Todoroki Shouto and his penchant to crawl under your skin, literally and figuratively.
He hovered behind you, close enough that his toes grazed the back of your ankle everytime you moved, warmth radiating off his chest seeped into your back with how little distance was there between your bodies.
Normally, you didn't mind it.
But, this definitely is a hazard now.
"Shou..." You mumbled reluctantly, lowering the heat on the stove and placing the wooden spoon on the plate, turning around, albeit with difficulty because he still stood grounded, "I think you should wait by the table for dinner."
You nodded towards the small dining table, eyes lingering on his chest because if you looked up, you'd see the betrayal on his pretty face, sweet nose scrunched up, soft, rosy lips pouted, cheeks all puffy as he huffed in distress.
"But, we are lovers...." He argued, voice heavy with grief, poor Shouto, he stepped back, hands reaching for your wrists to pull you closer, "Lovers stick together."
One hand travelled up, palm cradling your jaw, gently, so gently, nudging it up, heterochromic eyes waiting to meet yours.
And meet did they.
"There we go." He sighed, leaning forward to rub the tip of his nose against yours, unaware of the way your heart squeezed in your chest, unaware of the sudden urge in your being to smother him with kisses, "if I bother you so mu—"
"Shouto never!" You leaned into his palm, dinner and kitchen safety pushed to the back of your mind, rules be damned, "I was jus—I didn't want you to get hurt in the kitchen."
He hummed, the hand cradling your jaw, curling to grasp the back of your neck, tilting your face up, his lips hovering just above yours.
A shaky breath escaped your lips, eyes fluttering shut as you leaned in, meeting his lips halfway through, hands venturing from his sides you his chest before finding purchase on his shoulders.
You melt in his arms, body completely lax in his embrace, so light headed that you feel like you'll float away if he let you go.
Shouto pulled away, albeit reluctantly, forehead resting against yours, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt, "I want to get inside of you." He sighed dreamily.
Your eyes widened at his confession, staring up at him as you tried to decipher what he meant, "You can't say it so shamelessly, Shou." You mumbled, leaning forward, hiding your face into the crook of his neck, plethora of giggles escaping past your lips.
Shouto grinned, kissing the top of your head, belly all warm and fuzzy, "Hey, I didn't mean it like that." His fingers flexed around the back of your head, pushing you further into his chest, "but it is one way to get in—"
❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ shoto is frustrated because he cant breed you. (not proofread)
edit: i got a taglist! get on it if u like!
The air was thick with the smell of sex, your mingled scents fillings the room as Shoto relentlessly plowed into you. You just started birth control, since you and shoto like it raw. You didn’t mind going on birth control. But.. shoto did.
Yeah, filling you up with less worry is great! But.. he wants to breed you. He wants to see you full and glowing with a swollen belly.
“Mmph.. pretty..” he mumbles at your flushed face, holding your thigh high as he slapped his pelvis into your pussy, his cock rubbing all your most delicious insides. “M-Moore… Sho… oohh goood..” you beg, tits jiggling with each harsh thrust. You look into his eyes and see the furrow of his brow.
“Sh..sho..?” He huffs out, leaning down to take your firm nipple between his lips. Your back arched into him as he sucks on your perfect tit, exhaling loudly and laying your thigh in his shoulder. His tongue circled the nub and it made him drool. He looved your body. Loved your tits.
After he breaks from your nipple with a wet pop! he looks up at your eyes. “Wanna breed you.. wanna.. haa.. full you with cum till.. theres no choice but for your uterus to take it…” he mumbles.
Your jaw falls slack, staring at his blown out mismatch eyes. “Why birth control… i.. i wanna nngh fuck— i wanna make you a mother.. the best mother..” He licks up your sternum, and licks over the decorative purple marks he left you a while ago, before starting on a new one.
You honestly never knew he wanted a child with you so bad. Maybe it was just a heat of the moment thing but— oh it made you feel insane. “Y-You want wanna f-fill me sho?” He nods quickly, his pace quickens.
“We… could be better parents.. good ones.. aah.. tight— your tiight.” You hold his neck and kiss his lips harsh, your tongue running against his lips and circling his own wet muscle.
Shotos hand travels down, finding your clit and pinching it, making you jump arch with a loud moan. “Ohh shit!! Sho.. i.. i want your.. haannghh.. b-babies!! Please..” Your words in such a lewd tone made his cock leak profusely, coating every inch before even reaching climax, though he was getting there.
He pressed on your clit with his thumb, eliciting a twitch if your hips. “Want to.. see you glowing.. breasts full.. nnn..” his head drops down, either out of shame of his fantasy, or from the overwhelming feeling he was experiencing. He felt really good. Your moans and whines didn’t help.
As he quickly shifts his angle, you realize just how close you’re getting. “Sh-Sho..! I-I’m gon— aahhh!” His hands lifted your hips up even higher, making his weeping cock go in as deeep as it could. He was kissing your cervis in the most eye rolling way, sobs escaping your throat.
“Pleasepleaseplease.. take take take.. i want.. i want you to take it..” as his fingers circles your clit more, all it took was one more pinch for you to completely fall apart. Your pussy squeezed him like a vice, spasming and drenching him in your juices and cum. It didn’t take him long to follow suit.
With just a few thrusts, he buried himself to the hilt and groaned into your collarbone. Shotos seed never seemed to end, the cum filled you to the brim, and tried to drip out despite the angle. As he panted into your skin, he stayed glues to you, wanting it to take even though he know’s the likelihood.
“I..I don’t want you to.. take birth control..” he mumbled into your chest, it made you giggle. “Well… haa.. sho if i stop.. i wont stop getting pregnant!” He turns his head, kissing your jaw.
“I’d like that..”
a/n: i should stop writing fics at night .. but i wrote this one quick. lowk self indulgent but its cus im on day 23 of my period!? (i spoke to my doctor dw…) and i just want shoto to breed me..
NOTE. timeskip!todoroki and wife!reader. hehe, a special birthday post for my husband
Today was your husband, Todoroki Shouto’s, birthday.
You stood by the ironing board in the bedroom, one foot braced against its leg as you pressed the iron carefully over a white cotton polo shirt. You did so with practiced ease, lifting, smoothing, and pressing again. A quiet playlist drifted from your phone on the dresser—nothing distracting, just soft instrumentals that filled the space to rid the quiet.
“Shouto,” you said without looking up, “stop pacing.”
He halted mid-step near the doorway, blinking like he’d just realized he was doing it. “I’m not pacing,” he replied, his tone mild as ever.
“You walked past me six times in under a minute.”
“…I was checking the mirror.”
You smiled to yourself.
Shouto leaned against the doorframe, arms folded loosely across his chest. He wore an undershirt and slacks, his hair still damp from a recent shower, half-white and half-red strands falling messily around his face, clinging to his temple. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze lingered on his reflection in the full-length mirror across the room with unusual focus.
“Do you think,” he began slowly, “that I’ve gotten… rounder?”
You lifted the iron and finally turned to look at him. “Rounder where?”
He hesitated, then gestured vaguely at his midsection.
“Here. My stomach. It’s not bad, just… different.”
You set the iron down fully now and crossed the room, the floorboards reverberating lowly under your feet. Your hands folded together in front of you as you studied him like a piece of art you knew by heart but still liked to admire from new angles, in new lights.
“You’ve also gotten taller,” you pointed out, your eyes tracing the line of him from head to toe. “Again.”
He huffed a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “That’s what surprises me. I thought I was done growing after high school. But my pants are shorter now, and my shoulders feel broader. And then there’s this.” Shouto pinched lightly at his undershirt over his stomach, the cotton tenting between his fingers. “It wasn’t like this before.”
You reached out and gently caught his wrist before he could pinch himself again. “Shouto,” you said, soft but firm, “you’re in your late twenties. Your body isn’t going to look exactly like it did when you were sixteen and training like your life depended on it.”
“I still train,” he added, his wrist warm and pliant in your hold.
“I know,” you replied, smiling. “But you also eat.”
He blinked.
“I… yes.”
“And enjoy it,” you added, teasing a little.
He considered that. “I do.”
You slid your hands up to rest on his sides, your thumbs brushing warm, slow arcs over the firm plane of his ribs. “You’ve been eating better, too. More balanced. Less… strict diets.”
“That was Father’s idea of efficiency,” Shouto replied dryly.
“Exactly.” You leaned in and pressed a quick, warm kiss to the center of his chest through the soft fabric. “Now you’re independent. You cook. You go out. You try new things. Of course your body is adjusting.”
He looked down at you, his eyes thoughtful, searching yours. “You really don’t think I look… worse?”
You laughed softly. “Worse? Shouto, you look hot.”
He stiffened slightly, a faint pink blush blooming on his face, creeping up toward his hairline. “That’s not an objective measurement.”
“It is when I’m the one married to you,” you said, squeezing his sides gently. “You look strong. Healthy. Comfortable.”
“Comfortable,” he repeated, as if testing the weight and texture of the word on his tongue.
“You’re not constantly on edge anymore,” you continued, your hands smoothing up to his shoulders, kneading the relaxed muscle there. “Your shoulders don’t sit up near your ears. You sleep better. You laugh more.” You tilted your head, smiling up at him, letting him see the utter sincerity in your gaze. “And yes, you have a little more softness here.” Your hand brushed his stomach again. “I like it.”
The blush deepened. “You always say things like that so easily.”
“That’s because they’re easy to say,” you replied simply. “You’re my husband. I get to be honest.”
He exhaled slowly, a long, quiet sigh that seemed to release tension from the very marrow of his bones, easing from his frame. “I suppose I’ve been thinking about it because we’ve been going out more. Restaurants, bakeries, street food stalls—”
“You dragged me to three dessert places in one afternoon last weekend,” you reminded him.
“They were all different,” he defended. “The variety in flavors mattered.”
You laughed again. “You sounded like a critic.”
He paused.
“…Do you think I could do that?”
“Critic?”
“No. A food blogger.”
Your eyes lit up immediately. “Shouto.”
He straightened a little, your reaction pulling his shoulders back. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are,” you said, excitement creeping into your voice like honey into tea. “You already take pictures of your meals. You take notes. You talk about flavor profiles like you’re analyzing combat tactics.”
“That’s not intentional.”
“That’s exactly why it works,” you insisted. “You’re sincere. You don’t exaggerate. You pay attention.”
He thought about that, his gaze drifting briefly toward the kitchen, where a well-used cookbook lay open on the counter from earlier that morning, since he helped you make his birthday breakfast (much to your dismay, he was quite a stubborn husband). “I’ve been enjoying cooking more,” he admitted. “Learning techniques. Timing. Heat control.”
You hummed. “You literally control temperature.”
“Yes, but not like this,” he said, a faint, wry smile touching his lips. “Food reacts differently. It’s… humbling.”
You reached back for the shirt you’d finished ironing, the fabric now perfectly smooth and warm, and held it up like an offering. “Put this on. We’ll be late.”
He puts it on, the cool, delicate cotton over his skin, and stands patiently as you fix the collar and sleeve for him. “So you really don’t mind if I keep exploring this?”
“I encourage it,” you told him. “Honestly, if you ever quit hero work, we could open a restaurant.”
“That seems extreme.”
“You married me,” you countered.
He snorted quietly, a soft, affectionate sound.
You smoothed his collar one last time, your fingertips brushing the line of his jaw, then stepped back to take him in. The polo shirt fit him well, broad across the shoulders, snug but not tight at the waist. He looked grown, settled, and quietly confident in a way he hadn’t been when you first met.
“See?” you mused. “Perfect.”
He glanced at the mirror again, then nodded once. “Alright.”
Shouto reached for his keys and hesitated, his hand on the cold metal. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low.
“For ironing?”
“For… reassuring me.”
You slipped your shoes on and stood, facing him, the outside world waiting just beyond the door. “Anytime you forget how I see you, remind me to remind you.”
He leaned down and kissed your forehead, his lips gentle and lingering. “It’s strange,” he murmured against your skin. “Birthdays used to feel… heavy.”
“And now?”
He straightened his posture a little. “Now I’m mostly thinking about what I’m going to order,” he admitted.
You laughed, looping your arm through his, pulling him toward the door and the noon ahead. “Progress.”
As he drove, Shouto’s hand focused on the wheel, and the other squeezed your hand, his larger palm warm and sure around yours. “I was thinking,” he said, his voice carrying a note of quiet adventure, “maybe I’ll order something I’ve never tried before.”
You smiled at him, the city lights catching in his eyes, making them bright with anticipation. “It’s your birthday. Try everything.”
A/N: It’s been a while, but I had to write this idea down. I still find the thought of Shoto naming his son after his late brother so sweet!
You’re sitting at the kitchen table, your hand protectively resting on your round belly, trying to stay calm as Touya—your twelve-year-old son with his father’s fiery red hair and the name of his deceased uncle—stands across from you, arms crossed. His gray and turquoise eyes flash with anger.
“Mom, that’s not fair! I’m old enough! I’ve trained with you guys so many times! I can take care of myself!”
His voice cracks at the end, like it always does when he knows he’s pushing it but won’t back down.
You take a deep breath. Your quirk stirs under your skin—a faint crackle in the air that only Shoto would notice if he were here. But he’s not back yet from his last shift. And you’re on maternity leave. Again. This is the second time.
“Touya,” you say as calmly as possible, “your dad said no. And I agree with him. A patrol isn’t a training ground. There are real villains out there. And you’re twelve.”
“But Dad was my age when he was already training with Grandpa Endeavor! And he pushed him way harder than you guys ever push me!”
The name Endeavor is rarely spoken in this house. And when it is, never positively. You see Touya immediately realize his mistake. His shoulders slump a little.
“I… I just mean… I just want to come along. Just once. Please.”
You shake your head. “No. End of discussion.”
His eyes narrow. “You don’t get it. You treat me like a baby!”
“Touya—”
“No! Always no! Always too dangerous! I have a quirk! I can fight! But you never let me do anything!”
He turns and storms up the stairs. The door to his room slams so hard that the dishes in the cabinet rattle. You sit there for a moment, hand on your belly, feeling the little one kick. As if to say: Mama, calm down.
The front door opens. Shoto comes in, still in his hero costume, his white hair strands lightly frosted. He pauses in the hallway, hearing the too-loud silence.
“…Same topic again?” he asks quietly, having immediately assessed the situation.
You just nod.
He takes off his boots, comes over to you, and places his hands on your shoulders from behind. His left side warm, his right cool. Always that perfect balance that has calmed you from the start.
You sigh. “He hates us right now.”
“He hates the situation,” Shoto gently corrects. “Not us.”
You both fall silent for a while.
Then Shoto says: “…Maybe I should take him along just this once. A quiet patrol. I’ll stay with him the whole time.”
You turn to look at him. “Shoto.”
“I know,” he says, raising his hand. “I know what I’ve always said. But… he’s like I was. And he reminds me of Touya… That stubbornness. If we always just say no, he’ll go out on his own one day. And then it’s really dangerous.”
You look at him for a long time.
He’s right. You both know it.
You nod slowly. “Just a quiet route. And he wears the tracker. And stays in sight at all times. And—”
“And I’ll watch him,” Shoto finishes the sentence. “With everything I have.”
The next evening, Touya stands in front of the hallway mirror, adjusting the hoodie you specially got him—dark, inconspicuous, with small reflective strips. His red hair still glows like a signal fire.
He’s trying to look cool, but you see his hands trembling as he zips it up.
Shoto kneels in front of him. “Rule one: You stay with me at all times. Rule two: If I say ‘down,’ you drop into cover immediately. Rule three: No quirk use unless I explicitly say so.”
Touya nods eagerly. “Got it.”
You stand in the doorway, hand on your belly again. You wanted to come along, but Shoto gently but firmly refused. “You stay here and rest,” he’d said. “We’ll be back in three hours.”
Now you bend down to Touya and press a kiss to his forehead. “Be careful and listen to your dad!”
He grins crookedly. “I will!”
Shoto places his warm hand on your cheek for a moment, kisses you softly. “We’ll be back soon.”
Then they leave. Father and son. One with white-and-red hair, the other with just red. Both with that calm but unyielding look.
You close the door and stand there for a moment before sighing and turning to find something to occupy yourself.
Three hours later—exactly to the minute—you hear the key in the lock.
Touya bursts in, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “Mom! Mom, you won’t believe what happened!”
Shoto follows, much calmer, but you catch the small smile at the corner of his mouth.
“What happened?” you ask, heaving yourself up from the armchair.
Touya starts talking immediately, words tumbling over each other: “We were downtown and there was this guy trying to rob a store, and Dad stopped him and I got to call the police, and then a little boy couldn’t get his cat down from a tree and Dad lifted me up and I got the cat and everyone clapped and—”
He talks and talks until he’s out of breath.
Shoto steps beside you, arm around your waist. “Quiet patrol,” he says softly. “Almost.”
You look at Touya, now sitting on the couch, eyes shining as he recounts how cool his father was.
Maybe it was exactly the right thing to give in just once.
Maybe he needs that—to see that his father doesn’t just say no, but also protects. That being a hero isn’t just about fighting, but about responsibility too.
Touya looks over at you both. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “For letting me come.”
Shoto just nods.
You smile and hold out your hand. Touya runs over and hugs you carefully around the belly.
Shoto wraps his arms around both of you—warm on one side, cool on the other.
shouto todoroki did not get the love he deserved as a child.
not from his mother, and certainly not from his father. there were no homemade lunches; no picnics at the park; no family vacations; no bedtime stories; no hugs and no kisses.
so, of course, he is effectively touch-starved.
holding your hand, placing a warm palm on your lower back, physically moving your hand to wrap around it his bicep, fingers drumming against your thigh as he drives—not a moment goes by where he isn’t touching you.
but his favorite, by far, is when you’re lying in bed, shirts discarded on the floor somewhere, and your chests are pressed together. your face tucked into his neck, your heartbeats completely synchronized.
in these moments, shouto thinks he has reached nirvana. there are no thoughts in his mind. he is not awkwardly pulling at his fingers, he is no longer overthinking everything he may or may not say.
there is nothing, except for you, and the warmth of your skin.
a/n small blurb bc i needed to post something after being gone for so long LOL hope you enjoy
mha! bakugou, tenya and shoto as a girl-dad!; this wasn't a request but I am so obsessed with this idea! Also kind of based on this song- her by JVKE ft. ZVC!
☆ Bakugou
Absolutely swore he’d “never go soft” — then his daughter wraps her tiny hand around his finger and he’s DONE.
He calls her “brat” or “gremlin,” but the tone is so gentle it ruins his entire reputation.
Overprotective to an unreasonable degree. Side-eyes anyone who looks at her too long.
Knows exactly how to braid hair. Refuses to explain how he learned.
Explodes (literally and emotionally) if someone makes her cry.
She’s the only person allowed to interrupt his training.
Buys her the loudest, flashiest toys because “quiet toys are boring.” (You chew him out immediately after that-)
Lets her paint his nails — complains the whole time, keeps them on for days (claims it suits him)
Softens his language around her… mostly. You made him promise he wouldn’t swear around her. Still slips up and then panics.
Carries her on his shoulders everywhere like it’s his personal mission. Your entire phone gallery consists of this-
Teaches her confidence early: “You don’t let anyone talk down to you. Ever. Because they are all extras-” “Katsuki!”
Cries silently at school events. Denies it aggressively.
Proudly shows off her drawings like they’re priceless art.
Sleeps terribly if she’s sick — refuses to leave her side. Even in the middle of the night, you'd see him sitting by her bed, holding her hand and silently looking at her face as he wishes he could take away the pain..
Would fight the world for her without hesitation… and she knows it.
☆ Tenya
The most *prepared* father to ever exist. Color-coded schedules. Emergency kits. The works.
Reads parenting books religiously — highlights and annotates them. (“Tenya…Are those sticky- notes with the developmental milestones-” “We need to prepare!”)
Talks to her like a tiny adult and is genuinely shocked when she understands (not as shocked as you though)
Encourages manners but never forces them — leads by example.
Absolutely melts when she hugs his leg. (“TAKE A PICTURE-”)
Is the designated “school volunteer dad” and takes it VERY seriously.
Lets her decorate his glasses with stickers (yes, even in public).
Teaches her how to safely run and stretch properly. Has proud dad moments everytime.
Gets flustered when she says “I love you” out of nowhere. Rushes to tell you.
Always kneels to her eye level when she’s upset.
Makes homemade lunches with little notes inside.
Apologizes if he ever raises his voice — immediately. He is only human but he always makes sure she knows it's not her fault and that he still loves her.
Keeps every single drawing she’s ever made.
Encourages her dreams wholeheartedly, no matter how wild.
She grows up knowing she is loved, heard, and deeply cherished.
☆ Shoto
Quiet, gentle father who shows love through actions.
He vowed to never be like his own father and would let her be anything she'd want to be in life.
Lets her nap on his chest or shoulder— stays perfectly still even if his arm goes numb.
Learns to cook her favorite foods and makes them perfectly every time.
Speaks softly to her, like the world is calmer around them. It's so quiet with both of them so alike at times-
Uses his quirk to make silly ice animals just to make her laugh.
Struggles with expressing emotions, but tries every day for her.
Watches her sleep sometimes just to reassure himself she’s safe.
Is incredibly patient — never rushes her. Even if she's being indecisive, insecure or angry- he's always there for her .
Reads bedtime stories in a low, soothing voice.
She helps him understand love in a way he never did before.
Gets emotional at milestones but hides it poorly. Ends up crying with a stoic face at every school event-
Teaches her that it’s okay to feel deeply.
Always holds her hand in public.
Lets her choose his outfits sometimes They are… questionable. He still wears them.
Loves her quietly, fiercely, and forever — the safest place she’ll ever know.
