up, moonlight flooding in. Shouto is a solid silhouette outlined in white. 

“Did something happen?” 

The fight ended up dragging on for a while, so you’re in the dark. Details about casualties were steadily being released to news outlets as the heroes dug through the remaining rubble. You’ve yet to hear of any deaths, civilian or otherwise, which is a relief. 

He lifts his head, “I’m fine. Sorry if I woke you”. 

“You didn’t,” Shouto’s gaze follows as you shuffle towards him, footfalls loud on the hardwood floor. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

The silence is suffocating. Your vision adjusts to the darkness, stuck on the downturn of his mouth and pallid eyes. “We’re friends right? Friends share their burdens,” you try again, awkwardness leaking out with every syllable. “I’m here for you”. 

He looks away. There’s a dark, disquieting bruise blooming on his jaw. Subconsciously, Shouto presses a finger onto the bruise and the blood beneath it recedes, paling and returning like the tide. 

You don’t sit too close— worried proximity might be suffocating. The couch arm is firm under you, feet propped on the seat cushion. Shouto wets his lips, as if to alleviate the gravity of his words. 

“A group of school children were in the theatre when it collapsed,” he rasps. His hand curls into a tight fist, sparks of fire diminishing between his knuckles. “They were young. No older than ten”. 

“You blame yourself”. 

Turning to you, light casts softly across half of his face, pooling in his left eye. “I was a second too late and now—” he stops, the words caught in his throat. 

“Because of my mistakes those children are stuck with the traumatic memory of being trapped under all that rubble. I... I could hear them screaming”. 

You gulp and slide down onto the couch, guided by the urge to touch him, “Hey. But you got them out safely, yeah? They’re okay, Shouto”. 

His eyes crinkle a bit, if only a trick of your own, and you take it as permission to reach over. One by one you unfurl each finger, massaging your thumbs into his palm to smooth away the crescent marks. 

“We got them out,” he amends quietly, taking a brief pause to find the right words. You spend it appreciating the nicks in his skin, scars and rough edges, proof of his tenacity.

Shouto closes his hand around your own, staring dolefully at the point where your bodies meet. You see it for what it is— a request for comfort — and your palms kiss as you realign your fingers, holding on tight. 

“You know what I think?” 

He hums, curiously peering up through his damp bangs. 

“Those kids? They won’t just remember the bad stuff,” you smile, as tender as you feel, “I think they’ll remember how at ease they felt when Hero Shouto opened the way with his ice to save them. And now they know a hero will always come”. 

The strain bleeds from his bones and his expression opens up in quiet wonderment. “Really?” he asks, his voice small, mouth finally curling. Your heart gives a squeeze. 

“Really,” you affirm, knocking your knees together. Shouto’s smile widens, chin tucking to hide it. “Are you hurt anywhere?” 

“No. Just bruised up,” he says. An idea clicks into place. 

“Good. I’ve got something we can do to make you feel better,” you scramble to your feet, weight shifting as Shouto’s stare lingers on your bare legs. It feels as though the moon is casting a spotlight, and you resist the urge to pull your shorts down. 

“What is it?” 

“Mug cake!” you exclaim happily, bringing your hands together. Adding an afterthought, “and a movie, too. One you haven’t seen yet”. 

Shouto tilts his head, amused, but stands with you all the same. You notice then that he's changed into a pair of sweatpants, cuffed at the ankles. The t-shirt he’s wearing has a Pinky logo branded across his chest in bubble font. 

“Mug cake?” he repeats. 

“Cake in a mug,” you ribbed, poking at him. You start toward the kitchen. “Come on, it’ll only take like five minutes, tops!” 

“Do we have cake ingredients?” he muses, following close behind. You flick on the recessed light over the stove and root through the cupboards, trying to ignore the natural warmth of his body beside yours. 

“We have everything,” you insist. “I would know. I do the shopping, remember?” 

Hovering unnecessarily close by, Shouto leans back against the counter and observes you with fondness as you list off the ingredients under your breath. It shouldn’t be so magnetising— you can feel something in your chest being drawn in, as though you were two unlike poles meant to come together. 

Meeting his gaze, you look away and try to tame your giddiness. “Quit staring and find me two big mugs”. 

You breathe a little easier when he does as you ask. Two large ceramic mugs are placed on the counter— a hideously priced vintage All Might mug gifted by Midoriya, another with cat ears on the rim and a tail curled into the handle. 

“Will these do?” he murmurs. You startle at the closeness of his voice, nearly dropping the teaspoon in your hand. 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Yep. Thank you”.

He nods, satisfied. “Tell me what else to do”. 

You grab another teaspoon and hand it to him. The joy in his eyes gleams, so pleased at the opportunity to help. “First we need to put four teaspoons of flour and caster sugar in our mugs, then add two teaspoons of the cocoa powder. You follow?” 

Shouto mirrors each action, always glancing back to your movements to check he was doing so correctly. It is unbearably endearing. 

“Now we add an egg in each— one sec,” the fridge light bursts through the dimly lit kitchen, and you squint, grabbing two eggs from the tray. You give him an egg. “Now crack it into the mug and stir”. 

You’ve ended up with the All Might mug. Using it is nerve wracking; all you can think of is how expensive it was, but the cat mug is Shouto’s clear favourite. Gently, you tap the egg on the counter. A hairline fracture forms on the shell. You push your thumbs in, prying it apart over the mix, letting the whites drizzle. 

Shouto is… faring well enough. There’s clear viscous liquid all over his fingers, and his shell is broken in three, but the yolk made it in. 

You laugh quietly at his sheepish expression as you pass him some tissue. He wipes his hands, leaning to observe while you add three teaspoons of milk and vegetable oil. “Where did you learn to make these?” 

“During my apprenticeship,” you admit. Graduation hadn’t led to immediate incredible offers like it had for Shouto. You needed to get your foot in the door first, which meant working awful hours with shit pay and little recognition. “I was trying to save up back then, so I ate a lot of crap like this”. 

“I’ve never tried it,” he says, repeating the steps as you had shown him. Your fingers brush with a pass of the milk. “I wasn’t allowed treats as a child so I guess I didn’t develop much of a sweet tooth”. 

“That’s just like you,” you grin, tearing open the bag of chocolate chips and shaking them in his direction. “Always gotta drop depressing lore in the middle of a nice moment”. 

The truth about the Todoroki family had been outed during your first year, right before the war. It’s a subject Shouto can joke about now that time has mostly healed over those wounds. Granted, his relationship with his father was cautious at best, and his older brother was locked away in a private facility for a good few decades, but things were better. 

“Did you hear me?”

You blink, startled out of your reverie, “What?”

“I said I have plenty more material but you zoned out,” Shouto raised a brow, dipping into the bag of chocolate chips and sprinkling them over his cake mix, “Where did you go?”

“Ah…” you take his mug and set it beside yours inside the microwave, turning the dial to the two minute mark. “I was just thinking I kinda want to kick your dad’s ass”. 

Your heart leaps. You will never be sick of Shouto’s laugh; it’s like hearing his soul. The sound is rich and warm over the loud hum, glass plate turning, mixture bubbling. 

“Don’t worry about that,” the laughter tapers off into an affectionate murmur, body naturally leaning into you, “he’s been kicking himself for years now”. 

“Good—!” the microwave pings, and your soul jumps out of your skin. “Jesus. Why is it always so much louder at night?” 

The mugs are still hot. You press a kiss to your stinging fingertips and step aside; Shouto takes each cake out one at a time with this left hand wrapped around the mug. “Show off,” you pout. 

A sweet aroma fills your senses. They’ve risen well. You lightly scratch the top with your spoon, pleased by the firmness. “We did pretty good,” you chirped. 

“Smells good,” Shouto notes, cradling his mugcake to his chest as though something precious. “Are we watching a movie?”

“Yeah. Let’s pick while it’s still hot”. 

You cast a fleeting look at the counter before you walk around the kitchen island, putting the minor mess to the back of your mind. Bouncing back onto the couch, you run your free hand down the cushions in search of the remote. 

“Where’s the—” Shouto sits to your right and passes it to you. “Did you pull that out of thin air?” 

“Yes. I have a third quirk called ‘remembering where I put things’,” he grins, dodging the half hearted swat you send his way.  

“You’re a real comedian. Just for that I’m picking what I want to watch”. 

Infuriatingly, Shouto looks happy about that, “You know what I’d like anyway”. 

In the end you choose Ponyo because he had not yet watched it— a fact you deemed criminal. You watch his expressions soften at the vibrant scenery, idly pushing the tip of his spoon into the cake. He scoops out a piece and brings it to his lips. 

You try not to beam when he visibly freezes, eyes widening with his spoon held in his mouth. Slowly, Shouto starts to chew. He makes a happy little hum. Three words crossed your mind, travelled down to your heart and diffused throughout your body. You feel them restless in the tips of your fingers. You don’t say them. 

Only then do you let yourself eat yours. The spoon sinks into the sponge, a faint waft of heat bursting from the centre where the chocolate chips have melted. It’s just the right side of fluffy. 

Comfortable silence hung over your heads, masked under the clinking of your spoons against the mugs. 

After the soft thud of an empty mug meeting the table, breaking through the quiet, Shouto speaks. 

“Bakugo mentioned you today,” he says. “Asked me to pass on a message”. 

You hum to indicate that you’re listening. “He said ‘hurry the fuck up or kiss my sponsorship goodbye’, verbatim”. 

“I’m not sure I like those words coming out of your mouth,” you laugh, shoulders shaking with it. Shouto tips his head back, lips twisted to hold laughter of his own. “What a bullshitter”. 

Bakugo liked working with you too much to pull out. Even if he didn’t, the man was a hard nut to crack and refused to trust anyone else with his gear. 

“Are you almost done? Working on his gauntlets, I mean”. 

“They’re finished,” you responded, cheek resting on the heel of your hand. Shouto repositions his hips, turning his body to face you in your periphery while you watch Sousuke and Ponyo eat ramen. “Good and ready for the summer. Now he won’t level half the city when he sneezes”. 

“Thank you for your hard work,” comes his mirthful reply. “Oh, and Uraraka says hello. She wants you to go to the get together tomorrow night”. 

“You know I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, right?” 

He huffed a laugh through his nose. A soft sound that has satisfaction singing through your veins. “I wasn’t planning on going so I forgot to mention it”. 

You run your tongue along your molars. There’s still a lingering chocolate taste. “You aren’t going to go?” you ask, tone trended downwards, plainly implying your disappointment. It wouldn’t be so odd. While you’d befriended Momo and some of class B before ever meeting Shouto, you’re not sure you want to be there without him. 

“I will go if you do,” he eyes the way your shoulders relax at that, attentive to a fault. “They can pick on you instead of me”. 

You roll your eyes with exasperated affection and arms crossed over your middle. “Tomorrow?” mhm. “Is it at that place Denki likes?” mhm. “Thought it might be. Guess I can be your buffer for a few hours”. 

“I’ll let them know,” Shouto murmurs. Colour dances across his skin, shadows moving with the picture on the screen. Ponyo dunks her head into the depths alongside Sosuke and the room is suddenly awash with vibrant blue, and you witness an unwelcome epiphany cross his mind. 

Stated like a huffy accusation, he says, “You know, you’ve worked on most of my friends gear, but never mine”. 

“You never asked,” you reminded him. “And you had connections in my industry already because of your… Endeavor. But I would’a jumped at the chance to get rid of that first costume you designed”. 

Cheek pressed to the cushion, he smiles. “What, was the glacier too much?” 

“It was so ugly Shouto,” you bemoan, leaning closer with your dramatic outburst. “The worst part was it covered up half of your pretty face. Now that’s just bad for branding”.

A soft intake of breath. Shouto’s lips part and you are caught in his awestruck stare. His voice deepens as he asks, “You think I’m… pretty?” 

You swallow and muster up an easy grin, nudging his thigh with your foot. “Everyone thinks you’re pretty, you goof”. 

His eyes lower, pensive for a moment, and then flicker back to the movie. Ponyo is sleepy, and the boat has shrunk, and Sousuke has big tears rolling down his cheeks. 

You can’t help thinking it was the wrong thing to say. 

Eventually the noise settles into static; the kind that makes the shadows seem a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. You burrow into your hoodie, pulling the collar up over the bridge of your nose as Sosuke and Ponyo are reunited with his mother in a vast underwater paradise. 

The earlier exchange weighs on you. Stealing a quick glance at Shouto, you feel your anxiety chip at the expression on his face. Somewhere there, beneath the scar tissue and laughter lines and eye bags, is a small boy watching in awe. 

Neither of you speak until the film comes to an end. Your head bobs along to the final song, drawn into a bubble of nostalgia. Through the thick of it, you hear a whisper. Shouto says your name and there’s barely any strength behind it, uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace, his left arm now outstretched, the intention clear. 

Shouto looks right back. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the small smile on his face. You crawl across the couch cushions and curl under his arm, turning your cheek to watch the credits play out.  

“You looked cold,” he belatedly adds. “Is this ok?”

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years Shouto is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position. 

Swallowed by warmth, you guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm. 

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as the faint tremors dwindle and your bones thaw. Fatigue creeps up, making your eyelids heavy. 

Quietly, “Better”. Then you mumble, “And I do think you’re pretty, Shouto”. 

“Hm?”

“Was bein’ a bit of a coward earlier,” you continue, a sleepy drawl to your words. A yawn pulls at your jaw, nose flaring with it. You think you could sink right into him, like a hot bath. “Shouto’s pretty… all… all the time…”

Your weary eyes gave in to the rhythmic stroke of his hand, consciousness drifting away. Soft dreams undulate, drawing you in, pushing you out. There’s a familiar face. They turn into your palms when you cradle them. Your stomach clenches at the sudden weightlessness and you grasp at their shirt, worried you might float away. 

When you wake up you are in your own bed again. It returns to you in fragments— Shouto’s arms around you, his rumbling laugh, the tangible intimacy that had hung over your heads. Realising he must have carried you to bed you turn over to groan into your pillow. 

Eventually, what draws you out into the open is the smell. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pad out into the living room, searching for Shouto. Leggings, your mind whispers. He’s milling about the kitchen in his workout clothes; a little pair of shorts overtop and a green hoodie. 

“Morning,” he says, placing a small plate onto a tray. You notice two bowls have already been prepared. “I made breakfast”. 

The greeting dies in your throat when he looks up. A stream of dewy morning light illuminates the room, reflecting on the pale surfaces, creating an ethereal view. He combs his hair back with his fingers, tucking the longer strands behind his ears. Your gaze strays from the bruise on his jaw— now turning a sickly shade of green— to the food on his tray. 

“Wow,” you mumble, feeling hunger twist in your stomach. “This actually looks edible. What’s the occasion?” 

It’s a traditional breakfast. A bowl of rice, miso soup with some vegetables, a rolled egg and a plate of grilled fish. Shouto sets a pair of chopsticks down. “No special occasion. I just wanted to cook for you”. 

“God. You are so…” you wave your hands at him, too overwhelmed by the sudden flush of tenderness. 

He blinks, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “You just gestured to all of me”. 

“I just woke up and there’s a prince using my shitty old rice cooker. Forgive me,” you remarked groggily. It feels as if your entire being is a soft spot that he won’t stop prodding at. 

Gathering the tray in your grasp you avoid his stare and make way to the dining table, his quiet chuckle close behind. You sit, unnerved by his presence and fighting off dregs of sleep. The seat is cold under your thighs. “Thank you for the food,” you murmur. 

Chopsticks tucked in the crook of your thumb and finger, you pick up a rolled omelette. The egg tastes sweeter than expected— mixed with more sugar than required, you think, but it’s good, and you finish in the next bite. 

“Are you not leaving for work?”

Shouto hovers across from you; his hands rested on the back of another chair, and stood silently. “How is it?” he deflects. 

Your teeth sink into a tofu cube, umami flavours bursting on your tongue. You hum your approval, making a show of it. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Shouto. Really”. 

Over the years you’ve come to learn that Shouto reacts to praise in subtle ways, and often smiles without his mouth. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice and see it in his spirited stride. You watch as his shoulders straighten. He’s alight, peacocking his pride, and you’re not sure he realises it. 

“There’s a secret ingredient”. 

You pause mid chew, swallowing thickly. “If you say love I’m moving out”. 

Shouto tempers his amusement with a shake of his head. Stray hair falls forward to frame his cheeks.  The chair reclines back on two legs as he leans. “My mother told me that making a meal for someone is a simple way to show gratitude,” he continued. “Thank you for taking care of me last night”. 

Heat simmers under your skin, all buzzing energy and jitters. The sincerity is disarming. Had this been a dream you would’ve kissed him. 

Shoving another tofu cube in your mouth you chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “Don’t thank me for that,” your initial playfulness softened to reciprocate some of his vulnerability. “I know I’m not a hero but I’ll always be there for you in whatever way I can”. 

Whatever his response is, you don’t hear it. Shouto murmurs inaudibly, eyes falling closed with a long exhale. Your only respite is the warmth in his gaze when he looks back at you. “I need to leave now if I don’t want to be late. But I’ll see you tonight?”

You hum an affirmative, nodding around the white rice pinched between your chopsticks. It falls apart gently on your tongue. Covering your mouth, you say, “I’ll be there”.  

Shouto steps away with some finality, readjusting the hem of his shirt. The fabric hangs loose around his hips, emphasising how tight his shorts are. You mentally kick yourself. 

“I’ll text you, then”. 

The day passes frustratingly slowly after Shouto leaves. You technically could be sifting through the new student’s designs, but all you can think about is how charged the atmosphere had been this morning. Retiring back to your room to scream into a pillow or two, you eventually find yourself getting ready. 

Shouto let you know he would be going straight from the agency. He had clothes in a locker here— casual, some jeans and a sweater, which at least allayed the fear of being underdressed.  

You pull on one of your nicer jackets, holding the lapels close to your chest as you step out into the cold evening. Dark cumuli gather in sparse clumps across the darkening sky; as mercy has it, the wind is pushing them in the opposite direction.

The place isn’t far. You don’t frequent it very often but liked it well enough despite management being a bunch of rich guys playing dive-bar dress up. The low ceilings, vintage mismatched furniture and dim red lights created an intimate atmosphere. 

People loved the idea of finding a hole in the wall that nobody else knew about. The catch was everybody knows, but not everybody can get in. 

Flashing above the door in green neon lights is a sign grimly reading ‘The Love Shack’. The first thing you notice is the strong woodsy smell masking the faint scent of alcohol. There’s a floral tinge to it that you have trouble pinpointing. 

You head inside and greet the bouncer standing by the entrance. He’s a big guy, standing around 6 feet 9, mutton chops swallowing a great deal of his face. Resting on his bald crown are a pair of comically small sunglasses. 

Before he can ask for your name it is being hollered across the bar. A few heads turn and you dip your chin to shield from prying eyes. Uraraka is bounding over, Mina hot on her coattails. The pair topple into you with canorous laughter clear over the music. 

“You’re here!” Uraraka effused, grabbing at your shoulders and shaking them. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Shouto has been keeping you all to himself”. 

Mina slumps against you, echoing Ursraka’s words with a slurred whine. “Holy shit. Are you guys already tipsy?” unsteady on your feet you try to keep them upright. 

“No,” Mina tittered, pink lips jutting into a pout. She pokes at your cheek. “You’re just too sober!”

You startle. Another hand, large and hot, splays at the small of your back. The bouncer grunts and encourages you in the direction which they came from. That appears to spur the girls on— you’re dragged to the far end of the bar, a wide booth nestled just around the corner, hidden from view. 

You’re met with a chorus of cheers. Kirishima, Jirou and Shinsou beckon you forward. Bakugo is nursing a pint, offering you a wordless nod. Momo shakes her head as Denki attempts to climb out and greet you despite being trapped by the table, patting his back when the effort is fruitless. 

“Alright, alright. I missed you too,” you grin, helplessly charmed by your friend's excitement. Uraraka ushers you into the booth. You scoot up beside Momo, the group packed in like sardines to make room. 

Mina bends to press a wet kiss to your hairline. It leaves behind a sticky impression of her lips. “Let me go grab you a drink, babe!” she chirps, skipping off toward the bar and immediately draping her upper body over the black countertop to wave the bartender over. 

The conversations resume, an easy atmosphere settling over your group. Though you aren’t entirely from their world they do well to involve you, asking for your thoughts, trying to make you laugh. Jirou blushes under the red lights when you bring up her latest album, sending you an appreciative grin. Mina returns holding an impressive amount of drinks, her fingers slipping dangerously on the condensation. 

You are one strawberry daiquiri in. There’s a muted yet pleasant buzz under your skin, no doubt aided by the good company. Still, you cast an anxious glance around the room, curious about Shouto’s absence. A soft tap to the knee draws your attention. 

Momo turns to whisper in your ear, “Shouto said  he’ll be here on the hour,” answering that unspoken question. Your cheeks fill with an indignant breath, embarrassed by your own transparency. 

“We aren’t attached at the hip, you know,” you rasp childishly. It’s a lie— you’ve lived with Shouto for only three weeks and you have already forgotten where he ends and you begin. Momo laughs, hiding it behind the back of her hand. 

“Could’a had me fooled,” Bakugo interjects, scoffing behind his drink. The glass tips and he drains the last of it. “Your name is all I hear outta his mouth these days. Starting to think he doesn’t know any other words”. 

You hold up an accusing finger, “Quit reading our lips, dickhead”. 

The other bares his teeth, gums and all. He moves his hands in recognisable patterns at a deliberately slow pace, as if talking down to you. ‘Fuck you’ he signs. 

“Oh!” Kirishima claps abruptly. You startle, almost knocking over your drink. He’s so big that it rocked the table. “Check this, Bakugo. I’ve been learning more signs, you gotta tell me if I’m doing ‘em right!”

“Fuck do I look like to you?”

“Like my handsome best bro,” is his smooth reply. Cheeks red as his hair, a cocksure grin flashing his sharp teeth; Bakugo softens, clicking his tongue in feigned annoyance, betrayed by the twitch by the corner of his mouth. You think Kirishima is like an overgrown stray that manipulated Bakugo into being his human. 

Whatever he clumsily signs must have been obscene, because Bakugo roars with laughter.

“Who the hell taught you that, shitty hair?” 

The hour comes and goes. Rings of water collect under the glasses. Shouto is five minutes late. You displace the group, accepting Uraraka’s loose lipped complaints as she is forced to scoot back out the booth. Pinching the fat of her pink cheek, she’s placated by the promise of another round on you. 

“I’ll come with,” Shinsou offered with a lazy wave. 

“Thanks,” waiting for him to get to his feet, you smile. You liked Shinsou well enough. Working as an underground hero meant you didn’t get to see him too often. 

You approach the bar. The man working behind it has gossamer insectoid wings on his back, sprouting from two long slits in his fitted shirt. They glint in the light, colours refracting iridescent, reminding you somewhat of a church window. 

He comes over as he catches your eye, wiping down the sticky surface. You’re honest enough to admit he’s handsome. Rugged with a baby face, hair falling over his forehead in loose curls. There’s an easy air about him, and when he flashes a crooked grin you feel the alcohol a little too thick in your veins. 

Tattooed forearms brace against the bar and he leans into your magnetism, “What can I get ya?”

“They’ll have the same as last time,” you reply. “I think the tab should be under Kaminari’s name?” 

He nods, eyes skimming over your form, “Won’t be long”. 

You turn to find that Shinsou is staring, kissed by a reddish glow. His mouth downturns into a smirk. “I don’t think he even noticed I was here,” he drawls. 

Defensiveness prickles over you. “Don’t think anyone has,” you lightly knock your arms together. “You’ve been quiet tonight”. 

“Not my scene,” Shinsou sinks forward, propped up by his elbow, and rests his chin in the cradle of his hand. His heavy lidded eyes never stray. “But I can’t say no to free drinks”.

The barman works the taps in your periphery but you remain focused on Shinsou. There’s a new scar across his cheekbone, right where his persona mask ends. Another over his mouth, a thin line of rough tissue that cuts through his five o’clock shadow. The mass untameable hair on his head has been cut shorter, tapering around his neck. 

“Leech”. 

“Look who’s talking,” his smirk widens. You watch his gaze slide over your head and dread swirls in your stomach at the gleam in his eye. “I think your nepo baby boyfriend just got here”. 

“Not my boyfriend,” you hiss under your breath. He holds his laughter between his teeth. “And don’t call him that!” 

Shinsou laughs into his palm, low and rumbling. You hear the fond invocation of your name as the heat of another body appears at your back. Met with brilliant teal and stormy grey, Shouto greets you both apologetically. 

Perking up self consciously, you say, “You made it!”

“Hi. Sorry, I got caught up and lost track of time”. 

You’re happy to see him. He’s in fitted jeans and a dark button up shirt over an old black turtleneck. Heterochromatic eyes slide from your smiling face to Shinsou’s own disinterest, then drawn to the drinks that have steadily begun to accumulate on the bar counter. 

“Ah, let me get you a drink—” you wave over the guy who served you, though it is hardly necessary when he’s already observing. He saunters over with a pint of lager, setting it beside Mina’s garish rainbow concoction. 

“Everything alright?” 

Squinting at the messy kanji on his name tag, you think you can make it out. Kei, it reads. “Would we be able to add another to the tab? Our friend just made it”. 

For some reason Shouto crowds in closer, the cool press of his left side seeping through your shirt. Kei barely pays him any mind. “No problem,” a cold flush crawls across your back when he winks. “Anything for you. What’ll it be?” 

“I’ll have a highball,” Shouto interjects. You frown at his sudden sharp demeanour, and lean your weight back in hopes of comforting him. The air warms up. 

Kei’s enthusiasm fractures imperceptibly, “Alright. Let me get started on that for ya”. Shinsou snorted, his head dipped to his chest and shaking; you think you aren’t nearly drunk enough for whatever this is.

“Shit. You really are petty,” Shinsou speaks up after Kei departs to the other end of the bar. “I always thought Midoriya was exaggerating”. 

“Petty?” you echo, squinting at your roommate with a soft pout. Shouto fixes his gaze to the bottles lined across the wall and looks as though he wants the earth to swallow him whole. 

“Highballs are tedious to make,” Shinsou turns his back to the bar, leaning against it with his drink in hand. “You definitely chose that on purpose”. 

“I didn’t,” Shouto monotoned. “I like whisky”. 

“I’ve never seen you drink whisky,” your voice lilts into suspicion. Shouto narrows his eyes, pointedly avoiding yours. A terse beat passes, and you inhale with defeat. “Oh, whatever. Go say hi to the others while we bring the drinks”. 

Shouto blanched. “I can help—”

“I’ve already got a big strong man here to help me,” Shinsou scoffed. There’s an umbrella resting on the lip and a purple straw in his mouth. You put a hand on Shouto’s bicep and squeeze, “You need to let Momo know you’re here before she sends out a search party”. 

The contact visibly placates him. You watch after him as he makes his way to the booth. Slurred over the low music, he turns the short corner to be met with a cheer in much the same way you had. 

“You two are ridiculous,” Shinsou murmurs, amused exasperation clear in his tone. Splitting the drinks into two groups to carry, you ignore his remark and the fondness swirling in your chest. 

Kei appears and sets the highball down. A tall glass of liquid gold, three carved ice cubes fizzing at the bottom, a lemon garnish on the rim. “Thank you,” you tell him, pleased when he reciprocates your sheepish grin. 

You let Shinsou take it— your hands are already full and slipping. The others have pulled Shouto into the booth and sandwiched him between Denki and Mina, whose distinct voices are overlapping as they try to get a word in. 

Denki stops mid sentence as Shinsou slams the drinks onto the table. You do the same, albeit much more carefully. He lists them off one by one, sliding the glasses over to their persons. Shouto’s comes last. 

“And in a surprising turn of events we have Todoroki with a japanese highball”. 

Shouto accepts the drink with his right hand and a straight face, ignoring the harmonious ‘ooh’ that reverberates around the booth. 

Bakugo points his pinky at him, “And since when do you drink whisky?” 

Petulantly, Shouto mutters, “Since now”. 

Ultimately deciding to pull up a chair, Shinsou sits at the head of the table while you are squeezed on the end beside Bakugo; he side glances, raising his brow in acknowledgement. 

“Dude, now that we’re all here, let's have a toast!” Denki exclaims, literal sparks of joy bouncing from his crown. Everybody groans. 

“I’ll hear your toast bro,” Kirishima lifts his pint, the wonderful enabler that he is. Shouto meets your gaze across the table and raises his own with a shrug. 

“I, uh…” Denki shrinks under the pressure. “I dunno what I was gonna say”. 

“To a quick death,” Shinsou proposed, halfheartedly holding his sake in the air. 

“Hear hear,” muttered from beside you, Bakugo’s eyes fell closed. You snickered, alcohol weakening your inhibitions as you hook your chin over his shoulder. He allows it. 

Momo voices her disapproval and tips her glass, “To good health”. 

“To Chargebolt,” Jirou adds, a grin splitting her cheeks, laughter already bleeding into her words. “Seen him at his best, seen him at his worst, and still can’t tell the difference”. 

“Oi!” 

“To a livable minimum wage!” Uraraka hiccups. All the blood in her body seems to have rushed to her face; expression comically determined, betrayed by her spasming diaphragm. Everyone lifts a glass. 

The night crawls on. Another round, then two. Kei refills your glass, never without a flirty comment. You feel thawed from the inside out, a silly smile fixed to your lips. Your cheeks hurt from laughing, from the too-forceful kisses given by Mina, the rough pinch of explosive fingers. 

You might as well be engaged in a game of musical chairs; the only one refusing to surrender his spot is Bakugo. Jirou and Momo slink away somewhere private— ‘private’ being behind the vintage jukebox right by the bathrooms— and Kirishima scoots over to wrap you up in a side hug and pushes all the air from your lungs. Uraraka drapes herself across your front. Shinsou surrenders as Mina sits in his lap. Being with them is as innate as breathing. 

Maybe you didn’t fight a war together but they still embraced you as their own. And Shouto watches with that terrible, awful, shoujo twinkle in his eyes; you flush hot whenever you catch him, inundated by the desire to reach across and kiss him.

Your pulse is quick and movements slowed. A pleasant buzz circulates around your body. After the third round Shouto begins insisting that you stay put. “Okay,” you conceded tipsily. “Tell Kei I said hi”. 

Shouto leaves with a vaguely constipated frown. 

Bakugo cackles and refuses to tell you what was so funny. Momo returns to the sight of you clinging to the stubborn hero’s arm, cursing his name. “What are we laughing at?” she muses. You notice a few things first: there’s a fresh bruise on her neck, a button on her dress undone, and a glass of water in her grasp. 

Disheveled Momo is a rare treat. You’d tease her about it, if Bakugo did not immediately jump at the opportunity to tease you first. “Just gearhead and halfie being oblivious idiots,” he surmised. Another snort bursts from his nose. “‘Tell Kei I said hi’. Shit. Should’a seen his face”. 

“Bakugo,” Momo chides, attempting to disguise her own amusement. “Go easy on them”. 

He clicks his tongue, shaking you with a rough shrug of his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel and fuck already”. 

Your mood tumbles, dampening as you sulk, “Shouto doesn’t want me like that”. 

“Yeah, right. And vice prez didn’t just get fingered by the jukebox”. 

“Bakugo!” Momo’s voice is stronger this time. She whips her head toward the other patrons and back, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I did not get… fingered,” she protested with a sharp whisper. 

“What’s that?” you feign ignorance, drowsy and loose lipped. “Momo got fingered?!”

Making Bakugo laugh feels a little like winning the lottery; having him throw an arm around you as he does it leaves you dizzy with accomplishment. You curl into his side, shoulders shaking. You mouth an apology across the booth and Momo stretches to take your hand, stressing her forgiveness. 

Shouto shatters the jovial atmosphere. He returns stiffly, his glare set in stone, and places a drink you did not order in front of you. After a quick sniff you realise that it’s water. 

“Once you’ve drunk that we should head home,” he says. It’s posed as a suggestion but you hear the instruction. Not wanting to irritate him any further, you begin to sip. 

Momo’s brow pinches with worry. “Is everything alright, Shouto?” 

He breathes harshly through his nose, coming out in a puff of cold air. ”Yes, everything’s fine. I’m sorry to cut the night short, Momo,” his face softens. “It was good to see you”. 

Astonishingly, Bakugo says nothing. His arm snakes from around your back. You finish the water with a big gulp, resurfacing for air. “Done,” you wipe the back of your hand across your lips. 

Shouto steadies you while you awkwardly scoot around the booth. Momo gathers you both into a hug, her kind hand stroking the length of your spine. “Text us when you get home”. 

“We will,” you promise, saluting as you’re gently pulled away. “See ya on Monday, great explosion murder god dynamite, sir!” 

The others have dispersed amongst the small crowd. You mourn not being able to say goodbye to them all. Shouto cinches around your waist and guides you to the door. You can’t complain— instinctively sinking into the embrace, surrounded by his cologne— but you do wonder what the hurry is. 

You waded through the mass of people until you both finally made your way out into the open air. The breeze encourages you closer to his front, cold and refreshing in your lungs. Already you feel as if some of your drunken enthusiasm is dissolving. 

“Shouto?” his pace slows mercifully, coming to a stop underneath a streetlight. The bulb blinks in five second intervals, dousing him in sickly orange. “Are you mad?” 

A warm hand hooks your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye only to avoid looking back. His lips part to speak, and when nothing comes they close. “I’m not mad,” he intoned quietly, thumb skimming over the line of your jaw. Your breath catches. 

He seems so… guilty. 

“I think you are,” you observe, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You bring his hand down and intertwine it with yours. The alcohol must be making you brave. “But if you’re not ready you don’t need to tell me”. 

Some colour returns to his skin. Shouto huffs a disbelieving laugh. “You’re so—” cutting off that train of thought, he tugs you forward and wraps you into a hug. The crook of his neck shields you from the cold, and for a few short moments all you can hear is your heart beating in your ears. 

“…Have you ever felt like there are things you want to say but there’s something that always stops you from expressing them?” 

You take note of how his grip tightens, warm nose squished into your cheek as if he thought you might run. Shouto is nervous— rather, he’s making himself vulnerable to you. “I have,” you murmur. 

He bows his head to burrow into your shoulder, “Then, would you give me the chance to say them?” 

What you hear is: will you be patient with me? 

“Now?” you ask gently. The light overhead flickers again and your vision swims. You’re realising now that his impulsivity might simply be because he’s drunk. “Don’t you want to talk at home?”

Shouto shakes his head. “If I say it now you can change your mind and go back”. 

That’s worrying. You chew nervously on your bottom lip, “…Okay”. 

You expect him to let go but he doesn’t, though he does loosen his hold, as if giving you the chance to leave. Following a deep inhale, Shouto solemnly admits, “That guy at the bar. Kei. He asked me to give you his phone number”.  

“He did?” 

“Yes,” he says. 

“So where is it?” 

Dread and fatigue curdled in your stomach. You hear the moment Shouto swallows his caution. The atmosphere sours as he admits, “I burned it”. 

You step back, leaving his arms limp at his sides. He looks betrayed. Like you’re testing the strength of a promise you don’t recall making. This was not a good time nor place to talk about this. 

“My feet hurt,” his eyes widened in confusion. “I’m cold and I’m drunk and my feet hurt, Shouto. I want to go home”. 

The request registers slowly. You watch his face fall, gathering a facsimile of a smile. “Okay. Then let’s go home”. 

Your chest aches. You want to cry. You scramble for his hand and squeeze it tight, hating the despondent tone in his voice. “We’re too drunk. We’ll talk about this in the morning,” and that seems to lessen the rigidity in his bones. 

From then on, the walk is done in heavy silence. Your thoughts are muddied and loud, emotions bouncing back and forth between resentment and uncertainty. 

Underneath all of it is a seedling of hope that you daren’t nurture. 

The atmosphere clings, following you all the way home, suffocating as you stand a metre apart in front of your respective bedrooms. You bid him goodnight, hand lingering on the handle. Anticipation sits like a stone in your chest. 

You lie in bed waiting for him to knock. 

He doesn’t. 

Next time you open your eyes you wince at the throb behind them; it pings around the inside of your skull and you groan into your pillow. 

There’s movement in the apartment. Shouto had always been an early riser. Cold relief washes over you at the confirmation that he was here. Last night filters through your mind. One scene after another you try to make sense of it all. 

Kei had been genuinely flirting— you didn’t really think to take it seriously at the time. It was harmless fun, and you figured he was just the type that enjoyed teasing. 

Shouto must’ve realised it early on. That was the reason he stepped in and kept you away from the bar. But that didn’t line up right with the reality you knew, because the only reasonable explanation for his behaviour would be that— 

You shoot upright, kicking off your covers, and immediately feel it rebound. Thumbs pressed to your temples, you massage firm circles into your skin until the pain dulled. 

Holy shit. Shouto was jealous. 

A strange blanket of exhaustion settles back over you, as though your muscles have atrophied. You slide down the headboard and stare up at the marks on the ceiling, all sprawled out like dropped skeins of yarn. Suddenly your bedroom was a refuge from an inevitable relationship altering conversation. 

Shouto had been jealous of a man vying for your affection. Your Shouto: gentle, placid, considerate, patient, funny, beautiful Shouto. 

“Fuck,” you whisper into the emptiness. You can hear the coffee machine brewing in the distance. You’re torn between screaming into your hands and jumping on the bed. 

You settle on getting up. Slowly. It’s clear you had been drunker than you thought; your pyjamas are on back to front. You tremble as you slip your arms through the sleeves and right the collar, padding over to the door. 

Shouto wanted to talk last night and you stopped him. Guilt gnaws away at you. All that courage was shot down. Pretending to forget about it isn’t an option— you had to do this. 

The plan to be stealthy is squandered by the hinge on your door. A harsh squeak reverberates through the apartment. You huff, lowering from your tip toes, and walk towards the kitchen. 

Another body enters the hallway. Shouto turns on his heel and nearly drops his mug as you almost collide. Reflexes hammered into him, he catches it in one hand and manoeuvres you away from the hot splash with the other. 

“Shit. Did it burn you?” he breathes, bringing your hand up to his mouth. A chilly puff of air blows over your skin and you shiver. 

You clear your throat and try to find your voice. “I think you got it. Thank you, Shouto”. 

The sound of his name pulls him out of his reverie. You try not to feel hurt when he drops your hand like hot coal. “Sorry,” casting a forlorn look at the half empty mug and the small coffee puddle at his feet. Lips pressed into a thin line, he says, “I was bringing you some coffee. Thought you might need it”. 

Delicate tendrils of steam dance and dissipate into the air. You gently cup your hands around his and receive the mug, a small smile pulling at your mouth. His eyes are keen and searching as you take a drink. 

“I definitely needed it,” you tell him between sips. The coffee paves a hot path down your throat to your stomach— the warmth spreads, seeking to fill the spaces between. All the earlier fear is washed away.

The time you spend observing one another feels like a short eternity. You watch hope visibly thread into his features, brighter; the way he always should be. 

Softly, you ask, “Do you think we could talk about last night?”

“Yeah,” the word comes in a whisper. Head inclining, Shouto nods in one slow motion. Then, louder, “I should clean up, first. Where do you want to…?”

“Where?” you repeat. The thoughts in his head are written plainly across his forehead and you longed to rid him of them. Tilting and raising your brows suggestively, you tease, “Bedroom?” 

Shouto gives an amused huff and the remnants of caution are blown away like seeds in a dandelion clock. His steps are lighter, a subtle bounce to them. Light filters into the living room and your spirit is buoyed by giddiness and wonder. 

What had you been so afraid of? 

You wait in the crook of the L shaped couch, legs curled beneath your body, facing the tall standing windows that overlook the city. Your headache has lessened into a quiet echo. 

While he mops up the coffee you finish off the last drops in your cup. You take a moment to appreciate your surroundings. The emptiness you once felt in this room no longer exists. Blankets strewn across the cushions, small crochet coasters, pictures put into frames, books left face down to save the page, things out of place— it felt so lived in. 

It felt like home. 

You sit up when footfalls approach. Shouto is pretty in the late morning light, under eye shadows and all. “Did you even sleep last night?”

“Not much,” he confesses. His weight shifts before he finally decides on sitting beside you, turning to mirror your posture. “I thought I might’ve messed things up”. 

You stretch to put your mug on the coffee table and his eyes follow attentively. “Shouto, you didn’t mess anything up,” he wrings his hands together in his lap, searching your face for dishonesty and finding none. “Though you probably shouldn’t have burned up that guy's number”. 

“Probably,” he affirmed. The hair on his left side is pressed flat to his head. You count the creases on his cheek, stopping at the healing bruise on his jaw. The movement of his full mouth draws you back, “I am sorry for that. It was childish of me and I took away your choice”. 

You hum, shuffling closer on your knees. Shouto’s expression is beautifully open, and you understand it, because your heart beat is thrumming just the same. “Next time, give me the number so I can ask you to burn it myself”. 

Shouto’s fiddling halts. It’s a relief. You thought if he pulled at that hangnail any more he might unravel in front of you. A crease forms between his brows, “What?” 

“I don’t want anyone else’s number. I…” losing some of your strength, you close your eyes for a second. Inhale deeply, continuing on an exhale, “Last night, you were jealous”. 

It’s not a question. Shouto nods, his hand making an aborted reach for your own but thinking better of it. 

You slide your palm against his. Your fingers fill the spaces between his knuckles. Shouto holds on tight and you ask,  “…Why?” 

A nail traces random shapes into his skin. You watch him watching your finger, mouth curled into a small, wobbly smile. He steels his resolve, an internal monologue you aren’t privy to. With spine tingling cadence, he says, “Because I’m in love with you”. 

You’re not sure what you anticipated. There isn’t much that could prepare you for such a long awaited admission— for something you’d only daydreamed about hearing. The hunger in your heart rears its head, seeing his words as permission to want. To take. 

Shouto carries on, incognisant to your plight. “I made peace with my feelings a long time ago. It’s not something I wanted you to worry about”. 

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him. “Deciding things for me”. 

“I don’t want you to make peace with them. I want you to share them. With me,” Your eyes meet as he peers up. There’s a stray kiss curl by his temple, white and soaking up the sun. He shudders when you twist it gently around your finger. “I love you too, dummy”.  

Heat prickles at the back of your neck, feeling the shift in atmosphere. “Oh,” is his eloquent reply. A slow blooming grin pulls at his mouth as the reality sets in. 

“Yeah. Oh”. Giddiness bubbles in your chest like water in a wellspring and you let go to cup his face. Shouto leans into the cradle your hands form, eyes fluttering closed as your thumb skims over the scar tissue. His ears are warm. 

Guided by fleeting impulses you press a quick kiss to his left eyelid, and he sucks in a shaky breath. You move lower, nose bumping his cheek, to press another to the corner of his mouth. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper, feeling like you were on the delicate precipice of something incredible. His mouth turns to chase yours, bicoloured eyes peeking beneath his lashes. 

“Kiss me,” he murmurs, and it comes like a puff of steam. “On the mouth this time”. 

Your lips tremble as you try not to laugh, aligning with his. You kiss him, petal soft and gentle, and feel it when he smiles. Tentative, derived from uncertainty and unfamiliarity. 

Shouto’s cool fingers slide around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. Don’t go anywhere. You answer in kind— hands sliding down to his chest to guide him back into the cushions and feel his heart racing as you settle your knees either side of his hips. You barely part for air, and Shouto follows your lead. 

“Again,” he mumbles. 

The intensity grows. Shouto kisses like it’s his last. Strong arms wrap around your waist, wandering hands mapping out the topography of your body. Somewhere between, your tongue dips into the seam, biting his bottom lip and plucking a whine right from his mouth. Heat flutters low in your abdomen; hips squirm between your thighs, his chest pressed to your own. 

“Shouto,” you groan, pushing harder, needing to be closer, threading into the soft hair at the back of his head. Fingers curl into the fat by your hips, they pull, rocking you into his lap. Invigorated, Shouto nips at your lips. Arousal spikes through you at the cool exhale— his tongue slides over your own and along the grooves in your teeth, wet and cold. 

“Fuck, is that—” you pant, head falling back as he begins to leave a trail of hot kisses down your throat. “S’that your quirk?” 

He hums an affirmative. The sound is resonant, deep in his chest and satisfied. Smug. You feel the impression of his smile against your jugular. Static fills your brain. Your thighs clench, rutting forward to relieve the ache between your legs, imagining all the things his mouth could do. 

At some point you part to catch your breath. Your foreheads come together, sharing awed laughter. Shouto cheeks are pink and there’s a soft smile on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips.  His hand moves to cup your jaw, rubbing small circles into the cheekbone.

“We should… slow down…” his chest heaves, eyes swallowed by his pupils. They fall to his lap, right where you’re pressed to his cock. You file away the lazy slur in his voice and wonder if that’s where all his blood went. “…I want to do this properly”. 

Figures that he would have more willpower than you; though you get the sense if you pushed, he’d give, and every surface in the apartment would see you laid out. Gathering your thoughts is made much more difficult as he kneads at your thigh, heedless to your struggle. 

“Okay baby,” you murmur, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his brow bone. His ears turn red and you’re alight, “You like that?” 

Shouto tucks his grin against your shoulder. Like before, he locks both arms around your back and holds you close. You comb your fingers through his hair, overlapping white and red, a long tender moment passing. 

“You love me,” he whispered apprehensively. Then again, thick with wonderment. “You love me”.  

It’s unbelievable to him— and that’s unbelievable to you. Shouto is easy to love, moreso than anyone you have ever met. All clandestine glances, soft spoken words and inside jokes; a book of every witty little thing you’ve said, keeping your words close, giving importance to the things you enjoy; he’s gag gifts and thoughtfulness and open arms, the reason all your hot drinks never go cold, he’s the cream that never melts. He’s home. 

You cradle him to your chest with no intention of letting go. The sun crawls higher, casting a warm blanket over your shoulders. 

“I do,” you reply. “How could I not?” 

[liv-loves-mic]

Nightmare || Shoto Todoroki x fem!reader

Just a short unedited piece of writing that’s been stuck in my drafts since I started this account lmao

It was a peaceful night in UA high, you could feel the breeze from the slightly open window softly graze your skin as you lay under the covers cuddled up with your boyfriend Shoto. It became a regular thing for you to sneak into his dorm at night due to the growing separation anxiety between you two.

Shoto was fast asleep on his side facing you, his arm lazily wrapped around your waist as he snored softly. You looked over at him and smiled softly before closing the laptop on your lap that was playing some TV show and placing it on his desk.

Turning your attention back to Shoto you noticed his sudden fearful expression that had appeared, soft whimpers left his lips as he started to shuffle around on the bed. Worry overcame you as his whimpers grew into cries and sniffles. You gently shake him and move the hair out of his face.

“Shoto? Baby?” You whispered as you shook your boyfriends sleeping state.

“N-No stop!” He spoke with distress in his tone making you grow more worried. You shook him more violently.

“Shoto wake up!” You whisper shouted before your boyfriend shot up causing you to flinch slightly as he breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath.

“Hey..I’m here it’s okay…” you cooed softly as he started to tear up. You pulled him to your chest and started playing with his two toned hair.

“You wanna talk about it?..” you asked in a whisper. He sniffled slightly and swallowed loudly.

“H-He was hurting m-my mom ag-again..” shoto mumbled. He cleared his throat and shakily wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your chest and inhaling deeply.

You let him cry as much as he needed before you spoke to him again. After he calmed down, you started to talk.

“It was just a dream honey…i know you’re worried but your mom is safe. I promise.” You spoke as you continued to stroke his hair.

He was silent for a moment. Like he was processing the words. She’s safe.

“I-I’m really sorry..did I wake you?” Shoto asked, looking up at you and wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“No no no, don’t apologize baby..i was already awake and Y’know I’ll always be here to comfort you when you need me, okay?”

He nods quietly and nuzzles into your neck, kissing it a few times. His affectionate side always made you melt.

“I’m going to go back to sleep now. Is that okay?” He whispers. You smile down at him and he looks up at you with tired eyes.

“Of course it is..goodnight.”

“Goodnight y/n. I love you.”

“I love you too Shoto.”

A few moments after that you were graced with the sound of soft snoring once more before your eyes grow heavy and close as sleep overtakes you.

@liv-loves-mic2023 {please don’t plagiarize, copy or repost my work claiming it as your own or without my permission.} Reblogs are always appreciated though!

[andypantsx3]

shouto is the type of boyfriend who routinely brings you little trinkets, like a bird wooing his mate.

he's always coming home and unscrewing one of his belt cannisters, dumping out a weird rock he saw on patrol or a tiny origami star uraraka showed him how to make during a long briefing. he brings home little gachapon capsule toys at least once a week, especially the weird ones—most notably a phone charm that looks like a tempura shrimp—and drinks from vending machines if he sees they have little cat faces on them.

you have no idea what to do with all of it, but shouto always looks very pleased with himself when he sees them hanging off your keyring or superglued to a magnet on the fridge.

[andypantsx3]

i think boyfriend shouto would get jealous of the most ridiculous things.

like, you're both chilling on the couch, having a lazy morning, alternately dozing and messing around on your phones.

shouto catches you zooming in on a twitter photo of his abs, and watches, absolutely mystified, as you click over to another photo and zoom in on that one too.

inexplicably, he burns with jealousy.

he spends the next 20 minutes trying to subtly inch his shirt up and then another 20 trying to find ways to organically draw your attention his way...

[bluebird-in-the-breeze]

i'll find my way (back to you) | todoroki x reader | masterlist

pairing - todoroki shouto x reader

summary -

Your life is going the way you want it to - a restaurant of your own, great friends and a mostly successful escape from the clutches of canon. It’s just the infuriatingly attractive and interested Pro Hero that complicates things.

(Todoroki Shouto x Reader: the one where you realize that dodging the world of Heroes is impossible. Especially when you’ve got Todoroki popping up at every turn.)

disclaimer - I am not Japanese and I am not a chef. This fic is the result of a lot of thinking and research. Isekai/reincarnation also plays an important role in the story so just keep that in mind.

chapter links

one

two

three

four

five

six

cross-posted on ao3 here

[andypantsx3]

an a/b/o fic where you think todoroki shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, he has to be an omega.

until some alpha makes things uncomfortable for you, todoroki steps in, and you find out you were very, very mistaken.

[andypantsx3]

Thirty seconds ago, Todoroki Shouto had been an omega.

At least, thirty seconds ago, you’d been like ninety-nine percent sure he had been an omega. There had been no way for you to tell for certain, given that you, a beta, can’t smell things as well as the other dynamics can.

But despite Shouto’s height and fairly solid build, he’s unrealistically beautiful, not to mention gentle and calm and generally soothing to be around. Pretty, kind, and patient; classic omega material.

Except now, with his broad back shielding you from most of the party, blocking your view of that asshole alpha—you are very sure you’ve missed a couple things.

From this angle, you can see Shouto’s scent patches are on—still perfectly flush on either side of his neck, as they always are. But there’s an audible hush in the room, like everyone can sense something coming off of him. The hair at the back of your neck raises, like there is something in the apartment with you that should be very, very wary of.

“You will leave,” Shouto says, something in his tone that you’ve never heard before. As a beta, you’re blissfully unreceptive to Alpha Orders; but even your limbs lock up, brain prickling with a sudden urge to obey. Your heartbeat picks up.

Without input from your brain, you take a step back, until one of Shouto’s elegant hands reaches behind him, closing firmly over your wrist. “You…please stay,” he says, turning his head to fix you with one electric blue eye.

You nod, frozen in his grasp.

Over his shoulder, you can just see the top of the spiky black updo of the alpha who’d followed you in from the kitchen. He stumbles back a few steps, almost tripping over Tetsutetsu’s shitty couch, blinking up at Shouto. “Did you just—?”

“I said, you will leave,” Shouto intones, his voice low, somehow still clearly audible through the upbeat party playlist. He’s normally so placid, the inflection in his voice this time slices through the air like a knife.

You watch as a shudder runs through the entire room, even Kirishima, who’s poked his head out to peer into Tetsutetsu’s living room in dismay. You know he’s an alpha, from Mina’s idle gossip, so to see even him affected has you blinking at the back of Shouto’s head in perplexity.

You were beginning to think Shouto was maybe…not an omega.

“Yeah well, f-fuck you anyways,” the alpha spits, but you hear the clipped pace of his shoes on the hardwood as he beats a hasty retreat towards the front door.

The door slams behind him. Collectively, it’s like the room breathes a sigh of relief as the line of Shouto’s shoulders untenses. Only Ochako, another beta, blinks at you with the same bewilderment you’re feeling.

You don’t have time to make a face back, however, before Shouto draws in a deep breath and turns to you. His normally blank expression has been exchanged for something troubled; his perfect eyebrows are knitted in concern, his full mouth pursed up like he’d just let it drop from a snarl. You find yourself suddenly crowded back into the corner, your back bumping the wall.

Shouto gives you an impassive look, then leans down and gives a delicate sniff at your temple, as if checking your condition. “Are you alright?” he asks. His voice is still strange. Rough with something.

The angle he’s leaning at gives you a glimpse of the skin under the top button of his button down, pale and unblemished. There’s a shadow hinting at the dip of a collarbone that you suddenly have the strangest urge to put your mouth on.

You shake your head, trying to dissipate the thought. Shouto is beautiful—you’ve known that for a long time—but you do not know him near well enough to be having thoughts about putting your mouth under his shirt. He’s friends with some of your friends, and that would just be inviting trouble into the group dynamic.

Shouto frowns, however, as if you meant you weren’t alright. His nose presses right into your hair, and he crowds even closer, like he’s trying to find the source of your discomfort—even though he’d just chased that source right through the front door.

“Y/N,” Shouto says, low in your ear. You can’t tell if it’s a directive or a question.

Something under your skin shudders in response, and to your utter shock, you can feel yourself tilting your head to the side, baring your neck.

Shouto goes still over you. He huffs out a harsh breath, stirring your hair, before his face drops into the cradle of your shoulder. He breathes in, slow, measured, his mouth just barely touching the skin of your throat. You can feel his long, pretty eyelashes flutter against your skin, and the sensation sends shivers down your spine.

There is a strange feeling of malleability that settles over you, like your bones have jellified and your muscles have atrophied. You know it has something to do with the way Shouto is most definitely not an omega after all, and the thought makes your brain fuzz with static.

Pretty, gentle, elegant Todoroki Shouto is an alpha. Kind, placid, easygoing Todoroki Shouto is even some kind of…distressingly strong alpha. 

It crosses all the wires in your brain to think of that face possessing that kind of strength. But there’s clearly something there.

It feels like a short eternity, the time Shouto stands over you like that, your head spinning with these new revelations. Distantly, you register the hum of voices in the background, Tetsutetsu’s playlist still chugging merrily along. But Shouto is so warm over you, breathing slow and shallow, a tall, strong anchor weighing you against the wall. 

It could be minutes or hours before he finally steps away. He looks calmer, but a little dazed. 

His eyes pick over you in some kind of assessment. “You’re well?” he asks carefully.

“Yeah,” you manage, your throat weirdly dry. “Yeah. I—thank you, Shouto.”

Shouto inclines his head in a nod. “You, as well. I don’t usually…I try not to rise to anger. But when alphas try to use their power to—” he cuts himself off. His throat bobs with some emotion you can’t name. “Your scent…is calming.”

You’ve been told you smell like a beta before, by alpha and omega friends alike. You wonder what you smell like to Shouto in particular—what exactly it means to smell like a beta. Whether he likes it.

“I do,” he says. You realize with horror that you’ve actually spoken the question aloud. Shouto’s mouth quirks at your mortified expression. “I like it,” he repeats.

Your cheeks heat, and you find you can’t hold that curious blue-and-grey gaze. You scuff a shoe against the hardwood, scrubbing a hand over your warm face. “Well thanks, I think. Can I…mix you a drink less toxic than Tetsu’s as a thank you?” you ask, for something to draw his attention off your face.

The little press at the side of Shouto’s mouth gets slightly deeper. “I would like that,” he answers.

Flush with pleasure, you smile. You scrape yourself together and lead him towards the kitchen, a new awareness of him settling over you like a warm shawl. 

And it’s that night you realize, for the first time, that something between you and Shouto has changed. Something in the way you both reacted to one another, in a way you’d never been made to before. Something that you hadn’t anticipated when you’d stepped through Tetsutetsu’s door this evening.

You wonder just how it will play out.

[shotorozu]

someone definitely told shouto that “LOL”was the acronym for “lots of love” and guess what? he believed them

which is why he’s super confused, when he sees you roll over in laughter, hand slapping your knee and everything— after reading his letter addressed to you that was signed off with

“LOL. —shouto.”

[writings-for-bean-chan]

hey there, i just stumbled across your blog and i like it! could i request Shouto with a s/o whose quirk is that they can turn their body into water or fire? thanks!

I'm so glad you like my blog! Speaking of which, we're nearly at 3400 followers! This is very exciting, as this blog has been around for nearly 2 and a half years! So thank you to everyone who's been following me so far, we're almost at another milestone <3 :)

Requests are open but maybe closing soon. Check out the rules in my bio for more information, all of the details are there! Speaking of my bio, check out those lovely links in my bio to my masterlist and RedBubble (products with art designs I made myself from various forms of media)

Stay safe! The roads are wet and slippery near my house, so drive safe and make sure to watch out for puddles!

SHOTO

-Having a half and half quirk, Shoto can easily relate to the regulation of your quirk

-Controlling fire, you both love playing a made-up game you create

-It's like catch, but instead, the ball is on fire

-You also enjoy shooting water up in the air and having him freeze it

- Like that scene in The Incredibles with Frozone

-Shoto enjoys training with you as well

-Your growth over the last year or so has been impressive with what UA has taught you about self-regulation and maintaining balance

-When he feels overheated or needed to relax, he enjoys having you run your hand over his forehead with his head in your lap

-The coolness of your hand is always welcome

-When you sleep over on hot summer nights, he holds you close to keep cool

-Seeing you in battle is always an experience

-You're smooth with your moves and your ability to adapt to your surroundings very quickly has put you at the top of your classes

-You've met his father, who was extremely excited to meet your parents

-They had the same motivation and goal as Endeavor, but they got lucky the first time

-Your parents put a lot of pressure on you to be pro-heroes, but Shoto knows your true dreams and goals

-Wanting to help people is a dream, but not as a pro-hero at least

-While you're in UA though, maybe your mind will change and you'll lead a new generation of heroes to greatness

-But until then, Shoto is content just being your boyfriend and nothing more or less :)

[melancoley-deactivated20250216]

todoroki couldn’t understand why;

anon asked: Why hello there you magical stardust~ may I request a drabble with Todoroki where he is in love with the reader but he doesn’t know it yet

an: pls why is it so hard to write for him and why do i love it? lmao anyways mwah hope u like it babs <3

c: todoroki shoto x gn!reader

wc: 0.6k

w: pure fluff

Todoroki never liked the world he lived in. So many greys became cloying when he was just a small child trying to make the best of his childhood – but what positive side did a world have in a vast storm cloud that covered an entire span of existence with aggressive shades of grey?

Since he was a child he was told that when he was older he would understand all the complications of the human world and, with it, all the beauty in every detail of the world, all the grey disappearing and giving wings to butterflies that, with their wings dyed by the rainbow, they painted his entire world, his entire existence. But what was the rainbow?

Since childhood, Todoroki only saw in grey tones, his world deprived of any color more beautiful, warmer, child-worthy. But he was told so many times that colors would appear in his world; he was told so many times that all the colors would violently dye Todoroki’s life, wrapping him in a euphoric sphere of ecstasy and joy.

And he never believed it because, quite simply, everything around him was grey.

Keep reading

[peculiarinsomniac]

Heather | Reader x Todoroki ( x YaoMomo)

Sonfic: Heavily based on Heather by Conan Gray

TW: Unrequited love ( one-sided YaoMomo x Todoroki) Angst; Hurt/ no comfort

Warning: Slightly edited; English is not my first language; Lots of metaphora; Use of GN pronouns or "you"

Speckles of white were dancing in the air, ending the dance with kneeling to the ground.

Eyes that resembled the dark night sky widened in fascination, watching the dance of frozen crystals, too captivated by the winter wonderland to notice the shiver that rocked through her body constantly.

“You'll get sick if you're standing here without proper clothes.”

Jolting at the sudden voice that pulled a certain female of the Class 1A, she turned to the person whose appearance had been inaudible to her ears.

She knew whose voice belonged to, but she was pleasantly surprised that he would come out to look for her.

Taking his appearance, the will of her legs to stand upright began to fade away. The white sweater that covered up a body to gawk over suited him nicely, triggering the thought to rub her face against the velvety sweater. His normally neatly combed hair was disheveled, confirming the fact that he would always look handsome. Heterochromia eyes that gazed at her held concern in them, stirring up the same fuzzy feeling every time she glanced at him.

Todoroki Shouto was undoubtedly a threat to her heart that jumped constantly out of her ribcage in his presence.

Shaking all the thoughts about him out of her mind, she replied “Watching the snowflakes fall is something I will never grow tired of watching. They might only be there for a moment, but those moments will always spark a moment of happiness in me. I cannot help but be mesmerized by them. When I was young, I wasn’t allowed to be outside for too long because I’d catch a cold. And since I had duties to attend to, I barely had time to watch them in peace. But now that I live in the dorms, I want to take every opportunity I get to gaze at them while it lasts.”

Listening to her story of old childhood memories, he concluded that Yaoyorozu Momo was sheltered by her parents from the cold season and wanted to enjoy the things that brought the season with it while she could.

Wordlessly, he'd taken off his sweater before holding his hand that held the sweater out to his left seatmate. With furrowed eyebrows, she gazed at him and then at his hand before her eyes wandered back to his face to look him in the eyes, waiting for an explanation.

"If you don't want to go inside, then it’s fine. But at least, wear clothes that can keep you warm.", the boy with bi-coloured hair clarified. Placing the sweater in her hand, he didn't wait for a response, turning around to head back inside the dorms.

A call of his name made him halt in his tracks. He glanced over his shoulder to look at the flustered girl who clutched the sweater to her body with both of her hands. Bowing forward, she tried to show how much appreciated the gesture but also to hide her flustered state Todoroki was clueless of. Nodding, he was unaware of the fact that she couldn’t see his acknowledgement of her thankfulness.

But that was only one of many things he was unaware of.

God, if he only knew how much she liked him. How deep her feelings were for him.

For this dense idiot. Blurting such heartwarming words out of nowhere without hesitation and full of honesty. How could he be so blunt, not even realising how much his words affected people? He was an utter fool who wordlessly went inside to head to bed, leaving her alone in the cold night.

But was he the fool? Or was it her, who was the fool? After all, how could she ever catch feelings for someone who did not know how to deal with feelings? It hurt, it hurt so much.

But is this pain so excruciating because he was bad at feelings? Or was this pain so unbearable because she was aware of his feelings?

Feelings that are not meant for her?

Feelings that are oh so painfully obvious painted on his face every time he was watching the person who held his heart in their hands.

Every time they walked by, he could not help but turn his head to them, captivated by them and them alone.

And Yaomomo noticed that. Noticing how his attention was instantly captured by you when you entered a room.

And you didn't even do anything. You did nothing on purpose that would capture anyone's interest. In fact, you tried not to be seen, not longing to be the center of attention, obviously content when you tried to blend into the background.

Key word: Tried.

There was something about you that drew everyone to you. Rather it be your kind soul that had yet to be unveiled from your anxiety which kept people from trying to break your wall, or your compassion that resembled a shelter for everyone, even if it was only for a moment of vulnerability, it didn’t matter. The fragments of you that shone through the cracks of your walls were so bright, brighter than a blue sky, to pull people close to you to seek shelter - even if no words would be exchanged while the storm continued to crack through the clouds.

If Class-1A were asked how they would describe you, Bakugou would instantly answer that "you were some extra who is playing the side character".

Almost everyone of the Class-1A would abashedly agree to some extent. As if you were the confidant, the advisor in movies, you might not play the main protagonist, but the side character.

But even side characters play an important role, they were essential for the character development. Some students were inclined to forget that, too focused on their development to become a hero.

But not Todoroki - he could never forget how you were the reason for his character development. He could never forget the fragment that reflected a part of him, a part of him that was now trying to shine like gold like you did in that moment of comfort.

And he hoped from the bottom of his heart that he would get to see every fragment of you, from the ones that shine like diamonds to the hidden ones in dust.

And Yaomomo perceived the emotions in his eyes whenever he caught a glimpse of you.

Full of curiosity..and the adoration that was obscured perfectly by his stone-faced mask.

The look in his eyes was barely recognizable, but not kept hidden by her.

Not when she felt the same as him.

Not when she was as mesmerized by him as he was by you.

YaoMomo couldn’t breathe. Suffocated by the pain that tugged onto her heartstrings, the world began to blur in front of her eyes. She tried to take a deep breath only for heart wrenching sobs to escape from her mouth that tried to let out all the pent-up feelings.

But nothing came, only the sounds of agony were heard while the heartbreak racked through her kneeling body in her dorming room.

Agony at the realization that Todoroki would never hold romantic feelings for her as she did for him. That she would never be half as pretty as his crush in his eyes.

And even though he gave her his sweater in the cold night of December, she was aware that he didn’t care if she wore it. How could she not be aware of that when she witnessed how much he cared when you wore the sweater that was a gift from him.

She remembered the words that she overheard when everyone was in the common room to exchange gifts on Christmas Eve.

“You mentioned once that you wished you could have my sweater because it was so soft looking, but you worried that it would not fit you. So I bought this for you. ” He tried to be nonchalant about it but the red hue on his cheeks gave his nervous state away. He couldn't even look you properly in the eyes, although it was so obvious that he wanted to see your reaction.

She remembered the times when she overheard him asking you if the sweater was in the laundry since you weren’t wearing it at that moment.

It was just a piece of polyester, so why did her heart ache every time her fellow student asked you if you don’t want to wear that sweater anymore?

Deep down, she knew that he liked you better.

The girl with ebony hair didn’t - couldn’t - admit that his feelings are far beyond liking, acknowledging the longing to be you, to be someone she could never be, was already unbearable.

Picking herself up from the floor, she quickly snatched a blanket to cover the mirror without looking at her reflection that would trigger the feeling of disgust. Exhaustion flooded her body that fell right onto the bed. Letting the exhaustion take over her, it lulled her to sleep in hopes of escaping this cruel reality.

Even if it was only temporary.

A/N:

Possibly part two? Idk, if I feel like it. But right now I just want to sleep. I started writing this at 0 AM now it's 5 AM. XD

This is my first fanfiction in English and I don't think I will write more fanfictions since my life is fully packed. I only write if I need to let things out or need comfort like in this case.

I needed a Todoroki x Reader fanfiction where the Reader is chosen over someone else because a certain fanfiction crushed my soul. And I always wanted to write a Songfic of this song.

I don't accept Yaomomo bashing because she is chef‘s kiss. Tbh I also have a hopeful ending for her in mind but I don't know if I am going to write it.

Gonna edit it later or so.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Good evening, I saw requests were open and had a slightly personal idea I wanted to submit. I tend to run very cold due to poor circulation and am sensitive to the cold as a result. Could I ask for a Todoroki Shouto x reader story where the reader has the same issues?

Pairing: GN!Reader x Todoroki Shouto

Content: Fluff

Todoroki Shouto knows he needs to change himself. He’s been praised by the class for being the most talented, for having a strong quirk, for being so steadfast.

He didn’t want that to be the only thing people knew about him. He wanted friends like everyone else, which is why he has been trying to slowly reach out to his other classmates. He started with Midoriya, earning the other boy’s phone number, which led him to be there when Iida had been in trouble with Stain.

It was a nice feeling to slowly be integrated as part of a group. Uraraka was starting to open up to him more even though he could tell she was still a little nervous around him occasionally.

You were an entirely different story.

You seemed to be absolutely terrified of him, but Todoroki can’t remember a time where he was possibly mean to you, at least not more than anyone else. Yet when he was around the group, he’d notice how you’d tremble and step away from him and grow disheartened realizing how scared you must’ve been of him.

But he didn’t want you to think he’d be mean towards you. How could he expect to make friends, let alone be a hero, if people found him intimidating?

He guesses he’ll have to apologize to you for whatever he did.

“(y/n), can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks nervously, worried you’d find an excuse to avoid him; but to his surprise, you agree and follow him to the stairwell of the school.

You have to admit it is a little scary watching him stare at you from the other side of the narrow walkway. You guess it’s because he’s kind of handsome and keeping direct eye contact with your flustered face.

“So, what do you need?” you ask.

He drops his gaze, a little unsure when he tells you, “I want to apologize. I don’t know if I ever said or did anything that might’ve offended you, but I’m sorry if I did.”

“Uh…” you drawl out.

“I don’t expect us to be friends right away or anything, but I thought that we should at least clear anything between us.”

Question marks begin to bloom in your mind. You couldn’t think of anything Todoroki did to offend you. Other than being in awe at his quirk or good looks, you haven’t really thought too much further about him.

“But there’s nothing between us. I don’t know what’s going on, but you’ve never did anything to hurt my feelings. Not that I can remember anyway.”

“Is it that I intimidate you?”

If by intimidate, he meant being struck by his looks from time to time or the way his hair catches in a breeze or how his eyes glimmer different in direct light then he’d be right. “No? Why would you think that?”

“You always seem nervous around me. You’re shaking even now, and you look like you've seen a ghost.”

“It IS a little drafty down here, I know you can’t probably tell because of your quirk but—oh,” you gasp, realizing what he must be talking about. “Is this because I won’t stand next to you?”

He nods.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think I didn’t want you around. The thing is I get cold really easy, and your quirk on the right is like standing next to an air conditioner."

He thinks for a second, trying to figure out what the solution to your problem could possibly be. Slowly, he offers, “If you want, you can stand next to my left side if that’d help.”

“That’d be fine by me,” you tell him, a little smile on your face that makes him feel a little closer to adding you to his slowly budding garden of new friends. “Could I do that now? It’s freezing.”

Todoroki moves next to you, shuffling to the other side so that you could walk near his left to stave off the cold. From that day, that became your permanent spot whenever your group of friends come together.

Todoroki didn’t mind. It felt a little comforting to know he’d find you whenever his vision drifted to his left now, and how’d you smile back at him when you noticed him looking at you. It was a good emotion.

Then, the heater broke in the dorms.

You had to bundle yourself up in the common room. A jacket and two blankets and you were still shaking like crazy even as Todoroki sits next to you in attempts to help you keep warm until Momo and Bakugo could fix the issue.

Watching you shiver, he questions if he should increase his output or rather bring you closer. You were already as close as you could be without touching him. He wonders if that would exactly be a bad thing though. He overheard Kaminari and Mineta talking about movie dates and how people would put their arms around one another. But would you think he was trying to flirt with you? It’s not like he would be. This situation was entirely different after all. But why did the thought make his heart jitter to be closer to you?

Maybe he should ask you what the best option in this situation would be.

But before the words can even leave his mouth, your head falls to the side and onto his shoulder and one of your arms slide around his. He doesn’t say anything as you cuddle up to him. He shifts, offering you easier access to him, not realizing that his warmth and the soft thrumming of his pounding heart in your ear is beginning to lull you to sleep until you’re already in the deepest throes of it, and he wraps his arm around you to calm the last of your trembling so you could sleep well.

It’s another twenty minutes before he hears the clicking of the heater turning on from the other side of the room.

“The heat is working again,” Shouto hears Momo announce.

Shouto decides to tell you the good news and lightly begins to shake you. That is until the gentle image he sees when his vision shifts left forces him to stop. Your face smooshed against his side while your fist rests on his chest. It's ten times better than the smiles you grace him with, and he inadvertently finds himself warming inside and out at the sight.

“Yaoyorozu,” he calls out softly to not wake you before asking with tinged cheeks, “could you wait a few more minutes to turn it up?”

[augustinewrites]

never been a natural (all i do is try)

— Pro Hero!Todoroki Shoto x Actress!Reader

— Summary: Charity galas just aren’t Todoroki’s thing. They’re a little more bearable when he finds out that Deku is friends with - and has even invited - his celebrity crush. (or, sometimes falling in love is dancing like no one is watching, ditching exclusive parties, and going out for ramen at midnight)

— word count: 4.5k (this was supposed to be a drabble help)

Shouto sighs, the sip of bubbly liquid from his glass immediately followed by the unimpressed pursing of his lips. He sets it down, glaring at it moodily. Champagne had never been his thing, sitting too soft and sweet on his tongue. It was probably expensive, he guessed, as any charity event organized by Deku and Uravity tended to be. It wasn’t because they were unnecessarily extravagant people, but because they knew that expensive people were attracted to expensive things.

He had to commend them on their strategy— what better way was there to lure Japan’s elite to their event and encourage them to open up their wallets?

That being said, it didn’t mean he was particularly happy to be here. The invitation had come to his father’s agency, but Shouto had expected the old man to send a fat cheque and be done with it, not send his son instead.

The majority of Musutafu’s Pro Hero population was in attendance tonight. Bakugou and Kirishima were loudly arm wrestling in a corner, their poor decorum cheered on by Ashido and Sero. In a shadowed corner, Kaminari leans over a smirking Jirou, probably seconds away from getting punched. At the opposite end of his table, Iida was deep in conversation with Yaoyorozu and Asui.

With so many Pro Heroes in attendance, villains all over the city would be inclined to mischief. It was the reason charity events with a guest list like this so seldom occurred.

So, it wasn’t that Shouto disliked the charity part of the evening. He had a decent amount of money, always more than willing to put his father’s cash and his own to whatever deserving cause his friends were supporting.

It was the event part that he had an issue with. Aside from the potential increase in villain activity, it was no secret that Todoroki Shouto wasn’t the best at navigating the public relations part of his job.

(He wasn’t like Bakugou though, who was an S-Rank PR nightmare.)

He just wasn’t overly friendly like Uraraka or a smooth conversationalist like Iida. He wasn’t outgoing like Kirishima or talkative like Kaminari. He wouldn’t go as far as to call himself socially awkward or inept, - he kind of was - his social battery just ran out faster than others and took longer to charge.

It would be best to say that he was perhaps too professional and extremely concise, never offering too much or too little. Elusive in a way that wasn’t meant to offend, or intended to come off as standoffish. He was just nervous, afraid to say or do the wrong thing and mess with his reputation. He knew how vicious the media could be, how one slip-up could send approval ratings plummeting and dig holes that would be difficult to escape.

So Shouto would do his part; sit and drink the saccharine sweet champagne and slip Midoriya a cheque printed with the Todoroki Agency logo in the corner.

Nothing more, nothing less.

And he’s fine with it, really, that due to his slight lack of…marketable and distinctive personality, that despite his flashy quirk, the public sometimes found him a little lacklustre, and the hero billboard deemed him worthy of number three, just behind Japan’s Sweetheart and the explosive, Hot-Headed hero.

No, Shouto was as he’d always been. Just Shouto.

No definitive superlative other than the fact that he was the son of the former number one, Endeavor (a title he was still trying to distance himself from until he could start his own agency).

Though, there was the occasional clueless interview moment that the internet deemed worthy of becoming a ‘meme.’

(how was he supposed to know that Mt. Lady didn’t have heart problems, and that she was joking when she’d said his smile could potentially kill?)

Unfortunately, at galas like this - crawling with paparazzi, old friends, and powerful guests - socialization was a must.

So when his father had insisted he attend, instructing him to represent their family and agency, Shouto had known he was going to have a downright horrible time. He’d tried to skip out on going - Midoriya and Uraraka typically held two events a year, he’d just go to the next one.

His father wouldn’t hear it, and neither would Uraraka, who’d reminded him that he’d already missed their event earlier that year when a mission had taken him out of the country.

So he’d sucked it up, dug a crisp, well-tailored suit out from the back of his closet, worked a mulberry silk tie around his neck, and put on his best smile so as to not look like he was suffering.

For the first hour or two, at least.

Once the food had been served and the majority of the speeches had been made, the guests had scattered, engaging in idle small talk while Shouto remained at his table. He has a habit of lingering on the sidelines and keeping to himself, but he makes polite conversation when necessary.

You look like a total snack tonight, Todoroki! “A snack…?” It’s a compliment, cupcake! Ashido was always comparing him to a light meal or some sweet confection. Was she eating enough? “Oh. Thank you?”

Whoa! You’ve really bulked up, dude! What’s your secret? He’s not sure why the Red Riot (6’5 and 270 pounds of pure muscle) is asking him for workout tips, but he tells him anyway. “Vegetables, protein, and exercise.”

Awe, no special friend tonight either? Kaminari had lamented, an arm slung around Shouto’s shoulders. “No.” Don’t worry about it, I’ll be your wingman! “Great.”

Shouto’s feeling drained already.

The place just wasn’t his scene, all warm golden tones, a surplus of dainty, twinkling fairy lights, and soft, plucky piano music that just made him sleepy. Crystalline fixtures and a gaudy mirrorball that casts shimmering refractions of light across the open floor.

He takes another sip of his champagne, grimacing as he looks around. Okay, he really didn’t like this. Maybe he’d head over to the open bar…

He’s just left his seat when someone calls his name, their voice rising above the murmur of the ballroom. “Hey, Todoroki!”

He glances over his shoulder to see Midoriya behind him, the Symbol of Peace wearing a bright smile and looking quite dapper in his suit. “Midoriya. Hello.”

He tries to offer his hand in greeting, but the hero sidesteps it in favour of wrapping Shouto in a hug, which he awkwardly returns in the form of an awkward pat on the back.

“We’re really glad you could make it!” Midoriya grins, his excitement so genuine that it makes Shouto feel a little better about attending. “We missed you at the last one.” He peeks around him to scan his assigned table, green eyes landing on the chair occupied by Shouto’s jacket. “No Fuyumi or Rei? Not even Natsuo?”

He shouldn’t be shocked that Midoriya noticed that his usual choice of plus-ones consisted of his family members, but he is anyway. “It’s parent-teacher conferences at Fuyumi’s school, Natsuo has an exam on Monday, and my mother…a change in her medication has left her feeling a little tired lately.”

The number one hero’s smile doesn’t falter as he nods, but the air between them is suddenly stiff and Shouto worries that he may have overshared. The Todoroki’s were almost infamous for their very public familial drama, but he didn’t need to go around airing all their dirty laundry.

Too much, too much, too much.

He coughs awkwardly, looking around the crowded ballroom. “Where is Uraraka? I’d like to commend her on organizing yet another great event.”

Seeming grateful for the change in subject, Midoriya whips his head around in search of his girlfriend. He suddenly points towards the stage. “She’s right there!”

And yes, Shouto briefly catches a glimpse of Uraraka in her sparkly pink gown, but the practiced words of thanks and congratulations he has prepared suddenly dry up on his tongue.

He suddenly can’t focus on much else, the cacophony of the gala diminishing to a gentle murmur. He knows he should go over, thank Uraraka for inviting him and say hello— but he can’t. His feet just won’t do what he’s telling them to.

Not when he can see you standing there. You look nice (or, as Kaminari might put it, drop dead gorgeous) draped in a floor length gown. Your dress is a smooth silk the shade of deep evergreen, complete with the gentle swoop of a cowl neckline that left him feeling awestruck. Simple, yet elegant looking, with your hair done up in a neat bun at the nape of your neck.

He’s so busy drinking you in, that he doesn’t notice Midoriya’s knowing grin.

“She’s a good friend of Ochako and I,” he says, reminding Shouto that he’s still in the midst of a conversation. “You might know her, actually. She’s an actress.”

He does know you, he realizes. Or rather, he knows of you.

You’re the star in one of Fuyumi’s favourite shows; a modern soap about an ambitious business woman determined to be made CEO of her family’s conglomerate company. Though it’s of a newer age, it still stays true to the roots of a good soap opera. Overdramatic, sexy, with the perfect amount of backstabbing, the classic ‘long lost sibling’ twist, and a decent amount of stinging slaps.

Whenever Shouto visits his sister on weekends, he knows the exact moment you’ll strut onto her screen (Saturday’s, 4pm JST). Each appearance of yours is heralded by some badass instrumental, a witty one-liner, and Fuyumi’s excited squeal. Shouto loses her for forty minutes as she follows whatever ridiculous venture you and your on-screen multi-millionaire family are bickering over.

You’re good at what you do, he thinks. He knows a lot of powerful women, and the character you play would most certainly hold her own amongst them. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t binge watched not only one, but two entire seasons of your show in a single sitting.

(That was 24 forty-minute episodes— 16 straight hours of television. A rare, well-spent day off, in his opinion.)

You laugh at something Uraraka says, and his ears perk up as your bubbly laughter floats around the room.

“How long have you guys…known her?” He questions slowly, swallowing the uncertainty bubbling in his throat.

Midoriya cups his chin and tilts his head, thinking. “Five, maybe six months? She was a guest on Late Night Japan the same night that Ochako was, and they really hit it off. We like to have her over for dinner every once in a while. She has an awesome taste in wine, and makes the most amazing onigiri! She does this little thing where she…”

The Pro keeps talking, but the ramble tapers off when it becomes apparent that Shouto isn’t really listening.

Six months. Six months you’d been hovering just within the outskirts of his life, and he hadn’t had a clue.

“You should talk to her,” his friend suggests, his tone gentle as if he were speaking to a newborn fawn and not the number three Hero.

It’s just his luck that you seem to sense his unashamed staring, glancing over your shoulder and smiling softly when you meet his gaze.

His heart stutters in his chest, a trembling butterfly beat that feels so foreign that his breath catches in his throat. Holy shit. Shouto immediately averts his gaze to the floor in an attempt to hide the blush he can feel crawling up his neck.

He can’t talk to you, not yet. What would he even say?

The rest of the evening is spent working up the courage to talk to you. Shouto mills about on the sidelines, silently watching you mingle and laugh and shake hands with the other guests. You’re so lively, so social, so comfortable with people in a way that he never was.

You’re in your element, sipping champagne with ease as you so seamlessly blend into conversations that never seem to hit any snags or fall victim to awkward silence.

It’s because people like you. They’re drawn to you, intrigued by that endearing tilt of your head and the gentle smile that graces your lips as you listen so intently. He wonders what it is you do that makes the ever-scowling Bakugou blush, and is curious as to what you say to make Shinsou actually laugh.

(Part of him - the analytical hero side - wonders if your natural charisma comes with the job. You’re an actress, after all. You’re a master adopting different personas and bringing them to life.)

The night is coming to a close, and so is Shouto’s chance to find out.

His table is one down from yours, and he watches as you clap politely when Midoriya and Uraraka make their final thank you speech, a proud smile on your face. When the hosts step off the stage, you’re the first one to stand and wrap them both into a hug, pressing kisses to their cheeks before they begin making the rounds, leaving you alone.

His heart begins to hammer loudly in his chest. He’s ripping the band-aid off, rising abruptly from his seat as the applause dies down and people return to socializing. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, but he’s taking a chance. After downing the rest of his water, he’s reaching down to straighten his tie and is taking a step in your direction when an elbow digs into his ribs.

“Oi!”

He groans at the familiar voice, both internally and externally. “Bakugou.”

The explosive pro sneers down at him, but Shouto remains unaffected. He’s long used to this, the explosive conversation about rankings and stats becoming tradition since they both broke top ten. “Don’t think you’re passing me on the charts this week, Icy Hot! Just ‘cause my property damage stats are up again—”

“—like your temper,” he mutters under his breath, trying to peek around the ash-blond’s broad shoulders. He pretends not to notice the pops of smoke wafting from the pro’s palms as growls,

“Wanna say that again, you half and half bastard?!”

Shouto just shrugs, but is grateful when Kirishima interferes, dragging away the fuming blond.

“Friend of yours?” A soft voice to his right asks.

Shouto scoffs. “Something like that.”

His companion laughs, the sound prompting a grin to tug at the corner of Shouto’s mouth as he looks over—

He’s suddenly frozen, unable to move or talk - is this what it’s like to get hit with his quirk? - when your pretty smile is directed at him, and you’re standing so close that he can smell the soft notes of your perfume. Something sweet and floral that he already knows will haunt him for days.

His mouth opens and closes a few useless times, like some koi fish in a pond and not the suave Pro Hero he was supposed to be. Any coherent thought had long evaporated, and the first official words he says to you end up being,

“I like watching you.”

Your brows arch in surprise, and Shouto wonders briefly if it was possible for one to die of embarrassment.

“On your show,” he quickly adds, heat flaring in his cheeks as you nod in realization, relief flashing in your eyes. “My— my sister is a fan.”

“Oh,” you breathe, giggling again and making his heart swell. “Well, I’m honoured, really. I’m…” Then you’re holding a neatly manicured hand out to him as you introduce yourself, and Shouto’s sweating so much that he might as well call himself Dynamight.

He quickly swipes his hand on his pant leg before taking yours to shake. Your hand is smooth and warm, and though his touch lingers longer than he knows it should, you don’t seem to mind. “I’m Shouto...” then, with a grimace, “Todoroki Shouto.”

“I know,” you reply coolly when you finally part, and if you’d noticed how wet his palm still was, he’s grateful that you don’t mention it. “Everyone knows who you are. It’s very nice to meet you.”

And Shouto’s standing there, utterly starstruck because, holy shit, you know who he is.

“You’re…” There’s a shy look falling over your face as you glance up at him. It’s cute. “You’re one of my favourite Pros.”

He’s sure that his heart stops beating for five whole seconds. Is this what cardiac arrest feels like? “One of your favourites?”

You smile again, tilting your head towards Midoriya and Uraraka, who are making a group of well-dressed people laugh. “It’s hard not to love them.”

“They’re good heroes,” Shouto agrees, “good people.”

“They put on a good party,” You murmur, taking a small sip of your champagne as you watch your friends. Up close, Shouto can see how stunning you look in person. He’s almost overwhelmed by the urge to touch you, curious as to whether your skin is as soft as it looks under the warm glow of the chandeliers.

He keeps his hands to himself, though, glued tightly to his sides as he experiences the mental gymnastics of initiating small talk. He eventually decides on, “Are you having a good night?”

You frown slightly, and for a terrifying second, Shouto is worried that he’s somehow already messed up. But then you’re tugging on his sleeve, pulling him closer so you can whisper in his ear. He almost passes out when your lips brush his skin and you whisper, “Can I tell you a secret?”

He draws back to look at you, shocked. A secret? You want to tell him a secret? “You may…but I believe it’s inadvisable to divulge personal information to someone you just met.”

You blink up at him.

Shouto blinks back.

“If I tell you my secret, are you going to go straight to the tabloids?” Your tone is playful, but Shouto is quick to shake his head.

“Of course not!”

You nudge him lightly with your hip. “Then I trust you enough, number three, to tell you that big events like these still make me a little nervous.”

“You’re nervous?” He echoes dumbly, still confused when you nod in confirmation, because despite his initial instincts, he still can’t believe it. He can’t believe that the social butterfly he’s been shamelessly tracking all night shares the same anxious sentiment as him.

“A little,” you admit, looking a little embarrassed as you avert your gaze to your shoes. “I guess I’m still not too used to it— the attention and all. It can get a little overwhelming. But my publicist keeps saying that ‘events like these—”

“‘—are good for your image,’” Shouto finishes with you, well acquainted with his own publicist’s ‘think about your image, Shouto,’ speech.

You beam up at him, giving him the perfect angle to admire the subtle twinkle in your eyes. “So you get it.”

There’s nothing better, Shouto thinks, than the comfort of knowing that someone understands. “I get it.”

The silence that settles over the two of you is comfortable. You don’t leave his side, and he doesn’t leave yours. He’s content to just be in your presence, and you don’t seem off-put by his silence at all.

(He’s so busy admiring you and caught in his own head that he completely misses the wink that Uraraka shoots in your direction.)

Then the soft, plucky music is changing, and some upbeat tune that elicits whoops and cheers around the room is blasting through the surround sound. Uraraka and Midoriya are dragging you out onto the dance floor with them. You look uncomfortable at first, body stiff as you tap your foot and sway awkwardly.

But he watches a smile break out onto your face as you slowly loosen up. It’s like watching a butterfly emerge from a cocoon, with the tantalizing way your hips sway and your shoulders roll. Your hair falls out of its bun as you bounce around with Uraraka, and you laugh when Midoriya takes your hand and twirls you around in a circle.

Then you’re grabbing his hand, and his entire system shuts down and his brain stops functioning and every hormone he’d suppressed since puberty comes raging forth just because you’re touching him.

“Come dance with me,” you beg, a little breathless as you give him a light tug.

Oh no, he panics, because as a rule, Shouto didn’t dance. Well, his father had insisted on ballroom lessons as a child, but this pop hit wasn’t exactly the type of music one waltzed to.

“I— I can’t dance,” he stutters, eyes flicking around the room as he watches the rest of his friends bop around to the music. There’s no set steps or anything, no guide for him to follow, and he’s scared to mess up, scared to make a fool of himself.

But he lets you pull him along, regardless, downing the rest of his sickly sweet champagne and handing it off to the nearest waiter because he just can’t say no to you.

“Close your eyes,” you instruct, and he snaps his gaze back to you, hesitantly meeting your expectant stare.

“What?”

“I won’t look,” you explain, closing your own eyes by way of explanation as you start to sway around, your movements uncoordinated and messy— carefree. You look absolutely ridiculous, but your joy is so contagious that Shouto chuckles, loosening his tie and shaking his head slightly before shutting his own eyes. A burst of courage at your carelessness leads to limbs flailing inelegantly as he tries to dance along.

The second he starts moving, most of his nerves melt away into the jaunty beat and the swell of immense pleasure in his chest.

“Todoroki!” He hears you laugh over the flow of the music, and he cracks one eye open to see you watching him in awe. “You’re dancing!”

He’s dancing with you, and it’s the most fun he’s had all night.

He catches you when you accidentally whirl into him, his ballroom instincts expertly maneuvering you in his arms so he holds you in a dip, his hands gently cradling the small of your back.

Your eyes shoot open, staring up at him in surprise as you grip his arms. The breaths between you two are short and trembling as your chests heave against one another. He’s minutely aware of the paparazzi cameras flashing around him, of the whistles and cheers of Kaminari and— is that Midoriya?

But it’s all background noise. All of it unnecessary when he pulls you upright and your hand caresses the back of his neck and you get up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear once more.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Shouto doesn’t have to think twice before snatching his jacket, throwing it over your shoulders and resting a hand on the small of your back as you say your goodbyes to Midoriya and Uraraka, who lead the two of you out through a back entrance.

As soon as you’re out the door, you both run. You barefoot, him with his tie completely undone. One of his hands holding your heels and the other clutching your hand tightly.

You’re like a pair of teenagers, stumbling across the street from the hotel. Shouto lets you lead him into a hole-in-the-wall ramen place that’s empty, considering it’s almost eleven in the evening, the two of you giggling drunkenly as you slide into what you tell him is your favourite booth— tucked into a cozy corner and away from the windows.

He looks around a bit, taking in the new setting you’ve introduced him to as you, taking in the chipped paint and faded cushions, and the mouth-watering aromas of dashi and miso. It’s homey, a little rough around the edges with food that’s plentiful and cheap.

The owners - an old couple - are familiar with you, and beam proud, gap-toothed smiles when they spot Shouto sitting across from you.

“You finally brought a boyfriend!” The old woman grins, looking between the two of you. “And a good boy too, a pro hero! Very strong! Very handsome!”

Shouto raises a brow at you as the woman pinches his cheek. You don’t say anything to correct her, so neither does he.

The old woman leans over to whisper something that makes you blush before she takes your orders - he lets you order for him, perfectly comfortable with letting you take the lead - and the old man grips Shouto’s shoulder when he brings the steaming bowls to your table a few moments later.

Sitting there with you, in that little restaurant, is probably Shouto’s favourite part of the night.

Once you’re both acquainted with your meals, conversation flows between the two of you with ease. You tell him stories about your co-stars, and he shares some fond memories of his co-workers. You like hearing about his UA days and about his friends.

It humanizes you all, you tell him, especially when you tell me about all the times Chargebolt has fried his own brain.

You’re easy to talk to. Talking has never come easily to him, but with you, it comes a little more naturally. There aren’t any awkward pauses, he never feels pressured to contribute or respond, and there’s never a moment where he isn’t paying attention to you.

You sit there for hours, but it only feels like minutes by the time your dishes are being cleared and you’re arguing about who’s going to pay. (Shouto is faster, and can’t help feeling smug when his father’s black card swipes across the machine first.)

He can’t help but feel disappointed when you hand back his coat, and slip your shoes back on your feet as you walk back to the hotel. Your car is on its way, it’s almost time for you to go.

He needs to say something— and fast, because a sleek black car is pulling up, and you’re smiling tiredly like you’re getting ready to say goodbye.

There are a million things he wants to say. I had a good night, being tied with I want to see you again.

But when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. The words are there, but they’re stuck in his throat and refusing to budge.

The driver steps out of the car to open your door, but before you slide in, you turn to Shouto and gently cup his cheek, standing up on your tiptoes again to place a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“I had a great night,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. “Thank you, Todoroki.”

“Call me Shouto,” he manages to croak, still feeling the phantom press of your lips on his skin. “And I— I did too.”

Then you slip into your car and you’re gone. He starts to miss you before the car can round the curb, so he has to walk away.

The walk back to his own car is quiet, cold. He slips his jacket on (it still smells like you), reaching into his pocket to retrieve his keys, but comes up with something else instead.

It’s a napkin from the restaurant, folded neatly into a little square.

Trembling fingers slowly unfold the thin material, where he spots your slanted cursive.

It’s your autograph, and written neatly below it in parentheses,

(For your sister!)

It’s a kind gesture, one Fuyumi will definitely appreciate.

He’s about to shove it back into his pocket when he spots something else written on the back.

It’s your phone number, and below it,

For my new favourite Pro Hero.

[evnovia]

— i’ll wait.

Shouto knows firsthand how deceiving appearances can be, how images are carefully constructed to create something that’s not really there. Sometimes even to hide something darker—to ensure the quietude of those poisonous, sinister secrets. But when confronted with your ability to dispel all the pandemonium in his heart and leave only the savoury taste of his favourite soba paired with his mother’s airy laughter, Shouto finds himself running headfirst into the nightmares you’ve skillfully kept under covers for years.

+ pairing. pro hero!shouto x ???!reader + warnings. none + word count. 3.429

↺ next

chapter 1. because of you

“Welcome!”

Despite the thin layer of perspiration residing between his palm and his mother’s delicate pinky finger kept in his tight grasp, Shouto adamantly refuses to release his grip. With all his attention honed on matching the pace of her long legs—two quick steps for every one of her languid strides, he doesn’t notice his mother ducking into a quaint establishment off the main road.

“Please take a seat, I’ll be right with you.” A tall, scrawny man catches Shouto’s eye before disappearing behind a partition off to the side of the shop. A quiet scuffle of feet along with a high-pitched snicker accompany the man’s smooth gait.

Before Shouto can entertain the idea of a four-legged man with busted vocal chords, he’s scooped up into a wooden seat. His mother spares him a quick pat on the crown of his head and a tired, yet kind smile.

“Cold soba?” she questions. The excitement swirling in his varicoloured irises are enough of an affirmation.

Keep reading

[tryingmyves]

MHA | Characters and the summer date they’d take you on

A/N: the title is pretty self explanatory - this will be a lot like my Starbucks series. i hope you enjoy!

Series will include: Tenya Iida, Shoto Todoroki, Izuku Midoriya, Hanta Sero, Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Katsuki Bakugo, and Hitoshi Shinso (maybe more, who knows)

Shoto Todoroki:

- All of your friends were jealous when you started dating Todoroki

- He’s arguably the most attractive guy in your class

- His hero skills are incredible, plus his quiet nature only makes him more alluring

- There’s a common misconception when it comes to being Shoto’s girlfriend

- Your friends were always asking you about what gifts he’s given you and if you mentioned wanting something while out shopping with them they always (half)-jokingly suggest you ask your boyfriend for it

- You guess it’s an easy assumption for people to make

- He is Endeavor’s son after all, it isn’t too far fetched that he would spoil his significant other with lavish gifts and extravagant dinners

 - And he did on occasion

- But you’ve always placed more value in Shoto’s time than his money

- He firmly believes that love is something wealth can’t purchase, so he prefers to invest his effort into your relationship instead

- Shoto would often block out an entire day in his schedule, just to spend it with you

- It didn’t matter what the two of you did, as long as you were together

- You can never guess what Shoto might have planned for the pair of you, but you always know you’ll enjoy the time with your boyfriend

- Except he asked you to meet him outside of your home this morning at 5 AM in comfortable clothes, and suddenly you aren’t so sure how enjoyable this excursion will be

- 5 AM?!? Who goes on a date at five in the morning?

- But Shoto has never given you a reason to doubt him, so you agreed when he asked you last night and went to bed early

- You quietly exit your house, careful not to wake your parents, and turn to see Shoto standing on the sidewalk with your favorite caffeinated beverage in hand

- You shuffle your way over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy hug serving as a silent good morning

- His chest hums slightly as he lets out a light chuckle and presses a kiss to the top of your head

- “Good morning, my love,” he coos

- You look up to him, last nights slumber still heavy in your eyes, “Mm - morning Sho. Why did you want to see me so early?”

- “I have something planned for us. Come on.” He places the drink he brought you in one of your hands, taking the other in his

- The pair of you begin a leisurely stroll, sipping your drinks, and taking in the hushed ambiance of the summer morning

- Shoto has trouble articulating his feelings at times, but you’ve come to know that the wordless tranquility shared between you was a synonym for “I love you”

- You don’t ask where he’s taking you or what he has planned, just thank him for your drink and walk beside him

- He asks how you slept and you tell him about a dream you had

- He listens so intently when you speak, even about trivial things, as if he’s perpetually studying the subject of you

- The pair of you have been walking for about an hour at this point and are nearing the beach

- The darkness of night has been slowly shifting to a muted cerulean as the world begins to wake up around you

- Shoto leads you across the sand, directing you to the edge of the dock

- He glances at the watch on his wrist, “Should be any minute now.”

- He sits on the edge, his legs dangling off the dock and above the water, motioning for you to do the same

- You sit beside him and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer to him

- Vibrant rays of pink and amber light are just beginning to crest the surface of the horizon, painting the sky in breathtaking light

- “I couldn’t think of a way to tell you how beautiful you are to me,” Shoto says softly, “I thought it would be easier to show you.”

[touyaspeach]

Todoroki Shouto x fem!Reader Hanahaki AU

A/N ; This is an unofficial second part to Blood and Syrup I guess? They aren't related so maybe it's the start of a series or something? I want to write more hanahaki aus because they're fun for me and I love the angst! Next is maybe Bakugou?

Summary ; And it's not so bad, he thought. Getting to be with you felt worth the pain in his mind. But maybe that's the hidden poison of hanahaki. Maybe the real danger is a love so consuming that you wouldn't mind dying for it - wouldn't mind suffering for it. A love you want to hold onto with white knuckles, unable and unwilling to let go for fear of the emptiness that lies in its wake. Warnings ; fem reader, graphic descriptions of injury and medical conditions, hanahaki au, angst, heavy on the angst, fluff, shouto is dense but what else is new, reader is also not very smart but that's okay lol Words ; 9k Thanks ; @katonshoko for beta-reading and helping with ideas, @a-shy-blueberry for support when I about gave up, and everyone from Bubble! Pop! who bolstered my confidence and said such nice things.

Bonus ; Playlist || Pinterest

A gentle warming sensation in the back of his throat, a subtle spice lingering on his tongue, a bitter, floral aroma that pervaded his sense of smell. These are the things that first had Shouto suspicious of something being wrong. A meeting with his family doctor provided no results, so he took to chewing on minty gum and peppermint candies to try and keep the resulting nausea at bay.

Then came the itching, the tickling in the back of his throat that no matter how frequently he drank water, wouldn't disappear. Was it harder to breathe? Or was he imagining it? Summertime in Japan is hot and humid, so perhaps he's just failing at self-regulation.

Not wanting to bother his classmates, he's kept this to himself for almost six months now. Over this time things had gradually gotten worse, but he could get over the taste enough to eat and push through the difficulty breathing. He'd endured much worse in many ways, so it wasn't an issue.

When the coughs started it was no different. Maybe allergies, or a seasonal cold? Peppermint candies were traded for medicated lozenges, but this wasn't bad. He could deal with it.

When his friends had asked him what was wrong, mentioning that he looked paler, more tired, he brushed them off. Why should they be concerned if he wasn't? He knew his body better than anyone.

Everything changed early one autumn morning as Shouto was ripped from his slumber by a pain in his throat only matched by the aching in his chest. He failed to suppress the coughs and sputters, leaning halfway out of bed to desperately dislodge whatever was stuck in his esophagus.

By the time the first petal fell, he was shaking. His body covered in a cold, fevered sweat from exertion. Did he just….throw up a flower petal? What the hell was that about? Shouto’s throat burned, his chest ached as his breaths came out ragged and shaking and wet. And he was scared.

Shouto wasn’t someone who got scared easily, but not knowing what was happening to his body was terrifying. So he shakily grabbed his phone, and sent a message to the one person he trusted implicitly: you.

You were at his side in moments, still dressed in your nightclothes, bare feet and messy hair. You gasped audibly at Shouto’s crumpled form, curled in on himself on the floor beside his bed. He was wheezing, trying to catch his breath, his hand clutching the fabric of his plain white shirt. When he looked at you, there were tears in his eyes and your heart broke.

“Shouto-what’s going on?” You asked, kneeling down beside him and flattening a reassuring palm to his back.

He didn’t understand what was going on, but when you touched him, he felt his chest seize and another rumble of coughs shook his body. He tried, gods how he tried, to stymie the coughs, to not show you just how pitiful he was feeling. But he was powerless in the face of this unseen invader, the flowers that grew in his lungs and threatened to take his life. The flowers, that would be the cause of his death.

It was all you could do to bring him to your chest, to cradle his head as more coughs wrecked his body. You could see the pain written all over his face, in his body language, in the pathetic whimpers that escaped him as he gulped as much air into his lungs as he could. You had no idea that in doing so you were only exacerbating his condition.

What started as one petal morphed into several as they finally dislodged themselves from Shouto’s throat. A flurry of purple coated with sticky sap and bile. The taste of cloves weighed heavy on his tongue and made him nauseous - more nauseous than he’d felt over the last few months. He swallowed hard, a futile attempt to keep whatever else wanted to force itself out of him at bay.

He was vaguely aware of your presence, of you shoving a trash bin beneath him to vomit into. The strong scent of spice and stomach acid pervaded the air and made you wince, but you knew. You knew immediately upon seeing those petals what was going on, and despite the churning in your stomach, it was your heart that was in worse condition.

Shouto was dying, a painful, slow death at the hands of his love. His love for who? That was a question for later. Right now he needed you, and as he continued to wretch into the bin, you quickly grabbed a wet rag to keep him cool.

The coughs sounded painful, raspy and wet and those damned purple petals were ejected from his esophagus at almost every heave. You tried your best to assess things, how bad the condition was, how far along the plants had progressed, how long he…

Just petals, that’s what you tried to focus on for now as slowly the episode subsided. Not flowers, no stems, no leaves - just petals. And he hadn’t spat out any blood yet, so that was also a good sign. There was still time to get help.

Sensing that things were over with for now, Shouto flopped onto his back, his head landing in your lap, as he sucked in as much air as he could. Gasping, panting, his chest heaving and rattling with each breath, his mind was in a haze. His eyes found yours, pleading silently, ‘please make it stop, it hurts, I don’t understand.’

“We need to get you to the infirmary, Shouto,” you whispered, “Can you stand?”

Shouto didn’t understand why the concerned look on your face tugged on his heart. He didn’t understand why seeing you so worried over him made him panic. He didn’t understand the sudden urge he had to reach out and touch your cheek.

When he spoke, his voice was rough, lower than usual, and strained, “I think...just...give me a moment.”

You nodded, attempting a reassuring smile, and brushed his hair back from his face. He was still covered in sweat from the exertion of the episode, and you ran the cool rag over his forehead, down his cheeks, to his neck. The action caused his eyes to flutter shut as his breathing slowly returned to normal. He looked so peaceful, a stark contrast to just a moment ago when he was curled into a tiny ball - impossibly small and weak and breaking.

If this were any other circumstance, any other situation that wasn’t traumatic, you’d be flustered. Having Shouto’s head gently cradled in your lap, brushing his hair away and studying his handsome, delicate features were the stuff made of dreams. You’d been close before, after all you were best friends, but this was different. This was romantic, straight out of a shoujo manga. Well, it would be if he wasn’t dying.

After a moment, you helped him up, supporting his weight as best as you could. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, yours around his waist as you helped him hobble to the infirmary.

“Hanahaki, huh?” You asked in an attempt to make conversation, this trek would be slow-going in his weakened state, so you might as well ask some questions to fill the silence.

“Hanahaki?” He questioned, his voice was still rugged.

“That’s… what you have, isn’t it?” “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a disease, a lovesick disease. You love someone who doesn’t return your feelings, right? Because of that, those flowers are growing in your lungs, and if you don’t take action soon they’ll slowly suffocate you.”

A pause, Shouto needed to process that. It should be impossible, right? Flowers growing in lungs? If he hadn’t just experienced it firsthand, he would call bullshit. But well, the ache in his chest, the rawness of his throat, the taste of cloves and syrup on his tongue begged to differ.

His brow furrowed as he continued to think on this, but the worst part, worse than dying in his mind, was that he had no idea who he’d developed these supposed feelings for.

He racked his brain, looking for… anything to signify that he’d fallen in love with someone. Shouto didn’t know what love was, anyway. It was the last thing on his mind as he trained to become a hero, literally everything else in his life came before the prospect of a relationship.

Sure, there were people he admired - Midoriya, Bakugou, Aizawa, his brother Natsuo and sister Fuyumi. All Might, Aizawa, all the pro’s he’d worked with before now. You. And people he considered close friends. Again, Midoriya, Bakugou, Iida, Uraraka. You. People he would gladly take a hit for; Midoriya, You. People who could easily rely on, who he could trust; You.

He felt like, as his mind continued spinning, there was something in there. The repetition meant… something. But his body was sore, and as you stepped out into the cool autumn air, he was pulled from those thoughts - for now.

When did the seasons change? He didn’t remember. He’d spent so much time fighting this Hanahaki disease, fighting the exhaustion, the weakness, the loss of appetite, that the world had kind of faded into the background without him realizing. And summer had faded to fall.

The crisp air was a relief on his burning body, a gentle breeze carded through his hair just like the leaves that threatened to blanket the grounds any day now. Moonlight shone from above, somber and luminous, bouncing off of the white of his hair brilliantly.

Shouto was so handsome, so stupidly pretty that it made your heart squeeze. What a beautiful tragedy he was, a hard life lived thus far now cut short by his love. This unfair love that he didn’t even understand. This love that would kill him, drown him in blood and sap and flowers; too early, too soon.

Whoever it was, you were going to try your best to convince him to get the surgery. It didn’t matter to you who, even if it was… no. No. It wouldn’t be you. But whoever it was… surely they weren’t more important than his life. His life that had already been wrought with so much heartache, so much pain and trauma. He didn’t deserve this, and your chest tightened at the thought.

But Shouto was smart, he was kind, and he knew his worth. Surely he must know that whoever it is, isn’t worth dying over. No love is worth dying over.

As you both stumbled through the cold darkness to the infirmary, Shouto felt that itch in his throat again. That ache in his chest that made him want to curl in on himself and beg and plead and pray that it would stop. Would it get worse from here? He had never heard of this Hanahaki disease before now and so he didn’t understand what would happen to him.

If things were different, you’d revel in your closeness. You’d blush at the warmth of him against you. You’d look up at him with starry eyes full of wonder and adoration and feel your heart swell in pride that this man, this hero, was your best friend.

And you were his.

The night aid took one look at Shouto’s condition and all but threw him into a bed. All it took was for you to whisper a broken “Hanahaki” and they immediately got to work. A bedpan was given in case another episode happened, throat lozenges and cough medicine as well as mild painkillers were swallowed carefully. He was grateful for the cool water soothing his raw throat.

“Recovery Girl will be here soon to discuss things further, would you like me to contact your parents?”

Shouto shook his head, red and white hair mixing and bouncing as he did, “No, it’s okay. I’ll contact them myself, thank you.”

His poor voice, coming out all rough and uncharacteristically ragged made you wince. You loved his voice, smooth, low, calming; what once was now replaced with the agony of this disease - of this love.

When the aid left, he turned to where you sat by his bedside, picking at the hem of your top and lost in thought. He reached a hand out to you, flattening his palm over your knuckles to stop you in your fidgeting. He didn’t understand why touching you made his chest tighten.

Your eyes met his, and his agonized expression had given way to his normal calm, stoic facade.

“Can you please tell me more? Explain more about what’s happening to me?”

You nodded, inhaling shakily. “Yeah but, eat a lozenge while I do, it’ll help soothe your throat.”

Oh, he knew. Shouto had been suckling on cough drops for months now, and he popped one between his delicate lips as you began your explanation.

“So, I already told you what this is. Hanahaki. The longer it goes untreated the worse it’ll get. Flowers grow and bloom in your lungs until they suffocate you. You’re coughing up petals now, but soon there'll be flowers, stems, twigs if you’re unlucky. And you only have a few options for treatment, too.”

You sighed, moving your hand to place his back on the bed and then covering it with both of yours. He was so much bigger than you.

“The first and easiest option is to confess, and if they return your feelings then it’ll heal. If they don’t you can always opt for the surgery. Which… is painful in more ways than one.”

He eyed you curiously as you spoke, his gaze lingering on your mouth as you did. The way your lips navigated each word - each syllable. The soft plushness of them, surely you must use an amazing chapstick, right? For your lips to look so soft? Why did he suddenly want to kiss you? Was it because you helped him so much already? Because you were the first person he could call when things happened and that you were reliable? That you cared?

Shouto cleared his throat, tasting blood and syrup as he did.

“They go in, meticulously removing all traces of the disease in a process that can take hours depending on how advanced your symptoms are. But the thing is…” his eyes snapped back to yours, “The thing is you’ll forget the person of your affections. Everything. You won’t have a single memory of them. It’ll be as if you never met.”

“That’s why most people forgo that option. It’s not worth it to them, to lose everything about the one they love. But Shouto-”

Just as you were about to convince him to not care about such a thing, Recovery Girl waddled in.

“Another one with Hanahaki,” she sighed, removing her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, kid. It’s late so I’ll be honest with you. You’re a top student with a lot of potential. Don’t be an idiot, and take the steps necessary to save your life. I have seen too many bright hopefuls lose their lives over this.”

You both watched as she moved to his side, returning the glasses to her face and pressing a stethoscope to his chest through the thin material of his shirt. The room was dead silent as she listened, hope and doubt, fear and anxiety swarmed in your belly.

“Hmm,” she spoke after a long moment, “Sounds like it’s still early. That’s good.”

Her experienced eyes raked over the boy, analyzing his state. She checked his file, reading over his measurements and weight and overall details before continuing.

"Alright, young Todoroki. We're going to run some tests, and take some measurements so that we can carefully monitor your body while you make a decision. You'll need to contact your parents, tell your teacher, figure out how to break it to your classmates and friends."

"For All intents and purposes, you're dying. So treat this like you are. At least until you make your choice."

She removed her glasses again, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "Please, prioritize your life, kid."

You glanced at Shouto then, trying to get a feel of his headspace, gauge his reaction. He was stoic as always but his eyebrows were lifted and his fist balled in the fabric of them sheet beneath him. He was being brave in the face of this, but you knew.

You knew that inside he was panicking. Did he know who it was? Gods, what a tragedy that this would happen to him. Shouto, who had almost no life experience outside of the Todoroki household, and his experience at UA.

After a few moments and a bit more medical talk, Recovery Girl took her leave. Shouto had the clear to return to the dorms and classes for now, but first the night aid was to take the aforementioned data.

As soon as she left, you were going to ask him, ask him who it was and finally convince him to get the surgery. But the vacancy was quickly filled with the night aid, who ushered you out so that she could take blood, get measurements, take his weight and temperature and whatever else they needed to monitor his state.

You waited patiently just outside the drawn curtain, fiddling again with the hem of your shirt. Anxiety and fear leadened your belly, raced like ice through your veins, burned like fire in your heart. You tried to think about who. Who could have done this to him?

Not that it was anyone's fault. It wasn't as if he'd been seduced, as if he'd been forced into loving someone. But… it still made you angry.

First suspect was Midoriya. The boy who'd irrevocably changed the course of Shouto's life by convincing him of his own worth and of his own power.

Then, Bakugou. But no matter how hard you tried you just couldn't make it make sense.

Uraraka? She was cute and sweet and… had eyes for Midoriya. That could make sense. But had Shouto ever spent more than casual moments with her?

Yaomomo was next and that… that made the most sense. He'd helped her in much the way Midoriya had helped him. Convincing her of her worth, bolstering her confidence. So far that was your best bet.

For a moment, one fleeting moment you wanted to consider yourself. But that'd be impossible, Shouto would never have fallen for you of all people.

Right?

Behind the curtain, Shouto's mind and heart were sprinting to see which one could work faster. That same fear and anxiety that flooded you also ran laps around in him. The same questions that weighed on you, reflected his own thoughts.

Who? Why? How? When? He'd never been too in touch with his emotions, he didn't catch himself feeling any differently about any one person over the other. He tried his best to treat everyone with equal regard and respect, so how had he fallen in love?

What did love even mean? What did it feel like? He'd never felt it before, that he could remember. Not this supposed romantic love.

Sure he'd had it before his mother's breakdown. Felt it in the way his sister provided for him and Natsuo protected him. In the way that his classmates uplifted him. But those were different. He knew. He'd read it in a book once.

Familial love, platonic love. But this… romantic love? He'd have to do more research, ask his peers that might have an inkling, read up on it. Because what else is a boy to do when something he's never had is killing him?

The tests were over before either of you had any concrete answers, and Shouto was dismissed. You walked back to the dorms in silence. Your paces slow, the tension between you thick and heavy. The night breeze was welcome once again, and you snuck another glance at the boy beside you. He looked better than before, less pained, still beautiful.

As you reached the door to the dorms, you both paused. Something in this moment felt monumental to the both of you though neither knew why. As if, once you entered the building, things would change. The reality of Shouto’s condition couldn’t be ignored, shoved down, swallowed like the water he attempted to gulp to ease his aching and raw throat.

“Shouto-”

“Y/N-”

You both turned to one another, and spoke simultaneously, causing you to giggle sheepishly and him to look away and scratch the back of his head.

“Sorry,” he said plainly, “You first.”

“I just… who? I want to know who.”

His gaze flitted to the moon which hung low in the night sky, dawn would break soon. Things would shift soon.

“I don’t know.”

Three words to break your heart, three words but not the three that you longed to hear. Three words to solidify the lump in your throat and the lead in your gut, the ache in your heart.

“Well, if you don’t know then… then the surgery is the best option, right?”

“It’s more than that,” he glanced back at you and his mouth tasted of clove and nectar. The moonlight bouncing off of your features made you look ethereal, the breeze flitting through and rustling your hair only added to it. You were beautiful. God, you were beautiful. How did he not see that before now? Shouto cleared his throat, drawing a fist to his lips as he did so to keep the petals at bay.

“I feel like the answer is right in front of me, but I just can’t figure it out.”

He stifled a cough, then. Shoulders shaking, body lurching just slightly as the muscles in his abdomen tensed with effort. He attempted to clear his throat once more, but the episode was already starting.

You immediately rushed to his side to support him, “Come on, we can talk inside, lets-”

“No,” he wheezed, “No… not… I’m not ready yet. Just… Give me a moment.”

Shouto fished in his pocket and produced a small bottle of cough syrup and a medicated lozenge; the same ones he’d been almost constantly nursing over the last few months. His throat bobbed as he downed one, two swigs of the medicine, and you were mesmerized by the long lines of muscle that were prominent there. Then he popped the lozenge onto his tongue and you were captured by that, too.

What were you doing? Eyeing him in such a way when he was literally dying, when his love for whoever wasn’t you would kill him?

He took a few deep, experimental breaths and though his chest rattled as leaves and petals shook, he was able to retain his composure. “Okay. I’m fine.”

You were warm by his side, a stark contrast to the cool autumn. Your hands felt searing against his back, his chest as your attempt at support still made his throat itch. Why? Still he couldn’t understand how and why you were having that effect on him.

“Ready to go back to your room now?”

He nodded and you continued to support him all the way there. The ride up the elevator was silent, the walk to his door was silent, even as you both entered there was silence. Too many things left unsaid, unacknowledged hung between you like thick molasses. It flooded your senses, begging to be seen though neither of you wanted to look. Neither of you understood where to look.

You puttered around while Shouto emptied the bag Recovery Girl had given him onto his nightstand. A myriad of small bottles of cough syrup, a few blister packs of pain medication, and two bags of lozenges were amongst the gifts. Meanwhile, you went about cleaning up the mess from before.

The wet tissues from the syrup and bile, the petals that lingered and clung to the bathroom tile… all of the evidence to be discarded. You didn’t have to do this, Shouto was clean, he’d get to it eventually. Maybe. If things were going to get worse from here, he’d eventually be unable to do anything without getting winded, though. Without coughing and bleeding and --

No, don’t think about it. It’s too much right now. Focus on what’s in front of you: helping him. Cleaning. Getting him water and maybe a snack if he could eat. God this made so much sense, a few pieces clicked together in your mind.

The way he barely picked at his food during lunch because the nauseating taste of pollen and sap coated his tongue. How he got too winded too quickly during training because his body was wasting away, because he was struggling to breathe properly. The weight he’d lost..

Shouto was never a large guy, always on the slender side, though muscular. You wondered how much of him had wasted away, how long this had been going on.

As you made your way back into his bedroom, that one thought clung to your mind. How long? How long had he been suffering without telling anyone? Without knowing what was happening to him? You cursed the sheltered life he’d been brought up in, cursed his stupid father for keeping him from the outside world and for only teaching him how to be better, to be more and more and more. For not teaching him anything about real life outside of that.

He sat on his bed, arms resting on his knees as his head hung low. His shoulders and chest heaved with effort, just breathing was hurting.

You took the spot beside him, and ran your hand along his back reassuringly, though as you did he stifled a cough deep in his throat. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“It’s okay, Shouto. What are friends for, right? But, I do want to talk about this.”

Why did your hand feel so good? So soothing and so wonderful as you rubbed along his taut muscles? Like he couldn’t get enough of it. Of you. Perhaps it was because he’d never known such solace in all his years. He’d never known such a gentle touch, a kind word, a sweet softness that only you could provide. Well, he assumed, anyone could. But you were here, you were doing the providing, so it was you.

He nodded.

“Like I said before, you have options. Even if they’re limited. The easiest one is to confess, hope they return your feelings. Which, I mean, come on, who wouldn’t?”

He lifted his head to peer at you, “What do you mean?”

“Well, come on, Sho’. It’s not like you haven’t noticed nearly every girl in the school fawning over you. Remember Valentine’s when your locker was so flooded with chocolates you needed a garbage bag? And that by the end of the day you had… how many? Full of candy?” Shouto hummed a quiet chuckle at the memory. It was a mess, and you were the one who helped him carry it all back to the dorms. You were the one who had the idea to share it with everyone so that not only it wouldn’t go to waste, but he didn’t look rude by throwing it out or not accepting it.

Funny, he didn’t think you’d given him any chocolate that day. Not that he gave you any for white day, which is fair.

“I don’t think there’s a person in this school who wouldn’t return your feelings. You’re smart, handsome, strong… everything about you is amazing, Sho’. If they don’t want to be with you they want to be you, you know?” He didn’t, not really. But he understood where you were coming from. He couldn’t deny the proof in the chocolate, the way the press had inflated his performances, how he’d catch whispers of people venting their jealousy. Those things were concrete. Love? Not so much.

His gaze lingered on yours for a moment too long, he wanted to memorize your eyes. The color, the shape, your lashes. Those eyes he’d looked at a thousand times before suddenly looked… different. Why?

“So, I think… maybe we should try figuring out who it is first, yeah? I mean, especially since you're still in the early stages, it could save a lot of trouble and pain and heartache later. If you can manage the symptoms, at least.”

“It’s been fine so far,” Shouto shifted back then, wanting to get a better look at you. You watched as his eyes searched your face, what was he looking for?

Nothing, really, was the answer. He just wanted to look at you. Just wanted to enjoy the concern for him, the softness for him. The curve of your lips, the furrow of your brow, the shape of your cheeks and chin and nose. He just wanted to look at you. Why?

He lingered on your mouth, unconsciously sliding his tongue across his lips to wet them. You looked so kissable. Have you been kissed before? Would you taste as sweet as he imagined? Feel soft against his own lips, slotting together in perfect harmony?

Why… Why was he leaning in? His eyes were trained on your lips and Shouto was leaning in as if he was going to kiss you. Your heart started pounding, the blood rushing to your cheeks. Surely not. Surely there was something on your face or your hair that he was getting a good look at.

His breath was hot against you, so close you were sure he could hear your heart hammering away in your chest. His eyes never strayed from your lips.

“Shouto…” you breathed, wetting your own lips in anticipation. Was he really going to kiss you?

Could it be… you?

But your whisper of his name brought him back to reality, and just before your lips could meet he pulled away. “Yes?”

You exhaled the breath you didn’t know you were holding and pulled away from him. “U-um...Do you have any ideas… on who it could be?”

He watched you carefully. Why did you look disappointed? And why did he almost kiss you? A moment of weakness brought on by the severity of the situation? Surely it wasn’t you.

Right?

The thought nearly choked him, and as he doubled over in a cough a great cloud of petals ejected from his mouth. They fluttered to the floor as he couldn’t stave off the episode anymore.

Shouto fell to his knees beside the bed, clutching his chest as he coughed and hacked and did everything he could to dislodge that which was stuck in his esophagus. More petals, covered with...blood. Blood, nectar, bile, acid. A disgustingly sweet mixture that nobody should ever have to taste.

You sprinted to the bathroom again, grabbing the same waste bin and wetting a rag to help him through it. You also snatched another bottle of water, just as before.

God this… this was awful. Seeing him like this again and not knowing why. Well, you knew why, you just didn’t know who. And knowing who was the first step in fixing this - fixing him. You dropped beside Shouto as he continued to cough, retching as the nausea took over occasionally, which only gave way to more coughs. More blood. More petals.

You were watching the disease develop in real time. What started just a few hours ago as a single petal was now clusters, dozens massed together. It wouldn’t be long before they were flowers, before they were stems and leaves.

It’s progressing too fast. Why? Shouto tried his best to think about anything but the burning in his lungs, the pain in his throat, the air that he failed to drink down. He’d gone months, since early spring, with this condition barely moving and now? Now he was spitting out blood-slicked clusters of petals just hours after the first one fell. What changed?

As he hacked and coughed and sputtered and struggled to breathe, he considered that question. What has changed?

You did your best to tend to him, powerless in the face of the florals that were ripping him apart from the inside. Wiping the sweat from his face, the syrup from his chin, rubbing soothing circles into his back as he continued to struggle.

What perhaps was the most disturbing thing about this, despite the obvious, was the smell. That you hadn’t ever expected; in all your research and reading about the disease nobody had ever mentioned a smell.

Distinctly clove, laced with honey-sweet nectar and accented with metallic blood. The clove smell had to come from the flowers. What else could it be? You made a mental note to research that later as you stared down at the bin. The bottom was covered in those purple petals, spattered with crimson and wetted by saliva and bile and sap.

Gods, he’d expelled so much already. Just how fast was this moving? And why?

After a solid twenty minutes of Shouto struggling, the episode finally ceased. He fell back against the bed with his eyes closed, a pained expression marring his pretty face. He gulped down air as fast as he could, causing his chest to swell as he finally got the oxygen he needed. He must be light-headed and exhausted.

You pushed his sweaty bangs away from his forehead and ran the cool rag over the flushed skin. The action caused Shouto to open his eyes slightly, and then it happened.

It clicked.

The dots connected, and he understood - finally - who it was. Finally, he understood those feelings, the urges, the needs, the wants. It was always there, but he was just too oblivious and dense to notice.

It was in the way you gently took care of him, in the way your touches felt electric against him. In the concerned glimmer of your eyes as you tended to him. The pout of your lip. The worry in your brow. The delicacy of your hands. It was you.

Right in front of him, just as he said.

Of course it was you. He felt so stupid he didn’t realize sooner. The way he’d almost kissed you just a moment ago and the attack that followed; the bile that rose in his throat when you touched him; how his lungs ached when his eyes met yours. God, how long had he felt this way? How long had he… had he loved you?

“Y/N…” he wheezed. His throat was so hoarse, his chest burned, he was still struggling to breathe. It was you.

But what did that mean? Supposedly he could confess and… assuming you felt the same, it would fix him. Right? But what if you didn’t? Would it kill him instead?

He was already dying.

But the thought of being ripped away from you was too much. If his feelings shoved a rift in between you he didn’t think he could handle it. You were his best friend, the one he loved, the only one he truly depended on. What if he lost that because of his stupid heart?

But the surgery… you’d said that would cause him to lose his memory of you. The friendship you shared, the memories you’d made, the moments he desperately clung to during the nights when his sorrow and the weight of his life was too much. He’d lose them. But that was better than dying, right?

Because you could always start over, start anew and rebuild a friendship. Except...that wasn't totally true. You'd still have those memories, you'd still carry the burden of years lost. And arguably wouldn't Shouto be different? He couldn't deny the impact you'd made on him, and losing his memories of you would revert that progress. Right?

So the surgery is off-limits. He couldn't just forget you like that.

So it was die, or confess.

Confessing wouldn't be hard, but that'd also depend on you returning those feelings, and he was clueless when it came to that. You'd never spoken to him about relationships and romance before, therefore he really had no idea if there was someone you liked.

Dying would be… well, dying. Slowly, painfully. So he only had one option, and he wasn't ready for that yet. Because what if you didn't return those feelings? Would that sentence him to death or trap him into surgery? The surgery, he assumed, as death would still be the worst outcome.

And despite that he wasn't sure exactly what these feelings were, what they meant, the weight of them. He didn't think he was ready for a relationship right now, hell- would he ever be? His goals were career focused, love was the bottom of his list.

"Shouto…?" Your sweet voice cut through his fevered thoughts, "are you...are you okay?"

Oh, so that's it. That's this feeling. He finally had a word for the way he felt around you. The light fluttering in his belly, the weightlessness of his heart, the fuzziness in his brain. It was love.

And despite his current state; sick and dying, covered in sweat and sap, Shouto smiled.

It was the smile that shattered your heart. Because not only were you confused as to why, but it was also the prettiest smile you'd ever seen. You had to bite down on your cheek to keep from crying, but it didn't seem to work as he brought a trembling hand up to wipe a tear from your cheek.

"I figured it out," Shouto said quietly, his voice soft and low, but hoarse.

"You did?! This is great- you can confess! You can-"

"No," he cut you off, "Not yet. I need to really figure out what this is, how I feel, what I want."

You took a moment to process his words. Why wouldn't he want this torture to end? Why did he want to prolong his suffering? Surely whomever it was would understand. Surely they could work things out after his life wasn't in danger.

The next few days passed by in a blur. Shouto spoke privately with Aizawa, and then with his circle of friends. He still elected to keep it from his family, as at this point he had no intentions of dying. It would worry them unnecessarily.

You were permitted to stay in his dorm to care for him through the night, to try and help ease the symptoms and the pain. You had no idea you were only exacerbating it.

But Shouto did, and though he was still reeling from realizing his feelings, and the disease that rapidly deteriorated his health, he didn't mind.

Because it was just more time he could spend with you, and the longer you were together the clearer his thoughts became. Everything you did, every touch, every word, every glance had nectar slicked petals crawling up his throat.

And it's not so bad, he thought. Getting to be with you felt worth the pain in his mind. But maybe that's the hidden poison of hanahaki. Maybe the real danger is a love so consuming that you wouldn't mind dying for it - wouldn't mind suffering for it. A love you want to hold onto with white knuckles, unable and unwilling to let go for fear of the emptiness that lies in its wake.

A week later, Shouto was in much worse shape. Nearly every breath had the florals in his lungs rattling, what was once petals now flowers. He was weak, barely eating from the nausea, malnourished. Delicate.

Purple gillyflower. A beautiful life, a happy marriage, unbridled joy. And the distinct scent of cloves.

How cruel.

You were upset by the meaning, how could anyone be in such a state and feel those things? He was dying in such a slow and painful way, how could he even begin to feel such things as happiness and joy?

But he did. Finally, he understood what this was, and it had brought Shouto the feelings determined by the flower's meaning. A life with you would be beautiful, he found himself daydreaming of it often these days. Holding your hand, kissing you, going on dates, marriage. Children. He wouldn't be like his father, he swore to himself.

Unbridled joy, because not only was he experiencing these feelings for the first time, it was the way his heart fluttered when you were near. The way he couldn't stop the smile from spreading, or his gaze from drifting to you. He found himself in love with being in love.

But as the nights grew colder and he grew weaker, Shouto knew he couldn't put it off any longer. He'd have to make a choice. Surgery or confession? Either way this heady bliss of the present wouldn't last. The friendship between you would change for good.

It happened early one morning as Shouto was bent over the bin, coughing and spitting stocks of those purple flowers. So much blood, now. The stems and leaves were painful, and even lozenges and pain killers were helpless in its face.

You'd tried over the weeks to convince him to confess, but every time he just brushed it off. And you hated it, this was unfair and he was doing it to himself. Why? Were they really so intimidating that he'd push it back in favor of this torture?

Shouto fell back against the bed frame, his chest was heaving, his skin pale and clammy, eyes closed, body limp. He looked so small now, having lost a significant amount of weight over the weeks. A small trickle of blood poured from the corner of his mouth which you wiped away with your thumb.

This action had him peeking at you through heavily lidded eyes. He needed to feel your touch again. Even if it was the lack of oxygen clouding his judgment, he needed it. And so, Shouto caught your hand during its retreat, and brought your wrist to his swollen lips.

You froze. What was he doing?

"I need to tell you something," he rasped. His voice low and hoarse from his cut up and bruised esophagus. The taste and smell of clove overwhelmed his senses, tinged with copper and syrup. He felt sick, but swallowed it down.

You watched him carefully as he slid his fingers down to your palm, then wrapped them around your hand. He looked so peaceful, so handsome, even despite the new hollowness in his cheeks and the circles under his eyes. His hand was so cold, like ice though it was the wrong side. That worried you.

“Shouto?” you watched him carefully, and he levelled you with that smile again. The one that was so bittersweet and so perfect that it made your heart squeeze in your chest. He pulled you down to him suddenly, and with the little strength he had left. You landed in his lap, and he pressed your cheek to his chest while resting his chin atop your head.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your hands shook where they lay on his chest wrapped in his own, your cheeks flooded with heat. Shouto inhaled slowly, deeply, and that damn rattle shook in his lungs as he did.

“I know who it is, and I think I need to tell them. I think…” he coughed wetly for a moment before he was able to continue, “I think I’m ready for them to know.”

You blinked slowly. Okay? What did that have to do with this? With the way he was holding you so tight and so painfully tender? He took a moment to catch his breath, and you wondered just how bad it had progressed by now. Coughing out stems was supposed to be the final stages, and he’s just now trying to confess to whoever it is?

“Who is it? Shouto? Tell me, I’ll go get them so you can finally get better.”

You felt him shake his head in the way his chin rustled and messed up your hair.

“You don’t need to. She-”

Fresh coughs forced themselves up his chest and out of his lungs, and he all but threw you to the side to expel the offending flowers into the bin. The bin which was almost ready to be cleaned for the third time today. The bin which might never lose the smell of blood and cloves and sap.

He’s so close to getting better, why couldn’t he just strangle out the name? His entire body heaved with effort as he coughed so hard it brought up the contents of his stomach - which wasn’t much. Shouto struggled to inhale amidst the onslaught, he struggled to draw air past the growing petals and branches and roots and -

His hand shot out to grab your arm, a plea for help as he felt his consciousness fading. He squeezed as hard as he could before collapsing atop the bin and turning it over, effectively spilling the contents all over both of you and the room.

Shouto was floating in a vast void, finally a reprieve from the pain and torment of the last few months. He wanted to stay here forever, to be carried listlessly through wherever this was so that he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

He couldn’t breathe, though. And he’d gotten so used to the feeling that he almost didn’t notice it. And then his senses began to return.

Starting with a steady beeping, low murmured voices, the fluttering of paper and loud footsteps. Then the softness beneath his head, something secured around his mouth and chin, a weight atop him that suggested, perhaps, a pile of blankets. Despite which he was still cold. Freezing, down to his fingertips. He’d half a mind to try and use his fire to warm himself, but that hadn’t worked in weeks.

The taste returned, and he thought nothing could overshadow the ever-present taste of clove, but he was wrong. Copper, iron, the metallic and tangy flavor of blood coated every inch of his mouth and tongue. Backed by a tinge of stomach acid and sickly sweet nectar. It made him sick.

The last thing he felt was the warmth of someone’s hand taking his own, so tender and hesitant. He silently thanked them for the heat.

His consciousness faded again, and he found himself adrift once more.

God, you prayed he’d wake up. Hanahaki had stolen the breath from his lungs, but given him a heart full of love, and it was a damn shame he’d never be able to fulfill all of the great things he was destined for because of it. And he was on the precipice of revealing the person, too.

It’s been two days since Shouto collapsed, and he was fighting for his life. A myriad of tubes and wires connected to him to keep him alive, an oxygen mask tight over his face to keep him breathing.

Natsuo and Fuyumi had come many times, as well as your other classmates, but you were the only one who stayed. Always by his side, even now.

Because he was your best friend, but… wasn’t he more than that? Would you have gone through all of this for just anyone? Maybe… maybe it was more than that. Maybe you were in love with him.

The thought made your already weeping heart break more. Because upon the realization you also concluded that he didn’t return your feelings. If he did, he’d tell you. You told each other everything.

“You love him,” Fuyumi whispered softly beside you. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed her. She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and gave you a sad smile.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it. It’s obvious. Why don’t you tell him? On the off-chance that it’s you?”

Your gaze landed on the boy before you, half-dead and unconscious. If it was you… It couldn’t hurt right? To at least try? At least then, you could say that you did everything in your power to stop this.

“I’d tell him soon, if you’re going to. Father has given the go-ahead for the surgery and it’s scheduled for tomorrow morning,” she gave your shoulder a soft squeeze and excused herself, presumably giving you time to formulate your thoughts about her suggestion.

Really, what did you have to lose?

You leaned forward, brushing his bangs away from his face. He looked so peaceful like this, calmer than he’d been in… how long had it been? You hovered over him, getting a good look at the boy as his chest rose and fell slowly. Tentatively, you leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. A kiss that lingered, too afraid to pull away.

And then Shouto shifted beneath you, causing you to pull back and frantically search his face. Was it a fluke or-

Weakly, he took your hand in his; so cold you nearly shivered. His eyes cracked open slightly, just enough to see you, and he smiled.

The dam holding your emotions at bay cracked then, fat tears flooding down your face and plopping onto the blanket that failed to keep him warm. He tried to squeeze your hand, tried to reassure you, but he was so weak now that you barely noticed.

You collapsed in a heap, barely landing in the chair beside him as you brought your head down to rest on the bed. And you sobbed, letting it all out. Your body shook, heaved and trembled as you suddenly became overwhelmed.

It was too much, that smile. It broke you. Because how can he be smiling? After everything how can he still give you that soft, saccharine smile?

It took a lot of effort, and his arm shook with strain, but Shouto placed his hand on your head. Petting you, comforting you as if everything would be okay.

"Sh-shouto-" you sobbed, looking up into those beautiful eyes of his. "I'm so sorry," You hiccups, choking on your tears.

"I know. I know that it's not me. I know, but I… I can't.. I…" you faltered. His hand fell to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him. He tried to thumb away your tears but he was so weak. So tired.

You caught his hand as it fell, returning it to your face and holding your own over it. Blinking rapidly, you tried to steady your resolve.

"I know it's not me, but. I can't just sit here and watch you die because you waited too long. I love you. I love you so much, Shouto. It hurts. This hurts. I need you to know that… that for me, it's you!"

The way his eyes widened at your admission wasn't lost on you, his jaw slacking just slightly before his body lurched forward.

He ripped his hand away from you to tear off the oxygen mask, and what followed was a horrifying and traumatic scene.

A flurry of purple petals ejected from his mouth and blanketed the bed. Some flitting gently to the floor as he wheezed. A wet cough, followed by blood. A lot of blood. Too much blood and you scrambled to thrust the bedpan under him.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you called for the nurse. He must be dying. This must be it.

"Shouto, Shouto please! D-don’t-"

But your pleading fell on deaf ears as more and more flowers were hacked up. They forced themselves out of his body in stocks, twigs, and leaves which were coated in that disgusting slurry of blood, nectar, and bile.

A team of nurses flooded into the room and shooed you out of the way. You couldn't see what was happening, and you collapsed back into your chair, crumpling in on yourself as more sobs tore through you. Recovery Girl waddled in after a terrifying moment and tapped your arm to get your attention.

"So, you finally confessed, eh? About time. Any longer and we would have lost him."

Her statement shocked you out of your stupor and you stared at her incredulously.

"Don't give me that look. It's always obvious with Hanahaki, who the person is. You know, almost every time they reciprocate the feelings, too? Just takes them having to realize it or get over their fears long enough to give a proper confession."

Your head whipped back and forth between where the nurses worked on the heaving boy, and the experienced woman beside you.

"So, he-"

"He'll survive. This is how it has to happen. All the foreign matter in his body is getting rejected and forcing its way out of him. Once this episode is over, he'll be able to start recovering."

It took three months before he could return to normalcy. Three months that you'd put off having that conversation. Three months of knowing glances and lingering touches and late nights spent helping him with studies so he didn't fall behind.

Your class greeted his return with a lavish party, funded mostly by Momo. It was fun, and like a heavy weight was lifted. Perhaps, that's because it had. With your desperate confession came a new beginning, a happier future, a new normal.

And it was after the party, as you and Shouto walked back to his dorm, that the tension between you finally snapped.

He looked so much better now. Still a bit thin but he'd been bulking up quickly. His skin no longer pallid, his cheeks fuller, his breaths unlabored. Handsome, beautiful, alive.

You stopped before his door, and he turned to face you. His expression, ever so stoic, but tinged with a softness that you'd grown used to - at least when he looked at you.

"I'm glad you figured it out."

You looked away sheepishly, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "I didn't...really. I just thought that I didn't want you to die without knowing."

Shouto cupped your face with both hands, knowing that you felt the same, and brought his lips to yours. Soft and sweet, tentatively perfect.

"Thank you for loving me."

[andypantsx3]

slip | villain!todoroki x reader

pairing: Villain!Todoroki Shouto/ Reader

length: 2,500 words

summary: No one knows who the villain Shouto really is, or what he wants with Endeavor. All you know is that you never should have drawn his notice.

tags/warnings: sfw (for once), belligerent sexual tension, villain!shouto, ice restraints 😏, problematic behavior

notes: Uhhh unclear on what this is. Kind of a Villain AU where Shouto goes rogue instead of Touya lol. I’ve added a fairly comprehensive list of triggering moments in the end notes of this fic on ao3. Please visit that if you’d prefer to see those before you read.

It was clear what was happening the moment the ice settled over the building.

You’d been at your desk when it happened, typing up a summary of Endeavor’s latest arrest reports. As usual, you were doing your best to correct his abrupt, contemptuous tone, which bordered on just the wrong side of unprofessional. In the two years you’d worked as his secretary, you’d discovered it benefitted the Endeavor Agency to keep reports slightly more professional, so that accusations of bias or undue process were harder to lob back at the agency.

So you were dedicating your usual thirty minutes at the end of the day to cleaning things up, something like a migraine building just behind your eyelids—

And that’s when it happened.

An ear splitting crackling noise—rolling like crystalline thunder—echoed loudly through the building halls. Then an oppressive silence settled over you, as though everything had suddenly been muted. Your head whipped up in surprise, to see that the world outside the windows had gone blank—stark white and glowing faintly, like the light was filtering in through something thick.

It didn’t take a genius to put two-and-two together.

There was only one villain capable of icing over an entire building. One villain who had been on the rise lately, targeting pro hero Endeavor with a vengeance that seemed born of a personal vendetta. He went by Shouto, a simple name, so disturbingly normal compared to so many other villain aliases. A name which had affected Endeavor so strangely when he’d first heard it, his face going alarmingly pale.

Endeavor seemed to know something about this Shouto, and he’d been extremely secretive in his collaboration with the authorities so far, even leaving you out of the meetings that you were normally contracted to take notes in. Besides Endeavor, however, no one seemed to truly know much about the villain.

As far as details that had been released to the public went, all the authorities had revealed was that Shouto was about your age, wildly dangerous for his years, and warranted a do-not-engage notice for all heroes below a certain ranking.

From the way the ice covered all the building exits, however, you guessed that there was about to be little choice in whether to engage.

Keep reading

[andypantsx3]

ANDIE i finished vested interest for the fifth time today and I LOVE IT SO MUCH it fulfils my tiny little heart aching for love so much <333 i just wanted to ask - does reader ever return shoutos grey coat from chapter 1 to him?? what was his reaction if we do offer it back to him?? i was just curious tho jahdjshd no need to respond otherwise im sure ur busy af with the new deku fic IM SO EXCITED FOR IT TOO THANK YOU FOR THE FOOD IM EATING SO WELL - 🌼

Hello my love!!! Ahhh thank you so much, I’m so happy you like it!!! And I'm never, ever too busy for you!! 💕

I wrote this as a drabble because I couldn't help myself lol. I hope you like it!!

Two coats, a deep navy and a soft black, stared back at you from your coat hooks.

Just yesterday, you'd finally remembered to return Shouto's grey jacket to him, after two weeks of it sitting idly on your coat rack. It had warmed you straight through to your toes every time you saw the reminder of him, but you didn't really need it now. You had the real thing, and you saw him literally every day.

Shouto, for his part, had just watched you impassively as you passed the coat back to him, accepting it with a carefully blank expression—and now you knew why.

He'd still been fucking scheming.

The next morning, you dragged both coats into work with you, depositing them in Shouto's office while he was still out on patrol. You thought the message might be received, then, that you would be executing on a zero-tolerance shady behavior plan, now that the two of you were dating, but apparently Shouto wasn't receiving the signal.

The next day, four coats looked back at you from your coat hooks, and your eyebrows shot straight into your hairline, your mouth gaping in disbelief.

Shouto refused to acknowledge what you were talking about when you broached the subject with him, affecting hearing loss the second your mouth shaped the first syllable of the word jacket, and when you finally returned those four coats to him, eight more appeared on your rack.

It was like you were cutting off a hydra's head, only the hydra was your pro hero boyfriend and his head was a chronic case of absolute little shit behavior.

Eventually, after several weeks, Shouto's supply of coats seemed to run out, and you thought that might be the end of things. But then other articles of clothing started making their way into your apartment—hangers full of soft sweaters stuffed into the left side of your closet, a drawer mysteriously filled with socks way too large for your own feet, and several changes of Shouto's hero costume laid away in your front hall closet.

Even when you stopped returning the articles, more things kept appearing, until so many of Shouto's things were taking up space in your place that you suspected he had nothing left at his own apartment.

"You might as well just move in, then," you said, exasperated, one evening several months into the clothing fiasco. "You basically live here anyway."

Shouto laid himself out over you, his weight pressing you firmly down into the cushions of your couch. "I thought you'd never ask," he said calmly, though you could detect that familiar note of smug satisfaction underlaying his tone.

You didn't have time to call him on it, though, as then his mouth was pressed to yours in a firm kiss. You returned his attentions enthusiastically, and then he took his time reminding you of a few very, very pleasant things—a few things that had very little to do with clothing at all.