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marked in your heart | 4

todoroki shouto x reader 𖥧 soulmate au 𖥧 masterlist

chapter 4: upon a full moon 𖥧 length: 9.3k 𖥧 ao3 link

summary 𖥧 A peaceful life was all you strove for ever since the war, avoiding heroes seemed to be a surefire way for that. It really didn't help though, when you had the name of one of Japan's top heroes marked on your skin.

content 𖥧 fem pronouns/afab reader, soulmate marks, pro-heroes, fluff, angst, yearning, noodles, flowers

warnings 𖥧 canon-typical violence, overthinking/spiraling thoughts

soulmate mark 𖥧 75% of the population is born with their soulmate’s name inscribed on their skin. The inscription’s hue changes upon first skin-to-skin contact with your soulmate.

a/n 𖥧 sorry for the wait!! took a bit to hash out the details and direction of how i want to end this story :) there’s so many passages in this chapter that i love, and it was such a comfort to write.

Jitters fill your body as you stand in front of Shouto Agency, staring up at the massive white building with red accents. Your fingers clench the plastic bag by your side, hefty with the weight of two takeout boxes. The bag’s taught handles threaten to cut off your blood circulation.

Is this a mistake?

Maybe you should’ve texted him beforehand. What if he already had lunch? He’s a hero afterall, his schedule is probably different from the average citizen.

st4rdustsc4rs

Todoroki x reader

fluff// sfw// library date

p.s feel free to request literally anything I appreciate your support ilysm <3

The library was quiet, filled with the soft rustle of pages and the faint hum of the heating. Sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, casting warm, golden stripes across the wooden tables and dust floated gently in the air. You sat tucked away in your usual corner, textbooks and notes spread out in front of you, pen hovering over a blank page as you tried to focus.

You didn’t even have to look up to know when he arrived. There was a certain calm, steady presence that always preceded him — a quiet kind of energy that made the air feel softer, more balanced.

“Hey,” Shoto Todoroki said softly, pulling out the chair opposite you and sitting down carefully so as not to disturb the silence. He set down his own stack of books, neat and organised, his movements precise and calm as always.

You looked up, smiling. “Hey. Thought you’d be training late today.” He shook his head, pushing his hair back slightly — the familiar split of white and red falling neatly into place again. “Finished early. Figured studying would be more useful… especially since I knew you’d be here.”

There was no smirk, no teasing tone — just honest, straightforward sincerity, the way he always spoke. It still made your heart do that little flutter, even after all this time.

He opened his notebook, his dual-coloured eyes scanning over his notes quickly, absorbing information with that sharp, focused intelligence that made him so formidable both in battle and in class. For a long time, the only sounds between you were the scratch of pens on paper and the turning of pages. It was comfortable, easy — the kind of silence you could only share with someone you felt completely at ease with.

Every now and then, you’d glance up, watching him work. He was so focused, his expression calm and concentrated, a small furrow appearing between his brows only when he encountered something difficult. Sometimes his pen would pause, hovering over the paper while he thought, and you noticed his left hand resting lightly on the table, warm enough that you could feel the gentle heat radiating from it even across the small space between you. His right hand, meanwhile, rested near his notes, cool to the touch, balancing the temperature perfectly around your little corner. It was something he did without thinking — keeping the air just right for you, never too hot, never too cold.

About an hour later, you sighed, dropping your pen and rubbing your tired eyes. “I’m stuck again. This section makes no sense.” Shoto immediately looked up, closing his notebook halfway and leaning forward slightly, attentive as always. “Which part?”

You slid your textbook across the table to him, pointing to a dense paragraph on hero law. “All of it. I can’t get my head around the differences in jurisdiction between agencies. It all just blends together.” He looked at the page, his eyes moving slowly over the text. Then he turned the book slightly toward you, and began to explain — slow, clear, breaking it down into simple parts, using examples from cases you both knew. His voice was low and steady, never rushed, and he had a way of making complicated things sound easy, like he’d already mapped out every connection in his mind before speaking.

“You see?” he said, finishing his explanation and looking at you carefully, checking if you understood. “It’s mostly about who is closest and best equipped to respond. It’s not about power, or rank.”

You nodded, feeling the confusion clear away. “Yeah… yeah, I get it now. You always make it sound so simple.” A faint, soft pink touched his cheeks, and he looked down at his notes for a second before meeting your gaze again. “I’m glad. I like explaining things to you. You ask questions that make me think too.”

He sat back in his chair, and you noticed him glance at your hands, which were wrapped around your arms, rubbing at them gently. The afternoon sun had shifted, and the spot where you were sitting was now in shadow, the air turning a little cooler. Before you could say anything, Shoto shifted his chair around the table so he was sitting closer to your side. He rested his left hand flat on the table near your books, and instantly, a soft, gentle warmth spread out, wrapping around you like a light blanket. It was perfect — enough to take the chill away, but never too hot or uncomfortable.

“Better?” he asked quietly. “Much better,” you smiled, leaning a little toward him without thinking. “Thank you.” He nodded, his eyes softening, and reached over to gently adjust the angle of your book so the light hit it better.

His fingers brushed against yours for just a second, warm and calloused from training, and he paused, looking down at where your hands touched. For a moment, you thought he might pull away, but instead, he simply rested his hand next to yours on the table, close enough that your knuckles occasionally brushed as you worked.

Time seemed to slow down. You worked through more chapters, asking each other questions, testing each other on facts, sometimes just sitting quietly side by side. Shoto was patient — incredibly patient. He never rushed you, never made you feel silly for not knowing something. When you got frustrated, he’d simply say, “Take a breath. We’ll go through it again. Slowly.” And somehow, hearing that calm, steady voice always helped.

Once, you looked over and caught him staring at you, his pen forgotten in his hand, a thoughtful, quiet expression on his face. “What?” you asked, a little self-conscious. He blinked, as if coming back to himself, and a soft colour rose in his cheeks again.

“Nothing. Just… you concentrate really hard when you’re trying to figure something out. You get this little line between your brows.” He reached out, and before you could react, his finger gently brushed over the spot between your eyebrows, smoothing it away. His touch was cool and warm all at once, light as a feather. Your breath caught. “Oh… sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said softly, his hand resting near your cheek for just a second longer before he pulled back, returning to his notes, though the small, fond smile stayed on his lips. “It’s cute.”

As the afternoon turned into evening, the library began to empty, the light fading to soft grey outside. You packed your things slowly, tired but satisfied — you’d covered more ground in those few hours than you usually did in a whole day alone.

Shoto stood up when you did, carrying both his bag and yours without asking. He walked with you out into the hallway, the quiet of the library following you out. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked, looking down at you, his hands tucked into his pockets but his body turned fully toward you, open and attentive.

“Definitely,” you said, smiling up at him. “You’re my best study partner, you know.” He stepped a little closer, and in the empty corridor, he reached out, his fingers gently curling around your hand — warm this time, solid and familiar.

“I like being your study partner,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours, deep and sincere. “I like doing anything with you. Even studying. Especially studying… because it means I get to be close to you for hours, without having to say anything at all. Just… being there. With you.”

He lifted your hand, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your knuckles, just like he always did, simple and sweet and full of everything he felt. “You make even textbooks feel like something special,” he added softly.

As you walked back to the dorms side by side, hands still loosely held between you, you knew that he was right. It didn’t matter what you were doing — training, fighting, studying, or just sitting in silence. As long as you were with Shoto, every moment felt like the best one of your day.

i-am-a-living-god

LOOK AT HIMMM HIS SMILES ARE SO GENUINE NOW!!! ; v ;

veerahere

Found You Again || A Shoto Todoroki Fanfiction ||

warnimgs + a/n : mature themes proceed with caution you have been warned & mdni

genre : really really hardcore angst ( i lowkey cried writing this so please brace yourselves )

words : 3.6k+

The white walls of Musutafu General Hospital felt like a cage to Shoto Todoroki. He stood outside Room 402, his hand hovering over the handle, paralyzed by a paradox: he was the person she loved most in the world, and yet, to the girl behind that door, he was a total stranger.

The "accident" had been a quirk-related collapse during a villain pursuit. Debris had fallen; Y/n had pushed a civilian out of the way, taking a concussive blow to the temporal lobe. The doctors called it focal retrograde amnesia. It was surgical in its precision. She remembered her parents, her childhood home, her favorite flavor of tea, and her training at U.A. High.

But the last three years—the years defined by Shoto—were a static-filled void.

When Shoto finally entered, Y/n was propped up against the pillows, sunlight catching the [e/c] of her eyes. She looked radiant, which made the twist in his chest hurt even more.

"Oh, hello!" she chirped, her voice light and devoid of the intimate cadence he was used to. "Are you another one of Midoriya’s classmates? He said a few more people might stop by."

Shoto felt the air leave his lungs. He didn't reach for her hand. He didn't lean down to kiss her forehead as he had done every morning for two years. He simply sat in the plastic chair by the bed.

"I’m Shoto Todoroki," he said, his voice level despite the tremor in his soul. "We... we go back a long way."

"Todoroki? The Endeavor’s son?" She tilted her head, a small, polite smile on her face. "I've seen you on the news. It’s nice to meet you, Todoroki-kun."

The honorific -kun felt like a physical blow.

Weeks passed. Shoto visited every day after patrol. He brought her the lilies she loved (though she thanked him as if discovering a new preference) and told her stories of their "mutual friends."

He became a fixture in her recovery—the quiet, handsome hero who told the best stories about Class 1-A. But he was careful. He never spoke of the night they watched the fireworks from his balcony, or the way she used to hum against his chest when she was sleepy.

He was watching her reconstruct a life that had no room for him.

"I think I want to move back to my parents' province once I'm discharged," Y/n said one afternoon, peeling an orange.

"I was looking at my old journals. I talked a lot about wanting to open a small agency in the countryside. It sounds so peaceful, doesn't it?"

Shoto watched her fingers work. They were supposed to move into an apartment in the city next month. The lease was signed. The boxes were half-packed in his current dorm.

"It sounds lovely, Y/n," Shoto lied. "You always did value peace."

"Did I?" She laughed, a sound that used to belong to him. "I feel like I'm meeting myself for the first time. It’s scary, but exciting. I feel like I have this blank map, and I can go anywhere."

Shoto looked at the floor. I was the landmark on your map, he thought. I was the North Star.

One evening, Bakugo cornered Shoto in the hospital hallway.

"How long are you going to do this, Half-and-Half?" Bakugo growled, unusually subdued.

"You're hovering like a ghost. Tell her. Tell her you're her damn boyfriend. THE MAN THAT HELD HER EVERY NIGHT OR ARE YOU REALLY THAT MUCH OF A COWSRD HUH ?"

"The doctors said emotional shocks could trigger a relapse or severe distress," Shoto replied, his expression stoic.

"If I tell her I love her, and she feels nothing but obligation or guilt... I’d be haunting her. I won't do that."

"So you're just going to watch her walk away? Wow that's rich. Even for you. " Bakugo retorted

"I'm going to let her choose," Shoto said, though his hand tightened into a fist until his knuckles turned white. "Even if she doesn't choose me."

The day before her discharge, Shoto found Y/n looking through a box of personal effects the police had recovered from her apartment. She held up a small, silver ring—a simple band he had given her for their second anniversary.

"Todoroki-kun, look," she said, holding it up to the light. "I found this in my jewelry box. There’s an inscription: 'To the light in the frost.' It’s beautiful, isn't it?"

Shoto felt his heart stutter. "Yes. It is."

"I wonder who gave it to me," she mused, a dreamy look in her eyes. "I must have loved them very much. It’s funny... I look at this ring and I feel a tug right here," she gestured to her heart, "but no face comes to mind. It’s like a ghost is hugging me."

Shoto stood up abruptly, the legs of the chair screeching against the linoleum. He couldn't do it. He couldn't be the ghost anymore.

"I have to go," he choked out. "Duty calls."

"Oh! Okay. Will I see you tomorrow? I'm heading home to the countryside."

Shoto paused at the door. He didn't look back. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Y/n."

Shoto returned to their—his—apartment. It was filled with the scent of her vanilla perfume and the half-finished books she’d never finish.

He sat on the edge of the bed and realized that he was mourning someone who was still alive. He was a keeper of memories that no longer existed in the physical world.

He picked up a framed photo of them at the beach. In the photo, Y/n was laughing, her arms wrapped around Shoto’s neck, and he was looking at her with a Softness he never showed the world. He realized then that he loved her enough to let her forget him. He loved her enough to let her start over, even if it meant he had to spend the rest of his life remembering for the both of them.

He tucked the photo into a drawer, turned off the light, and sat in the silence of a future that had changed in the blink of an eye.

The countryside was quieter than the city, but it was a heavy kind of quiet.

Six months had passed since Y/n had moved back to her parents' home in the Saitama Prefecture.

She had taken a desk job at a local hero agency, her combat days sidelined by the lingering physical trauma of the accident.

Her life was peaceful.

It was exactly what she had told Shoto she wanted. Yet, there was a persistent, nagging itch under her skin—a feeling that she was a puzzle with one vital piece missing.

It started with the cold.

Winter was settling over the mountains, and one evening, while walking home from the grocery store, the temperature plummeted. As a gust of icy wind hit her face, her breath hitched.

For a split second, she wasn't on a dirt road; she was in a training gym. She felt a wall of ice at her back—cool, solid, and strangely comforting—and a voice, low and melodic, saying, "Focus on the heat, Y/n. Balance it."

She stopped in her tracks, groceries slipping from her grip. The name Shoto echoed in her mind, not as a hero she saw on the news, but as a feeling of safety.

"Todoroki-kun?" she whispered to the empty air.

The memory vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her shivering in the dark.

A week later, while cleaning out an old trunk she’d brought from the city, Y/n found a stack of envelopes tucked into the lining of a winter coat.

They weren't letters, exactly—they were notes.

* “Don’t forget your lunch. I added the extra spice you like. —S.”

* “I’ll be home late from patrol. Sleep well. —S.”

* “The cat we saw yesterday has a home. You can stop worrying now. —S.”

The handwriting was precise, almost stiff, but the messages were filled with an intimacy that made her chest ache. She traced the letter 'S' with her thumb.

"S is for Shoto," she realized.

She remembered him visiting her in the hospital. She remembered his bi-colored hair and the way he always sat so still.

She had thought him a kind, distant friend. But as she looked at the notes, a flash of red and white flickered in her mind—not the hero, but a man leaning over a kitchen counter, steam rising from a teapot, his mismatched eyes looking at her with a tenderness that felt like a physical weight.

The "ghost hugging her" wasn't a ghost at all.

The breaking point came when Shoto was assigned to a joint operation in her district. It was a minor villain suppression, but the news was all over the local radio.

Y/n didn't think; she just ran. She drove to the site of the operation, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. By the time she arrived, the area was cordoned off. The villains were in custody.

And there he was.

Shoto stood by a police cruiser, his hero costume dusted with debris. He looked tired—older than he had six months ago. He was turning to leave when he saw her standing behind the yellow tape.

He froze. "Y/n? What are you doing here?"

She didn't answer. She just stared at him, the floodgates finally creaking open. She remembered the smell of his winter coat—pine and cold air. She remembered the way his thumb would stroke her knuckles when he was nervous. She remembered the night he told her he didn't want to be his father, and she had told him he was already better.

"The ring," she gasped, her voice trembling. "The silver ring in the box. You gave it to me."

Shoto’s breath hitched. He took a step toward her, his expression a mixture of hope and terror. "Y/n..."

"You let me leave, you reslly let me walk away?" she said, tears blurring her vision. "You sat in that hospital room and you let me call you 'Todoroki-kun' and you didn't say a word. Why?"

Shoto reached the tape, his hand hovering over it, not daring to cross. "Because you looked happy," he said, his voice cracking.

"You were building a life where you weren't a victim of a war. I didn't want to burden you with a love you couldn't remember."

"You're an idiot," she sobbed, ducking under the tape and crashing into his chest.

The impact sent a jolt through her—the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place. The way his body perfectly fit hers wasn't something she needed a memory for; her soul recognized him even when her brain didn't.

Shoto wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. His left side began to glow with a gentle heat, warming her against the winter chill.

"I remember the ice," she whispered against his chest. "And I remember the fire. I'm so sorry I made you wait. I'm so sorry Shoto"

Shoto pulled back just enough to look at her, his mismatched eyes wet with tears. "I would have waited a hundred years, to have you in my arms like this" he whispered. "I'm just glad you're back."

They didn't go back to the way things were immediately. The amnesia had left scars, and there were still gaps in her timeline. But this time, they weren't building on a "blank map." They were redrawing the lines together.

That night, as they sat on the porch of her parents' house watching the snow fall, Shoto took her hand. He didn't say anything; he just held it, his thumb tracing the familiar curve of her knuckles.

"Shoto?" she asked softly.

"Yes?"

"Tell me about the day we met. The real version. Not the 'friend' version you told me in the hospital."

Shoto smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"Well," he started, his voice warm. "It was a Tuesday at U.A., and you were the only person brave enough to tell me my hair looked like a peppermint candy..."

And as he spoke, the silence of the countryside didn't feel heavy anymore. It felt like home.

The air in Musutafu was crisp, smelling of roasted chestnuts and the ozone of the nearby train station. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, earthy scent of the countryside Y/n had grown used to.

Shoto stood by the fountain in the center of the district, checking his watch for the third time in five minutes. He wasn't wearing his hero costume; instead, he wore a simple dark navy turtleneck and a long coat. He looked like any other handsome young man out on a Friday night, though the way people stole glances at him suggested he was anything but ordinary.

Then, he saw her.

Y/n walked toward him, wearing the [f/c] dress she’d bought specifically for tonight. She looked nervous, her fingers twisting the silver ring that now lived permanently on her right hand—a compromise until they felt "ready" for it to return to the left.

"Hi," she said, coming to a halt in front of him. Her cheeks were flushed from the walk.

"Hi," Shoto replied. A small, tentative smile played on his lips.

"You look beautiful, Y/n."

"I feel like I should say 'you too,' but I’m still getting used to the fact that my boyfriend is a literal top-tier hero," she teased, though her eyes were soft. "So, where are we going for this 'second first date'?"

Shoto offered his arm, and she took it. The familiar spark of his warmth seeped through his coat, grounding her.

"I thought about taking you to the places we used to go," Shoto admitted as they walked. "The soba shop near the agency, or the park where we had our first kiss. But then I realized... those are memories I own. I want us to have something that belongs to both of us, right now."

He led her away from the bustling main street and toward a small, hidden botanical garden that featured a "Winter Lights" display. It was a glass-domed sanctuary filled with tropical plants and thousands of tiny, warm-white fairy lights draped like willow branches from the ceiling.

"Oh, Shoto," she breathed, her eyes reflecting the twinkling lights. "It’s like a forest of stars."

"I haven't been here before either," he confessed, stepping closer so their shoulders brushed.

"I wanted us to start on equal footing."

They spent the next hour wandering through the greenery. It was different than before. The pressure to "remember" had faded, replaced by the excitement of discovery.

"Tell me something I don't know," she said, stopping by a pond where koi fish moved like orange ghosts beneath the surface.

"Not a memory. Just a fact. Something about Shoto Todoroki today."

Shoto leaned against the railing, looking at her. "I’ve started liking ginger tea more than peppermint. And I’ve realized that I’m not very good at being alone anymore. I used to prize my solitude, but now... the silence in the apartment just feels like I'm waiting for a sound that isn't coming."

Y/n reached out, taking his hand. Her grip was firm. "The sound is coming back. I’m moving the rest of my boxes in next weekend."

Shoto’s hand tightened around hers. "I know. I've already cleared a shelf in the kitchen for your favorite mugs."

They ended the night at a small creperie at the edge of the gardens. As they sat at a bistro table outside under a heater, Y/n watched him struggle with a stray piece of strawberry on his crepe. She laughed, reaching over with a napkin to smudge a bit of cream off his cheek.

Shoto froze, his eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, the world around them blurred. The amnesia, the accident, the months of painful "friendship" in the hospital—it all felt small compared to the weight of his gaze.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"I just realized," Shoto said, his voice dropping to that intimate register she was finally beginning to claim as her own again. "I fell in love with you because of who you were. But I’m falling in love with you all over again because of who you are now. You’re different. Stronger, somehow. More certain."

Y/n felt a tear prick her eye, but she brushed it away with a smile. "Maybe the accident was just a very dramatic way of making sure we didn't take each other for granted."

Shoto stood up and walked around the table. He didn't wait for her to rise; he simply leaned down, cupping her face in his hands. His left hand was warm, his right hand cool—the perfect balance she had once taught him to maintain.

When he kissed her, it wasn't a desperate attempt to trigger a memory. It wasn't a ghost of the past. It was a promise for the future. It tasted like strawberries and winter air, and it felt like coming home after a very long journey.

"Happy first date, Y/n," he murmured against her lips.

She leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes. "Best one yet, Shoto."

The common room of the Heights Alliance dorms was usually loud, but the moment Shoto and Y/n walked through the front doors, the silence was instantaneous.

It had been months since the class had seen Y/n.

To them, she was a comrade who had vanished into a cloud of medical mystery. To her, they were a collection of faces she’d seen in yearbooks and news clips, but whose personalities she was only just beginning to map out.

"We’re back," Shoto said simply, his hand firmly entwined with hers.

The silence didn't last long.

"Y/N-CHAN!" Ashido was the first to break ranks, skidding across the hardwood floor to pull her into a bone-crushing hug. "You’re really here! And you’re holding hands! Shoto, you actually did it, you icy-hot romantic!"

In an instant, they were surrounded. Midoriya was hovering nearby, eyes shimmering with tears of relief, muttering something about the "resilience of the human spirit," while Iida chopped his arms through the air, welcoming her back with loud, formal declarations about the importance of health.

Y/n laughed, a bit overwhelmed but feeling a strange, phantom warmth. She looked at Uraraka and Asui, and though she couldn't remember their late-night girl talks yet, her heart felt a familiar lightness.

"I’m sorry I don't remember everything yet," Y/n told them, her voice steady. "But Shoto told me you were family. I think my heart knows that, even if my head is still catching up."

Bakugo was slumped in a chair in the corner, his feet on the coffee table. He didn't join the huddle, but he was watching.

"Oi, amnesia-girl," he barked.

The room went quiet. Shoto stepped slightly in front of Y/n, a protective instinct he hadn't quite unlearned.

"Do you remember who's the Number One hero around here?" Bakugo challenged, sparks popping in his palms.

Y/n peeked around Shoto’s shoulder. She looked at Bakugo’s spiky hair and his permanent scowl. A memory flickered—a flash of orange explosions and the sound of someone yelling 'Die!' over a pile of laundry.

"I remember you're very loud," Y/n said with a mischievous glint in her eye. "And I think... you once lost a cooking competition to Sato and pouted for three days?"

The common room erupted.

Kaminari and Kirishima doubled over laughing, while Bakugo’s face turned a spectacular shade of red.

"I DIDN'T POUT, YOU EXTRA! IT WAS RIGGED!"

Shoto let out a soft, huffed breath—a laugh. He looked down at Y/n, his eyes full of wonder. "You remembered the cooking contest? I didn't even tell you about that one."

"I didn't remember it until I saw his face," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "I think his anger is just very... evocative."

Later that evening, the class gathered around the large dining tables for a massive hot-pot dinner. Shoto sat beside Y/n, expertly preparing her bowl just the way she liked it without even asking.

He watched her talk to Yaoyorozu and Jiro, seeing the way she leaned in when she laughed. She was rediscovering her place among them, building new bridges over the gaps in her mind.

"You're staring again," Y/n teased, nudging Shoto’s shoulder with her own.

"I'm just happy," Shoto admitted, loud enough for the table to hear. He didn't care about his usual stoicism. "For a long time, I thought this room would always have an empty seat."

Midoriya raised his glass of juice. "To Y/n’s return! And to the fact that Shoto finally stopped moping!"

"To Y/n!" the class roared in unison.

As the night went on, the stories flowed—stories of their school festivals, their battles, and their silly dorm antics. Y/n listened to every word, absorbing them like a thirsty garden. She wasn't just recovering a past; she was being invited into a future.

When they eventually left to walk back to their own apartment, the moon was high. Y/n looked back at the dorms, then up at Shoto.

"I liked them," she said.

"They liked you too," Shoto replied. "They always did."

"I think," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked, "that even if I forgot everything all over again tomorrow, I’d still end up right here. With you. It feels like a law of nature."

Shoto stopped, pulled her into the shadow of a cherry blossom tree, and kissed her—a long, slow kiss that tasted like a new beginning.

"Then I'll just keep being here to find you," he promised.

This completes the journey from the accident to their reunion.

xoxo veera

seumyo

todoroki has a staring problem.

Todoroki has a staring problem.

Well—“problem” might be the wrong word.

It’s more like an intense, unwavering habit.

Whenever he talks to someone, his eyes stay locked onto theirs with such focus that it feels like he’s trying to memorize every blink. He’d been told once, very seriously by his friends, that “eye contact means you’re listening,” and Todoroki, being Todoroki, took that as an absolute rule of human communication. So now he listened with his whole soul. With his eyes wide, steady, and completely unblinking (he still did, it’s just unnoticeable).

And somehow, you had become the person he stared at the most.

He was staring.

Well aware of it.

“So,” you said, scribbling something down in your notebook, “I think I absolutely bombed that written quiz today.”

“You scored well,” Todoroki replied calmly.

You paused, peeking up at him through your lashes. His eyes were already on you, steady as ever, the contrast of grey and blue catching the light. It still made your heart skip in the tiniest, most annoying way.

“…Did you already see our scores?” you asked.

He blinked once.

“Yes.”

“You could’ve at least let me be dramatic for a little longer.”

“I apologize.”

You laughed softly—and the sound brought a sense of ease to him as you shook your head. “You’re weird, you know that?”

Todoroki tilted his head just a little, still not finding anything wrong with what he was doing. “Is that a negative evaluation of my behavior?”

You snorted. “See? That. That right there.”

st4rdustsc4rs

one shot: Todoroki x reader confession

The common room was quiet, late enough that most students had gone back to their rooms, leaving only the faint hum of the fridge, the occasional drip of the taps and the soft pitter pattering of the rain hitting the glass. Todoroki was sitting alone on one of the tables, an open textbook inforont of him, though he hadn't read a single line in the last 10 minutes. His eyes kept flicking from the book to across the room, to where you sat. legs tucked under you as you folded laundry, quietly humming a soft tune under your breath.

This sight was familiar to him. You were always there, somewhere close- during training, walking beside him near classes and then sitting beside him in said classes and in the cafeteria. At first he barely registered this as anything unusual. Friendship, he told himself. Future colleagues. Just how things worked in UA. You live together, train together like a second family. He knew your name, quirk, habits. He knew you were helpful- sometimes too helpful, he knew you laughed easily and that you always waited for him when he fell behind from the group.

He knew all of it, but he hadn't understood it, not really...not until now. You looked up, catching his eyes fixed upon you. Instead of looking away or teasing like others would have, you smiled at him- that soft, kind, steady smile you always gave him and waved a little. "You've been working ages Shoto, you must be so tired. You should take a break".

The way his name sounded on your tongue sounded different to anyone else. Lighter, warmer. He closed the book slowly, the sound coming off sharp in the quiet room. He stood up, walking over towards where you sat. He felt as though his feet moved before he even decided to, drawn to you the way he was drawn to the warmth on cold days.

"Just thinking", he said, his voice low. He stopped a short distance away- close enough to see the way your hair caught in the light, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of your body, a nice warm temperature.

“Thinking hard, then?,” you asked, setting down the shirt you’d been folding and patting the empty space beside you on the sofa. “Here. Sit. I won’t distract you too much, I promise.”

He sat. The cushion dipping slightly under his weight, and suddenly you're closer than he realised- your shoulders almost touching, the faint, soft scent of something sweet clinging to your clothes. He looked at you properly, I mean really looked, and something shifted inside his chest, like ice cracking open to allow the sun to warm what's underneath.

He thought back to all the small things, the ones he’d never stopped to piece together before. He remembered during the sports festival, when he’d been consumed by anger and bitterness, fighting only for the piece of himself he’d been denied. You hadn’t cheered loudly or shouted for him like the rest. But afterwards, when he walked away from the arena feeling hollow and cold, you were there, waiting in the corridor, holding a bottle of water and a small packet of tissues. You didn't ask him about his father, or his power, or why he fought the way he did. You’d just handed him the water and said, “You did well. I’m glad you’re okay.”

No one had ever said that to him before—not like that. Not like his safety and his happiness mattered more than whether he secured a win or not. He remembered training sessions, where he had pushed himself too hard, overusing his ice side until his fingers went numb and his breath came out in white clouds. While others would rush to point out his mistakes or suggest new techniques, you would quietly bring him a warm drink, or place your hands gently over his frozen ones until feeling returned. You never touched his left side—never pushed for the fire, never expected him to use what he hated. You just gave him warmth, freely, without asking for anything in return.

He remembered the night when he woke up from a nightmare, breathless and cold, the memories of his childhood sharp and painful. He’d gone to the kitchen for water, trying to calm himself in the dark, and found you there too, getting a glass. You took one look at his face, pale and tight with distress, and decided not to ask or push on it. You just sat with him at the table, staying quiet, until he could breathe normally. You stayed until the cold feeling in his chest had faded, simply by being there.

Why? he always wondered even back then. Why do you care so much?Now, sitting next to you, watching you pick up a t-shirt and fold it carefully, your expression calm and kind, the answer hit him all at once—clear, sharp, and completely undeniable. This wasn't just friendship.

He wasn’t just involved with you. He was tangled up in you, completely, in every way that mattered. You were in every part of his existence, every quiet moment, every thought that wasn’t about training or becoming a hero. You are the first thing he looks for when he walks into a room, the person he wanted to tell things to—good or bad, big or small. When he was cold, he thought of your warmth. When he was lost, he thought of your steady presence. When he was happy, it was because you are here. He needed you.

You turned your head, noticing how still he was, how intently he was watching you. Your brows furrowed slightly in gentle concern. “Shoto? Is something wrong? You’re looking at me weird.” His heart was beating fast—faster than it ever did in a fight, faster than when he faced powerful villains. It felt like his chest was full of something that would explode if he didn't say it now. "I realised something", he said quietly. His voice was steady, but there was a softness there that had never been there before. You tilted your head, curious, setting down the last piece of laundry. “What is it?”

He looked at you—at your eyes, your smile, the way you looked at him like he was just Shoto, not the son of Endeavour, not the boy with multiple strong quirks, just him. “I realised,” he said, leaning a little closer, drawn in by that warmth he’d always found with you, “its you... you’re the best part of every single day I have. I don’t just want you around… I need you around. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anything.” He saw your eyes widen, the faint pink colour rise in your cheeks, and he knew he was right. He knew, finally, exactly what this feeling was, exactly what you meant to him. “I realised,” he finished, his voice barely a whisper now, but still very much clear “that I’m completely involved with you. In every way. And I don’t ever want to be without it.”

For a moment, there was silence—just the rain outside, just the sound of both of your breaths. Then you smiled, that same soft, wonderful smile, but this time it was brighter, warmer, like the sun breaking through clouds. You reached out, your hand finding his, your fingers curling into his. “Good,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “Because I’ve been involved with you for a long time, Shoto. And I wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.”

He felt the last of the cold inside him melt away, replaced entirely by you—your warmth, your kindness, the love that had been there all along, waiting for him to see it. And sitting there, with your hand in his and the quiet night around you.

r4inerr

Hii could you do reader trying to flirt or make advances on Shoto but he’s too dense to see?💗💗 I love your work!!

What crushing on Shoto is like

Shoto who has absolutely no fucking clue you’ve been flirting with him for the past six months. He just thought you were being friendly. It’s not like he’d really had much opportunity to make friends. His father kept him either home schooled or enrolled him in some bougie private school.

Shoto who really just thinks you consider him a best friend or something. He sees that you interact with him differently than you do with others. But in his defense he never witnessed actual love. His parents were only together for the sake of a quirk marriage so it’s safe to say he never had that example most people had. But yes, he notices how you seem to favor him over everyone else.

Shoto who does enjoy your presence though. He enjoys the comforting quiet that falls around the two of you. He enjoys how you’re always by his side, he finds those little quips you make every so often rather entertaining. How you’ll lean in close to him during work time in class to try and crack a not so funny joke just to try and get him to smile.

Shoto who notices that strange look you get on his face when other girls get up in his personal space. How you’ll get silence for the rest of the day. He notices when your witty remarks stop and how you go to sit with your friends instead. He doesn’t understand any of it.

Shoto who thinks you’re just being friendly when you ask if he wants to go see a movie. And him not having much experience in the friend department says yes, he’s a bit confused why it ends up being just the two of you but he doesn’t really mind it. He doesn’t realise he’s giving you butterflies when he responds “Me too” to your “I really had a lot of fun tonight, I hope we can do something like that again soon! ”

Shoto who has no clue you’re attempting to flirt with him when you say his scar is pretty. He just shrugs it off. Yeah, he can see the way your face flushes and how you’d gotten shy all of a sudden, but he didn’t really register it as anything.

Shoto who’s a bit taken back when you cuddle into him during a class movie night. Your head is on his shoulder and your arms are wrapped around one of his own. He doesn’t move, not wanting to disturb you. But he absolutely doesn’t clock that you wouldn’t just do this with any of the other guys in your class. It’s just him you do this with.

Shoto who doesn’t know why the guys in your class question him about you so much. They could ask anyone, but they specifically go to him. It happens a lot when the two of you hang out on your own. “So what’d you two do last night?” “we saw a movie” he’d shrug “and???” “And what?” no, he does not catch on anytime soon.

suksatoru

shoto gives the best kisses. they're gentle and imbued with every ounce of tender affection he holds for you, and whenever his soft pink lips brush against your skin, you can't help but lean into all the warmth and comfort his touch offers—can't help but turn to mere putty underneath the pads of his fingertips

his nature, one you love more than words can ever say, revolves around being soft. shoto has always been a gentle lover, and that's why it's beyond difficult for you and him to get into an argument over anything at all.

"shoto—"

kiss.

"sho', honey, we can't skip this event and stay home like this—"

kiss. kiss kiss kiss kiss.

and when he sees your resolve crumbling, hears the quiet and pleased sigh that traitorously slips past the seam of your lips, he places his mouth against your own one more time before pulling away slowly, eyes drawn onto your own, round and tranquil

"you said you don't feel good, so we'll stay home."

"but this event was important to you!" you cry out, frustrated and saddened by the complexity of the situation at hand, but shoto seems entirely unbothered. in fact, it seems like he's already accepted the fact that he won't be able to go. how could he go when you're not feeling well?

"you're more important." he smiles gently, and you can't help but groan and flop onto your shared bed in defeat. you're afraid if you look at his smile for even a second longer, your heart might explode in your chest.

"you're too perfect," you grumble into the sheets, and although your eyes are closed with your face stuffed into a throw pillow, you feel the bed dip as shoto sits down beside you, and he reaches out towards you before settling a soothing palm on the curve of your spine

"do you want a massage? a bath? a massage and a bath?"

"shoto," you sigh, but you let out a sudden squeak when he abrubtly curls a hand underneath the your waist, hauling you into his lap with ease as your face is pressed flush against the planes of his chest

"i want to take care of you." he murmurs into your hair, and his kisses, those heavenly sweet kisses, trail from your hairline to the slope of your nose, and you can't help the soft huffs of laughter that escape your lips

"tickles," you whisper, and shoto smiles against your skin as his forehead bumps against your own

"let me give you a bath and order some food for us. then we'll go to the living room and watch the award show there—we'll stay home so you can rest up, and i'll be able to watch and hear the latest updates. win-win scenario, isn't it?" he questions, low voice brushing against the shell of your ear as you nod your head slowly with a hum

" 'm sorry, 'sho. i really am. i hope your friends don't get upset you didn't come because of me." you say sadly, curling further into his embrace as his chest vibrates with a hum

"there's always next time. and my friends could never be upset knowing i didn't come because you didn't feel good. those wouldn't be true friends, would they?" he prompts, and you nod your head slowly and allow his words to sink in

"i guess." you pout

"good." he affirms, and before you can say anything else, he tightens his hold around you and stands. you let out a small sound of surprise from the back of your throat as he begins walking towards the bathroom

"bath," he chastises gently when he sees the confusion on your face, and you quickly wrap an arm around his shoulders after you hear his words with a cheeky grin

"you'll join me?" you tease, fingers brushing the curve of his cheek as his surprised eyes turn towards yours. shoto must not understand what you're implying, because the smile he gives you is one full of the purest of intensions and utter devotion.

"if it means i can hold you and help you shampoo your hair, then yes."

your head drops against his chest with a breathless laugh, and you realize how much you were reminded time and time again, every single day, just how lucky you were to call shoto your lover.

shoto masterlist :-) <3

yois2aki

wc. 1.3k

the cabin was dimly lit, the soft glow of lanterns casting flickering shadows across the wooden floor. the group was huddled in a loose circle, the empty bottle in the center still spinning from the latest turn. laughter echoed through the room, loud and teasing, but your mind was stuck on one thing.

the bottle had landed on you.

and now, your fate was sealed.

moonlightsereny

Credits artist @sakon in X

chastiefoul

love and deepspace men when you (playfully) reject their kiss ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel

fluff, fluff, FLUFF

zayne

his kiss landed on the outer corner of your lips instead as you turned away at the very last second as he leaned in

he just stared at you for a solid five seconds.

“was this because i left you on read this afternoon?” his voice was soft, uncertainty danced across his feature. you just shrugged, turning away from him to hide the smile you’ve been trying really hard to suppress.

he grabbed a hold of your waist first, keeping you in place. he saw the shameless smile on your face, couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle of his own. “should’ve known.”

you laughed, “but you did left me on read, how dare you?” his thumb moved up and down on your side as he made no change on his expression, like doing a gesture he didn’t even realize doing it. “alright then, i apologize for not replying within twenty minutes, since i did give you a call as soon as i was available.”

you put your hands on either side of his cheeks, he leaned into the touch. of course, it didn’t bothered you one bit when he didn’t reply right away since you knew very well how demanding his job was.

you planted a sweet kiss on his lips, you could feel his little smile as you pulled away. “good work today, zayne.”

“hm, then surely you would indulge me more of that for a moment longer?”

xavier

he’s quiet for a moment; he did kiss you, but he didn’t know why you’d turn your head on the last second like that as he kissed you on the cheek instead.

he casted his gaze downwards, looking like a rejected kitten in a pouring rain searching for its owner.

your heart squeezed at the adorable act, lifting his chin with your palm. he tilted his head questioningly, the words was obvious on his face. did i do something wrong today? were you mad?

xavier stared at you as he recalled today’s events, but he reached his wits end pretty fast since he still had no idea why you’d reject his kiss.

you then giggled at his clueless expression, and xavier immediately understood that you’re being playful. he let out a little sigh of relief, embracing you. his neck deep at the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling you in the best way possible.

“you’re too playful at times,” he mumbled, he looked like he had all the peace in the world. “sorry, will you forgive me?” you ran your fingers through the back of his head. “i’ll forgive you if you promise not to reject my kiss ever again,” he said.

you laughed, “okay then, if you insist.”

rafayel

oh. he looked so offended beyond belief. you’d think someone had insulted his painting; a product from his passion and effort. but to think it’s just a face he made because you didn’t want him to kiss you.

“i see what this is,” he started, the dramatic side of him just wouldn’t let this slide. you challenged, “yeah? what is it?”

“you tell me. this is just the beginning isn’t it. first you reject my kiss, next thing i know you’d be packing your bags, telling me you’ve fallen out of love.” he crossed his arms in front of his chest, his pout was the most exaggerated as it’s ever been.

you had to hold your laugh so hard, you covered your mouth with your fist. “it was just a kiss rafayel, i wasn’t feeling it.” you replied, trying your best to sound serious.

“wasn’t feeling it?” he gasped, like you just insulted his whole entire bloodline. he put up a palm in front of your face, like refraining you to say more controversial things. he took a deep breath to calm himself, “it’s fine, it’s not like i was eager to kiss you either.” he mumbled like he was talking to himself, although it’s obvious he’s being a little loud on purpose. also, lies. he practically bounced on air when he approached you.

finally a laugh escaped you, rafayel looked at you and he just fumed. “just so you know i expect you to make up for all the emotional distress i just went through.” you laughed a little more as you grabbed a hold of his face. “i would kiss you many times to make it up but i think someone just said he wasn’t really that eager to kiss me?” you raised an eyebrow.

his eyes lit up for a moment at the mention of a kiss, and next second he looked around frantically to make an excuse. “it’s okay i understand, fighting that many wanderers who make a lot of strange screeching noises? it’d disturb your hearing a little. i said i was eager to kiss you.” he smiled, nodding to himself. you laughed once more at his ridiculousness.

“sure, let’s go with that excuse.” you kissed him and when you pulled away he held your head, giving you multiple kisses before he let you go with a grin.