zo ✦!

a blog dedicated to the man that is shoto todoroki.

[zoswriting]

┊͙✧˖*°࿐ my blog.

— zo. south asian reader, occasional writer. music enthusiast. tech nerd. massively in love with shoto todoroki.

— this blog contains (mostly) second-person oneshots about shoto todoroki and, well, you. i might sometimes write for other characters. maybe. if persuaded enough, or if i just feel like it. no promises though. my heart will forever lie with shoto.

— this masterlist will be updated as i continue writing.

the following posts are categorised accordingly:

♥︎ — baby babbles : shoto comes home after a mission, and your baby has lots to say.

♥︎ — if you ask an axolotl : shoto discovered his kryptonite, and you use it against him.

♥︎ + ❀— happy birthday : birthday post for the man himself.

♥︎ — don't eat the baby : cuteness aggression got the best of you.

★ — it was all a dream : shoto dreams of a life where everything was normal.

♥︎ — kisses : shoto's first post on social media is you kissing him.

❀ — deeper : you give him a blowjob, and he can’t resist you.

❀ — my office : you and him in his office, with you bent over his desk.

♥︎ — shoto's world : general shoto x you headcanons.

♥︎ — nothing's gonna hurt you, baby : inspired by cigarettes after sex lyrics

and there’s much more to come.

with love,

zoswritings.

[larilocas]

The violinist (Shoto x Reader One Shot)

Violinist Shoto Todoroki x Fem!Reader, Quirkless au. Author notes at the end.

Small warning : The reader is Muslim, so I used some words tied to the religion. The "glossary" is found at the end, tho I didn’t really use many. Good readings!

TW: Endeavor .

“Your lips, my lips. Apocalypse.”

— Apocalypse, Cigarettes after sex .

──────♡──────

I was always what people would consider a “fangirl”. I would buy tickets to every single concert near me, no matter what genre, what artist, I would be there.

So, when a small orchestra from the next town came to the auditorium on the city center, I instantly bought tickets, not giving it much thought.

The day of the concert came and I went simple, just a purple dress that fit me just right with a black bow on my hair and a black handbag. Nothing too fancy, but not too overdressed either.

I sat on the third row, put my phone on silent and waited for the concert to start. Meanwhile, I looked at my surroundings. Lots of elderly women, some families and some people with a more serious look and clipboards, who I assumed were either teachers or critics. One person in specific stood out to me. A muscular man with stone face and red hair, seemed almost like a police officer rather than a music enthusiast, but I didn’t think much of it.

The orchestra started with an elegant melody, Air on the G String, that immediately got my attention. It wasn’t anything special, but the way it transmitted something almost like peace and melancholic made it deeply comforting for me.

After that song ended, the more experienced violinists started their solos, and they played magically. A girl played Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey, the young man after her played Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift. The way they played was hypnotizing, to say the least, tho the same red haired man didn’t seem to agree and kept grumbling and murmuring loudly, at least loud enough I could hear him clearly, even tho I was two rows behind him.

After a few more solos, a man with half white and half red hair appeared. He sat down on his hair and adjusted the music sheet. Marry You by Bruno Mars filled the room, but, this time, I didn’t just focus on the music. I focused on the man playing the violin. How he was effortlessly composed and pretty, how his eyes had both blue and grey, how the scar on his face somehow made his blue eye sparkle more.

I was instantly hooked. To be fair, I never really believed in this “love at first sight” thing, but when that man got onto that stage? I couldn’t think of everything else neither I could enjoy any other later performance.

The muscular man stopped grumbling during the Bruno Mars guy’s performance, so figured he was just a grumbly parent.

Afterwards, I couldn’t take him out of my head. It was like he lived in my brain rent free. It was maddening.

I stumbled upon a small coffee shop that was open late and decided to go there and take a strawberries and cream frap home with me. The shop was basically empty, just some college kids trying to have their work done in peace, some middle aged women that needed a break from her kids.. and that hair. I could recognize it everywhere.

The same guy that just played the violin magically was now drinking a simple latte while scrolling through his phone at a 24/7 coffee shop, and Mashallah (1), he looked like an angel when I saw him up close allahumma barik (2).

I figured that was probably my first and last chance to talk to him, so the moment I got my order, I went up to his table.

“Hey, you were the violinist at the concert that happened nearby right? The one that played Marry You by Bruno Mars?” I asked, a bit nervous but playing it cool.

He nodded, slightly surprised someone recognized him. “That would be me, yeah.”

I smiled at him. “I absolutely adored your solo. It was really beautiful.” I looked at the nearby chair. Then back at him. “Hey, if it’s not asking for much, can I sit here? I really really enjoy music and I would love to have a chat with someone that actually understands it, if I’m not bothering you, of course.”

The scarred man nodded once again, putting his phone down and listening to me talk. He wasn't a man of much words, but he ended up telling me his name (which was Shoto), how long he played the violin and his favorite songs to play. The stuff he said wasn’t really what got me, but it was more like he said them. His voice sounded even better than the music he played, and I definitely caught myself staring more than I should. Not that he ever mentioned it out loud.

We talked for at least 45 minutes until the same red haired man came through the coffee shop’s doors and put his hand on the violinist’s shoulder.

“Shoto, we’re going home, come on.” The muscular man ordered.

I watched the half blue, half grey eyes of the man lose his spark completely as he silently obeyed. He gave me one last nod and left the coffee shop.

But, that’s when I noticed. A napkin with his number. He wanted to talk more. I just smiled and inserted the phone number and send him a simple message.

“Hey, it’s (reader’s name)!”

──────♡──────

I closed the photo book filled with pictures of that day, from the auditorium to the napkin with his cellphone number, with a smile on my face, placing it on the bedside table.

“Mama, come on! You can’t leave me hanging now! Tell me how you guys started dating!” Rumaisa, my daughter, protested.

I just laughed. “Baby, you have school tomorrow, I can’t just keep you awake for hours telling you how he was blind and didn’t see the hints I’ve been dropping at him for almost a year” I kissed her forehead.

Before she could protest any further, we the main door opened.

“Girls, I’m home!” Shoto shouted from the main hall, taking off his shoes.

Rumaisa quickly got off her bed and started running with her little legs to hug her dad. He smiled softly at her and opened his arms, groaning softly when she hugged him.

“Dad, momma doesn’t wanna tell me how you two started dating!” She ratted me out to my own husband, while I just sighed and placed a peck on his lips.

“I just told her about the day we met, yet, she wants to hear more.” I laughed softly.

Shoto picked Rumaisa up and gently kissed her cheek. “Momma already told you a bedside story didn’t she? Come on, go pray your Isha (3) and go to sleep. Wallah (4) I’ll tell you the story myself tomorrow. Okay?”

The little girl sighed but nodded, going to her bedroom while he quietly slip her a small bouquet of white roses, just cause he could.

The book stayed on the bedside table, prepared for the next day’s story.

The title of the book? “Legendary Lovers: When Music Unites Souls”.

[ White Rose - In Islam, they symbolize spiritual purity, moral integrity, and the beauty of creation. ]

Glossary:

What God has willed

Bless him

It generally translates to "Nighttime Submission to God" or "Evening Devotion."

I swear to God

[ Author Notes - I don’t think I ever did this much research for a fanfic. I tried to make it special for one of my most special friends ever, @zoswriting, but I’d be more than happy if any other Muslim girl that’s in love with Shoto would read and appreciate this fic. For a bit of context, I am not Muslim, but after using my MuslimGPT (which are my friends), I was able to incorporate some Islam elements into the fanfic, tho if anything’s wrong, correction and constructive criticism would be welcome. Hope u love this fic Zoya, from your favorite Dabi fangirl 💌. ]

[zoswriting]

oh my god i love you. dear followers, if you want dabi/hawks/dabihawks content, hit my girl up.

[zoswriting]

oh god i need him so bad

✦ my office.

⤷ synopsis : shoto’s desperate. too desperate to wait until the two of you get home.

⤷ a/n : i don’t have much to say here, i just really like the idea of feral shoto.

⤷ warnings : smut, shoto is a desperate, pussy-drunk man, all characters are 18+!, pro hero! reader (mostly implied, not entirely stated)

shoto couldn’t stop thinking about you. the whole day, you were the only thing on his mind—you usually are, but this time, his thoughts were a little different, a little less respectful: they mainly consisted of him fucking you into oblivion until you were screaming his name, tears running down your pretty face as you clawed at his back, leaving gorgeous red scratch marks for him to feel throughout the day; a memory of you.

he was losing his mind, and it didn’t help that you were just everywhere. he had a photo of the two of you on his desk. every time he checked his phone, you were on his lockscreen. the last time you came to his agency, you’d cheekily etched your name into his desk. half the decorations in his office were decorations he bought with you. on some of the paperwork he had to sign, he’d find your signature there too. it’s like everywhere he looked, you were there, occupying his every thought.

he just couldn’t take it anymore. couldn’t take the immediate hard-on he’d end up with every time he thought of you.

your phone lights up with a ding—“Meeting at my agency. My office. Now, don’t be late.”—and you already know what exactly he means by ‘meeting’: it’s his little cover word for when he just wants to see your face, so you end up making your way over.

you make your way up into his office, opening the door to poke your head inside before stepping in properly. he doesn’t notice you initially, seemingly focused on his paperwork. his hair is messier than it was when he left in the morning, like he’s been running his hand through it constantly. you walk over to his desk, sitting on the edge.

“hi,” you greet softly, and he looks up at you then with a certain look in his eye, one that you can’t entirely decipher. “you okay?”

he doesn’t reply immediately, giving you a once over—more like a thrice over, really—before letting out a breath, putting his pen down.

“yeah. ‘m okay,” he says simply, but you can see that his breathing is slightly uneven as he looks up at you.

“okay…” to say you’re sceptical is a bit of understatement. for a moment, you think he’s gonna say more, but he doesn’t. he just keeps staring at you, subtly clenching his fists under the desk.

it’s when you go to card your hand through his hair and then cup his face that he snaps. he’s grabbing your waist and grabbing it you onto his lap, making you squeak in surprise, but it’s not very long-lived as he muffles it with a kiss. it’s hot, needy, deep, like he’s been waiting for you all day—which he definitely has been.

“i lied,” he mumbles against your mouth, pulling back just slightly to speak, “when i said i was fine. i don’t know what’s happened but—been thinkin’ about you all day, love,” he kisses you again, like he just can’t get enough, “thinkin’ about how good ‘m gonna fuck you.”

you’re a little stunned for a second. normally he’s a lot more composed than this, so to see him so… needy, if you will, it’s definitely a shock.

“so—you wanna go home?” you say, or you try to say, but his mouth has trailed down to nip at your neck, and it’s hard to not let out a moan. he shakes his head with a whisper of “need you now”, his hands on your hips already working to push up the skirt of your pretty little dress and then pull down your panties. you gasp when you feel his erection against your now-bare core as he grinds you down onto his lap. “here?! sho, we can’t—what if someone hears?” you try to reason with him, but he’s just not listening, instead standing up with you and bending you over his desk.

“then you just gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he says in that stupidly sinful voice of his. he keeps one hand on your lower back to keep you pressed against the desk as he frees his cock from his pants. he’s already hard, like he has been practically all day, running his tip through your slit.

“god, you’re always so wet for me. so easy,” he whispers almost reverently, like he’s admiring every inch of you. you don’t even get the opportunity to respond as he’s pushing into you, and your words come out as a sharp gasp.

he doesn’t waste any time, far too desperate for you. he has been all day, and it’s been driving him mad.

“everything in here has you written all over it,” he says breathlessly as he begins to pound into you. “you bought the picture frames in here. the couch. this desk, that we’re making a mess of. pictures of us when we first got together. everywhere i look is you, and it’s making me go insane.”

you can’t even form a response to what he’s saying, because he’s slamming into you with such force, like he’s trying to literally fuck all his pent up feelings out of his system. you try desperately to muffle your moans, biting your lip so hard you’re almost about to draw blood, because you’re in his office, in his agency, there’s interns and employees and people walking all over, and he’s here fucking the life out of you. for a moment, you think about someone walking in and seeing this: the all too revered shoto todoroki turning the love of his life into a puddle beneath him without a single care in the world. the thought weirdly arouses you far more than it should, to have people see so clearly who you belong to. you clench around him subconsciously, eliciting a deliciously sinful groan from him.

he’s whispering soft praises, telling you how good you are for him, how you take him so well, how he’s gonna stretch you out so good—he pairs that last comment with a sharp smack to your ass, resulting in a moan that’s higher than the rest of them, before he’s soothing the sting with his cool right hand.

you’re overwhelmed almost immediately, with the feeling of his hands all over your body, his lips trailing gentle kisses down your spine, all whilst he fucks you stupid, so it’s not long before you’re coming apart beneath him. you’re shaking, your eyes rolling back as you moan out his name, probably loud enough for the entire agency to hear, and it’s enough for him to fall over the edge right with you. his hips still, pelvis flush against your ass as he fills you right up, the two of you breathing heavily in tandem.

“fuck, love, you’re so good f’me. so pretty when you come,” he groans, rewarding you with a kiss to your cheek.

neither of you say anything for a while, too busy basking in the comfortable silence that comes with the afterglow. he cleans you up after, making sure there’s no evidence of you being utterly ravished, and he has you sit on his lap whilst he finishes off his paperwork.

“you know this means that every time you see this desk, you’re just gonna think of me even more, right?” you tease, and he just leans back and gives you a smug little smile.

“i can’t wait for our next meeting, then.”

[zoswriting]

✦ deeper.

⤷ synopsis : giving your man a blowjob. not much more i can say than that.

⤷ a/n : i’m back!! (for like a month maybe) and i’m back with smut because i need this man in every way possible. also pls to anyone who sees this give me requests for shoto stuff, i need shit to write

⤷ warnings : oral (m! recieving), everyone is over 18 and consenting!!!, desperate reader, lowkey dominant shoto?, i just want him really bad guys

the night starts off slow. slow kisses, slow hands roaming over each other’s bodies, slowly taking off each other’s clothes. you’re in his lap, and his hands are running up and down your waist as his mouth moves to your neck, lazily kissing the skin, occasionally leaving bites—not enough to leave a mark, but just enough for him to hear your pretty little mews.

usually, the next part of this scene would be him ever so gently laying you down against the mattress, eyes roving over your body before he puts himself to work, ensuring you’re the first one of the two of you to feel good. he’s always trying to accommodate for your pleasure, rarely letting himself be selfish and letting him take what he wants instead, and you just can’t have that tonight. it’s been a long day for both of you, but for him more so than it has been for you, and you just want to treat him. is that so bad?

his name comes out of your mouth in breathless whispers, and he pauses his assault on your neck to peer up at you, humming softly. you rake a hand through his hair as you ask, so sweetly, “can i suck you off?”

it catches him off guard for a moment, the request, because it’s not usually something he asks of you. he’s always so focused on you, always determined to have you coming first like the gentleman he is, so he’s a bit stunned, initially, but then the thought plays out in his head: how you’d look between his legs, his cock in your mouth, your soft lips wrapped around him, working him so good… his lips part on a heavy breath as he figures out what to say to you.

“‘s that what you want?” he asks, and you nod eagerly. “i can’t ask you to do that.” it kills him to say it, but he does so anyways with the slightest shake of his head, because he’s all about you more than he is himself.

“but you’re not asking me, shoto. i want to. i want you to be selfish and take what you want, because you don’t usually, and… god, sho, i fucking love having your cock in my mouth,” you insist, the words spilling out of your mouth before you can stop them, and with just one look into your eyes, shoto knows you’re being deadly serious. he leans in to kiss you, and it’s less soft than all the previous ones.

“you’re saying you want to spoil me?” he mumbles against your mouth, earning another nod from you.

“please?” you ask sweetly, and he just groans, kissing you greedily once more.

“don’t gotta beg, love,” he says as he lays himself down, looking up at you. “make me feel good.”

you’d grin right now if you weren’t so overcome with lust, starting to trail your fingertips down his body. you want to be slow, want to take your time like he does with you and work him up a little bit more, so you start your lips at his neck, softly pressing them to his skin, biting down and sucking near his collarbone—he doesn’t mark easily, so it takes a little bit more effort, but you get there—and once you’re satisfied with the pretty red that’s beginning to bloom, you move down to his chest, then his abs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your mouth.

you take a moment to just admire him before kissing along his v-line. then, you’re finally pulling his sweats down slowly, inch by inch, to expose more of it to your lips, before you reach his cock. you pause, looking up at him, and then give the tip a soft kiss, followed by a gentle little kitten lick.

his breathing is already heavy with anticipation from you trailing kisses all down his torso, and then you give the head of his cock the same treatment, and he’s letting out a soft, almost satisfied sigh.

“don’t tease, angel,” he grunts breathlessly, and you figure you’ve tortured him enough—plus, you’re already on the brink of drooling just looking at his length—so you take the tip into your mouth, sucking lightly. he lets out a cross between a gasp and a groan, his hand moving to plant itself on the back of your head: not to push you down, just keeping it there, almost like a reminder. you pull yourself off briefly, just so you can lave your tongue up the underside of his shaft, from base to head, and then you’re taking him between your lips as deep as you initially can without gagging.

he lets out a curse, his hand tugging ever so slightly on your hair. “fuck, you look so good with your mouth around me,” he praises, voice low and gravelly, and when you hum appreciatively at it, he has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from letting out any more sounds.

you start to move, bobbing your head up and down and hollowing your cheeks at just the right pace that has his thighs twitching, like he so desperately wants to buck his hips up into your mouth, and a very small part of you is just waiting for him to snap, to use your mouth himself, but instead he’s just staring down at you with nothing short of love, trailing his fingertips over your shoulder, down your arm, then back up again. then the hand on the back of your head is firmly keeping you down, not letting you move, and he’s breathing heavily like he’s trying so hard to control himself, but something in him breaks when he sees you looking up at him, and he’s pushing your head down so you’re taking him as deep as you possibly can, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and another curse leaves his lips.

“shit, love, ‘m sorry, i just—your mouth feels so good,” he apologises, sweeping away the tear that falls down your cheek with his free hand before continuing to move you up and down his length himself with the grip he has on your hair, his head thrown back against the pillow in pleasure. there’s a litany of praises spilling from his mouth, telling you how good you are, how well you take his cock, you perfect you feel, and he can very quickly feel himself closer to his release. you can too, and you work with him to try and bring him over the edge, swirling your tongue, working the part you can’t fit in your mouth with your hand, and he groans like it’s all too much.

his release comes quickly then, glossy white ropes of cum spilling into your mouth as he holds your head down, his back almost arching off the mattress, even more so when he feels you swallow it all down, and it takes him a second to recuperate afterwards, trying to steady his breathing.

he brings you back up so he can kiss you again, not even caring about the fact that he can taste himself on your tongue, and instead the first thing he says when you part is “is it your turn to feel good now?”

you can never deny him, and soon enough he’s flipping you over, ready to make you feel even better than he did.

[zoswriting]

✦ kisses.

⤷ synopsis : that one trend where the guys have lipstick marks all over them, but shoto encourages it.

⤷ a/n : hell season, aka exam season, is finally over (it’s been over for a month). you’d think that in my newfound free time, i’d be writing more. cue the incorrect buzzer noise. i’ve been writing this for literally three weeks.

⤷ warnings : fluff, something short (it’s never short when it comes to me) just because i haven’t posted in two months (insanity, i know), cute lil pet names, all in all, it’s just really domestic.

despite being a 24 year old man with a massive public appeal, shoto almost never uses social media. in fact, he barely even knew of tiktok before high school, and even then, he didn’t download it.

and then you came along and convinced him to download tiktok, instagram, snapchat, the lot, and how can he refuse when you even gave him a kiss to persuade him further?

so he caved.

and it wasn’t the worst decision he’s made, either. he downloaded every social media app known to man, keeping all his usernames somewhat inconspicuous. he knows how social media works, he’s not that dense, and he knows he’ll probably be flooded with follow requests and all sorts. he’s seen it first hand with you.

now, he actually understands what people are saying half the time, and he now understands that they’re all references to certain videos, and not complete nonsense. he’s even caught up on a lot of trends. but there’s one in particular that he really, really wants to recreate.

the video on his phone starts playing, showing a girl putting on lipstick when it stops following the path of her lips, and ends up on the corner of her mouth. a hand comes into frame, gently wiping it away, and then the camera pans to the girl’s significant other, covered in kiss marks and looking at her so sweetly it could give someone diabetes.

“you wanna do that?” you ask, honestly a little surprised. shoto’s never really been someone to actually want to do trends, but the minute you ask the question, he’s already nodding his head vigorously. he takes his phone back and puts it on the nightstand, sitting a little closer to you.

“can we? please?” he pleads, acting like a little puppy. you laugh, far too amused and nod, gesturing over to your vanity on the other side of your bedroom.

“go get my lipstick, then,” you sigh, having officially given in—how could you not when he’s quite literally begging?—and he’s quick to get off the bed and immediately make his way over to your vanity, looking around to find your lipstick. you don’t really wear it often, you’re more of a lip gloss or oil kind of girl, but he loves when you wear lipstick, mainly because it leaves a mark on him when you kiss him. that’s really the only reason he wants to do this trend. he comes back with said lipstick in hand and gives it to you. you uncap it, rolling your eyes at his eagerness, and then start applying it to your lips.

“you’re just using this as an excuse to get me to kiss you,” you muse, and he doesn’t deny it.

“and if i am?” he raises an eyebrow.

“hey, i didn’t say there was anything wrong with that.”

“so stop stalling and kiss me.”

so you do. you kiss his cheek first, in a few different places so there’s kiss marks all over. you reapply the lipstick every so often so the colour is still visible, and then you move onto his other cheek. and then his forehead. and then his nose. and then his lips, which he grins at almost immediately, like he was waiting for your lips to be on his.

you pull back, looking at your piece of art, and there’s a couple of areas that you feel are a little too sparse for your liking. you add a couple more kisses here and there, and then you kiss his scar, just under his eye. you go over that particular kiss a little with your lipstick, just to highlight it, because to you, that’s your favourite part of him. you also kiss his hand, just because he’s gonna be wiping lipstick away from your lip for the trend, and you think it’ll just look better.

“good?” you ask, and he takes his phone and opens the camera to look at what you’ve done. he smiles instantly when he sees the sight of your little creation, and within seconds he’s already flushed, not just from the pinkish shade of your lipstick.

“perfect,” he mumbles, turning to you and he just kind of stares at you for a moment, caught in a lovestruck daze. you are too, and there’s a part of you that feels far too satisfied than you should be to see evidence of your lips on his. he opens his phone again and goes back to the video, tapping on the sound to start recording without him having to find it again. he hands his phone to you, planning to have you hold it in your free hand whilst you put on the lipstick.

you start recording, applying your lipstick just like you normally would before you deliberately have it go off track from your lips. you put it down, and then his hand—that you covered in kisses—comes into frame to gently wipe away the corner of your mouth. you pan the camera over to him to reveal the kiss-struck mess he’s transformed into, the world’s softest, prettiest, dazed smile on his lips. his hand wiping your mouth snakes around to the back of your head, pulling you in. this was not planned, and for a second you’re about to ask him what he’s doing, but then you’re pulled into a kiss. it’s soft, sweet, gentle, everything you love with his kisses. soon enough, the recording stops and the finished video is just playing over and over again on repeat, but neither of you notice, too lost in the moment to even care.

you find out later that he ended up posting it—surprising, because he was adamant on making sure his account is kept a secret. that same account now has hundreds of thousands of followers in less than a day, with only one video posted; the video that proved to everyone you’re his, and he’s yours, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[zoswriting]

✦ it was all a dream.

⤷ synopsis : shoto dreams of a life where everything is perfect.

⤷ a/n : based on the ‘you’re next’ MHA movie. specifically 38:23. that scene broke me. spoilers (?!) if you haven’t watched it yet (but please do, it’s a great movie—if you want a link for where to watch it lmk HAHA)

⤷ warnings : third person writing (i hate third person so much but it’s the only one that will fit), shoto angst?? i think??, todoroki family, baby (as in kid) shoto + his siblings, alternate universe where endeavour isn’t a power-hungry dick and everyone’s happy and their family is somewhat normal, i tried to keep it gender neutral but i may have implied fem!reader, literally wrote this in class so if there’s grammar or spelling mistakes or whatever then allow it pls, i have no idea if this makes sense at all omg

the todoroki residence.

the sun was out, casting a golden hue over the backyard, illuminated and enhancing the glimmer in the marble tiles that line the courtyard.

shoto loved to play with his siblings. he loved to experience catching and throwing a ball, he loved to kick a ball to his older siblings and have them kick it back.

touya calls out to him. shoto had always admired his eldest brother, and especially admired how resilient and strong he was. he wanted to be like him one day.

“shoto! we need another player, come here!” touya called out, smiling as he retrieved the ball that had been kicked a little too hard.

shoto smiled, standing up from his place where he was eating ice cream on the outdoor benches. he passes it over to his mom and jumps off of the bench, running over to his siblings.

“shoto! catch!” natsuo called out, passing the ball over to shoto. shoto, bless him, he was never too good at catching, never really had the practice. he was better at throwing, in his most humble seven-year-old opinion. so, when he caught the ball, his face lit up with a wide grin.

“pass it back to me!”

“no, to me!” touya shouted, pushing natsuo out of his way.

shoto pretended to be throwing the ball to touya, and then changed direction to throw it to fuyumi. he watched as touya then went to fight with fuyumi over the ball and giggled.

and then he was being dragged away.

he looked up to see his father taking hold of his forearm, an angry and firm look on his face—a stark contrast to what he looked like whilst sitting on the bench. he’d activated his quirk, too, to intimidate. shoto looked back to his mother, who sat with her head down, a single tear running down her face, although it was devoid of any other expression. he tried to pull away, to turn back, to go play with his siblings with the ball, but all he could see was his father’s expression and his words ringing in his head: “you’re in a different world from them, shoto. you have other priorities.”

the clouds turned downcast and grey. there was no sun. the marble tiles didn’t glimmer anymore, they were dulled out.

shoto didn’t understand, everything was going so well. everyone was happy, and then in a split second, everything changed. his ice cream wasn’t in his mother’s hand. his siblings didn’t call out for him to come back. they watched him with a solemn expression. fuyumi looked like she so desperately wanted to call her little brother over. but she didn’t. she couldn’t—she knew she couldn’t.

and then his usual routine starts: going to the training room, fighting and training until his little body couldn’t take anymore, his father screaming at him to get back up, his tears hitting the tatami mat, his father yelling at him—“how can you be a hero if you’re this weak?!”—until he passed out from exhaustion, the last thing he could hear being his father’s exasperated sigh, muttering about how he needs to push his youngest son further, about how “he’ll never surpass me at this rate.”

the clock reads 04:28. shoto wakes up in a cold sweat. this is a usual dream he tends to have, it happens so frequently that he could be considered numb to its scenes. even despite this, it always unsettles him. he sits up in his bed, running his hand over his face and through his hair, and then stands to go to the bathroom.

he washes his face with cold water. he stares at his reflection in the mirror atop the sink. he leans closer to it, studying himself. the scar over his eye sends another memory washing over him, the memory of his mother saying ‘his left side reminds me of him’. he takes a shaky breath in. stares at his white side for some form of comfort. for a reminder that he’s not fully like his father.

he forces himself to drag his feet back into the bedroom after what seems like hours. forces himself to get back in bed, and once he sees his love peacefully asleep, it serves as further reassurance that he’s out of that now, but he still prepares himself to have to put on a front. pretend like nothing happened. pretend like he didn’t have the same dream that he’s been having for years in a row.

with much struggle, he eventually falls asleep again.

“shoto! we need another player, come here!”

[zoswriting]

queen pls i need more of dad shoto🙏

ask, and you shall receive.

✦ don’t eat the baby.

⤷ synopsis : your baby’s cute as fuck. that’s it. that’s the synopsis.

⤷ a/n : my bad this is so late HAHAHA i’ve been trying to think of a scenario for the longest time </3 writer’s block is insane, hence this short-ish little thing. my baby fever will always be worse, though.

⤷ warnings : fluff, cuteness aggression, shoto taking everything literally, dad!shoto, husband!shoto, you have a daughter called rumi (she’s basically gonna be the basis for all of my baby scenarios unless stated otherwise), probably some other stuff i can’t think of right now

every time you think shoto couldn't be more perfect, you're proven wrong. every time, without fail. how have you been proven wrong this time?

shoto's sitting in the rocking chair you begged him to buy (although he really didn't need much convincing, he could not say no to you when you were pregnant. he still can't say no to you.) with a bottle in hand. your daughter is gently cradled against him, her head and body tilted in the perfect position for her to be fed, her little eyes slowly, slowly falling shut as she drank her milk, provided to her by your husband. that definitely isn't rare, but it doesn't happen often, either.

he doesn't notice you in the doorway straight away, focused on making sure your child is being properly fed rather than anything else. he only notices you when he sees a figure go to sit down on the bean bag in the corner of rumi's nursery, and he turns his head, just to be met with your adoring gaze and soft smile.

"hi," is all he says—whispers, more like—before his line of sight is directed on rumi again. you smile a little harder, loving the scene in front of you. god, you wish you could take a picture of this and keep it with you forever. it's silent for a little while longer, apart from the soft sounds of your breathing and your daughter drinking from her bottle.

"you're so natural like this, you know? i love seeing you all... domestic. it's so sweet," you say softly, leaning forward with your elbow on your knee and your chin propped up onto your hand as you continue to stare at him. he raises an eyebrow at your words.

"what, exactly, are you telling me, love? that you find me attractive when i'm being a father?" he muses, to which you glare at him playfully and roll your eyes.

"haha, funny. honestly though? kind of. you get all gentle and tender when you’re holding her and it's really cute."

"i'm flattered, truly."

your little conversation momentarily pauses there, but your glances at him don't. not when he puts rumi’s bottle down because she’s turning her head away, not when he gently lifts her up whilst placing her head on his shoulder and starts tenderly patting her back to burp her, and definitely not when he finally stands to put her in her cot. you stand too, watching the way shoto carefully peels her off of his shoulder and sets her down in a way as to not jostle her too much. he sets her little rabbit teddy just in the top corner of her cot, leaning down to give her pudgy, baby cheek a kiss.

he turns towards you when he feels you stand next to him, his arm wrapping around your shoulder. you lean into him and just take in the sight before you. your baby, the life you both created (you could go on a whole tangent about how it’s ’so crazy two people are able to make a whole human’, which he’s heard countless times before during your late night conversations), your whole entire world just peacefully asleep.

“i’m gonna eat her,” you mutter mindlessly. cuteness aggression, as people call it, really hits you full swing in moments like this.

shoto pulls back just slightly to look at you. “please don’t. i kind of like having a not-eaten daughter,” he says softly, yet so, so seriously, it’s comical.

you huff out an amused breath, looking up at him. you’re tempted to to correct him, tell him that you’re not actually serious, but you think that he knows as much, so you decide to play around a little more. “fine. i’m eating you, then,” you turn your head back and lean in, gently biting his shoulder. he doesn’t flinch, just stares down at you with a glare that’s both incredulous yet also fond.

“what are you doing?”

“eating you, ‘cause you won’t let me eat her.”

“i don’t think that’s very wise.”

“shut up,” you bite him a little harder.

“okay.”

you pull away from his shoulder, sighing as he won’t let you win. instead, you both just look below you at your baby girl. his arm goes to wrap around your waist, gently reeling you in closer to him without any further words spoken.

your daughter stirs just slightly, her face contorting into a tiny frown before relaxing. you smile, looking up at shoto, who kisses your head.

you don’t think anything could be better than this.

[zoswriting]

✦ nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby.

⤷ synopsis : based off of the song by CAS. pretty self explanatory, i’d say. kinda in a headcanon-esque format.

⤷ a/n : fun fact, before i had spotify, i'd listen to those pre-compiled playlists on youtube. they were all like 'shoto listening to music in his dorm' type playlists (this was in 2020 guys, we listen and we don't judge), and this was one of the songs in that playlist. when i had first created my spotify account, this was the first song i added to my first—and now my main—playlist. i can't listen to this song without thinking it's so shoto, so here you go.

⤷ warnings : fluff, a little suggestive, no real mention of age, but definitely old enough to drink perchance, comfort, how the fuck do i do warnings bro i dont even know my own content

'whispered something in your ear; it was a perverted thing to say; but i said it anyway; made you smile, and look away.'

➺ whenever you's sit next to him, he'd make the conscious effort to always tease you. that's just how he is—he likes to be a cocky little thing, and then pretends like he didn't say anything. but he knows what he says, he always does. and he lives for your reactions.

'nothing's gonna hurt you, baby; as long as you're with me you'll be just fine.'

➺ if you have a fear of any sort, he's always there to comfort you. always there to be right by your side, no matter what. you don't like thunderstorms and ask him to stay with you during the night? he's there. he'll even stay up with you if you need him to. you don't like going to the doctors? he'll hold your hand for the whole appointment. even the stupid little fears, like if you scream at a tiny spider, he's always there to remove it from the premise, and will then kiss your head straight after. he always will.

'when we dance in my living room; to that silly 90's R&B.'

➺ he'd definitely like older music. the type that's slow, the type that just sounds like every note was handwritten for people to play. when you guys are older, when you both get your own place, he'd definitely be playing music whilst you guys organised your stuff into your new home. and then soon enough, you'd find yourself somehow in his arms, swaying gently. you'd have no idea how you got there, but you wouldn't trade it for the world. and then when you both finally separate, he'd steal glances at you and smile at how lucky he got.

'when we have a drink, or three; always ends in a hazy shower scene.'

➺ he'd honestly get a little frisky when drunk. still be a gentleman—obviously, this is shoto todoroki we're talking about—but he's the type to stumble a little into your arms, look up at you, stare into your eyes, and just admit he'd want to shower with you. and you'd agree, of course, but the moment you both step into that shower? the moment he finally, finally lays eyes on your body that's bare before him? yea, there's no stopping his hands.

'when we're laughing into the microphone and singing; with the sunglasses on, to our favourite songs.'

➺ you guys would do karaoke nights together. whether that's at home, or at one of those karaoke places, you'd so want to do it. and he's oblige because he's just that smitten. it's not like he has a choice when you're set on something, and he'd do whatever you wanted if it means you were happy. you'd stick sunglasses on him (probably those wraparound sunglasses) and on yourself, and you'd be giggling as you sang. he'd just stare at you with that fond look in his eyes. sure, you wouldn't be able to actually see his eyes due to the eyewear, but you could tell. you can always tell when he's admiring you.

'nothing's gonna take you from my side.'

[zoswriting]

✦ happy birthday.

⤷ synopsis: an extremely late shoto birthday post, featuring your kid. (i sincerely apologise, i was meant to write this like last week, but BAM! exams. whoopsies. either way, take it or leave it. happy one month late birthday, shoto.)

⤷ a/n : for some unknown reason all the dividers i had in my photos literally just disappeared? i have no idea where they all went. I had so many cute ones, someone pls give me purple dividers i'm begging. anyways here, take a cute dad shoto on his birthday

⤷ warnings : fluff, f!reader, dad!shoto, husband! shoto, you have a daughter called rumi (but feel free to change the name in your head), absolutely not proofread—what are we expecting?, an unfortunate mention of endeavour, long as FUCK, i don't know what else to include ngl, bonus little smut piece at the end but you can skip over that if you want (it doesn't contribute to the plot)

january 11th. 26 years ago, one of the top Pro Heroes was born-who just so happens to also be your best friend, partner-in-crime, husband, and father of your gorgeous baby girl.

he's never been excited about his birthday (you can thank his father for that) but as the years go by, you're determined to change this—you know you can't alter the past and the memories that come with his prior birthdays, but the pen is in your hands now, and you can write your future. so, when he's out on his last-minute patrol of the city, you're decorating the house for his arrival. you went out the day prior under the pretence of "shopping for rumi", and instead went to go buy him a lot of gifts. he can never have too much, you think; he deserves it all. especially this year, marking the peak of his career and his first birthday with your daughter.

he comes home just moments after you finish setting everything up, and you can hear the house keys rattle in the door. you grin, quickly picking your daughter up—who you dressed up in his merch that looks like his hero costume—and checking your face in the mirror. the door opens as he's putting the keys back in his pocket. "my—Jesus Christ," his announcement of his arrival is cut short as he looks up and at all of the decorations you worked so hard to make absolutely perfect. he looks so in awe, exactly like a little kid who just stepped foot into his own birthday party—which this pretty much is. the house—mainly the living room—is decorated in hues of red and white and gold, the coffee table sporting gifts galore, plus a bouquet of red and white roses (that you arranged meticulously so that the white roses form a heart) with a small card embedded in the middle.

"surprise!" you quickly walk up to him, pressing a fat kiss to his cheek. your daughter reaches out for her dad with her baby hands, and he immediately takes her into his arms, studying her little outfit with the widest smile on his face. "happy birthday, baby."

"i don't—my love, why?" he's dumbfounded as he stares down at rumi whilst bringing her to his chest, who in response just grips at his hero costume in her tight, tiny little fists.

"what do you mean 'why'?" you tilt your head, still smiling at him fondly.

"because... god, love, i don't even like my birthday, and you've gone and done all this," he waves his free hand with a flourish, gesturing at all your decorations you so liberally put up.

"but birthday's are a thing to celebrate, shoto," you say as you dragged him over to the couch by his arm. "listen, i know you didn't have the best birthdays growing up. i mean, they were just treated as every other day, and that's why i want to change that. that's why i always try and go extra, just for you."

"i don't—" he starts, trying to say how he 'doesn't deserve it', but you cut him off.

"shush, you do deserve it, i don't wanna hear otherwise," you put your foot down on the matter, not leaving room for discussion over it. he leans back against the sofa cushions and taking a moment again to take in everything you did. for him. for his birthday. he subconsciously spins the band that sits perfectly on his left ring finger, like he's reminding himself that you're his, that you seriously did this. your daughter also looks around the room with her big, wide eyes, but they're more so on the gold of the wrapping paper.

you bring forward the bouquet from the table. "you always get me flowers, but i feel like i don't get you them enough. so, here you go. flowers," you push them towards him, but you then realise you're missing an important detail. "oh right, the child. swapsies?"

he chuckles at your request, nodding slightly. you set the bouquet down beside him on the couch, taking your daughter from his arms whilst he takes the bouquet. his eyes immediately fall onto the card concealed inside the gold envelope, and he plucks it out carefully. the envelope reads 'My dear husband’, on the front in neat handwriting, and he looks up at you.

"what? it's a card. you can't have a birthday without a card," you plop yourself next to him as he gently opens the card, and rumi's hands immediately go to the discarded envelope. “i pulled out my best handwriting for this.”

“my, your best handwriting? for me? i’m touched, my love. truly,” he laughs, pulling out the card inside. and he runs his finger over it before opening the card, reading its contents. you bounce rumi on your knee as he does—for some reason, you feel like a teenager watching her crush read the confession note she put in his locker, and the way he’s scanning over the words over and over again is honestly making you a little nervous. but he smiles after a moment of reading, and leans over to kiss the side of your head. “you’re cute,” he mumbles against your hair, going to put the card back in the envelope.

“shut up,” you mumble. “wait, don’t put the card back yet. look inside the envelope again,” you tell him, intently watching his face for his reaction when he looks inside.

he looks at you confused before placing the card down beside him (he ends up putting it on the coffee table once he sees your baby reach for it, however. he doesn’t want it to suffer the same fate as the now ripped and slightly chewed envelope, he wants to cherish the letters inside for a little while longer, at least) and looking in the envelope again. two polaroids sit inside, and he pulls them out. “what are these?”

“polaroids,” you say simply.

“i’m aware. i meant as in the phot—” he cuts himself off once he flips one of them around so he can properly look at the picture on it. it’s a picture of you and him at his fourth birthday, sitting side by side as he blows out the candles on his small little cake. you’re wearing a party hat and a toothy smile, and he’s smiling softly. it wasn’t the best day of his life, you both could say that much; the party was only thrown because it was the day he was to get his quirk, and his father—dressed in a reputation he so desperately wanted to build—had invited every parent in his kindergarten class, which included you. endeavour wanted to boast about his youngest son’s quirk to all the other parents, but you were one of the only kids there who actually wanted to be there, everyone else just wanted to go home. most did, actually.

he looks starstruck as he looks down at the polaroid, a little confused as to where you even attained this, even. he sighs softly, running his thumb over your face. “you were cute back then,” he comments, to which you raise an eyebrow teasingly.

“you saying i’m not cute now, shoto?”

“that’s not what i meant and you know it, sweetheart. you’re always cute, you were just cuter back then.”

“excuses,” you mutter playfully before turning the other polaroid around. it’s a picture of his mother in the hospital, carefully cradling a swaddled-shoto against her chest.

“okay, one question before anything else. where the hell did you get these?” he turns his head to look at you fully. you shrug.

“your sister.”

“checks out,” he grumbles before studying the photo again.

“apparently, according to her, this was taken by touya,” he freezes at the mention of his eldest brother. “apparently. i don’t know how true that is, i didn’t press, but see that smudge looking thing in the corner? that’s his thumb. probably. again, how would i know?”

he looks to the right corner and, sure enough, there is a blur of something there. he lets out a breath. “touya, of all people, touya took the first photo of me?” he mumbles, studying the picture once more before tucking both of them, and the card, back into the envelope. he places it, along with the flowers, back on the coffee table and then pulls you into his side, holding you and rumi close.

“thank you, love. really,” he mumbles against your head, pressing gentle kisses to it.

“happy birthday, shoto,” you whisper, and rumi babbles into the conversation, to which you both silently laugh at.

BONUS. (smut ahead) (wow first smut post)

⤷ everyone is over 18!!!!!!!!, f/afab!reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), shoto’s a cocky (haha get it) little shit, penetration, tits? is that a warning?, literally made up as i go, first time like properly writing smut pls bear with me i have no idea what the fuck i’m doing, say it with me: shoto’s a little shit, kinda rushed this part cause i really wanna sleep

at this point, the sun had set. the three of you went out to a restaurant (which you paid for, obviously) and ate to your hearts content—although your daughter just had milk, but the way she conked out during the drive back was more than enough evidence that she, too, was full—and then did the whole cake thing after putting rumi to sleep in her nursery. now, you find yourself laying in the middle of your bed with shoto attacking your neck and chest with kisses, plus the occasional nip here and there.

how did you get here, exactly?

“i don’t need thanking, shoto. i feel like a broken record saying that, just shut your mouth and accept this,” you huff as you tell him for what seems like the fiftieth time. your husband’s so set on ‘showing you his gratitude’, as he puts it, and as much as you try to refuse, you know shoto will get his way. he always does, no matter what you do. the minute you guys walked into your bedroom, his lips were crashing on yours as he walked you both backwards to the bed. his hand stayed planted on the back of your head, tilting it slightly to deepen the kiss before he was pushing you back onto the mattress and moving on top of you, straddling your legs to keep them down as he removed your top, revealing your bare torso under. he ran his hands over the newly-exposed skin gently, his calloused fingertips sending shivers through you.

and now this is where you are—under him as he moves down your body, practically worshiping every inch, committing all of it to memory.

“i think you should be shutting your mouth. you’ve done way more than enough for me today, it’s wrong not to thank the provider,” he hums against your skin, hooking his fingers into the waistband of both your leggings and panties. “may i?” he asks as he straightens up and looks you straight in the eye, his voice a little softer, yet still tinged with that lingering desire.

you swallow as you look up at him. he knows what he’s doing, you know that he knows what he’s doing. he has that slightly cocky look on his face, the one that says he’s so aware he already has slick looking in your panties just from a little bit of making out, and yet he has the audacity to ask you if he can take them off. the audacity to think you’re gonna say no—you’re already nodding, even though you know he’d do it anyway, and soon enough, the last bit of your clothing is joining the shirt your husband so elegantly discarded to the floor.

he spreads your legs just that little bit wider, running two fingers through your folds, your pussy already dripping for him. he smiles at the sight. “see? you do want me to show my appreciation, don’t deny it,” he teases, and you open your mouth to respond, but the words are queued behind a moan as those two fingers are thrust into you without warning, curling up immediately to rub against your g-spot. fuck him and his ability to navigate your body so damn well, you think, but god does it feel too good to even try and curse him out. but just as you go to moan for more, his fingers slip out of you, and you whine at the loss of friction.

he raises an eyebrow at your little noise, then shakes his head before pulling you closer to the edge of the mattress by your hips and sinking to his knees in front of you, between your legs. he slowly, slowly, kisses up the length of the inside of your thighs, and just when you think he’s actually going to put his mouth where you want—need—him to, he just pulls further back.

“shoto, i swear to god if you don’t put that mouth o—fuck,” he cuts you off quickly with a soft yet firm suck on your clit, making you mewl in response.

“what was that?” he pulls away, looking up at you from between to your thighs.

“nothing. never mind. i retract my statement.”

“that’s what i thought. let me enjoy my gift,” he says annoyingly calmly, as if he’s not torturing the life out of you. that paired with his smooth, low voice reaching your ears as he says that just serves to turn you on more. and then his tongue is running up your slit, the contact causing your hand to fly up and into his hair. he laughs against your core, the vibrations coursing through you like electricity as he laps at your juices.

it doesn’t take long for you to be writhing on the bed, and your back arches deeply when he returns his fingers inside you again, and it’s like he’s on a mission to make you come quickly. his fingers curl in that same, skilled way as his mouth makes quick work of your clit. shoto’s a tease, that’s well known, but what he also is right now is desperate. the moment he stepped through the front door that afternoon, his mind immediately thought of how well he’s going to fuck you.

the more logical side of his brain is telling him to get you to come first, but his dick says otherwise with the way it’s straining against his boxers, having made quick work of his trousers whilst kissing your body. he doesn’t listen to his brain this time; standing up, he pulls his boxers down and runs the head through your wetness before stroking it a couple times. his breathing is deep, laboured yet controlled—a stark contrast to your short, shallow breaths. his eyes are locked on your tits as you take those breaths, his free hand going to one of them to knead and tug at your hardened nipple. you mewl, the short and sweet sound turning into a loud moan as his cock sheathes itself inside of you fully, his hips meeting yours as he bottoms out in one deep stroke. he lets out a sharp breath, groaning at the feeling of your walls, warm and wet, clenching around him.

“fuck, i missed this,” he curses, his head tilting back slightly as he begins to move, pulling back to just the tip before slamming into you once again, the hand playing with your breast clamping over your mouth before you’re able to cry out again. “i hope you’re aware of the child in the other room.”

you just nod, it’s all you’re able to do now with his hand tight over your mouth, and you bite your tongue to keep from moaning. a small part of you wants to curse at him for reminding you of that fact right now, but the bigger part of you is already drunk on his cock as he drags it through your cunt in that pace that allows you to feel every inch, every ridge. but that’s just the start; it’s not long before he abandons all care and starts fucking you properly, the pace of his hips increasing with every muffled noise you make. he watches your hands gripping the sheets below you, but he doesn’t like that. instead he takes your hand in his and interlocks your fingers, keeping it pinned by your side. it acts as an anchor, as something for you to hold on to as he fucks you. periodically, he’ll squeeze it three times—your little way of saying ‘i love you’—but you barely notice it as your vision already starts to blur.

your back bows off the bed as you near your orgasm, your eyes squeezing shut and brimming with un-shed tears whilst stars dance behind your eyelids. he smiles again when he realises this, when he feels the way your pussy tightens around his length, and he can already tell that he definitely won’t be far behind once you do come. his hand leaves yours momentarily, just to press on your stomach to keep your body still against the mattress, but the feeling of his large hand splayed and applying pressure to the majority of your lower stomach is enough to get you to almost choke on a moan and come almost instantly around his cock without any further warning.

he lets out a guttural groan from deep within him when your walls close in on him intensely, still slamming into you with intense fervour a few more times before he leans down and presses his forehead against yours, mumbling out a spew of ‘i love you’s and ‘you’re so good for me, s’good, the best pussy, the best birthday present’ before removing his hands from your mouth just to shut you up again by pressing his lips against yours messily as he comes, filling you up.

you both sink—you into the mattress and him sinking on top of your body, his chest pressed against yours as he’s still kissing you sloppily. after a second of silence (that’s actually not silent and just filled with heavy breathing from both of you), he smiles against your mouth before pulling back just slightly to whisper to you. “tha—” you don’t let him get a word in, just tilting your head up to meet his lips with yours one more time, and then back.

“i said shut it. you already thanked me,” you mumble.

“i’m thanking you again.”

“no thanks, i’m okay.”

he rolls his eyes at your phrase. “mmkay, sure,” he sighs as he straightens up, pulling out of you. he watches intently as his cum drips out of your hole, and he has to fight the urge to push it back in with his fingers.

the rest of his birthday night is spent taking care of you; cleaning you both up with a much-needed shower, feeding you more cake, plus forcing him to go check on your daughter when her whines can be heard from the baby monitor. when met with the question ‘why can’t you?’, you respond with ‘you just fucked my soul out and tucked me back in, my legs are still shaking—yes, still, even if it’s been 50 minutes, that was probably one of the most intense orgasms i’ve had, never press on my stomach again.’ to which he’ll laugh at and surrender, going to check on your daughter.

[zoswriting]

✦ ‘if you ask an axolotl…’

⤷ synopsis : you figured out the best way to put shoto to sleep in seconds.

⤷ a/n : a quick drabble, just to try and get myself writing again (i knew this would happen), but this is based off of that one axolotl song on tiktok. if you don’t know what i’m talking about, i mean this. it’s been stuck in my head for way too long and i swear, it silences every thought i have.

⤷ warnings : fluff, not proofread (nothing is proofread anymore, i can’t be bothered for that shit), on that note i have no idea if this makes sense because it’s late, shoto’s essentially just a big baby, i feel like he’d have no idea around lullabies, poor baby didn’t get any growing up, i don’t know what else to put here, have fun

‘there’s an axolotl on the pink— stairs. is an axolotl supposed to be— there? if you ask an axolotl, if they’ll be back tomorrow…’ was all that would run through your head. you could be doing anything; trying to clean, working, trying to sleep, every day tasks, and that damn, soothing-ass song would be engrained into your brain.

you’d find yourself singing it out loud at the most random times, too. watching tv? making dinner? showering? a pink axolotl was mentioned in at least every thought of yours. and now it consumed shoto’s too.

the first time he’d heard you find the video, it was late at night. both of you were trying to sleep, and he was watching you as you scrolled on tiktok endlessly. it’s not like he was tired—yea, he knew he should probably be asleep, but it’s not like it was too late, and it’s not like he was fighting to keep his eyes open either. but the minute the second line played? he was out like a light.

he’d woken up feeling so utterly refreshed, still laying in the same position he fell asleep in—on his side right beside you, his chin still on your shoulder. this was the best sleep he’s had in days, weeks even, and he kept trying to figure what he did differently. was it because you were there? no, you were always there, always asleep next to him. was it because you washed his hair for him that day? yea, it gets him relaxed, but you’ve done it countless times and he’s never got these results. so what was it that was different?

and then he heard you singing it for the next week, and every time you did in that soft, gentle voice of yours, clearly mirroring the tone of the video, he’d find himself yawning. he’d find that his mind would clear of any thoughts and suddenly, he was losing his focus in the best, most needed way possible. soon enough, he chalked it up to it being the song, but he’d never understand why.

days later, he’d ask for you to ‘play that song’. you were confused the first time, wondering whatever he meant, but when he loaded up the short track on your phone and he fell asleep immediately, you quickly caught on. and just as quick as you caught on, it turned into a weapon even quicker.

you get into a silly little argument about some small thing you both know is stupid? in the middle of him talking, you’re playing the video and he’s quick to shut up.

“love, that’s not fair. that’s my kryptonite, you know tha—” his sentences would always be cut off by a yawn (the man probably ended up pavlov-ing himself because he’d use it to fall asleep so often) and you’d just stand there with a cocky smirk, trying your hardest not to laugh, whilst he glared at you.

you need him to do something and he decides to be an asshole and say no? ‘there’s an axolotl on th—‘

“fine, fine, i’ll do it,” he’d grumble, hating—but secretly loving—that you’ve caught on to his weak point so quickly.

on nights where you feel like he’s stressed, tense, or just needs something, even when he thinks he’s fine, you’ll tuck his head under your chin and play with his hair, gently humming the tune of the song. some might consider that cringe, but you’d do it a million times for him if it means he’ll be softly snoring, his shoulders immediately un-tensing before you have a chance to start the song again.

‘we’ll see you, tomorrow.’

[zoswriting]

❝shoto’s world.❞ ✧ ೃ༄

⤷ synopsis : cute (i hope) little shoto head canons

⤷ a/n : i think most of these probably are just the stereotypical shoto hcs, but with my own twist. i think. i hope. perchance?

⤷ warnings : fluff, absolutely not proofread whatsoever, i’m writing this at the ass-crack of dawn and my brain isn’t working (but it will always work enough for shoto), mentions of scars (second paragraph), g/n reader, age not specified—feel free to choose

➺ i think we all know how touch deprived this baby is. he needs physical touch, and he’s been needing it so desperately for years. he’d practically jump at any opportunity to touch you, or just be touched by you. although yes, he’s typically seen to be cold and distant to people, he is not like that with you. behind closed doors, this man is the clingiest thing ever. more often than not, you find yourself lying down on your bed with his head laying on your stomach, his arms tucked under your torso as he desperately tries to get closer to you.

➺ along those same lines, he’s a sucker for having his scars touched. not just the one on his eye, but every scar that can be seen. again, in bed, at night, whilst you try to fall asleep, you’ll find yourself tracing the familiar scarred tissue on his arms—which originated from countless villains and fights—with such precision, such tenderness, like you’re worried you’ll break him if you press too hard. and he loves it. it lulls him to sleep every time.

➺ his nicknames for you include the usual ‘love’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘darling’, anything cute, really. but, slap a ‘my’ in front of it? you’re melting, and he loves when you do. whenever he implements the nickname into your regular, day-to-day conversations, it’s like a reminder that you’re really his, and he’d like to keep it that way.

➺ you tease each other a lot for very silly stuff. for example, if he ever complains about something small, you’ll go ‘awh, poor thing”, and he’ll just glare at you and tease you back and say ‘yea? well, the other day, were you not just saying this?’ it’ll go on for a while. my guy will have receipts on stand-by; he’s very serious when it comes to being a tease.

➺ dear god, his death glare. literally pierces into your soul. for someone who’s usually so soft around you and the people he truly loves, you really do wonder how the hell he’s even capable of such an expression. but, then again, he is one of the strongest people you’ve ever met, so i guess it checks out. either way, one glare can get you to do his bidding in milliseconds. even just an eyebrow raise gets you rethinking whatever you said no to. he knows how to get you.

➺ if you have siblings, he won’t fully understand the whole ‘siblings are mean to each other as an act of love’ kind of thing. he may see you and your siblings insulting each other to no end, saying things that you’d probably get cancelled for if you said them in public, but he genuinely will not know it’s playful and in good heart (well, i’d hope… right?) and will defend you no matter what. he’ll go on a full tangent, too. your sibling insults your face? “don’t say that. i think you’ll find that their face is perfect, actually.” and will literally start analysing every single feature, pointing out why he thinks it’s so pretty. you have to tell him “sho, siblings do this all the time”, but the boy just doesn’t understand.

➺ i know a lot of people say he’s dense—which he is, don’t get me wrong—but i believe that with you, he’s starting to learn a little more about society. he’ll even quote random tiktok trends; you once found him on the phone to his brother saying “it’s giving material girl”, and you burst out laughing. he couldn’t figure out for the life of him what was wrong with what he said.

➺ the biggest gentleman there is. he’s got everything down to a t—the sidewalk rule, holding your hand, redirecting you if you’re about to bump into something, princess treatment, opens doors for you and gestures you inside first before he enters, even placing his hand on a corner when you bend down to pick something up. this man does not play about his love.

➺ will spoil you to no end. that’s it. no further explanation needed. even if you say time and time again you don’t actually need an item, you’re just looking at it for the sake of looking, he will buy. you’ll find it in your possession by the end of the day.

➺ similarly, he would definitely fund all of your interests with no hesitation. you like books? bam. you now have a library. you like to write? bam. he’s sorted out publishers. you like to draw? suddenly you have every art supply in the world. even the expensive stuff, he’ll go out of his way to make sure you have everything you want for your hobbies. you collect figurines but can’t afford to keep up with them because, jesus christ, they are expensive? no worries, he’s already bought all the ones you want without you even having a moment to think.

[zoswriting]

✦ baby babbles

⤷ synopsis : your husband had left for a week for a mission, and your baby had a lot to say about it…

⤷ a/n : i saw a video on tiktok where a guy just came back from the army, and his daughter was conveying her… distaste for his leave in unintelligible words, and i just thought “that’s shoto.” now we’re here.

⤷ warnings : fluff, f!reader, husband!shoto, dad!shoto, you have a five month old daughter, use of pet names—‘my love’, ‘love’, ‘sweetheart’, plus some other cute ones. overall, just a very cute fic. enjoy!

you weren’t expecting your husband to be home today. not at all. if anything, you could’ve sworn he’d be back in at least another three days. but, here he is—standing outside of your house in his navy blue hero costume, adorned with its signature silver-and-red accents. you stand there, mouth agape, and all he does is just smiles; that silly little lopsided smile that only you get the very privilege of seeing. you really shouldn’t be shocked that he’s right there, but for some reason, you definitely need a moment to take him in. your eyes flicker up then down, and then immediately catch sight of the flowers he’s holding. god, this man.

you probably would’ve immediately ran and jumped onto him, straight into his arms as soon as you saw the slightest peek of red and white hair through the frosted glass window in your door, but that’s a little hard to do when you have a very wriggly five month old who you’re holding on your hip. speaking of which, as soon as she catches sight of her dad, she immediately starts talking—and by talking, i mean babbling and saying things that only she could understand.

“hi, my love,” shoto murmurs as he pulls you into him with his free hand—the one not holding the flowers—and kissing the top of your head. the child in your arms whines at her lack of affection, so he leans down and presses a kiss to her cheek, earning a heart-melting giggle from her.

“hi, jesus. sorry, i—god, i wasn’t expecting you. i’d hug you properly, but that’s kinda hard to do right now,” you finally get out, looking down to the wiggly thing on your hip, who’s trying desperately to get her father to hold her whilst still rambling on. “i think she’s trying to tell you how sad she is that you left us both,” you tease, raising your head to look back at him, just to be met with an eye roll.

“‘left you both’, hm? i was gone five days, sweetheart,” he chuckles lowly, in that tone that you’ve been missing way too much, it’s almost pathetic. he sets the flowers down on the entryway table before picking up your child in his arms, gently holding her above his head. he raises an eyebrow at her incessant coos. “uh-huh. i know, i’m awful for leaving both you and your mother alone, aren’t i?” his voice is soft as he speaks to your kid; it never fails to make a love-sick grin spread right across your face.

you decide then that you should probably put your daughter to bed—you were just about to before he showed up, anyway—so you quickly rush off to her nursery and do your best to settle her down as fast and easily as you can, your body practically buzzing with excitement at the thought of your husband being home after so long. she’s a good baby, not one to fuss when it’s time to put her down, and it’s then when she’s asleep that you realise she really does look like her father. they have the same sleepy expression.

by the time you hurry yourself down the stairs, shoto’s already moving towards you, capturing you in a tight hug. you wrap your arms around his torso and bring him in even closer until not even a sheet of paper can fit between the two of you. he mumbles a soft “god, i’ve missed you,” into your hair before pulling back slightly, just enough to finally get your plush lips on his.

“i missed you more,” you reply against his lips, sighing at the sheer proximity that you’ve been craving for so long. you stand there for a while, not moving, just staying in each other’s embrace. you can hear your baby quietly babbling to herself in her sleep.