First Art Of The Year!

i love fanfics like this, i love shojo mangas with cool and composed male and ive had experience too. the best one, but i didnt know what was going on in his head most of the time and i had pressuring bg of my own. i lost the most precious chance of my life and i dont think it'll come my way again... it couldve gone well, but reality sucks. i wish i could peek into his mind, because in these fics there's a third pov to tell u he feels the same iykyk

a series of unfortunate confessions

summary: after trying to confess to your crush countless times, you finally decided to give up. but then...

pairing: shoto todoroki x reader

warnings: fluff, todoroki is a bit dense, reader is worse than marinette from miraculous

word count: 1.7k

a/n: this was dumb

you had been crushing on todoroki for months now. the way his hair split perfectly down the middle, the quiet, almost shy way he smiled—everything about him made your heart race. but you were determined that today was going to be the day. no more pretending. no more overthinking. you were finally going to tell him how you felt.

“i like you. would you like to go out with me?” you rehearsed the line in your head for what felt like the thousandth time as you walked down the hallway toward his usual spot, leaning against the lockers. he was standing there, looking as cool and composed as ever—like he didn’t even realize how much you adored him.

you stopped in front of him, inhaling deeply, straightening your back. this is it.

“hey, todoroki,” you said, trying to sound calm, your voice shaking slightly despite your efforts. “i need to tell you something.”

he glanced at you, tilting his head slightly. “what’s up?”

you took a deep breath. i got this!

you stepped forward with newfound confidence, but why would anything go your way. you tripped over absolutely nothing and into his arms. except this wasn’t a kdrama, and now the only thing left for you to do is to dig 6 feet down from where you stand. the snickers of passing by students did nothing to aid your embarrassment.

“are you ok?” he asked, caring as ever. his stupid, perfect face looking at you with concern and his perfect voice, the way his eyes…

and you’ve been staring for 5 minutes.

you scrambled to your feet, cheeks bright red. “oh yeah i’m great! awesome sauce even..”

“awesome sauce?” the boy repeats after you.

smooth. real smooth. you stand there planning your funeral until he interrupts again.

“-you wanted to say something?” he reminds you.

“oh yeah i wanted to say that i uh- i really like… your hair!”

you stand there shifting awkwardly forgetting how to stand like a normal person.

todoroki blinked, obviously confused. “uh… thanks. i like your shirt?”

your stomach twisted in embarrassment. this wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all.

the best part about texting was the fact that you could sit in front of your phone and reread the text you had typed out for hours before sending it.

the plan was simple really. just text him.

unfortunately you just had to find a way to mess this one up too.

...you pause, wondering if this is a bad idea. but you’re already typing.

“hey todoroki, i need to tell you something important…”

you stared at the screen for a while, reading it over and over. no, that’s too formal. you’re not texting a business partner. so, you deleted it and typed again:

i like you. i really do. please go out with me.

after a second of hesitation, you hit send and put the phone down, avoiding looking at it for a solid minute. you were such an idiot. he was probably going to think you were weird and pushy. you probably ruined everything.

your phone buzzed, and your heart skipped too many beats.

you picked it up and stared at the message, expecting something dramatic.

the message was short and simple.

milk?

you blinked at the screen, unable to comprehend what had just happened. you looked at the message again. did you send the wrong one? no. no, this was his response.

what? you typed, feeling a wave of panic wash over you.

todoroki replied even more confused, the note… it’s a grocery list.

your eyes widened in realization. you had mixed up your heartfelt confession with the grocery list you’d written earlier in the day. how could you mess that up?! you quickly texted back:

omg, i’m so sorry!! that was the wrong message. ignore it. i’m dumb.

you groaned, burying your face in your pillow.

his reply came a few minutes later. it’s okay. you don’t need to explain yourself.

you were officially a colossal failure.

attempt #3 was the worst of them all. you had enough of awkward moments and embarrassing mishaps. this time, you weren’t going to let anything stop you. you had prepared yourself, stood in front of him with determination, and blurted out, “i like you!” without thinking.

for a long, agonizing second, todoroki stared at you, his expression unreadable. then he blinked, looking a little puzzled. “oh. you like… my shoes?”

your eyes went wide, and you wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “no! i mean… yes, your shoes are great, but—”

“oh, thanks. i got them on sale.” he smiled slightly. “glad you like them.”

you felt like your entire world was crashing down around you. this was not happening.

you had tried. god, had you tried.

you tried in the hallway. you tried over text. you tried to his stupid, perfect, beautiful face.

and yet, every single time, the universe seemed determined to humble you. at this point, it was personal. you were convinced fate itself was standing in the corner, with a bucket of popcorn, watching you struggle for its own amusement.

so, you did the only thing that made sense. you gave up.

no more stammering, no more overthinking. you couldn’t possibly mess up if you just did not try.

so when todoroki asked you to meet him after class, you weren’t expecting much. maybe he’d ask about homework, maybe he’d comment on the weather—maybe he was about to tell you your latest confession attempt was so bad he had secondhand embarrassment and that if he was you, he'd leave the country.

what you were not expecting was for him to sit next to you, stare straight ahead, and say—

“i like you.”

…

huh?

you blinked. once. twice. a third for good measure, but he was still sitting there, looking completely unbothered, like he hadn’t just shattered the fabric of your entire existence.

“you…” you struggled to form a coherent thought. “you what?”

“i like you,” he repeated. casual. effortless. like it wasn’t a big deal. like it wasn’t something you had been agonizing over for months.

you stared at him. he waited.

todoroki was a patient guy, but even he eventually raised an eyebrow. “you’re not saying anything.”

oh. right.

you took a deep breath, attempting to restart your system. “you like me?”

“yes.”

“like… like like?”

todoroki blinked, tilting his head slightly. “would i have said it if i didn’t mean it?”

you just sat there. completely, utterly stunned.

this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. you were supposed to confess first. you were supposed to have a moment. and yet, here you were—your grand plan ripped away from you before you could even execute it.

you slowly turned to him, eyes squinting. “so you’re telling me… that the whole time i was struggling to confess, you were just sitting there? watching?”

“i had a suspicion,” he admitted, completely unfazed.

oh, you wanted to scream.

you buried your face in your hands. “i can’t believe i spent all this time embarrassing myself, and you knew.”

“i didn’t know for sure,” he said, like that was supposed to make you feel better. “but i figured you’d never actually say it at this rate.”

the audacity. the nerve. you lifted your head, ready to argue—except when you saw him looking at you, amusement barely visible at the corners of his lips, all the fight drained right out of you.

because he liked you.

shoto todoroki liked you.

and somehow, despite all the chaos, despite every failed attempt, despite how absolutely stupid this entire journey had been—

this was perfect.

even if you had no clue what to do now.

I’ll rip in hands and teeth and take a bite

This is actually so beautiful

Chapter Thirty-Three - Opia

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Racism, Suicidal Ideation, Psychiatric Wards, Forcible Sedation, Depiction of a Suicide Attempt

A/N: Mean't to get this out on Shigaraki's birthday proper, but oh well! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! I have a feeling you will xD

Read Full on AO3

[excerpt]

Well that was a shit show.

Two shit shows actually, she thought as she locked up the empty pool deck, and she couldn’t figure out which was more pathetic. Her disastrous attempt at reconciliation with Shigaraki, or that sorry excuse for a swim practice she’d used to try and get over it.

It’s not like it was even a high stakes practice. Yes, they were fully back from winter break now and gearing up for prefectural and championship qualifying meets, but the time now was being focused on cleaning up fundamentals and technique, rather than locking any specific rosters. Times were not make or break at this point.

And yet, somehow, she managed to seriously break.

Subpar times, late entries, jesus, she even missed touching the wall on one of her turnarounds — complete amateur hour. And she knew everybody noticed, how could they not?

At least they were polite about it though. Nobody giggled or whispered to themselves or made snide comments to her. They were still her friends after all (for now). But also, at this point in the year, they just assumed it was the typical senior fears and pressures getting to her. College recruiters, finals, entrance exams, what she was going to do with her life — things a lot of them were just as freaked by. So they didn’t feel the need to ask if something else was going on, sparing her that obnoxious little dialogue tree of:

“Hey are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You seem pretty out of it. Do you need to talk about something?”

“No really, I just have a lot on my mind and blah blah blah…

No, everyone had made their assumptions already, picked up on her wound-tight and, frankly, sour disposition, and figured she probably didn’t want to talk about it.

And they’d be right.

Because what could they possibly say to encourage her in this situation? Hell, what could she even say about this situation? They didn’t know what was going on with her and Shigaraki, and she certainly couldn’t explain it. 

“My kind-of-but-not-really-reformed-emotional-and-sexual-extorter, who I have the most inexplicable feelings for, is lashing out at me. I think our not-relationship is on the brink of ruin, and I don’t know how to fix it. What do you think, Nejire?”

Yeah, no. That was so beyond any teenage friend’s paygrade. 

Actually, it may be above anyone’s paygrade that didn’t hold a Psy.D…

She should’ve listened to Kurogiri and just given Shigaraki some space. Maybe if she did that now, let him cool down and come to her, this situation might be salvageable.

And yet, she couldn’t stop the anxiety from flooding her brain as she made her way to the school gate. She’d volunteered to stay late and oversee cleanup and locking the pool today. She’d figured that she could use the time to try and distract herself. 

For all the good that did. She was just as preoccupied as during practice. She ended up re-organizing the pull floats in the storage room three different times because her mind just couldn’t figure out how to make them all fit — despite having done this for three years now. She just couldn’t focus on anything other than the panic and what-if’s bombarding her.

What if Shigaraki interpreted her giving him space as her giving up on him? Of not caring? He was a persistent son of a bitch when the tables were turned, so maybe he needed her to be the same. God, but what if that made things worse?! It already had this last time. What if she completely ruined things by pushing? What if she ruined things more by backing off?

Maybe she was just doomed to ruin things no matter what.

She came to a stop just outside the school, all of her swirling thoughts and pressures dizzying and weighing her down. She groaned at the physical hopelessness of it all, “This is impossible…”

“What is?”

She jumped at the unexpected, but familiar monotone — not expecting anyone to still be on campus. Or at least, not anyone that would be paying attention to her acts of despair. But when she turned to the voice, she was even more surprised to see a very distinct head of hair waiting just a few feet away.

Continue on AO3

YESYESYES HED DEF BE LIKE "I don't" Then next moment "jk dont kill me" It's soooo cute ><

𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 .ᐟ

synopsis: pro-hero au with touya! (x pro-hero reader)

notes: sabrina carpenter was the reason i made this anws warning for mentions of being drunk & nsfw (very light mention😭) also joking mentions of misandry 💗

SHIMMER AND SHINE OHHHH idr the rest

Lmaoooooo🤣🤣

horikoshi was writing a good story but then he suddenly got really horny for endeavor for some reason i think the story would have worked much better had he died in the war arc as originally planned

hori when he drew ch.291 and noticed endeavor is kinda sexy from some angles

I DON'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME I FELT LIKE THIS BUT TYSM AUTHOR FOR THIS CHAPTER I WANT TO TATTOO IT ON THE BACK OF MY BRAIN AND REREAD IT FOR THE FIRST TIME MANY MANY TIMES

conspire | 3 | practice

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

Fake dating Shouto Todoroki was an absolute whirlwind, but it certainly came with its benefits.

As weeks passed, you found yourself with a compliant test subject and plenty of data for the work you were doing on his support item. You’d confirmed that you could use this work as your submission for your senior project – developing a support item without any input, direction, or critique from a professor – and you’d set to the task with enthusiasm after that.

Shouto caved easily enough to the tests you’d put to him on your first “date” and you’d had way too much fun getting him to freeze and heat things for you, strapping him up in all the nodules and wires as you’d promised. Over the course of a few weeks, you’d analyzed the absolute crap out of the cryogenic structure of his ice crystals and tested the limits of his temperature control to your heart’s content, pleased that the amount of time you were spending together also played into your cover story.

It turned out his quirk worked as you’d suspected, which was incredible. Shouto’s power allowed his body to work like a heat pump, directing thermal energy against the current in which it naturally flowed at will. He used the energy from one side of his body to alternately push energy into or draw energy from the other side of his body, in order to create a temperature gradient strong enough to induce ice or flames.

He was basically like a really good looking, high-powered air conditioner.

The discovery was overwhelming and gave you limitless possibilities as to what kind of support item you could build for him.

The problem was, there were maybe too many options.

Keep reading

— CAN'T WE BE SEVENTEEN? ; shoto todoroki ; 焦凍

summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen. pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings wordcount: 5.6k a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.

You never did go pro.

Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development. 

The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:

What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?

How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun? 

You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago. 

Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide. 

You see it differently.

Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions — anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbue things with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than just a simple comfort, now it can hold the feeling of home and safety, or even exhaustion strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest. 

You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent. 

You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury so solid into someone's mind it drives them to violence. 

Just a touch and you can control others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.

What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this for good, if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time? 

Or, bright and sunny Tao — a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education — whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids, namely saliva, eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown. 

He's just a boy given a quirk that needs more care. 

He isn't a villain-in-training. 

None of them are.

It's important to teach them that young — and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feel normal. To feel loved and supported. They aren't scary, they're children. 

So, you take it upon yourself to insist on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have been plenty of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children, and their parents. 

You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet. 

After all, you never did go pro.

And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.

He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it. 

It was the beginning of the end, then.

His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence on staving off retirement. Not to mention his parent's divorce — no matter how amicable, it was still a separation. Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes... And a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class? 

Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.

It drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes. 

Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant — one of the HoH's lead tour guides — excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:

Endeavor's wing. 

There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now. 

Very different.

Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."

"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it's—"

"Oh, ho, no way!"

Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribs again. 

"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got the balls to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "She is cute, Sho'—"

"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."

It is you.

You look... good. 

Happy. 

You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look... the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time. 

For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.

It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already', and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto. 

"It's prom, man! C'mon, this could be your last chance—"

Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass — his favorite pastime — and make some comment about your ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.

Shoto is on the move.

The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.

Then, the cry of "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!" leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes — and the eyes of the tour guide — widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero. 

Shoto Todoroki.

He looks... good. 

Really good.

He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders — it's a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much more elegant and much... prettier. He's always been.

For a second, you're seventeen again.

It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.

They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.

There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.

"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever." 

You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously — like she was caught doing something naughty — introduces The Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk. 

Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of a real hero, not the "scary statues" — and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push of comfort through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher. 

"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"

"It's fine, really, Insight," comes Shoto's voice; as warm and placid as you remember. 

"Insight?" mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory, "Do you two know one another?"

"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.

Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing. 

"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "Has a very special quirk — Toyamai, he has ice like you. And, fire like Tojiro. He can regulate his temperature. Can anyone tell me what that means?"

There's a wave of hands shooting up, a few me, me, me's rise from the gaggle. 

You're using him as a teaching moment.

Shoto's smile is soft.

You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, he hates public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."

"Exactly! Isn't that cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"

Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute. 

You're different than he remembers — but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busy tryna kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! A real licensed hero. Support items and all. 

He hangs back. 

He... I mean, he is a jack-ass but he isn't gonna ruin this for Shoto. 

...It's kinda cute.

Just about as cute as Fuyumi said it was. 

Apparently, Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation — about how he regretted not doing anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds. 

And he deserves to be happy.

Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation — a viewing of All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content an elementary school student would find riveting, but it is All Might. And they love him.

You hang back. 

Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.

"Hey."

"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."

"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."

His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."

You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.

Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago. Kind. "I'll pass it along."

"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."

"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are...  good."

Last month, Endeavor finally retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose. 

And the underdog in question can read a room. 

This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.

"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "Nice t' see ya. I'll let you two catch up, yea? I'm gonna go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling the snooze fest on screen—"

You jump.

How long has he even been there?

"Hi, D— Touya," you strain, wincing a little; the rehab'd villain doesn't seem to mind.

"Hi, teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting your youths—"

"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn't be here, with him, if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn't be entrusting his legacy to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."

Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearly destroyed by his own non-conforming quirk would go against everything you taught the kids anyway.

"Touya's whole thing is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for him—"

"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."

Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time — and a lot of therapy — but we've all managed to come out the other side."

"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'm really happy for you."

There's a long silence, then — and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions. 

It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks — and the two of you throw caution to the wind at the exact same moment. 

"Would you like to—"

"Are you free—"

Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.

"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"

You make yourself available.

Yaoyorozu almost dies when you call her that night — winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explained you had nothing to wear a-and you needed something nice, and you only have an hour to get ready, because Todoroki — yes, stop screaming, Todoroki — is picking you up at 8pm.

Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell. 

From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.

"Seriously, Sho'? A suit?" 

"It's a nice restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room for privacy." 

"Who the hell told you t' do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.

"Father was the one who suggested it."

"...That old dog." 

Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you have any links that aren't emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"

The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.

Shoto winces.

"Want me to ask dear ol' dog of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.

"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up his nicest pair. He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."

Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.

"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.

Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya. 

"He asked. I'm not gonna lie to him."

"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit. Not half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excited—"

"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlier—"

"Chiba Prep is a really good school, y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."

"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?" 

"She wants me to call her after—"

"One, you're gonna call mum the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin' disap—"

Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.

"Uh, ow," he rubs his sternum. "An' two, take a deep breath. You look like you're gonna shit yourself. Those are my pants and they're expensive."

Shoto lets out a long breath. 

Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It's gonna go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident and kind—"

"—Hold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, too—"

It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "—And do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."

Easier said than done.

You never did go pro.

Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. You try to remind yourself this is just Shoto, not The Shoto — but you're a little lost in the whole celebrity of it all when he picks you up in a very nice, sporty little car with ENDVRplates. 

You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.

He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful. 

Fuyumi's contribution. 

You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.

The restaurant is... nice. Really nice. The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back. 

It feels like you've been lit on fire.

You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine. 

Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory — it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables. 

The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.

You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you. 

For a second, you're seventeen again.

Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then — somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A. 

You remember one night, after a lot of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks. 

A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk to really care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night — a rarity he was even drinking at all — and seemed completely fine with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass. 

He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed... happy. 

"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."

Graduation day was the last time you saw him. 

Until this morning, that is. 

You smile into your drink. 

"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.

His fingers twitch towards his own glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.

"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has just reignited everything. He feels like a hormonal teenager again, "You look beautiful."

Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."

He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."

The idea of Touya offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."

You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.

He notices.

Shoto's face feels hot. 

He tries to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just how in love he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school. 

Shoto's always been a good listener — but you can see how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much more sure of himself than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was... unsure... but, no. He was shy. Quiet.

Now, less so. 

It's adorable. 

Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that is far too good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels like coming home. 

While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that's very Shoto — his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it. 

Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.

His silence is calming — and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking at you. 

His face is close. It's so... intimate. Very. Nearly better than a kiss. 

But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen. 

The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, Shoto remembers the thing Natsuo said — the car door, too — and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you. 

It's sweet.

Really sweet. 

The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation — you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit you did call Momo for help with an outfit. 

"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.

His hand settles there. 

Your stomach does a flip. 

You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure. 

Keep it together. 

He isn't seventeen.

He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face of physical touch from the woman he's dreamed about for years. 

...Right?

Green light.

His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment. 

The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park. 

It makes your chest ache.

Shoto swallows thickly.

Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.

He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's not good at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.

What if you don't want to kiss him?

When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?

Why does he feel like he's going to die?

"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly. 

"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."

You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn't look fine..."

"I—" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."

"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"

Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."

"Stop what?" you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one being weird—"

"I'm not being weird—"

"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.

"I'm nervous because I want to kiss you."

His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest. 

It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are you happy?

Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now. 

"You don't need to be."

Shoto's breath catches at that.

So, he makes his move.

His hand comes first — his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment. 

Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.

Your eyes flit up his wrist — a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone. 

He looks so damn handsome with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful. 

The touch pulls you in like he's got his own personal orbit.  

Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together. 

Then, his eyes stick to your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face. 

You never did go pro.

But, Shoto did. 

It shows. 

Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agree sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flower—

His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-old screaming in victory. 

It's better than anything he could have ever imagined. 

And then you whimper. 

It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again — this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit more aching. 

You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.

He needs to slow down.

He is not having sex with you in his father's car.

That's shameless.

He needs to slow down.

He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and he refuses to fuck this up. 

Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still so soft, so gentle. It's very him. 

You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.

It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could you ever kiss someone else again after that? 

He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still so close, when he's so... perfect. 

"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."

A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto is smiling. A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person. 

"Are you serious?"

"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.

"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"

Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face. 

"Are you free this weekend?"

"I can be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."

"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"

"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends are free."

Shoto scoffs. 

Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:

"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."

Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. He swears he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.

Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend. 

Not so seventeen anymore, Shoto Todoroki. 

I'll swerve the car hard with him in it😛😛

Loser

I LOVE THISSSS

##/ anything with shoto todoroki

in which todoroki would do anything to get your attention, even denki’s foolish requests

another small drabble, not spell checked or anything so sorry, just whipped this up. gn reader.

shoto todoroki is very inept when it comes to romantic relationships, feelings and anything for the sort, emotions were not one of the things drilled into him as a child - despite him being a quite emotional one during his extremely early ages.

as a result, his crush with you had been a very turbulent ride, contrasted with the lack of progress and lined awkward silence between the both of you.

denki, the evil guy himself, decides to take advantage of this.

shoto regularly asks the guys for advice as soon as it became known he had feelings for you.

“i swear to fucking god, if you ask me this bullshit again i’ll tell her you kick puppies for a living, icy hot!” katsuki’s roars as he angrily fits his shirt on.

“kacchan relax! sorry shoto, maybe just tell her directly?” izuku advises.

“but… how?” shoto responds, head tilting slightly.

all the boys sweat-drop at him, amazed at how shoto is oblivious to the fact that even if he were to tell you to lick his shoes you would do it in a heartbeat, anyone would with a face card like his.

denki has had enough of this, how shoto is literally a walking model magazine yet doesn’t even know it, making all the boys feel like shit when asking them advice on how to get a girl when they haven’t gotten any dates in their whole lifetime?

i mean, has shoto even seen the edits?

“i have an idea.” denki smiles.

“oh dear god”

“HAHA DUNCE FACE FINALLY USES THAT PEA BRAIN OF HIS!”

“let him cook guys”

“ah hell nah, he damn near burn the kitchen.”

“HAHAHAHA!”

“yeah ok, let’s all hate the really cool guy!” denki sulks.

shoto walks towards denki, indicating that he wanted to listen to him. in all honesty, he felt as though denki knew the most of about romance, more than any of the other guys anyways.

denki’s face lit up, immediately leaning in to whisper into shoto’s ear.

“really? they’d want something like that?” shoto enquires, raising an eyebrow up whilst looking to denki.

denki nodded furiously in response, holding a thumbs up to shoto, not noticing the slightly evil glint in denki’s eyes.

at around 8:00pm, an hour after dinner was served, a knock rang through your dorm.

you reluctantly answered it, already wrapped in your warm duvet blanket (sponsored by shoto todoroki himself).

when opened your door, at first you saw nothing, the darkness of the hallway being the only thing in your line of vision.

then, out of nowhere, an array of phone lights illuminated the hallway, only for shoto todoroki to slide through in a black suit and a red tie, on his knees, with a bouquet of floweres in hands, all the way to your feet, with the song ‘there goes my baby’ by usher playing in the background.

then, as he arrived at your feet, he sultry flipped his hair out of his face and looked dead into your eyes, then said:

“it’s nearly easter and i don’t have my favourite surprise, stop stalling and be mine.” with a monotone yet oddly sexy tone.

the hallway erupted in laughter, including you, as shoto suddenly started to turn red.

he guessed that when denki told him in the locker room, it didn’t seem too weird as he backed it up by saying you reposted a lot of these videos.

but now, as he sat beneath you with flowers in your hand and a cringy pick up line that he’s now sure denki just made up on the spot, shoto felt kinda embarrassed.

but that all washed away when your squatted to meet him, brushed his hair out of his face and kissed him softly on the corner of his lips.

“you’re so corny, you couldn’t just asked me, you know?” you giggled.

“it… wasn’t-“

“trust me, i know. i’ll kill denki for you later, for now, come in.” you winked, pulling him off the ground and into your room.

the hallways cheered and clapped while shoto was bright red in the face, all while sporting a rare dopey smile on his face.

I LIVE FOR THISSSS