hi everyone i recently got dumped and have been in a major depressive episode, and im going to try and get back into my hobbies in order to pull myself out of it. so (no promises) but you can hopefully expect (slow) but more works!
How we feeling about Todoroki not understanding social cues and completely messing shit up w/ shawty. (Personally I think it's a hilarious idea.) "Ommgg get outtt" "...okay?" Dips the fuck out. I think it could be a funny smau thingy or a drabble or WHATEVER it'll be good cus ur hella funny!! (ALSO I SAW UR KIRI× ALT-ISH READER AND I KNOW THAT WOULD ALSO EAT WITH LIKE AN ALT READER X TOKOYAMI OR SHOJI literally my favorite characters and I always thought that alt reader was very similar to dadzawa reader person so aizawa v. Readers bf would be funny too) okay I'm stopping nooowwww much love
get out | s. todoroki
what starts as a miscommunication lesson slowly unravels into something much softer, where teasing turns into quiet confessions, and maybe—just maybe—you're both a little more obvious than you thought.
it’s been months now. the two of you have fallen into that rare kind of friendship that feels effortless—the kind built from shared late-night study sessions, stupid inside jokes, and a surprising amount of mutual patience. shoto isn’t someone you expected to become your closest friend; he’s too formal, too literal, too composed. and yet somehow, he became your person. steady. dependable. stubbornly honest.
he's smart, meticulous, and considerate in ways that sneak up on you—the way he memorizes your coffee order, the way he lends you his umbrella without comment when he knows you forgot yours, the way he notices when you're tired and offers to carry your books without asking. but even after all this time, he still stumbles over basic social cues like they’re potholes on an otherwise flawless street.
and honestly? it's a little endearing. a little dangerous, too, when you’re harboring a crush you can’t quite figure out how to hide.
case in point: today.
when you shove his shoulder lightly, laughing as you say, "oh my god, get out," he reacts without hesitation.
he stands up.
"okay," he says, already halfway to the door with the solemnity of someone obeying a direct command.
you blink at him, stunned. "wait—no, i didn't mean—"
he halts mid-step, looking at you with genuine concern. "you told me to get out."
"it’s a figure of speech, dude," you groan, dragging a hand down your face. "like… 'no way!' or 'shut up!' it doesn't actually mean leave."
he blinks, processing this new data. "i see."
"do you?"
"not entirely."
you laugh, shaking your head as you pat the cushion beside you. "sit back down, you're fine."
he hesitates, then retraces his steps with careful precision, lowering himself stiffly into the chair across from you, posture perfect like he’s bracing for another misunderstanding.
you snort into your drink. "you're so formal. it's like hanging out with a very polite cat."
he tilts his head slightly, considering. "is that meant to be a compliment?"
"sure," you say, grinning.
he looks genuinely pleased, though the slight furrow between his brows suggests he's filed the statement away for later analysis.
you pull your legs up onto the couch, scrolling lazily through your phone while he watches you with quiet attentiveness, like you might do something critical at any moment. it's not weird. or at least, it’s not weird to you anymore. shoto pays attention to people he cares about.
he just doesn’t always know how to show it.
"you can chill, you know," you say, glancing up.
"i am chill."
"you're sitting like you're about to recite the national anthem."
he straightens further. "good posture is important."
"relax, mr. posture," you tease, grabbing the nearest pillow and tossing it at him.
it smacks him in the face with a soft thud. he doesn’t even blink.
he catches it carefully, setting it on his lap like it’s a fragile object.
"thank you," he says, genuinely.
you burst out laughing.
"okay," you say, setting your drink down, "lesson one. when someone says 'get out' while laughing, it usually means 'i can't believe you just said that, that's hilarious.' not 'please leave.'"
he nods slowly, committing it to memory with grave seriousness.
"lesson two," you continue, leaning forward a little, "if i call you 'stupid' or 'dummy' while smiling, it doesn't mean you're actually stupid. it usually means i think you're being… cute."
he processes this with a blink. "so verbal insults can sometimes signal affection."
"exactly."
he nods again, more confidently.
"lesson three," you say, gesturing to the pillow he's still holding, "if someone throws a pillow at you, it's usually affectionate. like, it means they like you."
he stares at the pillow. then at you. back at the pillow.
"oh," he says simply, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.
you clear your throat, suddenly needing to look very intently at your shoes.
"not—not always like, like-like," you add hastily, stumbling a little. "sometimes it's just friendly. but… sometimes it’s… y’know."
he watches you for a long moment, his gaze steady, thoughtful.
"is it… like that?" he asks.
you glance up, heart hammering.
"maybe," you say, soft, unable to summon anything cooler or smarter.
he tilts his head again, as if weighing the information.
"good," he says finally, in that same plain, almost reverent voice.
you blink. "good?"
"i like you too," he says, with all the certainty of a fact he's double-checked.
he tosses the pillow back at you—lighter this time, more casual—and there's a flicker of a real smile tugging at his mouth.
"reciprocal," he adds, because of course he would.
you catch the pillow against your chest, laughing despite the way your heart is doing somersaults.
"lesson four," you say, regaining your composure, "if someone says something obviously ridiculous, like 'i could totally fight a bear,' you're supposed to play along. not start listing reasons why it's inadvisable."
he looks genuinely troubled by this. "but fighting a bear would be strategically unsound—"
"shoto."
he stops. reconsiders.
"you could absolutely fight a bear," he says, voice deadpan.
you cackle, tossing the pillow at him again. he catches it without effort, a glint of humor in his eyes now, subtle but unmistakable.
"you're getting there," you say, sinking back into the couch with a grin.
"thank you," he replies, a little looser, a little lighter.
he's still shoto—precise, literal, impossibly sincere.
i go to the gym with my dad because i’m scared to go alone (and i love my dad), but it’s so goddamn embarrassing when we have to keep adding eight billion pounds so he can do his set, and then reduce it to five pounds so i can do mine.
i feel like a nascar pit crew worker with the way i’m yanking those weights off and throwing them back on
confession: i get really high before the gym and then do a ridiculous amount of cardio on the eliptical because im so high i just imagine im like running in an action anime sequence or some bulshit
went out with my friend tonight and we shopped at my place of employment but i completely forgot i was wearing a shirt that said BALLS in big letters across the chest so oops
