warnings :- suggestive, izuku kept ofa(sniffle), mdni pairings :- izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugo, shoto todoroki, hitoshi shinso x reader. (SEPARATE; the students are all aged up)
KEEP EM' ON EDGE
(how they react to a risky selfie)
Izuku Midoriya
Izuku Midoriya (now a Pro Hero and a foundational teacher at U.A. High) is standing before his very own Class 1-A. He’s in the middle of a passionate, slightly rambling lecture on hero ethics and situational awareness.
His phone, resting on the table, buzzed. Usually, he’d ignore it until the end of the period, but he has a specific bypass alert set for you just in case of an emergency.
He didn't expect this kind of emergency.
Izuku stops mid-sentence, his chalk hovering an inch away from the blackboard. His eyes lock onto the preview on his screen. It’s definitely not a villain report. It’s you, looking absolutely incredible.
For a solid three seconds, his brain completely short-circuits. All those years of analyzing quirks and strategy do absolutely nothing to prepare him for this midday tactical strike from you.
The immediate physical reaction is violent and uncontrollable. A sudden, involuntary spike of lightning crackles across his skin, sparks off his shoulders, and snaps against the chalkboard, leaving a tiny, charred static mark.
“Uh, Midoriya-Sensei? Are you okay? You don't look too well.”
“I-I’m fine! Just… a sudden realization about… something. Carry on with your reading!”
---
He waits until the students are quietly working on an assignment, hiding his phone behind his open lesson-plan binder. His fingers are shaking so badly he typos three times before sending it.
Izuku: [1:42 PM]
I almost DIED 😓 mY students think i'm having a medical emergency!!
Izuku: [1:44 PM]
Don't delete that. But also PLEASE don't send anything else until 4:00 PM because I can't think straight and I WILL make a mistake while teaching.
Izuku: [1:45 PM]
I’m rushing home the second the bell rings. You are so mean for this. (But you look beautiful. ❤️)
For the rest of the afternoon, Izuku is uncharacteristically distracted. He keeps his phone firmly face down, and every time it vibrates, he flinches lightly. The students definitely know something is up, becuase he dismissed them exactly five minutes early, packed his briefcase at an incredible speed, and muttered something about a "highly time-sensitive patrol" before speedwalking out of his class.
∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗
Katsuki Bakugou
The atmosphere in the tactical briefing room is heavy with the scent of ozone and strong black coffee. Pro Hero Dynamight, Katsuki Bakugo to the public, is sitting with his boots unceremoniously propped up on the corner of a sleek, mahogany conference table.
To his left, Best Jeanist is smoothly pacing, adjusting his denim collar while dissecting the structural failures of a recent raid. To his right, Edgeshot sits perfectly upright, arms crossed, analyzing a map of routes with razor-sharp focus.
Katsuki isn't paying attention. He knows his part of the mission went flawlessly; he doesn't need to hear the lecture about "collateral fiber damage." He’s idly spinning his phone on the table when it buzzes.
It’s you.
Fully expecting a text telling him to pick up groceries on his way back to the apartment, he grabs the phone, unlocks it with a quick swipe of his thumb, and glances at the screen.
Katsuki's eyes narrow, then widen by a fraction of a millimeter. His pupils dilate instantly.
On the screen is a photo that has absolutely nothing to do with groceries. Katsuki's palms flare up, releasing a sharp, violent pop-crack of sparks that scorches a tiny black circle into the armrest of his leather chair.
His jaw clamps shut so hard his teeth click. Without blinking an eye, he violently slams the phone face-down onto the table. The impact makes Jeanist’s coffee cup rattle in its saucer.
Jeanist stops pacing. He turns a slow, critical eye toward Bakugo, noticing the faint wisp of smoke curling off the younger hero’s palms.
"Bakugo," Jeanist sighs, his voice smooth and disapproving. "We are discussing the fiber-density of the perimeter restraints. If your explosive temper cannot handle a standard tactical review-"
"Shut up," Katsuki snaps. He clears his throat roughly, staring fixedly at a spot on the wall behind Edgeshot’s head. "The review is fine. Keep talking. I'm listening."
Edgeshot glances from the scorched armrest to the phone, then to the uncharacteristic shade of pink painting Bakugo’s face. He raises an eyebrow.
"I said I'm fine!" Katsuki growls, seeing the older hero's expression. "Just read the damn report so I can get out of here!"
---
He glares at the back of his phone as if he could melt the casing with his eyes. His mind takes a treacherous detour, replaying the exact details of the photo. He aggressively grabs his phone, hitting the screen so hard it’s a miracle the glass doesn't shatter.
Bakugo [3:18 PM]:
Are you fucking INSANE?? I’m in a room with Jeanist and Edgeshot right now. If either of them had looked over my shoulder I would have had to murder them.
Bakugo [3:19 PM]:
Delete that off your phone right now. Stop looking like that when I'm not there to do anything about it.
Bakugo [3:19 PM]:
Jeanist has five minutes left of this bullshit brief. You started this, so you better be ready when I get back.
∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗
Shoto Todoroki
The atmosphere in the private dining room of a high-end, traditional Japanese restaurant is surprisingly peaceful. Enji is tucked away at a hero convention in Tokyo, leaving the Todoroki siblings to enjoy a rare, stress-free dinner together.
Fuyumi is happily chatting about a new recipe, Natsuo is loudly recounting a chaotic story from his college residency, and Shoto is sitting cross-legged on his tatami mat, quietly sipping his miso soup.
His phone sits face-up beside his knee. It lets out a soft, polite chirp.
Knowing his agency usually radios him for emergencies, Shoto casually sets his soup bowl down and picks up the device. He expects a patrol schedule update or a message from Midoriya about an upcoming training session.
Instead, his screen lights up with a picture of you that defies all laws of his orderly universe.
Shoto freezes entirely. Because his emotions are tied directly to his Quirk factors, his internal thermostat goes haywire. The right side of his body experiences a sudden, icy drop, causing a thin layer of frost to instantly coat his water glass. Meanwhile, his left side experiences a massive spike in heat.
He doesn't slam the phone down. Instead, he slowly, methodically places the phone face down on the tatami mat, staring at it as if it were an unexploded bomb.
Shoto thinks he is being incredibly subtle. He is wrong. Natsuo and Fuyumi have spent a lifetime reading the micro-expressions of their youngest brother, and a sudden thermal event at the dinner table is hard to miss.
Natsuo stops mid-sentence, his chopsticks hovering in the air. He looks at Shoto’s frost-covered water glass, then at the steam curling off his left shoulder. A massive grin spreads across his face.
"Whoa, hold on," Natsuo leans over the low table, poking Shoto’s right arm, which is literally radiating cold air. "What just happened?" "Natsuo, leave him alone," Fuyumi chides, though her eyes are sparkling with intense curiosity. "Shoto, are you okay?" "I am perfectly functional," Shoto says, his voice a flat monotone that fools absolutely no one. Natsuo scoffs, lunging across the table to snatch the face-down phone. Shoto’s reflexes are hero-level; he quite literally freezes it to the floor. "Oh man, it's definitely (f/n)!" Natsuo laughs boisterously, pointing at Shoto’s burning red face. "Look at him! He’s about to experience a full core meltdown!" "Natsuo!" Fuyumi gasps, swatting her brother's shoulder, though she looks highly amused. "Leave him alone!" "I'm just saying! Our little masterpiece brother just got short-circuited by a single text. It's beautiful."
---
Later, Shoto carefully melts his phone out of the ice, slides it beneath the edge of the table away from Natsuo’s prying eyes, and begins to type with his thumb.
Shoto [7:22 PM]:
That image is highly unsafe for where I am right now. Natsuo noticed my temperature fluctuation and attempted to steal my phone. I had to freeze it to the floor to protect your privacy. He is currently making uneducated guesses about what you are wearing. He is incorrect, but his guesses are making my left side difficult to control.
Shoto [7:24 PM]:
You look very beautiful. The garment fits you well, though it looks functionally inefficient for keeping you warm.
Shoto [7:25 PM]:
Fuyumi is currently paying the bill. I am going to excuse myself from dessert. I will be home in twelve minutes. Please do not put on any more clothes before I arrive.
∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗
Hitoshi Shinso
The afternoon is quiet and overcast, the perfect weather for a day out. Hitoshi Shinso, now a licensed underground hero operating in the same sleek, capture-scarf-clad style as his mentor, is sitting at a small outdoor table just a few blocks from the U.A. campus.
Across from him sits Shota Aizawa, looking as perpetually exhausted as ever, nursing a cup of black coffee. Between them is Eri, happily swinging her legs in her chair, entirely engrossed in a massive strawberry parfait and a sleepy calico cat that has curled up in her lap.
Shinso is idly stirring his iced coffee, listening to Aizawa give a dry, analytical breakdown of a local smuggling ring they’ve been tracking.
Then, his phone buzzes in the palm of his hand.
Assuming it’s an alert from the underground information network, Shinso glances down at the screen. His thumb unlocks it automatically.
It is not a villain tip. It is a photo.
Shinso’s signature deadpan, completely unbothered expression shatters into a million pieces. His training prevents overt flinching, but his breath hitches audibly. His fingers tighten on his iced coffee glass with enough force that the ice cubes clink violently against the glass.
Shinso instantly shoves the phone screen down onto his thigh under the table, staring fixedly at his coffee as if he could pretend he hadn't just seen the most scandalous thing in his life.
Eri looks up from her parfait, her wide eyes blinking innocently at him. "Hitoshi-san? Your face is really pink. Are you catching a fever?"
"No, Eri," Shinso mutters, his voice a strained, slightly choked rasp. He clears his throat, desperately trying to summon his usual cool demeanor. "Just... swallowed a piece of ice wrong. It's fine."
Aizawa doesn't even look up from his coffee, but his sharp, dark eyes take in the entire scene instantly. He’s spent a decade managing young adults and dealing with the chaotic personal lives of heroes; he knows exactly what that specific shade of panicked red means.
He takes a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee, a faint, wry smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"A ice cube, Hitoshi?" Aizawa says, his tone dripping with dry, monotone amusement. "Impressive. I didn't know ice cubes caused a visible spike in your resting heart rate."
Shinso stiffens, refusing to look his mentor in the eye. "It was a very sharp piece of ice, Aizawa-sensei."
"Right," Aizawa murmurs, leaning back in his chair. He glances at the hand Shinso still has clamped over his phone beneath the table. "Well, whatever 'intel' you just received, make sure you don't use your Quirk out of sheer panic. I'd hate to have to explain to the support department why you brainwashed a random citizen because your partner knows how to use a camera."
Shinso feels the blush burn even hotter, reaching the back of his neck.
"Eri," Aizawa says smoothly, tapping the table. "Eat your parfait a little faster. It seems Hitoshi has a sudden, urgent 'underground investigation' he needs to conduct back at his apartment."
---
Keeping his phone firmly out of Eri's line of sight, Shinso uses his thumb to type a quick, frantic, yet characteristically intense response.
Shinso [4:18 PM]:
You are such a piece of shit. You know that, right?
Shinso [4:19 PM]:
I am sitting at a cat café with Eri and Aizawa. Aizawa literally just mocked me because my face turned red. He knows. He definitely knows and I am never going to live this down.
Shinso [4:21 PM]:
Wrapping up the bill right now. I’m taking a shortcut over the roofs. Don’t you dare move.
fin-
