Madison’s Galaxy

DAN HENG

Dan Heng sees you camping by the hallway like the nosy person you are as soon as he gets home, hiding behind the slightly open door, eavesdropping on the couple, ex-lovers, or a pair with a romantic history (a gut-wrenching situationship) bickering. 

You immediately beckon him over, placing a finger against your lips to silence any of his questions, and by the time he arrives by your side you pull him aside: “They’ve been at it for hours.” You say, completely focused on a pair of a couple of strangers, eyes gleaming with the fervor as if you’re watching your favorite show on TV. 

“And you’ve been here for hours?” He replies, which you immediately hush him. It’s rather painful to admit, but there’s this feeling that boils in his chest, and he can’t help but be upset. Something sharp and unwelcome twists in his chest at how utterly captivated you are by this strangers' mess when he's standing right here, when he could be giving you his full attention. Why are you paying so much attention to someone that isn’t him?

“I don’t really know what’s going on but it looks so interesting, so I can’t help it.” You utter, still not sparing a glance at him. Clearly, you weren’t the only one as the others are doing the same thing—even the ones from a different floor are lingering by the stairs.

With a long-suffering sigh that doesn't quite mask his irritation, he hooks a finger in your collar and bodily drags you away from your makeshift opera show, ignoring your indignant squawks as he herds you back inside, effectively distracting you with something else.

PHAINON

There are some pretty loud sounds and creaking that has been going on in the apartment next door. 

At first, Phainon and you dismissed it. I mean, it’s not like those kinds of things are not normal and both of you weren’t the purest beings out there in this world. Besides, that was just the only time it’s going to happen, right? 

Wrong. 

You are completely and utterly wrong because for DAYS you have been enduring those damn sounds and for days you are losing sleep over it. It haunts you every single night for hours as soon as the clock strikes nine as if it was a damn routine of theirs. You tried knocking back against the wall, a signal, but they didn't stop. Matter of fact, they get louder.

By the time a week has passed by, or banged by, both you and Phainon have reached a level of zen-like resignation that would concern even the most seasoned monks. 

Night comes once more, his eyes are glazed over as the headboard next door pounds rhythmically against the wall in what can only be described as architectural assault. He’s long since given up on subtlety, muttering, “Good for them,” with the hollow cheer of a man who has accepted his fate. You, on the other hand, are biting your lip to keep from laughing at the way his eye twitches every time a particularly enthusiastic moan pierces the air. 

He suddenly rolls over, pulls you in his arms, and squeezes you tightly like you were a life-sized stress ball, “You’re laughing, we’re both miserable, and you’re laughing.” Perhaps it was better to bang at your neighbor's door tomorrow to give them a change of pace, or a new definition of pounding.

ANAXAGORAS

Anaxa is not one to be able to tolerate such things. I mean, how many times has this been already? Every single time there is a damn delivery addressed to your door, it’s not really addressed to you nor him, but to the person who lives next to you. You wouldn’t mind it if it was just a one-time occurrence, but no, because nearly every single day you’ll always have someone knocking and yelling: “Delivery for (insert name of your neighbour who is pissing you off and inconveniencing you with this thing)!”

From food, to jewelry, to clothes, to shoes, to flowers, you name it all. It feels like you had the entire mall fall into your entire doorstep already. It gets annoying especially when it overlaps with some of your expected deliveries. Imagine being so excited for your parcel to arrive that you’d run to your door, abandoning whatever you are doing, only to discover that it wasn’t even yours?!?

“This is getting annoying.” You grumble, invading Anaxa’s personal space as he reads from his book, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I agree.”

So what does Anaxa propose to do instead? Accepting the deliveries before his neighbour could open the door and tell the guy that it’s theirs. From then on, you are enjoying the luxuries of free food and items. Though it only lasted for five days because your lovely neighbor didn’t put your address as the delivery place anymore after your small squabble with them. Bummer.

Why were they even putting your address for deliveries anyway? Turns out your neighbour was scamming people left and right online and putting your address as to not get in trouble in case authorities get involved. Well, they did get involved and they also did end up at your door but you simply redirected them to the right place.

MYDEIMOS

As a great philosopher has once said, for one to arrange their furniture, one must do it in the morning. Not during the ass fucking crack of dawn when you’re already wandering and skipping in your dreamland, talking to a purple dinosaur. As soon as he hears that loud banging, screeching, and scraping of something coming from the place above, Mydei does not waste a single second.

“What the fuck.” You say, groggy and having just woken up from your sleep when a loud sound of something crashing is heard from above. You would have thought someone broke into your place until you saw Mydei right beside you, leaning against the headboard, arms crossed across his chest.

“What was that? Did you hear that?” You’re already bombarding him with questions, trying to make sense of what’s happening until you hear another sound of something scraping just above your ceiling and it doesn’t stop for a minute. If you were in a cartoon, your whole place would already be shaking just for the effect of it.

“I’m going to talk to them.”

“Huh?” You say, confused, watching as your lover gets out of bed. “Who?” Your eyes follow him as he randomly picks a shirt from his closet. 

Before he completely leaves, he crosses the room until he’s leaning over you, one hand cradling your cheek as if you’re something sacred. His thumb brushes beneath your eye and before you realize it, he’s already tilting your face up, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

When he finally pulls back, he murmurs, “Stay here.” And then you never see him again.

Just kidding, you do. Just a few minutes later when he slips back into bed and tells you to go back to sleep, while he embraces you. You don’t question him or what he did, and surely enough, your sleep was peaceful and quiet.

BOOTHILL

ASSERT DOMINANCE, Boothill claims as he’s already rolling his sleeves and preparing to take out the speaker system.

He was already not having it. Months of having to deal with his so-called neighbours, also so-called ‘friends’, and their never-ending parties that disturb your sleep to which they’ll compensate with a half-assed apology the next morning only to do the same thing again during the night. In addition to that nuisance too is how some of these dumbasses would occasionally stumble into your door, mistaking it for the party venue. Clearly, they don’t see the loud ass house with disco lights just behind them.

After another intoxicated fool ends up at your doorstep again, his already-broken composure falters as he swings the door open with a rather pissed off grin, gaze burning with so much intensity. "Lost, darling?" he purrs, voice dripping saccharine venom as the stranger blinks blearily at him. One glance at you who bore a tired look on your face and back to Boothill who's still hovering by the doorway, glaring, and the poor soul suddenly remembers they have somewhere else to be. That was it, that was the last straw.

So here you are, trying to stop him as he drags the speakers to the porch, firing up a playlist exclusively consisting of a guy imitating how Hugh Jackman would sing certain songs (please get the reference) and Mariah Carey’s entire discography.

Not long after, the neighbour’s party stops dead. Although a verbal argument did break out, with your lover’s amazing vocabulary and machine-gun like mouth, he won.

"See, darlin’? Sometimes the best way to shut a party down is to throw a better one."

In the end, both you and the neighbours got a noise complaint.

JING YUAN

There’s a couple breaking up across the street and they were yelling loud enough to wake up even the neighbourhood’s deepest sleeper. So like the chad Jing Yuan and you are, of course, you sit by your porch on the pretense that you are… simply sightseeing. Yes, sightseeing. 

That’s why you have your chairs out with glasses of juice along with some leftover popcorn that you made last night. Oh, and also, your binoculars. If only you could read lips to complete your experience, but it’s alright, because this couple (or not to be) is screaming and hollering loudly, as the lady throws into the streets what you assume to be his belongings. 

The spectacle escalates to something like you would see from a telenovela, shame there are no grand reveals and slapping involved. But the girl did fling a ceramic vase at him, to which the man dodges, unfortunately.

“I wonder what the guy did.” You mumble, taking a mouthful of popcorn. Your bucket was nearly empty now and at the same time, it seems like your show is coming to an end as the woman stomps back inside and leaves the guy behind. With that, Jing Yuan rises from his chair, stretching languidly before offering you his arm. 

"Shall we retire for intermission, my dear? I believe Act Two will involve either tearful reconciliation or a round two of their fight. Either way, we'll want fresh snacks." It’s no lie that your lover is positively radiant with amusement despite the disruption it created for your usually peaceful, warm afternoon.

SUNDAY

Sunday deals with the neighbours’ drunken chaos the way a saint tolerates blasphemy. Despite the nuisance it has brought with the loud bass that seem to shake the whole place awake, he’s still formal and proper in handling the situation.

The door opens after a few minutes of knocking and waiting and a lady greets him.

“My apologies for interrupting your revelry, but I’m afraid you’re disturbing everyone with your enthusiastic celebration.” Specifically you. The thought of you being weary and troubled as you lose sleep over this terrible disturbance is making his chest tighten. He doesn’t wish to see you suffer, so he ignores your insistence of just leaving the neighbours alone. “Some of us have work in the morning.”

The woman blinks slowly and cries, “I’M NOT READY TO DIE YET!” 

Hell is quieter than their playlist, that’s for sure. 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Please, it is clear that you are not of sober mind,” he forces a smile, “so allow me to make this simple for you. We would appreciate it if you were to immediately comply with local noise ordinance, lest we escalate this to the authorities. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

That seemed to have sobered her up, and though annoyed, the lady apologized and went back inside. Soon, the music comes to a halt and everything is embraced by silence. Relieved, he returns to your side after accomplishing what he was here for, bringing you a warm cup of tea to drink as he tells you of how his conversation went down, saying something about how some people wouldn't recognize peace if it bit them.

BLADE

You’ve just moved into the neighborhood, hoping to have a fresh, warm start together with your beloved. But life seems to have different plans for you.

There’s this group of teenagers making a commotion every day by the front of your house, coinciding at the same time that he’s away. From lighting up fireworks which resulted in burning off a few of your plants as it flew off the wrong direction, to laughing and playing loudly that you often find your afternoon nap being disturbed, and to even throwing eggs at your window as they compete with one another on who’ll get to hit the highest. It’s annoying, especially when you have already told them off many times before but they never listen. These brats.

Eventually, you’ve resorted to telling Blade about it, nearly breaking down in the process. I mean, it was stressing you out so much and although it could just be a small thing for others—reasoning it with how they’re just children and having fun—, it was making you frustrated. 

Blade makes an effort to comfort you, even reassuring you that he’ll deal with the problem. You just nod and accept it, knowing that he won’t be able to do anything against these young, wild, and free teenagers. 

You didn’t know that doubting Blade was a big mistake because somehow, when the next day comes, he had managed to bring them over to you and had them apologize, swearing that they’ll never bother you again.

“We’re so sorry!”

“We’re never going to do it again!”

“Please forgive us!”

You did scold them, kindly, before forgiving them and oddly enough, it was satisfying. It feels like a heavy weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“What did you do?” You ask him as soon as the kids leave.

“Stared at them.”

AVENTURINE

In all honesty, it’s rare for you to hear anything scandalous or experience something frustrating, so things can get a little boring. But when drama does strike, you and Aventurine are front-row spectators, dissecting every juicy detail.

This time, however, the gossip seems to involve you. There is a girl, a stranger, standing in front of you, yelling and accusing you of things that you don’t even remember doing. Your confusion and silence, however, prompts the stranger to hesitate and stop.

“Wait, you’re not [Name]?”

“I am…?”

"You bitch! Are you trying to confuse me or what?!" Furious, her hand flies up—only for Aventurine to catch her wrist with ease, letting go of it soon after.

“Perhaps there is a small misunderstanding. If I remember correctly, there are two [Name]’s in here.” he shields you behind him, holding your hand as if to reassure you, “I believe that the person you are looking for is them.” He says, directing her attention to somewhere else.

And funnily enough, there is another girl a few steps away, attempting to cover their face with their purse, trying to run away before they get caught. But it’s too late as the girl finally realizes who her target truly is. 

“YOU!” She storms over, heels clanking loudly against the floor. “I knew it was you!” You beg to differ.

The scene immediately escalated into a catfight accompanied with yelling and spilling the most atrocious things like how this paramour was also sleeping with the man’s sister. Wow, messy.

“Should we call the security?”

“I already did.” Aventurine casually says, squeezing your hand as he tugs you away from the spectacle. Walking back to your home and away from the mess, he takes this moment to tease you:

“Babe, you should have told me you had another man.”

“I do not!”

GALLAGHER

“And what’s troubling my beloved?” Gallagher asks as soon as he sees your rather stressed state—bags heavy under your eyes, hair disheveled, and the demeanor of someone who’s been pushed to their limit. You groan, flopping face-first onto the couch with a muffled scream into the cushion.

Gallagher hums, already pouring you a glass of water before settling beside you. His calloused fingers card through your hair, listening patiently, as you rant about the latest neighborhood nuisance: there is this constant thump-thump-thump noise that happens at exactly 3 AM. 

You’ll find yourself waking up to it often, cursing at that repeated sound that’s making your head explode. It lasts for an hour, sometimes less than it, but it occurs at the same time of dawn. You’ve adapted to it now by covering your ears with some plugs you bought from the store after days of having it happen to you.

“It’s just so annoying! Does it not bother you?” You say, rolling over to your back and staring at the ceiling.

“I don’t recall ever waking up to anything with that sound.” Right, you forgot how this man can be such a heavy sleeper at times.

“Lucky you.” You groan. “It sounded like someone's bouncing a basketball? Or maybe hammering nails? I don't even know anymore."

He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, gazing at you affectionately as he caresses your cheek. “Maybe we can talk to them tomorrow.”

“Yeah, we could, they’re just next door anyway.” You mutter, sitting up slightly to rub your tired eyes. 

Gallagher’s hand stills against your skin. “What do you mean next door?”

“You know, unit 305. The one right next to us.”

“My love.”

“What? You’re scaring me, Gallagher.” You whisper, pulse quickening as his gaze flicks toward the wall.

“Nobody lives there.”

i procrastinated on this for days then as soon as i finished i got informed i have a 150-page reading due

Yu rolled her eyes and grabbed hold of your bicep with a perfectly-manicured hand, dragging you into her bungalow and closing the door after you. She stuffed you down into a side chair, and you were gratified to see that Kamui was at least fully dressed where he was propped up at the side of Yu’s bed.

“Establishing an MPA is a huge chunk of work,” Kamui told you as Yu settled herself primly next to him. “It would take a whole team of researchers, not just one person.”

Your eyes searched across him, over to Yu. “...I don’t want to be presumptuous, but seems to me like we already have a whole team of researchers. If we had any downtime after submitting the evidence on Sunfish and the clean up plan proposals.” You trailed off uncertainly. “That is…if you think we would be the ones to monitor the clean up… and if I would be staying…?”

Yu rolled her eyes again. “Of course you can stay—you’ve basically been a perfect little assistant. As if I wouldn’t recommend you. I could use a fulltime peon.”

Kamui gratified you by agreeing. “You’ve been nothing but an asset to this team, and carrying someone else’s slack on moving around all the equipment, besides.” His eyes cut over to Yu, who purposefully ignored him.

“Death Arms is also going to make the request that we monitor the clean up,” she said. “And they’ll probably keep most if not all of us on. You especially, when the company hires you, since you’ll be underpaid as a newbie and cheaper for them.”

Any indignation you might have felt at being shorted was swiftly overruled by pleasure—that you were the likeliest candidate to keep behind.

“Thank you,” you said, feeling flushed and overcome with bone-melting relief. “I will work hard to deserve the hire.”

Yu scoffed, while Kamui said, “You already do.”

A helpless grin tugged at your mouth, even as pleased embarrassment urged you to hide your face. “So what do I—I mean how does this work?”

Yu tossed a blonde tress over her shoulder. “I’ll submit my assessment for you tomorrow when we’re done with the Sunfish evidence package. It should be a week or so before they come through with your offer.”

A thrill raced through you. A week until you were guaranteed a multi-month extension. But it wouldn’t be permanent, unless an MPA was established.

“And requirements for an MPA?” you pressed.

“That’s quite a process,” Kamui told you. “It involves defining a clear conservation goal, conducting scientific assessments, creating management plans, getting some measure of community anecdote & support, and then securing a legal designation.”

Your hands closed on the arms of your chair. “Scientific assessments like the population monitoring we already have data on? And management plans like the clean up one that can be adapted for ongoing monitoring?”

Kamui inclined his head in acknowledgement. “We would already have a leg up on establishing an MPA in terms of data.”

“So we’d just need on the record anecdotes indicating community support for the initiative? And a firm definition of our conversation goal? Before we can submit it for legal designation?”

Kamui nodded again. “Yes, I think so.”

Your legs were under you before you realized you’d stood up again. “I can get that. After we finish the Sunfish evidence package tomorrow. I can get all that.”

Yu looked ready to shove you back into the chair, making a surprised noise in her throat. But you were already moving towards the door, tearing it back open in a hurry.

“Talk to you guys about this tomorrow more!” you called over your shoulder, throwing back a distracted wave. “Thank you for all your help! I’ll definitely treat you to dinner when I get the offer package!”

“Wait, kid, what’s the rush—-?” Yu’s voice chased after you, but was cut off as you shut the door hurriedly behind you. You all but tripped down the stairs back into the soft sand, churning a path back to your own room.

You yanked open your own door, all but running for your laptop as if the hounds of hell themselves were behind you. But you were determined to get started tonight—and that by the time you had an offer in hand, your future with Shouto would be secured too.

The next few days were a brutal slog of paperwork and filling out reports.

You spent dozens of hours organizing all of your prior research, poring over hundreds of Excels worth of data, pulling out key metrics and image caps from your monitoring stations. You wrote up your own reports of finding the waste water dump site, attaching pictures, and a step-by-step account of the visit to the Sunfish facility. You argued with Yu over all of the specifics, the phrasing, making sure that every single word entered into the report could not be proven false by any of Sunfish’s security cameras, down to the second-level timing of finding the Formacide-B storage.

You thought you were developing a permanent hump in your back from sitting hunched over your laptop, and wondered if your retinas would burn away under the nearly twenty-four-seven onslaught of your screen.

But then the reports were filed to local police and government, and your clean up & monitoring plans submitted.

Death Arms took you out to the local police station himself for you to give an on-the-record report of finding the Formacide, and you led an officer back out on your boat, through the jungle, and to the lagoon again for him to take pictures himself.

When it was all over you holed yourself back up in your room, huddled over your laptop again, compiling hundreds of pages of Marine Protected Area documentation. You made Yu, Kamui, Masaki and Death Arms read every iteration of the proposal you came up with, tirelessly working in their feedback, harassing them to help with their own sections, and pulling in endless reels of data from your time monitoring the island.

Then, on a sunny morning nearly a week since you’d last seen Shouto, you left your bungalow to gather the last bits of evidence you’d need to submit the MPA proposal: community support.

You wound your way back up the dirt road and around the thick jungle brush again, following the path of Bakugou Katsuki’s driveway.

He opened the door with a frown already in place and the incredulous look of someone who could not believe the nerve of what they were seeing.

“I told you to leave me out of your fuckin’ love life,” he barked, trying to close the door on you again.

“It’s not my love life!” you cried, catching the edge of the door with both hands. Bakugou was apparently horrendously strong, however, and the door pulled inexorably back towards its frame. “I want to set up a Marine Protected Area for Shouto’s pod!”

The door froze for a moment, and then pushed begrudgingly back open. Bakugou’s angry eyebrows appeared around the edge of it again.

“A Marine Protected Area?” he asked impatiently. It was amazing how he could sound both interested and disgusted by a person at the same time.

“Yeah, it’s what it sounds like,” you said. “It’s a boundary zone the government can legally enforce conservation in and ban certain human activities, like too much boating and industry fishing. It would prohibit another company like Sunfish from operating here again.”

Bakugou pushed open the door again fully, and you stumbled back, barely managing to avoid impact.

You hurriedly continued while you had his attention. “The proposal I’m making is to continue to allow local and sustainable fishing practices by legal residents of this archipelago, but to ban industrial fishing and large scale operation. Mostly due to what’s already happened at the hands of Sunfish. But I need community buy-in.”

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes burned through you. “And your first thought was to come to me?”

You flushed. “You’re a local fisherman and a well-renowned chef. You work at that swanky hotel, Izuku told me, with access to a lot of the area’s influential people.”

“Fucking Deku,” Bakugou spat, but didn’t deny anything. He settled a heavy arm against the door, an intimidatingly large bicep looming like a threat. “So what, you want me to fuckin’ charm the pants off of all the rich assholes at the restaurant?”

An image of a crowd of besuited politicians suddenly missing their pants under Bakugou’s judgmental stare flashed through your mind, and you suppressed a shudder.

“Not… exactly,” you said. “I was thinking more like I could collect some on-the-record anecdotes from you on your fishing activities and your concerns about the impact Sunfish clean up will have. With maybe special emphasis on the impact of the quality of the dishes you’re able to serve your important guests. And maybe that makes its way into some local paper, I don’t know.”

You saw the moment Bakugou understood your intention, as his scowl reshaped itself into an almost-smirk.

“And I suppose you want me to chat up my important guests on the same fuckin’ thing and get their buy in.”

You nodded. “Yeah, grease the political wheels, if that’s feasible.”

You thought you saw something like begrudging respect in the set of Bakugou’s features, though he still eyed you irritably. “And they’d ban assholes like Sunfish and leave the island to the residents?”

You nodded again. “That’s the game plan.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows lowered. “And Fuyumi and Shouto’s little fucking lagoon?”

“Being investigated as we speak, with a plan in place to clean it up. Just waiting for actual arrests to start happening at Sunfish.”

Bakugou paused for a long moment, then inclined his head, looking something almost satisfied. “Then get your phone out or some shit. I’ll give you your fucking interview.”

You had it out of your pocket in a flash, fumbling and nearly throwing it into the sand in your haste. “Just… be your most convincing. Charming.”

Bakugou looked annoyed again, and you swallowed any other advice. It was best to get any quote at all for now, and you weren’t sure if he might stomp off if you pressed him further.

You clicked the record button in your voice notes app, taking a deep breath, and launched into your first question, meant to prompt the exact type of engagement you were looking for: “Bakugou Katsuki—you’re a Michelin-starred chef, is that right?”

Bakugou flashed you another look of irritation but took the bait, launching gamely into an explanation of his credentials.

You led him carefully through all of your questions, on his fishing habits, observations about the population and quality of local fish. You asked him what made barramundi so special and his dish of choice, and tried to get him to play up the unique qualities of the local flora and fauna. Finally you asked him about Sunfish, about his concerns, and about the expected impact to his restaurant and Michelin star.

He looked well past annoyed by the time you wrapped up, but you were smiling faintly as you tucked your phone back into your shorts.

“Thanks for helping,” you told him, watching him fold his arms across his chest. “I think you’re probably a good friend to Shouto, even though you keep telling me otherwise.”

Bakugou growled. “He’s a fucking pain in my ass, not my friend.”

You carefully said nothing, but you thought you were beginning to see right through that denial. Bakugou had helped you, explained what everything meant to Shouto, and how your course of action would ultimately impact him. He’d looked ready to blow his top the whole time, but he’d explained it all, and he was here again, helping you set up the protection Shouto and his sister would need to stay safe, longer term.

You didn’t think Bakugou was nearly as bad as he made himself seem.

You chose not to comment on that, however, and gave him a wave, seeing that his patience with you had run its course. You turned on your heel to leave, bidding him goodbye and beating a hasty retreat back up his driveway. You legged it to the inn again, and parked yourself right at your laptop, transcribing the entire interview Bakugou had given.

You attached it to your MPA proposal, and emailed the final draft to the research team, excited that things were finally coming together. Then you carved out sections of the transcript and recording into a separate email, and googled around until you found the name and email address of a local reporter. You carefully addressed it, and drafted everything in anticipation of things going down with Sunfish soon, then shot it off, with a promise to answer any follow up questions should they come up.

By the time you detached yourself from your laptop, the sun had passed its zenith, and the day was sinking into the afternoon.

Almost as soon as you shut your computer down, a pounding came at your door, and Yu’s excited tone filtered through the wood of your door.

“Hey kid, you’re gonna wanna come see this!” she called.

You hurried to the door, yanking it open, only to be grabbed by the hand and dragged down your steps, towards the front lobby of the inn.

The entire research team was gathered around the old television set in the reception room, and both Inko and Izuku were there, watching raptly as a news segment aired.

You caught a flash of policemen in uniform ushering several handcuffed workers out of a very familiar facility, before a reporter with slicked back hair and a studiedly neutral expression was pronouncing, “Local and federal authorities raided the Sunfish Cannery early this morning, following allegations of corporate fraud and the illegal release of hazardous chemicals into a nearby lagoon. Investigators say the company deliberately concealed the discharge of Formacide B, a regulated industrial preservative, into Musutafu Lagoon for at least a year.”

Your heartbeat quickened in your chest, and you could see the excitement pass through your colleagues as the reporter continued.

“According to filings made just this week, internal records suggest Sunfish executives falsified environmental compliance reports and bypassed required treatment systems to cut costs. The chemical, which can cause severe ecological damage, was allegedly released through an unregistered outflow pipe hidden beneath the facility’s processing floor.”

The segment drifted towards a close with b-roll of the cannery, and a squadron of police cars parked outside the facility, masked and hairnetted works being ushered into them. You caught sight of Ikeda being stuffed into a vehicle alongside them, looking mutinous, and couldn’t suppress a victorious grin.

Served him right.

You were so busy gloating over his arrest that Yu’s tackle caught you off guard, and it was only Izuku catching the both of you that stopped her from sending you right to the floor.

“Their timing couldn’t be better!” Yu squealed into your hair, squeezing you until you thought your eye might pop out of their sockets. You could feel Izuku gently trying to push you both back onto your feet, but Yu didn’t seem to be paying your stability any mind.

“They just sent in your offer a few minutes ago, too!” she said. “Two birds in one fell swoop!”

“That is not the saying,” Kamui intoned from somewhere beyond Yu’s mass of blonde hair. You almost missed it as Yu squealed again, completely disregarding him, and put her fist to your head, giving you a fond—if terribly painful—noogie.

“Congrats, kid!” she said, as your mouth yanked itself between a wince and an enormous smile.

“An employment offer?” you asked, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yeah! It’s in my inbox, we can look it over together in a minute before you sign,” Yu said. “They’re stationing you here for another six months with coverage of your housing and food expenses while the whole team monitors clean up. They will reevaluate the need for an extension in six months depending on clean up progress and contract negotiations with Yuuei local government.”

Your heart pounded. An offer! And six months guaranteed more on the island, which was more than enough time for you to get your MPA proposal through the pipeline as well.

You felt like your feet were leaving the floor—and not just because Death Arms had suddenly picked both you and Yu up in a congratulatory hug.

“You did good, kid,” he told you. “And welcome officially to the team.”

You couldn’t stop smiling as you thanked him, and accepted congratulations from Kamui and Masaki, as well as from Inko and Izuku. Inko also immediately insisted on making something for a celebratory dinner, and dispatched Izuku to town to pick up the requisite groceries.

Then Yu disappeared back to her room for her laptop, reappearing with a bottle of champagne from somewhere as well. Kamui rolled his eyes as she popped it right in the lounge, but accepted a glass as Inko helped Yu pour it into a variety of mismatched glasses and mugs. Inko blushed when Yu insisted she take a glass as well.

The wine was bubbly and bright, a perfect match for the feeling in your chest. You were flush with success as Yu propped open her laptop and helped you read through the employment contract and package, explaining some of the terms to you. You were so pleased you didn’t even care to negotiate your salary—you immediately accepted, typing up your virtual signature, and sent off an acceptance within fifteen minutes of opening the offer.

You were going to get to stay here, on the island with Shouto, for many months more, with the lingering promise of forever, if you could get the MPA through. And you would get the MPA through, especially with Bakugou starting to help manipulate circumstances.

You had all you could want for, salary be damned.

The entire research crew did another toast when you finished, and you were all definitely on your way tipsy by the time Izuku made it back with groceries. Inko waved you out of reception and into the part of the building where she and Izuku lived.

At your insistence, she set you and Masaki to washing and chopping vegetables while Izuku set their tiny, cramped little table. Death Arms made himself as unobtrusive as a hulking monster of a man could make himself at the table, while Yu kept everyone’s glasses filled with champagne. Under Inko’s orders and practiced hand, a meal came together, and your whole crew stuffed themselves together at the table, thanking her for the food.

Dinner turned out to be katsudon for victory—with a steaming pile of rice and mound of perfectly seasoned vegetables. You shoveled back as much as you could handle, realizing you’d eaten less than you’d have preferred in your manic frenzy to get all the reporting and proposals in order. It tasted like that perfect blend of practiced technique and love that only someone’s mother could produce.

You were tingly from wine, good food, and pleasure by the time dinner wound down and everyone bid one another good night. You trooped dutifully out of Inko and Izuku’s house with the research crew, but charted a diverging path as the rest of them headed back towards the bungalows.

You followed the path straight down to the beach, the one place you’d wanted to run since you’d sent off your offer.

You stepped right into the water, the last of the sun’s fading rays kissing the waves red and purple as they lapped at your ankles. And then you kept on going, throwing yourself into the surf, paddling out farther into the ocean, knowing a certain merprince would sense you soon enough.

Shouto must have been waiting, as he appeared even more swiftly as you had accounted for. No sooner had your feet begun to lift off the sandy ocean floor than a pair of hands were catching you under your thighs, a red and white mop of hair popping up in the center of the reflexive circle your arms made.

You hugged Shouto around the shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Shouto, I did it!” you said, catching a mouthful of salt water halfway through. Shouto turned his head to look at you, his nose brushing yours.

He was so gorgeous up close, pale skin perfect and sparkling with the sun’s last light. Water beaded off his long eyelashes, gathering in the corners of his full mouth. His hair was wet, fringe plastered against his forehead, and he smelled like salt. You thought you’d never seen anything more beautiful—and had never been happier to see a person in your life.

“Did what, love?” Shouto echoed curiously, mismatched eyes finding yours.

He, too, looked like he’d never been more pleased to see you, and his fingers curled tighter around your thighs, pulling you more firmly against him. It had been too long of a week, and you never wanted to go this long without seeing him again.

“All of it, I did all of it!” you said, grinning. “They shut down Sunfish this morning, arrested everyone for corporate fraud. And the government renewed their contract with my company so I can stay for cleanup, and maybe even beyond that, if I play my cards right. I don’t have to leave, and they’re going to fix your lagoon. And I’m going to keep you safe.”

Shouto’s pupils went slitted for a moment, growing long and unfathomably dark, before he intoned deeply, “You can stay.”

“I can stay,” you confirmed, reaching up a hand to yank at Shouto’s hair.

“You want to stay,” he said, watching you inhumanly closely. “You want to stay with me?”

You nodded, clinging to him tighter. “It doesn’t work the same for humans I know. But I think I can say with certainty that there will be no other, for me, too. I want to stay with you, for as long as you’ll have me. I just wanted to be sure I could promise that, before I came back to you.”

Shouto’s eyelashes fluttered, and he bit back a groan, before he was crushing his mouth to yours.

One hand came up to press you even harder against him, as his mouth lay claim to you. You let him kiss you, kissing him back just as hard. It excited and thrilled you, the palpable relief and euphoria in his kiss.

You could accept it now too that you felt exactly the same.

You had no idea how long Shouto kissed you for, losing yourself in his touch, the feeling of his perfect mouth over yours, the tease of his tongue and careful curling of his fingers into your hair.

It was full dark by the time Shouto let you free again, gasping for breath underneath the twinkling stars. You found that he’d maneuvered you to shore again, sand granules digging into your back. Shouto hovered over you, the scales of his tail pressed between your thighs.

And—to your surprise—the hard evidence of something else pressed between your thighs as well.

You couldn’t help but stare down between the two of you, where Shouto had apparently suddenly grown two appendages.

“Where the hell—?” you garbled out, blinking in the dim. You could just make out that they were speckled the same scarlet and white as his tail, and were intimidatingly long and full. “Is that—? Do you have two—? How did you—?”

Shouto kissed you again, flexing his hips so that the two appendages pressed enticingly against your core through your wet shorts. You let you in involuntary hiss, grabbing at his bicep for purchase. Fuck, that felt good.

“It does not have to happen now, the consummation,” Shouto said, and you flushed wildly. Well that confirmed what those were all about.

“It is simply—kissing you like that, knowing you want me too. I cannot help but feel it,” Shouto said in a low, indulgent tone.

“But… where did they even come from?” you couldn’t help but ask, mystified. You certainly would have noticed something—especially two somethings—as prominent as those attached to the front of the man you so desired.

You peered closer, noticing they protruded from a thin slit in his tail—something like a cloaca, and you would have been totally weirded out if you weren’t already so wild with desire for Shouto. You could think about that way, way later, when your brain was back online again.

“They only emerge when I am aroused,” Shouto informed you, in his typically straightforward manner. “And I am…quite, right now.”

Your ears went warm with the open acknowledgement, and you leaned up to kiss him again, relishing the feeling of all that damp, dense muscle over you. Shouto bent his head to you again, and kissed you back with equal fervor, sliding his cocks over the core of you again with deliberate slowness.

“You’re a menace,” you gasped into his mouth.

Shouto took the opportunity to slide his tongue in, flicking it against yours in a way that made you dizzy.

“We need not consummate tonight,” he said patiently, though the slow friction of him between your thighs told you any delay would not be owed to his objections.

You groaned with the feeling of him sliding over you again. “As if I’m going to wait longer when I had to wait a whole week.”

Shouto ground himself firmly into you for that one, a pleased sort of hissing noise escaping him too. When you looked back into his face, you found his pupils had gone slitted again. “Fuck, love.”

You let your hands wander up and down his shoulders and arms, tightening any time he slid back over you.

“With the consummation,” you asked, pausing for a quick intake of breath as he moved over you again. “Do I—both?”

Shouto nodded, his eyelashes fluttering closed at the thought. “Yesss,” he hissed again.

You nodded, all the neurons in your brain realigning themselves as you tried to figure out how this was going to work. “I’m not sure that I can fit…both in one place…” you said. But you also weren’t sure how it was going to work when you only had one spot that self-lubricated enough to make it feasible.

“How do we do this then, love?” Shouto asked you.

You thought for a minute, not liking the idea of pulling away from him. But there was really only one solution you could come up with.

“Can you wait just like, thirty minutes? And meet me on the boat just outside the port instead?” you asked. “If I can get to town they have uh, a grocery with something that—-will help.”

Shouto slid himself over you again as if in protest, a sweet frown curling his mouth. He looked reluctant to let you go.

“I of course would wait forever for you,” he said, however.

Your ears went hot again with the confession, somehow even more embarrassed by it than the insistent way he was rubbing himself between your legs.

You reluctantly maneuvered yourself out from under him, sand imprinting itself on your knees and elbows. “Well I don’t think I can wait forever. I think I might explode if we wait any longer. Meet me in thirty?” you asked.

Shouto nodded, watching you get to your feet and clamber back up the hill towards your bungalow.

Back inside you quickly shed your wet clothes, scattering sand everywhere, and yanked on a fresh set of shorts and a shirt. You hunted around for your wallet, tucking that and your room key and phone into your pocket, and then made a break for the port town, almost sprinting in your haste to get there.

Your face burned when you set down the bottle of lube at the check out, and the evening island breeze teased your hot cheeks as you emerged from the grocery. You hurried down the dock, spotting your boat tied up in one of the berths, and all but threw yourself in. You carefully maneuvered your way out into the dim, the headlight on, feeling slightly insane.

You weren’t far from the port when Shouto’s head popped out of the water, and he hauled himself up over the side of the boat, pulling himself into the chair next to you.

He greeted you with a low, warm, “Hello, love,” that made you tingle all over again.

You deliberately did not look to see if he was still bearing signs of his earlier arousal, though you did press yourself against one of his broad shoulders as he helped you steer the boat out into the open water. He guided you with that unearthly precision again, seeming always to know where and how to avoid the things your human eyes could not see in the dark.

He guided you out to the north of the island, barren of almost any residents, and helped you anchor the boat. It was quiet so far from port, the only sound the waves lapping at the sides of the boat, and your own nervous breath as you settled yourself into the backseat.

Shouto’s eyes tracked across you, flickering to your hand as you produced the bottle of lube, explaining what it was.

“It’s a lubricant. So that you can also—uh—in me—” you fumbled.

Shouto seemed to get the message, however, pulling himself up over you and bearing you down to the vinyl cushions. He kissed you again, thoroughly and unhurriedly, as if refamiliarizing himself after the entire half hour spent apart.

You found that he was still hard after all, just as flush and full against your hip as before. His hands came between your thighs, pulling them apart so he could settle himself back in between them.

Then clawed fingers skimmed up to your shirt, sliding their way beneath the fabric. Your heart fluttered as Shouto settled his hands over your breasts, kneading with no small hint of fascination on his handsome features.

“You are so soft, love,” Shouto said, sounding admiring. “I’ve always wanted to feel you here.”

Before you could reply, a clawed thumb pressed to your sternum, and suddenly the constraining clutch of your bra was gone. You gasped in indignation, rocking up, only to be thwarted by the roadblock of Shouto’s whole body over you.

“You just cut my bra in half!” you said, and Shouto looked a little too pleased with himself.

“I have long disliked it,” he pronounced, a pout pulling at his mouth.

You were cut off from answering him but the press of his thumbs over your nipples, and his own appreciative groan. He ducked his head, pressing his mouth to one breast over the fabric of your shirt.

“Humans and their clothes,” he complained, curling one hand up, and you saw what he was doing before he could manage it. You quickly grabbed a hold of your shirt, yanking it up over your head, away from his claws before they could tear it too.

“Stop ripping my clothes or I’ll be trapped out on this boat with you forever,” you told him.

Shouto groaned again, grinding himself into you, like he liked the thought of that too much to contain it.

“I should prefer that,” he told you, bending his head back to your breast. A hot tongue laved over your nipple, and the feeling made you forget to be annoyed with him. He sucked at one nipple and then the other, alternately playing with them in his long fingers, until you were squirming under him, making embarrassing noises that echoed out over the empty water.

“Shouto,” you cried, throwing your head back as he grazed the side of one nipple with a sharp canine.

He did something mind-bending with his tongue in answer, and you clutched at his shoulders, writhing.

It was only when you felt one of his hands skate back down to your shorts that you came back to yourself, hurriedly trying to rid yourself of them before he could mangle them too. You managed to save your shorts but not your underwear, and then Shouto was sliding down your body until his mouth met your cunt.

You almost flung your shorts over the side of the boat as you clutched desperately at the seats, moaning as his tongue filled you. He let out a pleased hum, sucking at the hood of you in a way that made your vision blur.

“You are way too good at this,” you accused him.

Shouto blinked at you, long and slow, his pupils fully slitted. “And you are far too delicious,” he replied.

That made you hot all over, which only worsened when you heard the bottle of lube uncap.

Then Shouto was putting two fingers to his mouth, and you watched in shock as he bit two of his claws off, until the nails were short as a human man’s. You felt yourself clench in arousal when you realized where those were going, feeling faint as Shouto drizzled the lube over his fingers, looking curious.

“You cannot fight or swim but I do like your human inventions,” he said.

“You’re going to kill me,” you muttered.

Shouto’s fingers slid down your cunt until they reached your ass, and your whole face flamed as he gently pressed one in, the lube easing its way.

It was slightly uncomfortable, and you shifted a bit, until a hot mouth sealed itself over your cunt again. Then you were thoroughly distracted by a delicate suck, the luxurious curl of a tongue over your clit. You found yourself panting and bucking against his mouth, sliding back on his finger, until another one carefully joined the first.

In minutes Shouto had you nearly crying, riding his fingers as he gently scissored them inside you, never letting up the distracting suction of his mouth over you.

“Please please—I’m ready, I’m ready!” you told him, sure that if you didn’t have him inside you in the next few minutes you would die.

“Are you sure, love?” Shouto asked, pressing the flat of his tongue over your clit, dragging it up agonizingly slow.

“Shouto, please, I need you so bad, please please,” you babbled, yanking at his arms, his hair, anything to pull him up over you again.

Shouto allowed it, kissing you on the mouth again. You felt him reach down, angling himself properly, and then he was sliding slowly into you.

He pressed into both holes, deliberate and torturous, until you wanted to wrap your ankles around his back and push him in. Even the strange, unfamiliarity of having both your cunt and your ass filled wasn’t enough to put you off of how much you wanted him, how much you thought you might lose your mind unless he was fully seated all the way inside you.

You were panting by the time his hips were flush with the bottoms of your thighs, and you moaned as he gently eased himself out, and then back in.

“Is this alright?” he asked.

You nodded, leaning up to kiss him again.

“So much more than alright,” you promised, flexing your own hips, trying to move yourself on him. “You feel—really good.”

Shouto looked pained at that, groaning low in his throat as he slid in and out of you again. “We are properly mated now,” he said, with no small amount of pleasure. “I will protect and care for you for the rest of my days.”

“And I you,” you promised, cringing at how breathy it came out. “Now I hope you will also promise to get on with it and fuck me the rest of your days—oh—too.”

Shouto laughed, a white half-moon flash in the dark. And then obliged you, picking up his pace, fucking in and out of you, pressing a hand to your stomach to hold you where he wanted you.

You let him fuck you, squirming and writhing beneath him with delight, a senseless, relentless pleasure building up inside you. He made you feel so unbearably full, in a way that you had never, ever imagined, and it made every sensation a thousand times hotter.

“Mine,” Shouto panted as he fucked you, the tiniest hint of a growl in his voice. “My mate, mine mine mine.”

“And you’re mine,” you said, clenching when that made him fuck you even harder, the pace of his thrusts becoming frenzied, uneven.

“Ah—love, you’re mine,” he hissed, pressing his thumb over your clit with one particularly forceful thrust. Your skin suddenly felt too tight for your body, your nerve endings on fire, his thumb on your clit an awful, torturous, incredible point of pleasure.

You bucked helplessly beneath him, chased towards your own inevitable climax. Shouto’s thumb petted carefully over you as his two cocks drove into you. It felt like too much, not enough, everything all at once—and suddenly you were screaming his name, curling up into him as you came, clench down onto him in your ass and your cunt.

Shouto fucked you through it, looking dazed, until the pace of his thrusts became faster, sloppier, almost desperate. Then he seized up over you, claws tearing through the seat beside your head, and moaned so pretty and sweet and deep as he came too.

He collapsed over to you, sweat and seawater slicking your chests together. You caught your breath together, running your hands absently over him as he mouthed at your throat. Neither of you moved for a long time, listening to each other breathe, the waves swirl gently at the sides of your boat.

“I’ve dreamed of this, since the first day I sensed you in my waters,” Shouto said finally, his voice a deep hum you felt in your own throat.

“And to think I almost clobbered you with an oar. I thought you wanted to eat me or something,” you said, laughing.

“Oh I did,” Shouto said, leaning up so you could see the handsome half-smirk that curled his plush mouth. “Though perhaps not in the way you were thinking.”

Your entire body went hot, and he groaned as you clutched around him again where he still lay inside you.

“You’re way smoother than should be allowed for a fish,” you told him.

Shouto looked smug. “What is it called when a fish catches a human instead?” he wondered.

You smiled, carding your fingers through his still-damp hair. “Mates, I think you said.”

Shouto’s eyes darkened, and he leaned back down to press a kiss to your mouth again. “Mates,” he echoed, and it sounded like a promise—-your whole future, laid bare and clear. “As long as we live.”

You grinned into the night, relishing the unexpected happiness you’d found for yourself.

You’d make sure it lasted for the rest of your lives, and that the island remained protected long after that.

Shouto was yours now—just as these waters were.

You would keep them safe and cared for, guarding what mattered most—something in the water worth saving.

And that's a wrap!! It took me over two years to finish this bad boy but we finally did it!! Thank you so much to anyone still reading this; thank you for your endless patience with me and your relentless love and support for this fic. I have truly treasured the time writing every single word of this fic, even if I've had to do it sooo slowly with everything ongoing in my life right now.

he dangles it in front of you, grasping it clumsy with one hand but determined. “i like it,” he says, turning his wrist this way and that so it catches the light. “i like that you gave it to me before i even knew your name.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s a flush on your cheeks you can’t quite hide. “you’re such a sap.”

he grins, the kind that always starts in his eyes, soft and wide, and suddenly the room feels a little less cold. “well, you did start it.”

he catches your hand, thumb tracing slow circles against your knuckles, and the rest of the world fades, his lips press soft against your temple, his voice is low as he murmurs, “your new shampoo smells nice.” you barely catch it, and the compliment lands. “thank you,” you mumble, almost shy. you never get used to how natural this feels, the way his affection sneaks up on you in the middle of a tuesday morning.

you tilt your head back, watching him pour two mugs of tea, the steam rising like tiny ghosts. “how’s work?” you ask, nudging his leg with your toe under the table.

he sits, sets your mug in front of you. “it feels good to be out there again,” he says, a rare glint in his eyes, the kind that only comes from a day spent chasing purpose, all fire and frost and the pride he carries so quietly. “i missed it.”

you nod, understanding exactly what he means, because it’s how you feel when you step back from a patient, exhausted but alive. “mine’s exhausting,” you admit, rubbing your eyes, “but… i love it. you know i do. even when i want to set my desk on fire.”

he smiles, soft, and reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering, “then it’s worth it.”

you sit in comfortable silence, sipping tea, until shoto taps his mug and clears his throat in that awkward way he does when he’s about to bring up something important but has zero clue how to do it without sounding like he’s announcing the start of the olympics.

“so… uh, my friends want to do a meet up. they said we should come. it’s this weekend. i think they just want to see if you’re real and not something i made up.”

you laugh, nearly spilling your tea. “should i be worried? am i about to be interrogated by the hero league’s social committee?”

he leans closer, bumping his nose against your cheek, “probably. but i’ll protect you.” his words are teasing, but there’s a real thread of comfort there, a promise woven in between the lightheartedness.

your hands smack the table in a burst of excitement and the mug rattles, nearly toppling, but you catch it at the last second. “yes please!” you say, maybe a bit too loud, but you’re beaming and there’s no one here to judge you except shoto, who thinks the sun rises and sets just to light up your smile.

there’s this secret you both keep, heavy and precious—your relationship, tucked away from the spotlight. most days, you like it that way. you’re not a pro hero, you’re not famous, and you definitely don’t have the energy to argue with rabid fangirls who would probably riot if they saw you holding his hand on the street. it’s always been about safety first, but it’s also about preserving something that’s yours, untouched and undisturbed.

he’s got his arm around your waist before you can blink, drawing you close until you’re both squished against the back of your chair. he buries his face in your neck, nuzzling at the spot just below your ear, his breath sending a shiver up your spine. “shoto—what’s the matter?” you ask, trying to sound exasperated, but the laughter bubbling in your chest gives you away.

he doesn’t answer, not really. he just mumbles something unintelligible against your skin, kisses your neck, your jaw, then your collarbone—so soft and slow it’s almost lazy. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, tracing circles at the small of your back, thumb brushing the edge of your waistband. it’s not even scandalous, just possessive in the way only he can manage—protective, loving, his whole world funneled into the curve of his palm.

you giggle, squirming a little, but you don’t pull away. “you’re such a baby,” you tease, brushing your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he just sighs, a deep, content sound, like he could live right here forever.

he finally pulls back enough to meet your eyes, and there’s that softness in him that nobody else gets to see. “i just… missed you,” he whispers, even though you’ve been together all morning, like every second is one he’s desperate to keep.

you keep your arms wrapped around him, chin tucked over his shoulder, the soft fabric of his shirt warming beneath your palms. his cologne lingers, just sharp enough to remind you of those rare, expensive nights out—something clean and woodsy, but there’s always a little hint of smoke beneath it, like the echo of his quirk refuses to be left behind.

his hair is damp at the tips, sticking a little to your cheek where it brushes you, still cooling from his shower. he’s dressed like he always is at home: basketball shorts, that battered black compression shirt with the slightly stretched neckline, looking so entirely unlike a top-ten hero that you have to bite back a grin. you both ended up grabbing the same silly striped socks this morning, and every time your feet bump under the table, it makes you want to laugh all over again.

you lean your head into the crook of his neck, letting your eyes flutter shut, just listening. shoto’s breathing is slow, steady, almost meditative. he keeps pressing gentle kisses along your jaw, down your neck, his hands drawing patterns over your back. he always does this after long days—melts into you, no words needed, just touch and presence, unwinding in the hush that’s only yours.

sometimes he’ll murmur something under his breath, little apologies for getting home late or thank-yous for putting dinner in the microwave. but most nights, it’s just this: the two of you tangled up together, his thumb tracing slow circles at your waist, your heart matching his rhythm, the exhaustion bleeding away as he lets himself just be, safe and real and so achingly tender, only for you.

you breathe him in, let the quiet settle over the kitchen like a blanket. the outside world is still there, just beyond the thin apartment walls, but right now, it’s nothing more than white noise—background static to the soft hum of two lives pressed close, perfectly matched, a little ridiculous, a lot in love. your laughter comes out light you mumble, “you’re so sweet,” voice half muffled against his neck.

before you can finish the thought, his hand slides lower, bold in that sneaky way only he manages, and gives your ass a firm squeeze. it’s gentle but just cheeky enough to make you squeal, the sound bubbling out of you before you can even think to stop it.

shoto smirks, barely lifting his head, and in that low, velvet-soft voice, he mutters, “you’re too kind.” like it’s some private joke the two of you share, a secret language woven between the spaces of all your late nights and lazy mornings.

he presses a kiss to your jaw, lingering, then nuzzles your cheek, his hand not moving an inch. you swat at his arm playfully but don’t really want him to let go.

as he finally pulls back, his gaze lingers on you—quiet, unwavering, that peculiar todoroki brand of attention that makes your heart flutter and your skin prickle with goosebumps. he takes you in like the way the morning light lands across your cheeks, the way your hair’s all mussed from his touch. it’s that kind of look that makes you squirm, that says more than he’d ever dare out loud in front of anyone else.

then he drops it, plain as can be, not even a hint of a smile tugging at his lips—“you’re so beautiful, you know that?” he says, his tone as dry as ever, but his eyes are impossibly soft. you choke out a laugh, shoulders bunching, heat flaring up your neck.

you wave a hand at him, flustered, half hiding your face. “oh my god, shoto, you can’t just say that with such a straight face! you’re so sweet.” you place a hand on your red cheeks and look away, huffing a small laugh. 

he blinks, completely unbothered, as if he’s genuinely confused why this would be funny. “i’m just being honest,” he says, as though it’s the most logical thing in the world, and the corners of his mouth twitch just the slightest bit—he knows what he’s doing, and he’s proud of himself for it, the little menace.

your laughter rolls between you, soft and bright, filling up the tiny kitchen. he leans in, plants another kiss on your forehead. his hand finds its way to the back of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair with that steady, tender pressure that always leaves you weak in the knees. he pulls you toward him, eyes flickering down to your lips before he ducks in, brushing his mouth along your jaw in a trail of gentle, barely-there kisses.

“you’re really… just, ridiculously cute,” he mumbles, lips skimming your skin, the words almost lost in the space between breaths. he’s got that wild look in his eye now, the kind he gets when he’s overtaken by cuteness aggression like he can’t decide if he wants to squeeze you or just keep kissing you until the world runs out of mornings.

you can’t help it, you giggle, trying to twist away, but he’s relentless, dotting kisses from your jaw to your cheek, nose bumping yours, his arms wrapping you up even tighter. every time you laugh, he kisses you harder, until you’re both half tangled in each other and the kitchen chairs nearly go toppling.

he pulls back, barely, just enough to look at you, his cheeks a little flushed. “i love you,” he blurts, suddenly, out of nowhere, and it’s so honest, so raw, it knocks the wind out of you for a second.

your hands find his shoulders, fingers curling in the soft fabric, your smile so wide your cheeks ache. “i love you too, ya big lug,” you say, still a little breathless, and he grins back, the rare, real one that’s only yours.

somewhere outside, a car alarm goes off, a dog barks, the city stretches awake—but in here, you’re safe, you’re held, and shoto is kissing you like he’s just remembered how lucky he is that out of everyone in this enormous, loud world, he gets to have you.

few days later 

the car smells like lemon-scented air freshener and old hero gloves, and shoto is sitting behind the wheel, staring blankly at the group chat on his phone like it’s a bomb he’s being forced to defuse. he grimaces at his own reflection in the rearview mirror, fixing a strand of hair that’s somehow both too white and too red for this world, then sighs so hard the windows fog up a little. he loves his friends, truly. would probably let them crash on his couch, eat his snacks, maybe even borrow his favorite shirt  if they were really in dire straits. but in this moment? he would sell every single one of them for an extra hour of bed-rotting with you.

he scrolls up in your texts, all hearts and thumbs-up and one very tragic selfie you sent him of your work badge hanging off your tired face, captioned; the city needs me. im sorry that your emotional support gf isn’t there.

shoto types;  you hate me and my friends. confirmed.  then, before he can think better of it, he follows with: you’d rather save lives than hang out with us.

midoriya sends seventeen rapid-fire texts about how excited he is for tonight, how he can’t wait to see everyone, how he made homemade cookies, how he’s bringing them to share, how he hopes everyone likes them, bakugo responds with, shut up, nerd, and then, ominously, don’t bring any of that green stuff again. he slumps over the steering wheel, texting you again: actually… i could just say im sick.. my only comfort in this cruel world is knowing i have matching pajamas with you.

he scrolls up again. your last text: kick bakugo for me. twice. on the shin. xoxo

he cracks a smile, drags himself out of the car, and heads for the door, already planning his next excuse to duck out early. in his head, he’s picturing you at home, probably already in pajamas, curled up with a cup of tea and that blanket you keep stealing from his side of the bed. maybe, if he’s quick, he can sneak back before you fall asleep, pretend the hero world is just a place he visits for the paycheck, and real life is the sound of your laugh echoing in the kitchen and the way you always, always leave the hall light on for him.

well...

it’s only been fifteen minutes and shoto’s already realized he might’ve been a little dramatic in the car, sulking like a man whose true love had been stolen by—well, by u.a alumni’s, honestly. seeing everyone in person, all talking over each other, izuku accidentally elbowing uraraka in the chest (they both turn beet red and try to pretend they haven’t been holding hands under the table), bakugo already complaining about the snacks, it actually feels… pretty nice. comforting, like wearing an old sweater that smells like safety and a little bit like satos cakes.

except, of course, that he’s been stood up. by you. the love of his life, the reason he put on his nice shirt and actually tied his tie the right way, just for you. now the only one paying any real attention is iida, who beams so proudly you’d think shoto just invented the concept of nice clothing.

“todoroki!” iida booms, eyes shining behind his glasses. “splendid choice of tie! a fine knot, and very suitable for your complexion. may i ask where you acquired it?”

shoto clears his throat, fighting the urge to text you: ‘iida likes my tie, please marry me before he does.’

he looks over, catches izuku and uraraka’s hands twined together under the table. he blinks, tilts his head like a confused puppy. “so. when did that happen?” he deadpans, and everyone stares at their food for a second like it might answer.

then, from across the table, mineta pipes up, nearly bouncing out of his chair. “see! i told you! they’re real! unlike todoroki, whose so-called girlfriend is still hiding in the shadows! what’s next, todoroki, she lives in canada? only comes out at night? she’s a cryptid?”

the table explodes into laughter. bakugo rolls his eyes and mutters, “bet she’s imaginary, just like his social skills.”

shoto’s face doesn’t even twitch, but his phone is already halfway out of his pocket. he texts you, they’re bullying me. mineta thinks you’re a government cryptid. iida’s in love with my tie. help.

he glances up, catches iida still admiring his tie with a kind of wholesome yearning. he sighs, already planning to steal a cookie and escape as soon as humanly possible—preferably before mineta tries to verify the existence of you.

the fluorescent lights of the emergency department flicker overhead, doing nothing for your mood except making your exhaustion look twice as dramatic in the reflection of the break room window. you’re clutching the iced latte shoto sent you off with—he shoved it into your hands with that look, the one that says he’s suffering in silence, the world’s most beautiful kicked puppy.

as you clock in, your friend leans over, her eyebrows already arched high. “rough night?” she asks, eyes flicking from your face to the cup in your hand. you’re already sagging against the monitor, ready to melt right into the floor.

you groan, thumping your head back. “i was supposed to meet my boyfriend’s friends tonight,” you whine, voice pitched low so no one eavesdrops. “finally. after, like, years. and i got called in. again. by that evil gremlin—” you jerk your head in the direction of your supervisor’s office, “—who hasn’t moved from her desk since the feudal era.”

your friend snorts. “tragic. you gonna at least eat some of the free pizza in the breakroom, or do you wanna keep suffering on an empty stomach too?”

you open your mouth to answer, but your phone buzzes with a text. it’s shoto. you already know from the way your heart skips that it’s him.

they say hi. i miss you. mineta’s convinced you’re fake. iida keeps asking about you. i hope your coffee’s still cold… love you.

you sigh, feel your entire chest deflate with the weight of how much you want to go home, crawl into bed, and listen to him complain about mineta in person. you pull your mask up, scrubs perfectly wrinkled, hair barely wrangled into a ponytail, and snap a quick photo: you, coffee in hand, mask hiding the worst of your despair, eyes wide and pitiful. 

outside, sirens wail, the automatic doors slide open and closed, and you steel yourself for the rush—just another night, another round of chaos, but at least you’ve got shoto’s ridiculous texts to keep you tethered.

shoto barely cracks a smile as he flips his phone around, holding out the picture of you in your scrubs and mask for mineta to see—he doesn’t say anything, just lets the evidence speak for itself. mineta squints, leans in like he’s searching for the hidden watermark, and scoffs. “nice try, todoroki! you found that on the internet, didn’t you? probably searched ‘cute doctor girlfriend aesthetic’ or something. you can’t fool me.”

bakugo chokes on his drink and mutters, “she’s real, all right, she just doesn’t want to hang out with you.”

iida immediately begins analyzing the hospital ID badge in the corner of the photo, squinting through his glasses, probably about to launch into a diatribe about privacy and digital safety.

shoto just shrugs, his expression cool as ever, already sliding the phone back into his pocket. “well, okay,” he says, unbothered, reaching for another one of izuku’s cookies. “you’re welcome to believe whatever you want.”

izuku gives him a supportive nod, drinking his water, and ochako is trying not to laugh behind her hand. shoto turns his attention to their conversation, every so often glancing at his phone, where your message still sits, glowing at the top of his notifications.

in the corner, mineta is grumbling something about deepfakes, but the rest of the group’s already moved on, discussing which pro hero agency has the best staff lounge snacks. shoto’s just quietly proud, knowing that you’re out there—braving emergencies, making faces behind your mask.

izuku, ever the golden retriever in human form, perks up as soon as the laughter dies down. “so, uh, todoroki, how long have you been together?” he asks, almost shy, like he’s expecting the answer to be “a few months” or maybe “oh, we just started dating.”

shoto, who’s in the middle of deciding whether to go for another cookie or another handful of chips: “we’re actually celebrating our four year anniversary soon.”

the table goes silent. necks crane. forks freeze mid-air. bakugo’s jaw drops, cookie halfway to his mouth. iida’s glasses practically fog up. then, in a beautifully synchronized outburst, everyone shouts, “YOU’VE HAD A GIRLFRIEND FOR FOUR YEARS AND DIDN’T TELL US?!”

shoto just blinks, unimpressed. “but... you don’t even believe me when i had said it thirty seconds ago,” he deadpans, his face as flat as a cutting board, sipping his drink with all the nonchalance of a man who has not just blown their collective minds.

ochako’s staring at him in disbelief, mineta is close to losing it, and izuku looks both amazed and a tiny bit betrayed, like someone just told him all might was actually two raccoons in a trench coat.

shoto just shrugs, “you never asked after i told you all the first time.” bakugo snorts, already muttering under his breath, “guy’s got more secrets than AFO has quirks.”

and somehow, now they all believe him—mostly because nobody could keep a straight face for that long if they were lying, and also, because who else but shoto would think a four-year relationship was just background noise?

everyone else at that table could think you were some mythical girlfriend from a parallel universe, but to him?

you were the sun that graces his eyelids, the moon he measured his nights by, the quiet tug of the stars pulling him home.

you were the penelope to his odysseus, except he would cross seas faster, burn boats if he had to, swim continents if it meant getting back to you. shoto todoroki, who barely knew how to smile in public, had entire folders on his phone labeled with your name. every selfie you ever took, every blurry picture, every accidental voice note of you humming in the car—archived, backed up, cherished like national treasures.

if he ever woke up with a quirk that let him terraform the earth, japan would become a shrine dedicated to you. he’d carve your name into mountains, redirect rivers so they spelled out confessions only you’d recognize, plant entire forests shaped like your initials. dramatic? absolutely. beneath the stoic? always.

but it didn’t start with poetry. it started five years ago.

the day was gray with rain. shoto was walking down the steps of a university he wasn’t even attending, hoodie on, hair a mess, visiting a friend who kept skipping lectures anyway. he was minding his business, thinking about nothing in particular, until you came barreling around the corner.

you—hoodie pulled up, scrubs peeking out, eyes tired, cheeks flushed from either crying or running or both. you marched right up to him like fate shoved you forward and shoved a box into his hands.

“take this please,” you mumbled, voice cracking, words spilling out like they were too heavy to hold. before he could ask a single question—before he could even blink—you were gone. sprinting away. disappearing into a crowd of students.

he opened the box on the steps. inside sat a ridiculously nice chain bracelet—expensive, clearly meant for someone who mattered. the lid had a tiny embossed note: i love you so much.

shoto stared at it for a long time, thumb brushing the metal, wondering what kind of whirlwind of emotions you were lost in. wondering why it made his chest feel oddly warm. wondering why your face stuck with him long after.

and because he was shoto—earnest, unaware of normal social cues, painfully straightforward—he decided this was an… attempt to court him!

he came back to campus the next day. and the next. and the next few weeks, just to see if he could return your gesture properly. maybe ask your name this time. maybe ask why you looked so sad. but fate kept playing dodgeball with him. he stopped after a while, convincing himself he’d imagined the whole thing.

five months pass.

he comes back on a whim, stepping into the same hallway—and there you are. hoodie up again, balancing coffee and textbooks, hair a little frizzy, eyes a little brighter. you bump into him again and go, “oh, sorry,” because you don’t even remember him.

so he says, out loud, with no preamble whatsoever:

“i accept.”

you blink. “haha… dude, accept what?”

he pulls the box from his bag—yes, he carried it with him for months, like a talisman—and opens it in front of you. the bracelet gleams in the fluorescent lighting, the little i love you so much tag sitting like a confession in his palm.

you stare. hard.

in that one second your brain does cartwheels.

am i falling in love at this man’s gesture or am i delulu?

meanwhile shoto stands there patiently, looking at you like he’s already made his choice.

and from that moment on—well… the rest is four years of soft mornings, hidden kisses, and a love so steady it could knock the earth off its axis, all because you handed a stranger a bracelet and ran for your life.

one rainy night, movie playing in the background, you’re curled up with shoto on the couch—feet tangled, popcorn bowl wedged dangerously between you two, the world outside soft and distant. he’s got the bracelet on, always does, flicking it back and forth absentmindedly as the main character gets into some melodramatic romcom trouble onscreen.

you giggle sheepishly, half-hiding your face behind a pillow. “hey, you know that bracelet i gave you?”

he glances down, dangles it in front of your nose, the chain catching the glow of the tv. “this one?” he asks, with a little smile.

you nod, taking a breath, deciding to just rip the band-aid off. “i, uh, actually saved up for a long time, working part time, to get that for my ex-boyfriend.” you swallow, cheeks burning. “i found out he was cheating on me at a party… so i never got to give it to him. then i just—well, i gave it to you.”

he pauses the movie, turns toward you fully, the bracelet still swinging between his fingers. you let out a listless sigh, “they uh— didn’t take refunds… so i was kinda stuck with it.” 

“i couldn’t bear to look at it— so i gave it to the first person i made eye contact with…” you poke your fingers into his chest, giving him another laugh, “then i had to go away for a couple months for my semester abroad…and i didn’t even get to enjoy it as much because i bought a stupid bracelet for a guy who didn’t even love me! so i couldn’t buy stuff i wanted!” you playfully pout but soon dies down to a resigned sigh. 

that explains why he hadn’t seen you since that day then. for a second, his eyes flash—a quick, dark little fire that disappears as quick as it came. you look away, embarrassed, but before you can say anything else, his hand finds yours, fingers warm and sure.

“you don’t ever have to worry about that again,” he says, voice quiet but so steady you feel it in your bones.

your brows knit, still a little unsure. “what do you mean?”

his thumb traces slow circles over your knuckles, and he leans closer, his hair falling over his eyes. “i’ll take care of you from now on. so you can chase your dream without any burden. you deserve that.”

your eyes go wide, a tiny, disbelieving laugh caught in your throat, and suddenly you feel lighter—like someone just unlocked all the windows in your soul. his gaze is so open, so genuine, it makes your chest ache in the best way.

you lean your head on his shoulder, your voice all soft and sparkly. “you mean it?”

he just nods, turning your hand over and pressing a kiss to your wrist, the bracelet cool and reassuring between you. and outside, the rain keeps tapping against the windows, but you swear the world feels warmer, hope blooming slow and steady, happiness shining in your eyes like you never thought it could again.

lol

so of course, after that conversation, shoto’s whole brain short-circuits for a bit.

that bracelet? the one he’d worn like some knightly vow, cherished and guarded like a national treasure—well, the next morning, it’s nowhere to be found.

you’re brushing your teeth, humming to yourself, when you peek out of the bathroom and spot him rifling through his drawers, a suspiciously blank look on his face. the bracelet is missing from his wrist.

“shoto, where’s your bracelet?” you ask, still half foamy and adorable.

he doesn’t look at you, just grumbles, “must’ve misplaced it,” as if he hasn’t worn it every single day since you gave it to him.

the truth is, he saw it in a whole new light after that movie night. no way is he wearing a hand-me-down from your cheating ex—he’s got pride! but mostly he’s got you, and now he wants something that’s only yours and his.

the next weekend, he drags you out, doesn’t even bother pretending it’s for groceries or new socks. “let’s go,” he says, grabbing your hand, “i have an idea.”

before you know it, you’re in the jewelry shop downtown, that little place with the sparkly glass counters and the faint smell of vanilla candles. shoto is dead serious, eyes scanning every bracelet, anklet, and charm in the display like he’s looking for the holy grail.

“we’re getting new ones,” he says, matter-of-fact, already picking out a set. “matching. for us.”

you try to tease him, poking at his side, “what if i want something with a dinosaur charm?”

he doesn’t blink, just shrugs, “then... we’ll get dinosaurs.”

fifteen minutes later, you both leave with shiny new bracelets—yours with a little flame, his with a little heart, a private joke tucked between the links. you slip yours on right there in the shop, and he does the same, holding his wrist up next to yours with this smug, satisfied look.

“these are better,” he declares, grinning for real now. “they’re ours.”

and from that day on, you never catch him without it—your wrists always matching, a secret promise, one that started with a little heartbreak and turned into something stubborn, dazzling, and utterly, perfectly yours.

your pager goes off mid-yawn, and you nearly drop your iced coffee on your own foot. it’s your supervisor—gremlin queen of the fluorescent-lit jungle. you brace yourself for disaster, but her voice cracks through, unexpectedly chipper: “hey, you’re off early. found someone to cover the rest of your shift.”

you don’t even hesitate, don’t try to act polite, just blurt, “hell yes!” loud enough that half the night staff turns around.

your best friend, who’s already pulling her hair tie out and plotting her escape, looks at you with raised brows. “what’s got you in a good mood?”

“i’m out early!” you say, scrambling for your phone. “can you drop me off at a restaurant? i need the address from my boyfriend. it’s… complicated.”

she grins, “it always is.”

you shoot shoto a quick text: babe, miracle—i’m out early. can you send me the address?

he responds within seconds—maybe he was just staring at his phone, maybe he’s got the notification sound set just for you.

fantastic. here you go.

he pastes the address, adds a i’ll meet you outside, and then another: hurry. mineta’s trying to ask me about kissing technique. save me.

you show the address to your friend, who whistles, “fancy place. you two got a secret billionaire life you’re hiding from me?”

“if we did, do you think i’d still be at work?” you shoot back.

shoto is sitting at the table, half-listening to bakugo and kirishima bicker over appetizers, when your text comes in. his phone buzzes and he glances down, the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. he nudges izuku, who’s the only one still nodding along to his “i really do have a girlfriend, guys” speech.

“she’s coming,” shoto says quietly, almost as if he’s afraid if he says it too loud, you’ll vanish into the ether. “i’m gonna go grab her.”

izuku’s eyes light up, practically glowing with excitement and righteous best-friend energy. “really? that’s awesome, todoroki! should i tell everyone?” he’s already half out of his chair.

shoto just nods, standing up and smoothing his shirt, grabbing his jacket. but izuku, sweet little rumor-mill that he is, blurts, “guys, shoto’s girlfriend is coming. he’s going outside to get her!” and the energy in the room spikes.

mineta stands up so fast he nearly knocks over a water pitcher. “no way. if he comes back alone, i’m never believing a single word he says ever again.”

iida is immediately straightening the cutlery and napkins at the table, “we must present ourselves properly!”

ochako and tsuyu exchange bets on whether you’ll actually show or if shoto will just come back with a stray cat in his arms and call it even. there’s a sense of suspense so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. even the waiter pauses to see if this mysterious girlfriend is real, or if shoto’s about to walk back in and claim you “had to leave for urgent, top-secret, medical reasons."

outside, shoto texts you one more time—i’m right outside. can’t wait to see you.

he opens the door for you, gaze dipping down and up in a blink—yeah, he always did have a thing for you in those ridiculous baggy pants, the way the pockets bulge with pens and snacks and that one weird keychain. there’s a little tingle that travels up his spine, the kind he files away for later, when you’re both alone and he can tell you all the ways you drive him crazy.

he greets you with a soft kiss to your forehead, the gentlest press, careful not to mess up your hair any further. “how was your shift?” he asks, genuine, voice low and soft as always. you’re already talking before he finishes, words spilling out in a breathless, animated ramble about cranky patients, spilled coffee, your friend’s epic breakroom meltdown, and how your supervisor nearly ruined your life before miraculously letting you off early.

he listens, nodding, smiling at all the right parts, opening the next door so you can step into the warm light of the restaurant. you barely notice the way his thumb traces circles on your lower back as you walk in, too busy recounting your day in dramatic detail—complete with hand motions, exaggerated sound effects, and a full reenactment of how you almost tripped on the iv stand.

inside, the air is thick with anticipation. the table full of pro heroes, all craning their necks, jaws dropping as shoto ushers you in, his hand never leaving you. and you? you just keep yapping, too thrilled to notice the sea of wide eyes and slack jaws, not realizing you’ve just single-handedly broken the shoto todoroki does not have a girlfriend myth.  

shoto, unfazed by the mounting circus, keeps his hand at your back, calm as can be. he looks over the crowd, deadpan but with that quiet pride lighting his eyes, and announces, “everyone, this is my girlfriend—”

he says your name, slow and clear, like it’s something he wants the world to remember.

a hush falls, then mineta absolutely loses it. “no way! he got a girlfriend and she’s hot and a nurse?!” mineta’s wailing now, clutching his napkin like a lifeline. “that’s it, i’m retiring! i’ve seen everything—someone hold me!”

ochako’s hiding a smile behind her hand, izuku is beaming so hard you’re worried his face might crack, kirishima’s already congratulating shoto with a thumb’s up, and bakugo just rolls his eyes and mutters, “figures. leave it to icyhot to overachieve at everything.”

iida, meanwhile, is standing up so fast his chair screeches, ready to shake your hand and welcome you to “the friend group,” as if it’s some secret society you’ve just unlocked. you can feel your cheeks heating up, but shoto squeezes your waist, keeping you anchored.

he’s nonchalant, but his thumb rubs slow, reassuring circles on your side, the proudest man in the room. “see? i told you,” he says to no one in particular, but mostly to you, like this moment—this official, hearts on the table introduction—was worth the wait.

it’s chaos the second you sit down. you barely get your coat off before questions start flying across the table, everyone talking over each other, eyes sparkling with curiosity like you’re a rare cryptid finally spotted in the wild.

“what’s your favorite color?” ochako asks, leaning in, eyes bright.

“favorite food!” izuku chimes in, notebook halfway out because of course he wants to write this down for ‘research purposes.’

kirishima grins, “how’d you guys meet? did you confess first or was it todoroki?”

iida is already halfway through, “do you enjoy your profession? it must be rewarding to save lives every day, truly exemplary—”

but then, mineta, ever the menace, pipes up, “what’s shoto like in private? and, uh, what’s he like in private?” he waggles his brows, and bakugo nearly flings a breadstick at his head.

your brain is spinning, and for a second you just sit there, blinking, wondering if this is some secret hero interrogation technique. you laugh, a little breathless, and try to answer the easy ones first—you met in college, and yes, he actually does talk when he’s comfortable (even if he sounds like he’s reciting the morning news).

“he’s sweet,” you say, smiling at shoto, who’s sitting beside you looking like this is the best day of his life. “he’s… well, honestly, he’s quieter at home. but really thoughtful.”

you grin, feeling your exhaustion melt just a little at the sound of everyone’s laughter. “and … in private—” you start, but bakugo barks, “don’t answer that! nobody wants to know about icyhot’s bedroom voice!”

the whole table dissolves into giggles and fake protests, someone shoves another plate of appetizers your way, and suddenly you’re just another friend at the table, swept up in the wild, messy, wonderful energy. you lean into shoto, whispering thanks, and he just smiles, proud and quiet, finally getting to show off the person who means more to him than any hero title ever could.

the night stretches longer than you expect, laughter and questions blending with good food and a hundred little jokes you’ll remember later. you and shoto linger after the others have filtered out, waving and hugging, promises to meet again echoing in the doorway.

outside, the city’s cooled off, the air smells faintly of rain and traffic, and you and shoto walk hand in hand beneath the restaurant’s twinkling lights. you’re beaming, cheeks rosy, fingers laced with his, the memory of everyone’s warmth still buzzing under your skin.

“that juice was so delicious,” you announce, nearly bouncing on your toes, your words just a little wobbly. there’s a foam of happiness in your voice, unfiltered and bright.

shoto glances down at you, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “yeah? you had like five of those…”

he pauses, unlocking the car, steadying you as you try to get in—his hands gentle, patient. “they all had alcohol, my love.”

you hiccup, swaying a bit as you plop into the passenger seat, fumbling with the seatbelt. “nuhuh,” you protest, dragging out the word. “it was juice. it tasted like a fruit salad. a really good one.”

he can’t help himself, leans down to buckle your seatbelt for you, lips brushing your temple as he clicks it into place. “it was a cocktail, sweetheart. five cocktails.”

you just blink, grin wide, “you’re a cocktail,” you say, very serious, like you’ve cracked some great mystery.

shoto chuckles, smoothing your hair back, the sound low and fond, “if you say so.”

you barely make it through the door before your crocs go flying—one lands by the entryway, the other somewhere under the coffee table, and you’re already giggling, swaying a little as you toe them off. the apartment smells like home, soft and safe and tinged with that faint, clean cologne shoto likes best.

you stagger ahead, wriggling out of your jacket, and shoto lingers in the doorway for a second, just watching you—like he’s trying to commit every bounce and sway to memory. he has every reason in the world to behave, to play it cool, but tonight? it’s just not happening.

he follows, eyes glued to the way your scrubs hug your hips, the loose waistband doing nothing to hide the fact that, yeah, he’s hopeless for you—every curve, every soft spot, every little jiggle that has his brain stalling out entirely. he’s no better than any man (he is a man), but he’s got a one-track mind and a criminally attractive girlfriend making it ten times harder to focus.

the closer he gets, the more he debates with himself—shouldn’t, shouldn’t, definitely shouldn’t… but the way your scrubs ride up as you bend to pick up your bag, the way you look over your shoulder with that tipsy, dazzling grin? it’s too much. usually, he tries to play it smooth, wait for you to make the first move, but tonight, patience is slowly leaving the building.

he comes up behind you, hands sliding to your waist, grip firm but careful. you squeal, surprised, but your laughter only eggs him on. he tugs you back against him, head dipping to your shoulder, lips trailing the barest of kisses up your neck.

“you’re extra cute tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

he lets his hands drift down, finally giving in and grabbing a handful. your legs part for him almost instinctively, the feel of his fingers brushing the inside of your thigh making your skin spark. his touch is slow, patient, never rushed—a gentle contrast to the heat that’s starting to pool in your stomach. the pads of his fingers ghost over the fabric between your legs, barely teasing, making you whimper and mumble, “i’m sensitive, shoto…”

he doesn’t miss a beat, his breath tickling your ear as he murmurs, “that’s perfect for what i’ve got planned then.” the promise in his voice is enough to make you shiver, equal parts thrill and anticipation curling through you.

his other hand drifts up, cupping your breast, thumb rubbing slow circles over the fabric, and the soft groan that escapes you only makes him smile, all smug and quiet. he’s got you pinned, your back flush against his chest, the pressure of his body a reminder that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. his lips claim yours—hungry, coaxing, stealing every little gasp you give him.

you press your ass back against him, the heat and want between you simmering to a slow boil. there’s something playful and needy in the way you move, drunk off the night and the five “juices” that definitely weren’t tequila sunrises. he moves with you, gentle but unyielding, the way he always is—his touch, his mouth, his words, all deliberate, all meant for you.

he makes love to you every day, tender and soft, always making sure you’re cherished. but sometimes, when the world feels too heavy and the night is thick with unsaid things, you wonder what it would be like if he let go completely, if he pressed you down and just took what he wanted—if that sharp glint in his eyes meant more than slow, measured patience.

you feel that curiosity now, the ache of it in your bones, as you groan into his mouth and press closer, silently asking for something a little rougher, a little wilder—wondering if tonight’s the night he finally lets himself unravel, just for you.

his lips never leave your neck, slow and hungry, open-mouthed kisses that leave a trail of heat up to your jaw. you shudder, breath hitching, and manage to whisper, voice trembling, “shoto… c-could you… fuck me rough tonight?”

his hands still, just for a moment, as if your words pulled every last ounce of air from the room. he draws back just enough to see your face, his own flushed and a little stunned, eyes searching yours for any hesitation. his breath is warm on your cheek as he asks, low and a bit hoarse, “is that what you want?”

you nod, honest and eager, eyes shining up at him, heart pounding loud enough for him to feel. the tiniest, pleased hum vibrates against your skin as he presses a kiss under your ear.

“alright,” he murmurs, voice firmer now, hunger threading through every syllable. his hand slides down your body, grip tightening, his other hand tangled in your hair as he pins you back against his chest. you can feel the shift in him—less hesitation, more urgency, the tension that always simmers beneath finally rising.

he nips at your neck, lets his hand slip between your legs, all teasing forgotten. his body cages you in, his mouth greedy, claiming every gasp and whimper you give him, finally letting himself unravel—rough, possessive, all that quiet fire breaking loose just for you.

he’s always been bigger than you—broad shoulders, long arms, the kind of strength that you feel in every touch, every time he holds you a little tighter in his sleep. he’s careful, always. he knows what it means to be gentle, to keep himself in check. he’s spent years learning restraint, and sometimes you catch him watching you like he’s making sure he doesn’t ever break what he loves most.

but tonight, when you give him that nod, that permission, something shifts in his chest. he laughs softly against your neck, the sound husky, a little raw. “you sure?” he teases, but his hands are already moving as he tugs your scrub top over your head, then his hands go to your waistband. he leaves your pants on, just enough for his fingers to slip inside, seeking out the warmth and softness he’s grown addicted to.

his fingers slide beneath the band of your panties, callused fingertips gentle at first, then more demanding as he finds your clit. his touch is rougher than usual, less afraid of making you squirm, more intent on wringing those breathless sounds out of you. he circles your bud, presses down just enough to make your hips buck, and when you yelp, twisting against him, he only tightens his grip, holding you flush to his chest.

you can feel how wet you’re getting, the slick heat building as he works you with focused precision, his breath steady in your ear. he’s unyielding, not letting you move away, not letting you set the pace—his palm heavy on your belly, his other hand working you until your nerves sing, until your voice is all broken moans and desperate pleas.

he kisses the side of your throat, teeth grazing your skin, and hums, “that’s it… good girl…” and you feel yourself unraveling, melting into his hold, aching for more of that roughness, more of him, letting him take you apart piece by piece.

your moans spill out, thick and shaky. you press back into him, desperate for more of his touch, your hips rolling up into his hand, chasing every spark he sets off under your skin. his fingers move just right, rubbing and circling, coaxing out every gasp and cry he can get from you.

you can’t help it—you say his name over and over, breathless and pleading, “shoto… shoto, please…” it feels so good, it feels so so good.

he presses a kiss to your shoulder, voice gentle even as his grip is firm. “that’s it. you’re doing so well for me…” his words are soft, but there’s heat under every syllable, every praise winding you up tighter. his thumb never lets up, his other arm holding you close, grounding you as you come undone in his arms.

he murmurs in your ear, “so beautiful… i love hearing you like this…” every word is a caress, warm and steady, and it just makes you fall harder, body arching into him, needing all of him, every rough and tender part.

his breath is hot at your ear as his fingers work you, the familiar warmth of his body pressed behind you—then, suddenly, you gasp as heat blooms where his fingers circle your clit, a flood of gentle fire making you shiver and keen. the pleasure deepens, your thighs trembling as the heat rolls through you, tightening every nerve.

you barely have time to catch your breath before his other hand finds your chest, palm pressing against your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple—except now there’s a sudden, biting chill, a cold so sharp it almost aches. your nipple hardens instantly under the icy touch, the contrast with the heat below sending a bolt of pleasure through you so strong you cry out, arching helplessly into his hands.

shoto hums, smug and quiet, loving the way you moan for him, the way you squirm and writhe and call his name, every sound fueling the fire in his eyes. “sensitive tonight, aren’t you?” he teases, warm fingers stroking just right, his cold thumb circling your nipple, every switch in temperature a new way to unravel you.

you cling to him, rolling your hips in rhythm, drowning in the pleasure and the sensation, your breath stuttering as you feel yourself climbing higher, his mouth is still pressed to your neck, his breath turning ragged as your scrubs slip off your hips, pooling around your ankles. you’re left in nothing but your panties, skin flushed and tingling under the push-pull of his quirks—heat blooming low in your stomach, that sweet ache in your chest where his cold fingers teased you moments before.

he hooks his fingers at the band of your panties, pulling them aside just enough to slip one thick finger inside you. he groans quietly at the way you squeeze around him, the wet heat drawing him in. his finger begins to pump, slow at first, then a little harder, a little deeper, each thrust sending sparks shooting up your spine.

your moans spill out, helpless and hungry, hips rocking in time with his movements. his hand cups your thigh, anchoring you against his chest, not letting you shy away from the pleasure building inside you. his finger curls just right, finding that perfect spot again and again, drawing out every shaky gasp and every whispered plea for more.

he murmurs praise against your skin, soft and hot—“that’s it, baby… let me hear you… just like that…”—and you’re gone, all reason lost, all that matters is the way he fills you. his pace quickens, fingers moving faster, pressing deeper, the slick sound of your arousal filling the room as you gasp and tremble in his arms. he slips in a second finger, stretching you just right, and the pleasure tips from sweet to overwhelming, your hips bucking desperately into his hand. every muscle in your body tenses as you choke out, “shoto—please, i’m so close—please—”

and then, just as you teeter on the edge, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you empty and aching. the sudden loss makes you sob, a needy, broken sound spilling from your lips. you whine his name, squirming against him, but he only hushes you with a gentle kiss on your temple, his restraint tinged with something wild.

he doesn’t give you time to protest, just sweeps you up into his arms, carrying you down the hall with that effortless strength—princess style, pressed to his chest, your bare skin prickling with every step. he lays you on the bed, his eyes dark with hunger, and you watch him as he starts to undress, each piece of clothing hitting the floor with purpose. his gaze never leaves you, a storm of affection and want blazing in his mismatched eyes.

he climbs onto the bed, body looming over yours, strong hands pinning your wrists above your head, lips meeting yours in a deep, possessive kiss. he makes it clear—tonight, he’s done holding back, and you melt beneath him, more than ready to be completely, utterly undone.

his body hovers over you, lean muscles and flushed skin, eyes flicking down with a hunger you haven’t seen in him before—not quite like this. you catch the glint of precum beading at his tip, a raw need that tells you just how much he wants you, how much he’s been holding back. your chest tightens with heat, arousal blooming low and bright, every inch of you aching for him.

he pauses, meeting your gaze, and asks softly, “are you okay?”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you, breathless and a little wild. “yeah. i’m more than okay.” you think, for a split second, that this will be one of those nights—gentle, sweet, his usual quiet worship. maybe rough shoto is just a fantasy. and maybe that’s enough, because god, he loves you in ways that make the world spin—

you barely finish the thought before he’s got your ankle in a firm grip, yanking you toward him, the strength in his hands making your breath catch. with one smooth, unyielding motion, he flips you onto your stomach, guiding you up on all fours—leaving you bare, exposed, the sheets cool against your knees and elbows. the shock of it sends a thrill up your spine, your heart pounding as you realize—maybe you were wrong!

his palm presses at your lower back, pinning you in place, and you hear the rough edge in his voice as he leans in, lips brushing your ear: “don’t move.”

there’s nothing gentle now—not with the way his hands grip your hips, the way he settles behind you, all heat and tension and want, about to finally show you just how deep his need for you goes.

he drags the thick, slick head of his cock up and down your entrance, teasing, making you gasp and arch back into him—every nerve in your body strung tight, desperate for more. the anticipation has your pulse pounding in your ears, hips wiggling, breath coming out in little broken huffs. he holds you steady with those big, strong hands, the weight of his grip promising you’re not going anywhere.

for a moment you almost laugh, your mind racing—so this is it, the thing all those spicy romance novels go on about. rough shoto. god, please let him break your back only in the figurative way. not in the actual way that requires a hospital trip, you didn't sign up for insurance! not everyone gets a big beefy boyfriend who can manhandle them like this. please give you strength!

you push back onto his tip, shameless and needy, and he groans—a deep, raw sound that vibrates through his whole body. his hips jerk forward instinctively, the head of his cock nudging just inside, stretching you open so perfectly your toes curl. his hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place as he grinds forward, just enough to make your breath catch.

“you feel so good,” he rasps, voice all rough and greedy, and you can feel him trembling, barely keeping himself in check.

then, finally, with one smooth, rough snap of his hips, he buries himself inside you, the stretch and heat making you cry out, your hands clutching the sheets as he fills you—every inch, every throb, every slow, relentless drive of his hips. you clutch the sheets and let him take you, his thrusts rough and relentless, making the bed creak and your breath stutter out in ragged sobs of pleasure. every push stretches you wide, every pull leaves you empty and aching for more, the rhythm hard and fast—enough to have you tearing up, tears pricking at your lashes from the overwhelming sensation, the perfect fullness, the way his body fits yours like you were made for this.

your moans spill out raw and hurried, broken up by hiccups of laughter and gasps, each thrust wringing out a new whimper, a new plea. you don’t even try to hold back—“shoto, oh god, you’re so deep, so good—i’m your slut, i love being your slut—”

his hips stutter for a split second, and you feel the twitch of his cock deep inside you at the words, the effect it has on him obvious. his voice comes out strained, low and heated as he snaps, “don’t call yourself that…” but there’s no bite to it—just the way his fingers dig into your hips, his pace somehow getting even rougher, every movement desperate to fill you, claim you, drive you both out of your minds.

you sob his name, babbling, breathless, “shoto—please, more, don’t stop—” and he grunts in response, the sound torn from his chest, sweat dripping down his back as he fucks you like he’s never wanted anything more in his life. and god, you’re not sure if it’s the drinks or the man or just the way he loves you, but you know one thing for sure—nothing in the world has ever felt this good,

you push back to meet every thrust, hips rolling in time with his, both of you moving in sync—messy, wild, desperate. his body covers yours, chest pressed to your back, his breath hot at your ear as he drives into you, deep and rough, his control fraying with every needy sound that leaves your lips. your skin sticks together with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and perfume.

he leans over you, one arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other braced by your head as he kisses your cheek, your jaw, swallowing every broken gasp and moan you offer up. his hips snap against you, the sound sharp and obscene, the feeling enough to have your legs shaking beneath him.

you can’t help yourself—every time you cry out, you tell him again, “i’m your slut, shoto, i love it, i love being yours, want you to fuck me like this forever—” and each time, he groans, hips slamming harder, his cock twitching inside you, the effect making him lose the last bit of his composure.

his voice is ragged, shuddering, “yeah? you like that? you want me to fuck you like this—” he punctuates each word with another deep, punishing thrust, leaving you gasping for air and clawing at the sheets. “all for me, all mine…”

he kisses the side of your face, thrusts never slowing, and you realize you’re both so far gone, bodies burning and moving as one, losing yourselves in each other—nothing outside this bed, this moment, his hands on you, his name tangled with every moan you give him, your world reduced to his touch and the dizzying rush of being ruined so good by the only man you’d ever let see you like this. his hips don’t let up, pounding into you with a rhythm that makes your mind blank and your whole body tremble. suddenly, his palm presses between your shoulder blades, and you feel that familiar, almost electric cold radiate from his skin—his quirk sparking to life.

the cold pulses through you, your muscles going liquid, the pleasure doubling as every nerve ending lights up. just as you’re about to lose yourself in it, he slides his hand down your body, and where his fingers graze your waist, there’s a sudden warmth—heat blooming in teasing, dizzying lines over your skin. your breath hitches, then breaks into a cry, the wild contrast of hot and cold making you arch back, writhing under him.

shoto hums, deep and smug in your ear, loving every sound you make. he toys with you, heat stroking your inner thigh, icy fingers pinching at your nipple, the temperature play pushing you higher and higher. every new touch has you sobbing his name, not knowing whether to shiver or melt, your senses tangled up in the way he handles you, worships you, ruins you all at once.

his thrusts only get rougher as you fall apart, pleasure sharpening with every wild wave of warmth and cold, and you know you won’t last long—not when he’s using everything he is, everything he can do, to make you his.

he can’t hold back anymore—your body clenching around him, the heat of you, the way you call his name, it pushes him right to the edge. with a broken groan, he buries himself deep, hips grinding in tight, desperate circles as he cums hard, spilling himself inside you. his mouth finds yours, catching your gasps in a hungry, messy kiss, his body trembling as he rides out every last pulse, cock twitching, the pleasure wrung from him so completely he feels weightless.

he stays pressed close, hips snug against your ass, his arms curled around your waist, holding you tight as if letting go would send him drifting out to sea. you feel him soften inside you, still twitching with aftershocks, and the hot mix of you both begins to slip down your thighs, making a sticky mess on the sheets beneath you.

your breathing comes in tandem, ragged and slow, sweat cooling on your skin as the world finally settles around you both. you manage a soft laugh, half-delirious, and shoto buries his face in your neck, mumbling something about how perfect you are, how much he loves you, words muffled against your skin. you both just lie there, tangled and sated, letting the comfort of each other and the soft hush of the night carry you away.

after you both finally peel yourselves from the wreckage of tangled sheets and sticky skin, the shower is nothing but giggles and soft kisses—shoto pressing your back to his chest under the spray, hands gentle, almost reverent again, as if he hadn’t just made you see stars ten minutes ago. by the time you’re both clean and swaddled in towels, your bodies ache in that sweet, sleepy way that means you’ll sleep well tonight.

but shoto is in a mood, buzzing with a quiet, excitable energy. he’s the first to flop into bed, sheets rustling as he tugs you close and arranges you right where he wants you: head pillowed on his chest, one of his arms tucked beneath your shoulders, the other presenting you with your drink and a bowl of snacks like he’s some champion waiter.

he’s already flicking through streaming apps with the remote, pausing only to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “so,” he says, voice soft but full of curiosity, “how did you like my friends?”

you snuggle in, drawing lazy circles on his chest, your heart light. “they’re amazing. i love them. i was so nervous, but they made me feel like i belonged.” you grin up at him, teasing, “and now they know you’re not a pathological liar who made up a girlfriend.”

he snorts, smile crooked, brushing his lips against your forehead. “mineta almost fainted... izuku still looked like he was going to cry.”

the night settles in soft around you, movie menu glowing blue in the dark, your bodies warm and tangled beneath the covers. it’s quiet and perfect, shoto humming under his breath as he picks a film, your world shrunk down to the two of you and the sound of the ac kicking on, snacks scattered among you, laughter, and a hundred more nights just like this!

.

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. 

──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

⋆ཐིཋྀᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs:.ೃ࿔*:･. .☘︎ ݁˖ :

PROFILES: the fairies🧚‍♀️. || PROFILE: the specialists

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜: 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗥𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘇𝘃𝗼𝘂𝘀 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

CHAPTER 1: back here again

CHAPTER 2: WE DID NOT FUCK

CHAPTER 3: the "W word"😭

CHAPTER 4: stress-baking

CHAPTER 5: I'm not into apex predators😒

CHAPTER 6: OH, it's YOU⁉️

CHAPTER 7: I may die??

CHAPTER 8: Why i don't f with dragons

CHAPTER 9: ur kinda a snitch 😐

CHAPTER 10: NOT stressed abt a girl 🧍🏻‍♀️

CHAPTER 11: Drama Queen

CHAPTER 12: Attention hoe

CHAPTER 13: oh... 😀

CHAPTER 14: why she kinda...🫠

CHAPTER 15: ahh, damn my emotions😞💔

CHAPTER 16: OooOOoO tEnSiOn

CHAPTER 17: birthday plans!!

CHAPTER 18: i hate shopping 😮‍💨

CHAPTER 19: party party YEAH

CHAPTER 20: kinda down bad

CHAPTER 21: kinda smitten tho...🙂‍↔️

CHAPTER 22: i should just kms 💔

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁. 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜: 𝗜𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

Tba...

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━━━━━━━━━━━━━˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱‧₊˚━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Do not copy/reupload my work. All rights are reserved to me. I worked hard to create my plot, so do not steal any of it otherwise you will be reported immediately, and I will have a go at you.

Any locations, characters used in this book DO NOT have a relevance to real life. Any event resembling anything to real life is coincidence. I do not condone harmful behaviours. This is fiction. It is all for entertainment purposes.

☰ [ENHA NAVIGATION]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊[TAGLIST]: @dreamiestay @m3l4nchol @n1k1mura @wensurr @jiiyen @jwonistic @lolallure @sol3chu @firstclassjaylee @luumiinaa @xwonz @vixialuvs @yunthejin @simjaeyunlvrclub @bubblytaetae

new husband! shoto who places soft kisses on your bare shoulder, hand resting gently on your arm. who loves to hear the small gasps you let out as you tilt your head to the side, giving him more access to your skin.

new husband! shoto who stops his kisses for a moment, stepping behind you to help you out of your dress. who lets the material pool at your feet as he takes a moment to place a kiss at the bottom of your neck.

new husband! shoto who moves to stand in front of you again. who takes in the sight of you in your wedding night lingerie. who thanks whoever is out there that he’s the one seeing you in this, and no one else will ever get to see you dress this way.

new husband! shoto who drags both his hands and eyes over your body, taking in the subtle ways you move under his touch and gaze. the way you close your eyes and sigh out, leaning into the wandering fingers on your skin.

new husband! shoto who rests his hands on your hips, fingers gripping slightly as he pulls you flush against him, loving the feeling of your arms draping over his shoulders. who rubs your skin with his thumbs as he utters words he knows you won’t refuse. “let’s get a little more comfortable, my love”. “can’t have you feeling uncomfortable when you’re wrapped around me”.

new husband! shoto who picks you up and carries you over to the bed, smiling softly as you squeak from the movement. who places you gently onto the mattress of the emperor bed in the room like a doll that would break at any moment.

new husband! shoto who steps back to remove his suit, stripping away each article of clothing until he’s bare before you. heterochromia eyes watching the way you look at him with nothing but pure love, that you look at him as your husband and the person you fell in love with, not as the number 2 hero or the son of the former pro, endeavor.

new husband! shoto who hovers above you for a moment, whispers of how “beautiful you are” and how “lucky i am to have you” sound before he leans down, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that becomes needier.

new husband! shoto who moves his lips to your neck, chest, torso and thighs, nipping and sucking as he goes. who leaves small marks in his wake that have you twisting your body slightly as you gasp.

new husband! shoto who takes a moment and positions himself between your legs, lifting your leg and making it bend at the knee as he places soft kisses against the inside of your thighs. who trails those kisses further up towards your covered cunt.

new husband! shoto who moves the fabric to one side, placing a kiss just over the place he can’t wait to be buried deep inside of. who brings up two digits and slips them past the thin strip of material, pressing them inside your waiting cunt. who’s scissoring them as he moves them in tandem with his tongue he’s now flicking across your covered clit.

new husband! shoto who loves the way you squirm against him, the way your hands tangle in his hair as you graze your fingers against his scalp in a bid to keep yourself grounded. who shivers at the contact and can feel his cock staring to painfully harden. who loves the sound of you losing that battle as you whine out his name.

new husband! shoto who pushes his fingers deeper into you, down to the knuckle as the coolness of his wedding band is engulfed in your hot cunt. the small contrast only adds to the dizziness you’re feeling.

new husband! shoto who’s tapping against that one spongy place that has you seeing stars and vision blurring. who pulls away to look up at you as you arch your back at the feeling of your impending orgasm creeping up.

new husband! shoto who loves to talk you through it with words of encouragement like “that’s it, princess”, “you’re doing so good for me”, and “let me feel you squeeze my fingers baby, give me a taste of what’s to come when I’m buried deep inside you”.

new husband! shoto who feels your walls spasm around his fingers as you reach your euphoria, a broken cry of his name leaving your throat as your eyes flutter shut. who loves the way you try to milk his fingers like you do his cock when he’s inside you. “that’s it baby”.

new husband! shoto who pulls his fingers out and slips them into his mouth, taking his time to suck your slick while you catch your breath. who locks his eyes with yours while he does, chuckling at the embarrassed whine you let out as you turn to face away from him.

new husband! shoto who, when he’s cleaned his fingers, kneels between your legs again once he’s helped you strip out of your lingerie. who grabs both your legs this time and parts them, lining up the mushroom tip of his cock to your now soaked cunt. who likes to tease you by rubbing himself against you a few times before he finally pushes past that tight ring.

new husband! shoto who groans out when he feels the welcoming warmth of your insides, the way you’re already clenching around him, not wanting to let go. who loves the way you’re arching as you press yourself closer to him, savouring that welcome stretch you love so much when he joins with you.

new husband! shoto who wastes no time in moving his hips, pulling back until his tip is just barely inside as he watches the way squirm at the loss before thrusting back into your cunt, savouring the way to cry out at the surprise.

new husband! shoto who begins to fuck you with the sole intention of showing you just how much he loves you. that this is the closest he’ll ever be to someone, that he’ll make you feel exactly how he much love he holds for you and not used as a way to continue his bloodline.

new husband! shoto who’ll only ever take that journey when you’re both ready for it. after all, he’d love to have you round with his child so everyone knows you’re his and his alone. to know that he’s the only one you’ll ever be able to give yourself to completely, and that he’ll be the one who’s the father of your children. purely because that’s what you both want.

new husband! shoto who can briefly picture that image. who has to keep himself in check because that was for another day and a future conversation.

new husband! shoto who leans forward to messily kiss you, tongues clashing for a moment before he leans back. who grabs your legs and moves them to dangle in front of you, enjoying the feeling of the new angle as he reaches deep within you. judging by the way you moaned out and gripped his arms, he’d hit that spongy spot even better than earlier.

new husband! shoto who loves the feeling of your cunt gripping him harder, sucking him in deeper as your slick begins to splash out slightly, dotting into his thighs as he thrusts harshly into you more. the squelching gaining loudness the quicker he snaps his hips.

new husband! shoto who presses into you deeper until he can feel that tell-tale sign you're near your next orgasm. the way your walls start to pulsate quicker around his cock makes him smirk before he pulls away, slipping out of your cunt as you whine out at the loss of feeling full and being so close to climaxing.

new husband! shoto who drops your legs before shuffling back, grabbing your hand to pull you off your back. who’s quick to turn you around so you face away from him, one set of fingers gripping your hip, the other set wrapped around your wrist as he pulls you back into him as he lifts you up with little effort, sinking his cock back into you.

new husband! shoto who pulls your back into a lovely arch by your arm as he thrusts into you, savouring the way you bounce against him as your cries of pleasure increase. who'd peering over your shoulder to watch the way your breasts brounce with each reentry of his cock into your puffy pussy. who doesn’t give a damn if people walking past can hear.

new husband! shoto who moves the hand on your hip between your legs, circling your clit with the pad of his finger as he activates his ice quirk slightly. who loves the way you shiver and moan out, begging for him to let you go. “f-fuck, shoto, p-please”.

new husband! shoto who, after a few more thrusts, will move both hands back to your hips, helping you to slam down in the position he has you in. who can feel the way your walls pulsate the closer you get. with words of "come on princess" and "let me feel you squeeze around my cock first like the good girl you are" that will help you reach that euphoria you've been chasing with a broken cry of his name.

new husband! shoto who savours the feeling of your vice like grip around him as he pushes you forward, pressing you into the mattress before he pistons his hips, driving his cock deeper into you. who makes sure to hit that spongy spot repeatedly while you're crying out from still being overly sensitive.

new husband! shoto who can feel his balls tighten as he nears his end. who quickly pulls out and grabs you, before pulling you on top of him after he's lain down. who helps you move and pushes back inside your overly sensitive cunt as he pulled you closer to him, lips crashing against yours in a messy and desperate kiss.

new husband! shoto who after a few more sloppy thrusts, groans against your swollen appendages as he cums, making sure to paint your insides white with his seed as he mumbles. “f-fuck, baby, take it all” and “going to fill you so full you’ll be dripping me for weeks”. who watches the way you shiver at the feeling and makes sure to keep himself sheathed within you to stop any of his seed from spilling out just yet.

new husband! shoto who lets you fall forward onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you as you pant to catch your breath. who runs a hand through your hair and kisses the top of your head. "you done so well princess, let's have a break".

new husband! shoto who manoeuvres you both into a more comfortable position as you hum out soflty, placing a hand on his chest to feel the steadying rhythm of his heart. who looks down at you as you concentrate on where your hand rests.

new husband! shoto who spends a good while chatting softly to you, talking about the moments of the day he loved the most, none topping the moment you were announced as husband and wife. “okay, maybe being able to fuck you as my wife came joint top”. who laughs at your flustered looked.

new husband! shoto who places a finger under your chin and tilts your head, looking over your face as you reach up to touch his. who closes his eyes at the feeling of you tracing the lighter scar on his face, normally, he’d hate anyone touching it, but he’s learned to love it thanks to you.

new husband! shoto who kisses your lips lovingly this time, savouring the way you move into him before pulling away from you, hearing you sighing out at the loss of contact and at the feeling of him pulling himself off you.

new husband! shoto who walks to the bathroom to grab some pieces before coming back to help you clean up, taking care of your now overly sensitive body. who’ll take a moment to watch his seed seep out of you slowly, chewing on his lip at the sight.

totally in love! shoto who, when he’s finished cleaning you, will pick you up and hold you close to him while he pulls the sheets back, climbing in and laying you next to him. who wraps his arm around you as he lays your head on his chest.

totally in love! shoto who whispers words of love and affection to you while he strokes your back and side. who thanks you for standing by him when he didn’t want anyone to be with him.

totally in love! shoto who wonders how he managed to be right here in this moment with you. who wonders how he was so lucky to be married and feel a sense of love and security from someone so close to him.

new husband! shoto who was more scared then he let on. who was originally afraid of letting anyone close to him, given his past. who just happened to bump into you one day while you walked the halls of u.a. who took a chance that day and didn’t look back.

new husband! shoto who looks down to see you asleep on his chest, smiling softly as he pulls you closer and the sheets around you both.

new husband! shoto who’s eternally grateful to you for wanting him and nothing more. who can’t wait for the rest of your married life together and the memories you’ll create.

new husband! shoto who knows his younger self would be proud of him and who he was now. one of the top pro heroes, as well as having his biggest supporter and cheerleader by his side for the rest of his life.

new husband! shoto who finally realises that everyone deserves love. even him.

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

The cafeteria at U.A. High School was a pretty chaotic environment, you quickly learned within your first week after transferring from another Hero Course in the countryside. There were multiple things that could and would happen after the famous students had gotten some much-needed nutrients in their systems.

It was only three days into the school year and nothing had happened just yet, but in the U.A. world, that something was overdue.

The first chaotic event of the year that everyone had been anxiously—or in some cases, excitingly—waiting for happened on Thursday.

The day started off average; you got to school with three minutes to spare, which was a new record, but you had forgotten your pencil pouch in your dorm room, so you had to borrow some pencils from a girl who sat in front of you; Mina Ashido.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you took the pastel pink utensil from her. There was even a cute little fluffy puffball at the end in exchange for an eraser. Good thing you had an eraser in your bag.

“No problem! I gotcha!” She physically lit up and gave you a bright smile before turning back to focus on the blackboard.

You somehow managed to get through your morning classes running on the four hours of sleep you got the night before. You were cutting it quite close to passing out at your desk during calculus class, but you were saved by the lunch bell.

As soon as you stepped foot into the hallway, you were wrapped up in the faint, delicious scent of your favorite food coming from the cafeteria. Your mouth instantly watered, and you made a mad dash for the source of the delicious scent.

“Hey!” a sharp voice made you freeze in your steps. You glanced over your shoulder to find Tenya Iida, Class 3-A’s representative, glaring at you. The light reflecting off his glasses made him appear more threatening than he really was, but regardless, you still found yourself shying away from his harsh glare and rapid-moving hands. As they passed by, some students gave you apologetic smiles while others were not shy about openly staring at the scene before them, wondering what you possibly could have done to induce the wrath of the student representative. “There is to be no running in the halls!” You cowered some more at his brisk and overly formal tone.

Geez, what a stuck-up, you thought to yourself.

“My apologies, Iida.” You respond with a bow. He accepted your apology with a curt nod before he continued on his way to the cafeteria.

You waited for him to pass before rising from your bow. “Wow, he makes it feel like I broke the law or something.” You mused aloud.

“Don’t take it personally,” a comforting voice said from behind you. You turned to find Momo Yaoyorozu, Ochako Uraraka, and Tsuyu Asui standing before you. Ochako gave you a slight wave in greeting. “Iida can be quite demanding,” Yaoyorozu reassured you.

“Thank you.”

Tsuyu regarded you with gentle onyx eyes. “It’s L/N, right?”

You smiled, happy that she remembered your name from roll call. “Y-yeah! I’m Y/N L/N.” You introduced yourself. “I, um, already know who you guys are.” You suddenly felt shy, and you bashfully rubbed the back of your neck out of nervous habit.

Before your transfer was finalized, you did extensive research into your future school’s history and future classmates. Thankfully—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—a lot of information is public knowledge; the various attacks on the school in the year leading up to and the conclusion of the War between the Paranormal Liberation Front and the Heroes, not to mention the various televised sports festivals, and the fact that the members of Class 1-A are practically household names even before their graduation.

The girls invited you to sit with them in the cafeteria. You had been keeping to yourself the first few days of school, choosing to observe from afar the already established social circles and friend groups. You had waited for an invitation to join one of said groups, and here was your opportunity.

The four of you made small talk as you made your way through the lunch line and to the table. Right away, Asui told you to call her by her given name. You told them about your life growing up in the countryside—with you and Uraraka bonding over your shared reason for becoming Pro Heroes—about the friends you had, embarrassingly funny stories from your junior high days, and eventually what led you to transfer to U.A.

“Well, this is the best Hero Course in the country!” you all laughed. “But to be frank, the only teacher at my old academy who could handle my Quirk retired, and none of the other academies within the prefecture had the resources to help me advance. Plus, my mentor is an U.A. alumnus, so naturally, the only other choice was U.A.”

Yaoyorozu hummed. “It is a shame about your mentor retiring, but that is what led you to transfer to U.A., and for that, I am grateful.” The class vice representative regarded you kindly. “I am a firm believer of things happening for a reason, and your transfer doesn’t change that.”

Uraraka nodded her agreement. “Momo’s right. U.A. is a place where anybody can make a difference, and I think you will find success here.”

You were rendered speechless. The tips of your ears turned red as your classmates regarded you with so much hope and sincerity in their eyes. “Uh . . . I,” you bashfully scratched the back of your head. Not knowing how to respond, you instead reached for the small bottle of milk on your lunch tray and brought it to your lips.

However, before you could take a sip, a BOOM erupted from the front of the cafeteria, accompanied by a gruff voice yelling, “Don’t walk in front of me, Icy-Hot!” You reflexively jolted at the loud noises and lost your grip on the glass, spilling the half-full bottle all over the front of your uniform.

“Shit,” you exclaimed as you instinctually rose from your seat, only to quickly sit down again when the liquid started to fall to the floor. The girls gasped and were quick to hand you all the napkins in the vicinity.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Asui asked as she watched you pat down your sodden skirt.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You waved off her concern as you continued to wipe away the remaining liquid. The napkins managed to soak up most of it, but your skirt was still damp. If you didn’t change skirts, you were going to smell of milk for the rest of the day, and you didn’t want to start off the school year with a reputation for smelling vile. “I’m going to go back to the dorm really quickly and change into a clean uniform. Please let Mr. Snipe know that I will be late for class.”

“Do you want us to accompany you?” Yaoyorozu asked. She began to rise from her seat, but you stopped her.

“No, no. I’m okay, really.” You gave her what you hoped to be a reassuring grin instead of a grimace. “Thank you for offering, Yaoyorozu, but I’ll be fine.” Before your classmates could respond, you stood from the table and made your way to the exit.

Great, this is just great, you thought as you walked, not really paying attention to where you were going. As soon as I make some friends, I make a fool of myself.

Unbeknownst to you, there was an obstacle in the aisle directly ahead. You were too distracted by your growing inner turmoil to notice the pair of metal chopsticks lying on the ground before you until your foot made contact and slipped out from under you.

It all happened so fast that you couldn’t even react.

Time froze as you became weightless, and you felt your body become briefly suspended in the air. Before you could react and rotate your body to prevent yourself from violently banging your head on the tiled floor, gravity took hold and yanked you back down toward the ground. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to witness your classmates’ reactions to your misfortune.

Great, now I’m gonna embarrass myself in front of the entire school. Fuck you, chopsticks.

You prepared yourself for the pain of hitting the hard floor but were shocked when you were suddenly wrapped in a chilled warmth. You did slam into a hard surface, but this didn’t feel like the cold tile you expected.

“Are you all right?” a voice asked from above. You opened your eyes, only to find yourself captivated by a beautiful graphite and turquoise gaze. Your mouth opened to respond to the inquiry, but you couldn’t speak. This strange yet calming gaze hypnotized you, causing the rest of the world to fade into a buzzing silence. You watched as the perfect eyebrows of the owner of those magical eyes furrowed downward at your prolonged silence, the action momentarily drawing your attention.

With your attention span no longer zeroed in on the heterochromatic gaze, the world around you suddenly slammed back into your senses at full force. The volume of your fellow classmates’ conversations was deafening at first, but your ears grew accustomed once again to zone them out and focus on the person before you.

It took about thirty seconds for the entirety of your current predicament to register within your brain.

You were hanging about ten centimeters off the ground. The only thing keeping you upright and injury-free was Shouto Todoroki’s firm grip on your wrist.

“Um, hello?” the dual-haired teenager once again drew your attention to him. His grip slightly tightened before he tugged you up onto your feet.

“I think you broke her, Icy-Hot.” A rough voice drawled from your peripheral.

The intrusion of the other voice is what finally brought you out of your stunned silence. “No, I’m okay. Not broken.”

“Did you hit your head?” Todoroki inquired. He steadied you on your feet but didn’t release your wrist from his hold. Katsuki Bakugou was standing off to the side, trying to appear like he wasn’t involved with either one of you.

“I-I don’t think so.” As you reached down to brush yourself off, you caught a whiff of the unflattering scent of old milk emitting from your clothes. You held back your gag and turned to face Todoroki and Bakugou. “I’m sorry to rush, but I really do need to go.” You gave a quick bow. “Thank you for catching me, Todoroki. Bye!”

The two boys watched you sprint away like a bat out of hell. “T’fuck is her problem,” Bakugou muttered. “Fuckin’ extra makin’ me late for lunch.”

Todoroki didn’t respond to his classmate’s remarks. His lips pursed together as he watched you nearly run into a couple of first years before you disappeared around a corner, out of sight.

“Don’ even think ‘bout it, Icy-Hot.” Bakugou drawled from beside him. Todoroki cocked an eyebrow, the only sign of emotion on his otherwise indifferent expression. “Gettin’ involved with ‘hat extra will ruin your precious bloodline.”

You tried to forget about the cafeteria incident, but the embarrassing ordeal refused to secede from the forefront of your mind. As you lay in bed that night, your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers a minute, antagonizing and overanalyzing every second of what had happened.

As the night dragged on, your thoughts shifted from the overall event to one single individual: Shouto Todoroki. You knew who he was, of course. You didn’t grow up underneath a rock. Yet, you weren’t prepared for how much more handsome he was in person than on the news or in photos.

You overanalyzed everything he did in the brief two minutes you were blessed to be in his company, every word he said, and every brief flash of emotion that showed in his heterochromatic eyes. Todoroki had tried to approach you after training in Ground Beta once you had returned from the dorms, but you avoided him, not wanting to face him again so soon after the embarrassing first meeting.

By Sunday, you had begun to forget about your embarrassing cafeteria incident. Your newfound friends didn’t bring up the spilled milk, and thankfully, they didn’t see you slip on the chopsticks and fall into Shouto Todoroki’s muscular arms. You breathed a sigh of relief when you found out that last part. You didn’t want them to think you were a total klutz.

Todoroki may think otherwise.

As you were rounding the corner to walk back up the stairs to head back to your dorm room, Todoroki happened to be walking down. You both turned at the same time and walked straight into each other.

He wasn’t fazed by the sudden collision; however, you were taken completely off guard. No matter how strong you may be, suddenly walking into about a hundred kilos of pure muscle would make anyone stumble. While he remained steadily standing, you, on the other hand, fell back onto your ass.

It took about three seconds for the two of you to comprehend what the hell had just happened. You groaned out when pain flashed across your backside.

“My apologies, I did not see you.” Todoroki said as he offered you a hand. You begrudgingly accepted his assistance, face heating as your super handsome classmate helped you to your feet for the second time in a week.

“Thank you,” you bowed your head to him. You brushed away some dust from your sweatpants, finding yourself too shy to look back up.

You felt a firm, yet gentle hand land on your shoulder. You jerked your head upwards to meet Todoroki’s captivating gaze. “Are you injured?” His heterochromatic eyes searched you for any injury, and they glimmered with relief when he found none.

“No, I’m okay,” you reassured the male. “I may be a little bruised in the morning, but I will be fine.” Not to mention my bruised ego.

Todoroki hummed in acknowledgment, his hand still resting on your shoulder. His eyes were hyper-fixated on you, leaving you to feel bare under his intense gaze.

You shifted your weight back and forth as the silence between you dragged on for a couple more seconds. “Um, I—” You cleared your throat. “I should be on my way now. Got things to study, you know.” You told him with an awkward laugh.

You moved to step around him when it became obvious he wasn’t going to move. Your movements are what must have shaken him out of his stupor, with him bashfully stepping to the side to allow you access to the stairway.

“Right.” He said as you walked by. “Take care, Y/N.” You startled at his sudden usage of your given name, but nevertheless, you felt oddly relieved. You smiled shyly and bid him goodbye. Nothing else was said between the two of you, but you felt his eyes on you as you walked up the stairs.

I hope he likes cinnamon; you thought as you peered into the oven.

To be fair, you should have considered that before laboring for over two hours making kinako cinnamon cookies from scratch—which absolutely failed. Therefore, as a last resort, you were forced to run to the store and buy a box mix.

The he in question?

Shouto Todoroki.

It had been several days since your embarrassing first interaction with the dual-haired male and forty-five hours since your second, literal, run-in—not that you were keeping track, of course.

You wanted to do something nice for him as a way to apologize for your newfound clumsiness and thank him for his assistance in both instances. Your calligraphy skills were not . . . up to par, so to say, by any means, so a handmade thank-you card was off the table, and you highly doubt Todoroki was a flower guy. Not to mention his affluent background, so buying him a gift or offering to take him out to dinner was null—and way too straightforward for two people who were barely even acquaintances.

Therefore, you were left with only one option: homemade cookies.

Besides, all the old aunties back home always said the quickest way to win anyone over was through food.

“Ooooh, something smells amazing!” someone exclaimed from the stairway. Smiling slyly to yourself, you turned away from the oven to the new arrival.

You hadn’t interacted much with Rikido Sato save for the casual good morning greetings and thanking him for the delicious red velvet cupcake he baked for you as a welcoming gift to U.A.

“Thanks,” you said, grinning at the male.

The combined low mutterings of more approaching classmates brought your and Sato’s attention to the doorway where Mina Ashido, Eijirou Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, and Hanta Sero were entering the dorm.

“Woah something smells fantastic!” Kaminari said, gazing into the kitchen in hopes of spotting the source of the delicious scent.

“Yeah, it does!” Kirishima agreed.

“Oh my gosh, what is it?” Ashido asked as she walked over. Her eyes lit up when she spotted you. “L/N! Did you make something?”

“I did.” You confirmed with a slight nod. “I’m making kinako cinnamon cookies.”

“Oooooh, yummy!” the pinkette exclaimed as she bounced over to peer into the oven. Your other classmates quickly joined her, all of them staring into the soft, golden light of the oven with stars in their eyes.

“They look so good!” Kaminari was practically drooling at the tawny treats. At that moment, the timer went off with a soft ting! You politely shooed your classmates back as you pulled a hand towel over your hands.

“Step back, everyone,” you warned as you opened the oven door. “They’re going to be hot.” You carefully reached in and grabbed the cooking tray, cautiously sliding it off the rack and fully into your cloth-covered hands. Despite taking precautions, you hissed as the hot aluminum seeped through the towel and made contact with your flesh. As quickly as you could without dropping the pan of cookies, you turned and set it down on the kitchen island.

“These look delicious!”

“Woah, man, they look amazing!”

“I bet they taste as scrumptious as they lo—”

You zoned out the boys’ compliments as you moved to the sink and turned on the tap.

“L/N, are you okay?” Ashido asked as she followed you. Her question caught the other's attention, and they, too, turned to watch you quizzingly.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Your response ended with a wince as your skin made contact with the cool water.

“Here, let me see,” Ashido gestured to your hand. With your permission, she took your wrist with gentle fingers and held it up for you both to inspect. Your skin was reddened slightly, but it wasn’t anything serious. You let out a sigh of relief. “It’s not serious, thankfully, but we should still put some burn cream on it just in case,” Ashido advised as she turned off the tap.

You nodded your head again and followed the pink-haired girl as she went to retrieve the first-aid kit. Before you walked too far from the kitchen, you shouted over your shoulder to your classmates, “Please don’t eat the cookies, boys! They are still hot and are for someone special!”

There was a noticeable delay in response to your warning. After a pregnant pause, there was a muffled, “okamph!” in response. You were about to turn around and make sure that they weren’t eating your treats, but Ashido calling your name changed your plans.

“Let’s fix you up, yeah?” She said as you both entered the girls' bathroom. Ashido gestured for you to sit on the counter while she dug through the first-aid kit for burn cream.

“Thank you, Ashido,” you said a few moments later as she lightly applied the cream to the worst of the reddening. Your skin wasn’t blistering, which was a good sign, but it was beginning to ache.

“No problem,” she replied. She began to gently rub the cream into your skin, mindful of the sore spots. She beamed at you as she said, “And you can just call me Mina. We are friends!”

You smiled at her. “Okay, Mina.” The two of you were silent for a couple of minutes as Mina continued to dress your burns.

“So,” she started, breaking the silence. “Who did you make the cookies for?”

You sharply inhaled. “W-what? What do you mean?” You tried to play it off by playing dumb, but Mina gave you an are you kidding me look.

“Don’t play that game with me, girl.” She scolded you. “So, tell me, who is this ‘special someone’?”

You let out a heavy sigh, dropping your shoulders in defeat. “One of our classmates. . .” You trailed off, turning away from the pinkette, and absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

Mina’s eyes lit up and her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Oh my God, seriously?!?” She squealed. You turned to face her again. “Girl, you absolutely gotta tell me! Who is it?!” She went to grab ahold of your hands but stopped herself when she remembered your injury. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You said. “But, um, I—” You hesitated, searching for the right words, but you couldn’t find them. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” You said, barely above a whisper, turning away from your classmate once more in embarrassment.

Mina leaned back, taken by surprise by your change of tone. She studied you for a few seconds, her expression falling when she saw the look on your face; the clenching of your jaw.

“It’s okay, girl,” she reassured you. She set the roll of bandages down on the counter as she finished wrapping your hand. “You don’t have to tell me who your crush is if you don’t want to.”

You whipped back around to face her, eyes wide. “C-crush?!” you stammered out. “W-what?! I don’t have a crush! I never said I did.” you explained.

“Yeah, sure,” Mina smirked at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You wouldn’t of baked cookies for them if you didn’t like them.”

“Um, because I’m nice?” you asked with a lilt in your voice. Mina does have a point, though, you thought.

Mina laughed. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.”

A couple of minutes later, you and the pinkette exited the bathroom, laughing over something Mina had said. Your hand had been expertly wrapped and treated with some burn cream. Your injury didn’t even hurt anymore, but you were still going to check in tomorrow with Recovery Girl as a precaution.

As you rounded the corner to go back into the kitchen, you stopped dead in your tracks as your eyes fell to the now-empty pan where twenty cookies sat not even ten minutes ago. Mina stopped next to you, and you could see her giving you a questionable look, but you didn’t—couldn’t—acknowledge her. You just stared blankly at the pan, trying to process what you were seeing.

What the hell? you thought.

“Ah, man,” a voice drawled out. You slowly turned towards the source; Denki Kaminari. He was lounging against the counter as he rubbed his stomach for emphasis. “Those cinnamon kinako cookies were delicious!” Your brain blanked out when you heard that, the organ pathetically trying to comprehend and respond to the current situation.

“You’re telling me!” Kirishima piped up from beside the blond. Sero and Sato voiced their agreement from where they were seated on the couches. “They really hit the spot after the day I had.” The redhead noticed you and Mina. “Hey, guys, welcome back!” he greeted with a wave, a broad smile overtaking his features. “How’s your hand?”

You did not formulate an answer right away, your brain still processing the crumbled remains of your cookies. Your delay didn’t go unnoticed by the others, but before they could question it, Mina came to your rescue.

“It’s okay! Y/N is alright, nothing major.” She informed them. Kirishima’s gaze left you to focus on the pinkette by your side, but Kaminari’s remained transfixed on your blank expression.

“Oh, well, that’s great to hear! I was worried—”

“But you should be ashamed!” Mina cut the redhead off, tone sharp as a blade. “All of you.”

“What—?”

“Mina, why—?”

Kirishima and Kaminari spoke at once, their voices clashing, but the pinkette interrupted them once more.

“Y/N didn’t make those cookies for you.” She said. “She made them for someone special, yet you guys ate them even after she told you not to.” She just about bit the last part out. The boys gaped at Mina, her scolding catching them by surprise.

“Is that true?” Sato asked, rising from the couch to approach you. Everyone fixated their attention on you, waiting for a response.

You hesitated at the sudden limelight, and also in shyness. When you originally set out to bake the kinako cookies for Todoroki, you didn’t expect them to 1.) burn your hand and 2.) for them to be eaten by others. Even though you were upset, you didn’t want the others to be ashamed or scolded. But they did eat them after I told them not to, you thought, pondering your next move.

After a few moments, you squared your shoulders and steadily said, “Yes. I . . . made them for somebody.” At your words, the room’s atmosphere soured. The boys’ shoulders slumped as they realized their mistake.

“Shoot, L/N, I’m sorry,” Kaminari said, stepping forward to gently grab your uninjured hand and bow.

“Yeah,” Kirishima added, scratching the back of his neck and looking away slightly. “That wasn’t really manly of us.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Sero intoned, looking sheepish.

Sato came to stand in front of you next to Kaminari, who still had a gentle hold of your hand. “I’ll be more than happy to remake the cookies for you.” He said. “If you want that, of course.”

You smiled, though it was closed-lipped. “Thank you, Sato, but not today.” He bowed his head.

Suddenly, the front doors slammed open, startling the six of you. You all watched, shell-shacked—you did, at least—as a fuming Bakugou stepped inside, loudly exclaiming, “I had ‘hat dumbass villain handled! Damn Sidekick extra jus’ had to step ‘n and—” He noticed your little group gaping at him. “The hell ‘re ya fools lookin’ at?” As the words left his mouth, the other two members of the infamous U.A. trio entered as well.

“Kacchan,” Izuku Midoriya said, trying to placate the explosive male. “He was just trying to . . .” The rest of his sentence fizzled into the background as the entirety of your attention span landed on Shouto Todoroki.

It had already been well-established that the youngest Todoroki son was even more handsome in person, but seeing him in his Hero costume did things to you. Your mouth almost dropped open to gawk at his god-like appearance, but you clenched your jaw tightly shut to avoid that catastrophe. Despite that, you were pretty positive your eyes were as wide as saucers, greedily taking every inch of him in as if it were the last time you would see him.

I should sue him for the cost of my medical bills when I develop heart palpitations, you thought.

“Shut the hell up, ya stupid nerd.” Bakugou snapped at a sputtering Midoriya, drawing your attention once more. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“Is he always this angry?” you asked under your breath; half-serious, half-rhetorical.

“Oh, yeah,” Mina confirmed, voice just as low.

Sero snickered from his post next to Sato. “You get used to it after a while,” he reassured you.

One of Kirishima’s blinding smiles makes its appearance once again. “Katsuki’s always been passionate about, well, everything.” He told you, not bothering to lower his voice. “It’s who he is. We love him regardless.”

Sato chimed in with, “Platonically.” The boys snickered and Mina rolled her eyes, yet there was a small smile playing on her lips.

“Even though his sour attitude can be harsh and lowkey over the top,” Kaminari began, eyes shining with mischief. “It sure makes him fun to mess with!” Your companions groaned in exasperation and started to voice their reservations.

“No, Denki. Leave him be—” Mina urged him.

“Awe, come on, man. Don’t—”

“Heyy~ Katsuki,” Kaminari crooned, rocking back on his heels as the pale blond’s attention zeroed in on him. Kirishima and Sato facepalmed. “Why have trouble catching a ‘dumbass villain’?” he teased. “Bad day? Your head not in the game?” The hair on your arms rose to attention as an electric charge swept the room, putting everyone on edge. Kaminari’s baiting also drew the attention of the explosive male’s companions. Your eyes briefly met captivating graphite and turquoise, eliciting a sharp gasp to leave your lungs.

“You’re gonna regret the day you were born, dumbass!” Bakugou bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at the electric blond, snapping your attention from the hypnotizing gaze. You fully expected him to charge the male, already taking a cautionary step back, but instead of explosions ripping apart the building, Bakugou grunted and moved towards the showers.

Mina turned to the blond and shouted, “Now why did you do that, Denki? You know better than to rile Katsuki up like that!”

Kirishima dragged a large hand down his face before running it through his unruly red locks. “I’ll go check on him,” he announced before jogging after the sandy-blond. You were at a loss for words as you continued to watch your classmates scold a shit-grinning Kaminari, not even the tiniest bit remorseful for his teasing of Bakugou.

“Please don’t take Kacchan’s rashness to heart.” A new voice piped up. You turned to meet the electric green gaze of none other than Izuku Midoriya, the new generation’s proclaimed Symbol of Peace. “I’m s-sorry, I don’t think we have properly met. I’ve been in and out of campus lately—with missions and such.” He practically skipped over to stand in front of you. He smiled brightly as he gently took your hands in his large, calloused ones. “I’m Izuku Midoriya. I’m so happy you are here at U.A.!” he excitedly exclaimed, lightly squeezing your entwined hands. You couldn’t hide your wince and small gasp of pain as Midoriya unknowingly squeezed your burns. The green-haired male let go of your hands so fast as if he was the one burned instead of you, eyes growing wide. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?!” he asked, noticing the bandages wrapped tightly around your hand. Midoriya’s frenzy caught the other's attention, and all eyes were on you yet again.

The tips of your ears grew hot at the unwavering attention from the Heroes-in-training—especially from a certain icy-hot male who made your heart falter in its beating. “Y-yeah, I’m f-fine.” You stuttered as you met each of your classmate's gazes, trying to reassure them of your stability.

“What happened?” Todoroki inquired, eyes hawkishly zeroed in on your face.

“U-um, well . . .” you trailed off, words fading from your brain as you slightly cowered under his unwavering attention. “I—”

“She burned herself while baking kinako cookies,” Sero spoke for you, having caught onto your growing anxiousness. You didn’t miss Todoroki’s eyes narrowing at the black-haired male’s words. Sato and Kaminari made noises of agreement, the blond absentmindedly rubbing his stomach in content.

Midoriya’s eyes shined. “Really? You did?!” He looked behind you to the kitchen, eyes searching for the aforementioned treats. “Where are they?” he asked when he didn’t spot any, only a plate littered with crumbs. He turned his attention back to you. You opened your mouth to answer, but a wave of shame overcame you as your eyes once again met those of the one you had made the cookies for.

Mina noticed your hesitation, giving you a knowing look as she answered for you. “The three idiots to your left ate them all,” she said with a little bite to her words, glaring daggers at the culprits. “After they were specifically told not to.” She reaffirmed. The boys shuddered at the reminder of their disobedience. The pinkette turned her attention back to the green-haired and dual-haired males. “I patched her up, though. The burns are minor.”

Midoriya nodded his head in understanding. “You should still see Recovery Girl,” he instructed, unashamedly expressing his concern for someone he had just properly met. “At least let her take a look at it.”

“I’m going to stop by to see her in the morning,” you reassured him, words coming back now that your mind was a little clear. His shoulders slumped in relief.

“You should rest, Y/N.” Todoroki’s searing gaze trailed over your form, calculating eyes searching for any additional outward signs of injury or discomfort. “After suffering an injury, no matter how insignificant, rest is important.” He softly chided.

“R-right.” You stammered out, at a loss for how else to respond to your handsome classmate's concern other than compliance. A wave of exhaustion washed over you at that moment. Your feet stumbled as you became lightheaded for a split second. You noticed the dual-haired male take a step towards you, catching onto your sudden exhaustion, but you quickly rightened yourself. “Thank you, Todoroki.” You’re not exactly sure why you thanked him, or what for. His concern, perhaps? He subtly nodded as you turned from the small group, breathlessly mumbling some sort of farewell and something about retiring to your room for the rest of the day.

The others muttered their goodbyes as you made your way to the stairwell.

As you walked up the stairs, head hung low, your throat began to burn and your vision began to blur with tears. The first one fell when you reached your floor, quickly followed by a couple more. You wiped them away, sniffing, as you made your way to your door. You didn’t react to the sudden presence next to you and the weight draped around your shoulders.

Mina didn’t say anything, only traced comforting circles into your back as tears flowed freely down your cheeks.

The next day, you and your classmates were gathered outside Gym Gamma for an impromptu training session. You were surprised that Class 3-A still regularly trained together, but in your defense, that assumption came from someone who didn’t have many options when it came to sparing partners up until your transfer—a major shortcoming in retrospect.

“Today we are working on ‘last stand’ combat.” Mr. Aizawa drawled in his natural I Don’t Give A Fuck tone. “Close-quarter combat in which a violent assailant has obtained the upper hand and corners you in an attempt to defeat you.” He proceeded to explain the instructions of the training exercise and pair the students into groups of four who would take turns being the Heroes and the assailants.

“Midoriya will be with Jirou.” Mr. Aizawa intoned, briefly glancing at the two students to confirm they heard. “Todoroki will be with L/N.” Your muscles stiffened when you heard that. Your heart began to race as you watched the red-and-white-haired male make his way over to you.

“H-hi,” you greeted him, giving a soft smile.

“Hello,” he said, politely inclining his head. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Same here.” You said before facing forward once more as the first group began their round. You and Todoroki observed the match in silence, with you paying extra attention to your classmates’ movements and taking mental notes of how they incorporated their Quirks into hand-to-hand combat.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention. Expecting the new additions to be Ochako and Asui, you turned to greet them with a warm smile but paused when instead of your friends, Midoriya and Kyoka Jirou were standing next to you, both with warm expressions on their faces.

“Hi!” Midoriya greeted with a wide smile and a small wave. “I’m excited for this training exercise! It’s going to be so cool to see everyone’s improvement with hand-to-hand combat over the break! And any new moves! Or Quirk Awakenings! Or—” You had a hard time keeping up with what he was saying as it turned into a stuttering rant as he went on about each individual’s Quirk.

The rumors were true regarding his ramblings, you mused to yourself, wondering how long he could go on for before a small hand on his shoulder made him take pause.

“Midoriya,” Jirou intoned. “Calm down.” His cheeks flushed a bright red. He began laughing nervously while absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck.

“S-sorry,” he said, shyfully.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I agree with your stance, though. Observing others' skills is an effective way to improve your own. Get an idea or two.” You turned your attention back to the ongoing training, taking mental notes of your classmates’ fighting stances and their defensive moves, trying to get a better understanding of the why behind them. You pulled a small item from your jacket pocket, absentmindedly rubbing it between your thumb and forefinger. The movement caught Midoriya’s attention.

“What is that?” he asked, green eyes alight with curiosity.

“What? This?” You held up your good luck charm; a small, pink parrot keychain from a popular cartoon series you had won years ago at one of your hometown’s summer festivals. It was lucky because at the moment, while little you were trying to win, your Quirk had manifested. “It’s my good luck charm,” you explained the pink parrot’s value to you.

“Oh, cool!” Midoriya exclaimed. “You know, I used to have a good luck charm—it was my super rare exclusive All Might trading card! First edition!” His eyes shined as he reminisced. “I would bring it with me everywhere! Even Kacchan—”

“Deku,” drawled a low voice from the other side of your gathered class. The temperature fell as Bakugou’s vermillion eyes narrowed onto Midoriya. “Don’t say another word.”

“He’s such a fanboy.” Jirou chuckled, fondness seeping into her voice. Midoriya smiled sheepishly, not bothering even to try to deny the label. You spent the time until your group’s turn getting to know the two, quickly finding out that you and Jirou share the same taste in music; vowing to swap playlists after class. You were so caught up in your conversation that you almost forgot about Todoroki's presence, if not for the awareness of a body next to you. His chilled warmth seeped into your muscles, causing you to relax one moment, and tense up another.

“Are you all right?” he softly inquired, spying your tensed posture.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You replied, softly smiling but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Just a lil’ nervous, is all.”

Todoroki frowned slightly, not understanding how you could be experiencing anxiousness. “Wh—?”

“Oh yeah!” Midoriya suddenly interjected. “This is going to be your first time demonstrating your Quirk, huh?” he asked you. “Or at least this is gonna be the first time I will see it. What is it again? Object—no—um, yeah, anyway I bet it is awesome!” His eyes still shined with his enthusiasm and curiosity. “Sometime you gotta let me ask you about it! I have so many! Does it work like Ochako’s Zero Gravity? Or Yaoyorozu’s Creation?”

You couldn’t help but give a small laugh at his eagerness. You had never met someone as enthusiastic about Quirks as Izuku Midoriya. It was kind of refreshing to interact with someone as passionate as he was.

“Kind of,” you began, silently pondering over what you know of the brunette’s Quirk and comparing it to your own. “Ochako and I have the same limitations when it comes to the weight of an object, but besides that, our Quirks are different.” Your Quirk was object manipulation; you could telepathically manipulate objects within a certain range. To you, your Quirk wasn’t all that—wasn’t anything unique by any means—but to others, you were seen as a powerful goddess. “To be honest, I’m lacking in hand-to-hand combat skills.” You sheepishly smiled.

“Really?” Midoriya asked, blinking in shock. “I thought your previous school would have prepared you for all types of situations.” Jirou nodded her agreement with the green-haired male. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Shouto continue to observe you with a calculating expression on his face.

“Unfortunately, no.” You shrugged. “Their curriculum was more focused on improving the individual’s Quirk than learning how to fight without it.”

“Oh, wow,” Jirou said. “That could put you at a great disadvantage down the line.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know. That’s why—” You were cut off by Mr. Aizawa calling for your group to begin your training round. “Welp, this is it, I guess.” You chuckled nervously.

Midoriya gave you a reassuring smile. “You’ll do great!” he said, giving you a thumbs-up accompanied by a warm smile.

“Do your best,” Jirou added before moving towards the training pitch.

You started to follow, but a cool hand on your shoulder made you pause, shivering softly. You turned to find Todoroki giving you an expectant look. “You’ll do fine,” he said, confidently. He looked as if he put his entire faith in you. “I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

You felt a surge of confidence fill you at his words. You gave him a determined look. “Right,” you said. “We got this.”

You swear up and down his eyes twinkled when he looked at you, but it could have been a trick of the light. “You got this.” He replied, softly. The two of you walked into the pitch together, side by side.

The training went . . . not terrible, but it could have been better on your end.

Todoroki, Midoriya, and Jirou were amazing. Even without using their Quirks, they each were a force to be reckoned with. You were captivated by how swiftly they moved—as if they were ballerinas performing Danse des Petits Cygnes.

You weren’t on the same level as them and the rest of Class 3-A. You knew that, and you acknowledged it, but to see and be confronted by it so bluntly in person made you feel a whole other level of embarrassment and shame. You weren’t weak by any means, you could hold your own in a fight for some time, but not like your classmates could—and had.

Perhaps that is what separates you from your classmates. They have battle experience. Hell, they fought in a fucking war for crying out loud while you were on the other side of the country, guarding civilian shelters. You were fortunate not to see much bloodshed, but maybe that brought you to a disadvantage against these future Heroes surrounding you.

The horn had sounded as Jirou pinned you in the dirt for the sixth time, signaling the end of the round. You heard the sounds of Midoriya and Todoroki’s scuffling come to a halt from somewhere off to your left as Jirou lifted herself off of you. She offered you a hand as you began to rise from the ground. You accepted her extended hand with a grimace as the muscles in your back burned.

“Nice work.” Mr. Aizawa said as the four of you approached. “You performed adequately,” he addressed Jirou, Todoroki, and Midoriya. He turned to you. “You, not so much.”

You flinched as the words landed home. Damn, you thought, but he’s not wrong. You had naively allowed yourself to believe that Eraserhead wouldn’t call out your inferiority, at least in front of others. Then again, he was Eraserhead—infamous for his bluntness and apathy.

“Your skills are greatly lacking in hand-to-hand combat,” he continued. “I haven’t seen somebody so physically inadequate since your classmates were first years. Coming from another Hero Course, especially one with its reputation, it’s to be expected that you’re not up to par with your new classmates, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.” As he spoke, he never broke eye contact with you, scrutinizing you. Even with one eye, his unrelenting gaze made you feel as if he could see every minuscule detail about you. “Based on the performance I saw today, it was a mistake to put you in this class.”

You heard a gasp from one of your classmates; its owner unknown. You gulped down your shame and remained silent. You had a feeling Aizawa wasn’t finished with you.

“From here on out, I expect you to train harder and push yourself further than anyone else. Extra training, extra classes—anything that will make you catch up.” His eye narrowed. “If I do not see substantial improvement in one month, you will be expelled. No exceptions.”

Your eyes widened, but your shock did not stop you from replying. “Yes, sir.” You said, keeping your tone neutral as you mulled over his words. Although extreme, I understand the reason for Mr. Aizawa’s methods, you thought. He’s right though. I’m far from even scrapping the level these guys are on. I need to be more disciplined and work even harder if I want to stand on equal ground with my classmates. Resolve made, you promised, “I will go Plus Ultra!”

“Yaass, Y/N!” Mina cheered. “Woohoo!”

Aizawa didn’t say anything else to you, promptly dismissing the class. Midoriya praised your performance and commented on his wish to sit down and talk in-depth with you regarding your Quirk. You promptly accepted his request, telling him you would let him know when you were free. He smiled before walking off to join Iida and Ochako.

“If it means anything,” a voice suddenly intoned from behind you. You spun around, having not sensed the person's approach. You weren’t all that surprised to find Todoroki there, softly regarding you. “I think you did well.”

You scoffed but smiled softly. “Thank you, but you don’t have to patronize me. I have a lot of work to do if I want to catch up.”

“You will,” he declared, before quickly clarifying, “Catch up. Especially with my help.”

You furrowed your brows. “Excuse me?”

“Should I repeat myself?” he inquired, his heterochromatic eyes swimming in mirth. “I will assist you in your training and classes.”

You didn’t respond right away, regarding him with suspicion. You waited for him to name a condition for his help, but when he offered none, you relaxed. “Thank you, Todoroki.” You inclined your head. “I greatly appreciate it.”

“Shouto,” he corrected.

You blinked at him, taken aback. “What?”

“Shouto,” he reiterated. “You may call me Shouto. We are friends, are we not?”

You gaped at him for a moment, processing his words. “Ye-yeah!” you said a little too loudly. “We are friends, Shouto.”

The small smile that graced his lips lit up your entire world and caused your heart to speed up, pounding almost painfully against your ribcage. “Meet me here tomorrow after class.” He instructed.

“Tomorrow.” You repeated in confirmation.

His smile grew a little wider. “See you then, Y/N.” He said before turning on his heel and strolling away. You watched him go in a daze, in disbelief of what just occurred.

“Oooooooo, Y/N’s gotta date!”

You shrieked at the sudden voice and spun around for a second time to find Mina standing there, hunched over laughing at your reaction.

“Mina!” you shrieked, placing a hand over your heart. “You scared the shit outta me!”

She continued to laugh. “Sorry,” she said once her laughter died down. “You were so entranced with Todoroki that you didn’t even realize I was here!”

“Oh, yeah right.” You responded, playfully rolling your eyes. The two of you began to walk to the dorm. “I wasn’t entranced with him.”

The pinkette gave you a look of disbelief, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah, sure,” she retorted. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you ain’t lying to me.”

You scoffed but didn’t attempt to refute her claims. You put your hands in your pockets and looked to the ground, lost in thought. Mina didn’t say anything else, allowing you both to walk in silence.

The next afternoon, you met Shouto at the training grounds outside Gym Gamma for your first tutored training session. He regarded you kindly as you slowly approached, suddenly feeling quite bashful.

“Thank you for offering to do this, Shouto.” You said when you arrived. “It really means a lot. I don’t know how I’m going to repay you.”

“There’s no need for repayment.” He softly responded. “I volunteered to assist you. Therefore, no repayment of any sort is necessary.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I don’t want to inconvenience you—”

His soft call of your name made your next words die in your throat. “I assure you, this is fine.” He said. “Your company and attention are substantial enough.” You felt your face warm at his admission. Shouto gestured towards the training pit. “Shall we begin?”

He started by teaching you some stretches that are supposed to help decrease sudden muscle spasms and strengthen them. Afterward, he had you show him the little knowledge you had of hand-to-hand combat to gain an idea of where you stand in regard to U.A. training. Once you had demonstrated the few kicks and different styles of punching you knew, you turned to judge Shouto’s impression.

Your breath caught at what you saw.

His handsome features remained stoically blank for the most part, but the pursing of his lips and slight furrowing of his brows spoke a different tale. He grumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like they didn’t prepare you at all, but you weren’t one hundred percent sure.

“Shouto?” you inquired, voice slightly uneven as your mouth formed the syllables of his name. “Is everything alright?”

His beautiful eyes snapped to yours, and once again you were frozen by the intensity with which he looked at you. His gaze was calculating, and you could just about see the cogs turning in his brain as he silently regarded you. A couple long moments later, his lips parted on an exhale and he finally addressed you.

“We have a lot of work to do.” He declared. “But we already knew that.” You slowly nodded your head, curious as to where he would be going with this conversation. “Thankfully, you’re not completely helpless,” he intoned dryly. “Even though you don’t have many skills regarding physical, non-Quirk combat, I have identified several places where we can start, correct, and then build on.”

You steadied yourself, resolve firmer than ever before. You declared, “I’m ready.”

Shouto gave a quick, but detailed, overview of his plans for your ‘training tutoring’, you referred to your sessions as. He was going to teach you everything he thought you should know—which was everything he knew—in order to successfully become a Hero people could rely on.

The two of you began by improving your physique. You joined him on his early morning run along with Midoriya and Bakugou, who welcomed you with contrasting fervor. When you met for your afternoon training, you would run five kilometers before learning various grades of combat moves, and then concluding your time together by sparring.

It was established early on that neither of you would use your Quirks during your tutoring as the two of you were well-adapted to your respective Quirks—and the strict rules regarding their usage.

For the next several weeks, you worked tirelessly on your training, and your dedication and hard work paid off. At your end-of-the-month assessment, Aizawa was pleased by your rapid and exceptional improvement and announced you could stay at U.A. He also informed you that it was never his intention to expel you in the first place, but nevertheless, he was impressed by your efforts.

You and Shouto continued to grow closer as time went by. You still had your training tutoring sessions in the afternoons, and you became a regular on his early morning runs. You even hung out outside of class and training; preparing pre-workout meals and drinks together, and various study sessions at all hours of the day and night. Once, you even packed him a small canister of his favorite brand of soba noodles for lunch one of the weekends he was interning at his father’s Agency. When he came back to the dorm after his shift, he made a beeline for you and promptly informed you that from then on out, you would be solely responsible for packing his lunches.

“Now why would I do that?” you implored. You crossed your arms, awaiting his response. “Are you gonna pay me?”

Shouto slowly blinked at you in the way a cat would. “Why would I compensate you for an action you chose to do?”

You had no retort for that.

As you spent more time together, you noticed some changes. Shouto would stare at you for seemingly no reason, and whenever you called him out on it, he feigned innocence. He also sought you out more often, insisting on walking to your next class or to and from the dorm by your side. He even began to occupy you on your shopping runs, dutifully holding your bags for you. And whenever you would thank or compliment him, his whole demeanor would light up as if Aphrodite herself had shown favor towards him.

You weren’t any better, though.

If Shouto would do so much as even blink in your general direction, your heart would soar and butterflies would take flight in your stomach. At first, you brushed it off as nerves for being the subject of the Shouto Todoroki’s attention, but you were in denial, not wanting to admit what was actually occurring. Looking back, you realized that deep down, you had known all along what was happening, but at the time, you weren’t ready to admit it—to yourself and him.

Regardless of your rebuttals and lack of admission, you were falling for your dual-haired classmate, hard and fast, and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

3 months later . . .

“Y/N! It’s starting! You’re gonna miss it!” Ochako shouted from the couches, the other girls of Class 3-A surrounding her, all dressed in comfortable loungewear. It was the class's annual Girl’s Movie Night, which was held every couple of months. Tooru told you earlier that week that they would like to have it more often, like once a month, but given their hectic and ever-changing schedules, the girls had to settle for every few months. They took turns who got to pick out the movie. It was Mina’s turn this time. True to her nature, she selected an early 2000s chick flick set in the States.

“Hold on, wait for me!” you hollered back as you finished pouring the freshly popped popcorn into a large bowl, a few kernels spilling out as you whirled on your heels to sprint into the living area. You nearly tripped over Jirou’s legs as you practically threw yourself towards the last remaining free spot on the couch.

“Ah, sorry!” you exclaimed as you settled yourself into the cushions, checking over Jirou and your popcorn bowl. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, it’s just starting,” Momo said, taking a sip from her cup of tea as the opening credits began to roll.

“Ooh, this is one of my all-time favorite movies!” Mina squealed next to you. “Have you ever seen it before?” she asked.

You hummed, acknowledging her question. You thought hard, trying to recall if you’ve ever seen the characters on the screen before. “I’m not sure,” you said. “I don’t think so.”

The pinkette gasped aloud and theatrically placed a hand on her chest, sprawling backward. “Y/N! You wound me!”

Across the room, Tooru piped up from her spot next to Asui. “How could you not have?! It’s only one of the greatest movies ever made!”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” Ochako interjected. “Gonna have to disagree.” You expected them to start arguing back and forth over what is truly the greatest movie ever made, like your friends back home would have done, but they don’t. Mina stuck her tongue out at Ochako before turning back to the movie.

You all watched the movie in relative silence, save for the light background noise of popcorn moving around in a bowl and slurping from a now-empty straw. It was nice, peaceful; a well-deserved and appreciated respite from the grinding hustle of being Pro-Heroes-in-training.

“Just confess already!” Jirou shouted at the screen as the main character allowed another opportunity for them to confess their feelings for their classmate slip through their fingers. “Gosh!” A corner of your mouth curled at her irritation. A few grumbles of agreement sounded from the others as the movie continued playing.

You had to stifle your laughter as the main characters continued to pine after one another, completely oblivious to the other’s growing feelings. I can’t believe there are actually people in the world who are like them, you silently mused. It’s so obvious they like each other. I can’t believe they don’t see it.

“Ugh, the anticipation and pining is killing me!” Tooru cried out, her slippers moving frantically in the air as she kicked her legs.

Asui raised a brow. “I thought you’ve seen this movie before?”

“Well, yeah, I have,” the invisible female said. “But the suspense still gets to me!”

“It is quite intense.” Ochako agreed. “I hope they confess soon. It hurts to see them think the other doesn’t return their feelings.”

“I don’t understand how they cannot.” You admitted, shrugging your shoulders. The girls turned to look at you as you continued, “I mean, they’re so obvious.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda annoying at this point,” Jirou mumbled.

Mina snickered. “Y/N, as if you’re one to talk.”

You gave her a questioning look, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, come on. You’re so obvious, too, with your crush—”

You cut her off, “I do not have a crush.”

“You have a crush?” Asui asked. You and Mina responded at the same time.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, she does.”

“What is this about?” Momo inquired, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie.

“Nothi—” you began but was swiftly interrupted by the pinkette next to you.

“Y/N has a crush on Todoroki!”

The girls gasped and gapped at you, eyes wide.

“I do not!” You said, face burning as you tried to mitigate the situation. “We’re not like that!”

“Oh my.” You thought you heard Momo say under her breath, but you couldn’t really hear since Tooru started shrieking with glee.

“You guys would be the cutest couple!” she exclaimed, jumping up from her spot on the couch and racing over to pull you into a tight embrace.

“I mean, it does make sense given they spend so much time together.” Ochako mused, a finger on her chin as she considered the situation.

Asui jumped on the bandwagon with, “Oh they are definitely into each other.”

“One hundred percent,” Mina agreed.

“Girl, you gotta spill the tea!” Tooru exclaimed as she pulled away. “Tell us everything!” The others voiced their agreement.

“I do admit, I am curious as to how this relationship came to be,” Momo vocalized, setting her tea cup down onto its saucer. “That is if the two of you have gotten that far into your companionship.”

You blinked at the midnight-black-haired woman, shock clouding your brain for a moment as you processed her words. “Um, n-no. We aren’t in any type of r-romantic relationship.” You clarified, but immediately you could tell certain people thought your answer was complete horse poop. “We aren’t!”

“Regardless, you guys are pretty close,” Ochako interjected. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Jirou nodded in agreement. “And all the extra training you do together.”

“The early morning runs,” Asui added.

“Okay, okay,” you threw your hands up in a placating manner. “I understand what you guys are trying to get at, but you’re wrong.”

Mina came to stand beside you, giving you a knowing look. “Girl, Y/N,” she began. “You can try with all your might to deny it, but it’s obvious what is really going on between you and Shouto.” She placed a delicate hand on your shoulder. “And I know you know it, too.”

You stared at the pinkette, pondering her and the other’s words. You wanted to continue denying what they were saying, but you were getting tired of denying your feelings to yourself. You slumped your shoulders, the tension leaving your body as you resolved to come clean with the truth—to yourself and your friends, besides a certain dual-haired male. “Alright, fine.” You let out a heavy sigh, mentally preparing yourself for their reaction to your next statement. “I like him a little.” You confessed, looking at the floor, too afraid to meet any of their gazes.

The room was dead silent for two breaths before Mina erupted in choking laughter. “’A little’? Yeah RIGHT!” She laughed so hard that tears began to stream down her pink cheeks. After she managed to calm down a bit, she turned to face you fully, laying a hand on your knee. “Girl, you’re lying to yourself.” She told you, tone light yet serious. “We have all seen the way you look at Shouto—” the others nod in confirmation. “—and your eyes tell it all.”

You flinched as embarrassment flooded you. “Is it really that obvious?” you asked. You turned to the others to gauge their reactions. “Am I?” They all nodded.

“Definitely.”

“For sure.”

“We could see it from a mile away.”

You gasped. “Oh my,” you covered your face with your hands. “Do you think Shouto knows?”

“I doubt so,” Momo said. “Shouto is quite intelligent and a formidable force to be reckoned with, but as I’m sure you’re aware, his experience and understanding of social concepts and cues are fairly limited.”

“In other words,” Jirou interjected. “He’s none the wiser.”

You released a sigh of relief. At least he doesn’t think I’m a psycho stalker or something.

“Hey, give him some credit, guys,” Ochako remarked. “Todoroki’s more aware than he’s given credit for.”

“Moving on,” Mina said. “Have you thought about confessing your feelings to him?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, shamefully looking away. “No. . .”

“What?!”

“Really?!” Tooru shouted. “But he’s so hot!” The sleeves of her shirt crossed in front of her. “I would do anything to be his girlfriend.”

You laughed. “While you are correct about his handsomeness, I don’t even know where I would begin or how I would confess.”

“Your feelings are valid, Y/N,” Asui assured you. “Confessing one’s feelings for another is a life-changing occurrence.”

“You gotta do it before graduation in a couple months, though,” Ochako added. “If not, then you may never get another chance to do so.”

“Why do you say that?” you asked. “As Pros, wouldn’t we work together often? Why does it need to be before we graduate and turn Pro?”

“Possibly, but with our chosen line of work, there is always a possibility. . .” she trailed off with a grimace.

You understood immediately. “Oh.”

“Although rare in the line of duty, it does happen.” Momo said. “I wouldn’t worry about that though, but I agree with Ochako.”

“Plus,” Mina began, mischief glowing in her eyes. “If the two of you get together before you make your Pro Hero debut to the world, you wouldn’t have to worry about him falling in love with some random civilian he rescues on the street or another Pro.”

You nodded. “You have a point.”

“Either way, I think it will all work out in the end,” Ochako said, her cheeks widening with her smile. “I think perhaps Shouto returns your feelings, and just simply doesn’t know what to do about them or how to address them, therefore you should tell him.” The other girls voiced their agreement.

“Yeah, it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture or anything,” Jirou said.

“Just be honest with him, Y/N,” Asui said.

“Yeah, girl,” Mina added, giving you a warm smile when you met her gaze. “You got this. Besides, he can’t reject you. You’re too hot for that.”

You squared your shoulders as a burst of confidence filled you thanks to the encouragement you received from your friends. “Okay, I will!” you loudly announced. “I will confess my feelings to him!”

The others cheered as you all held up your lemon water in a faux toast. In your happiness, none of you noticed the shadows shift in the stairwell and the soft noise of retreating footsteps on the wood.

You were screwed.

“How am I gonna tell him!?” you mewled aloud a couple of days later in the cafeteria. You dramatically slumped your forehead on the tabletop, mentally kicking yourself for allowing the girls to convince you that confessing your crush would be an easy endeavor. You felt a reassuring pat on your shoulder. Groaning, you lifted your head from the table to shoot puppy eyes at Ochako. “Ochako, help me!” you cried. “How do I confess?”

The brunette gave you a sheepish smile. “I don’t know, Y/N.” She professed, her eyes apologetic. “Proclaiming one's love for another isn’t really my strong suit.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Asui mumbled under her breath before taking a sip of her drink, receiving a glare in response.

“Y/N, sweetie,” Mina cooed from your other side. “I think you’re overthinking it a little. It shouldn’t be but so hard. Just be honest with him!”

“But that is hard!” you said, waving your hands in the air. “I can’t just walk up to him and say, ‘hey, Shouto, I think you’re really hot and amazing. Wanna go out with me?’”

“Sure you can,” Momo intoned, trying to reassure you. “Maybe not in those exact words, but when the time comes, you will know what to say.”

“I hope so,” you sighed, slumping your shoulders. “I hope so.”

As time passed, you found that you did not, in fact, know what to say when the time came to confess your feelings to Shouto Todoroki. Whenever you were near him, you became tongue-tied and could barely speak without becoming a stuttering mess. During each interaction, Shouto would give you a long, confused look, his eyebrows drawn downwards as he watched you struggle for words. He wouldn’t comment on it, bless him, but he must’ve thought you to be a total weirdo.

Yet, he still accompanied you on the walk back to the dorm every day after classes ended, and he insisted on continuing your training sessions every weekend after he finished his shift at Endeavor’s Agency. The two of you grew closer, to your absolute delight, and yet you still hadn’t managed to work up the courage to confess your feelings to him.

Until one day . . .

You were sitting in homeroom during free period, chatting with Midoriya about the latest episode of the rebooted All Might: The Mightiest Man TV series.

“I’m telling you, Midoriya,” you said. “It doesn’t matter how much the animation and special effects have improved, the original will always be better than the reboot.” You crossed your arms and lounged back in your chair, waiting for the forest green-haired male to start sputtering his counterargument. “You can’t change my mind. I will die on this hill.”

“Are you seriously sayin—?”

A call of your name from a familiar tenor drew your attention. You turned towards the source to meet a pair of heterochromatic eyes. Shouto was making his way to your desk, coming to a stop right in front of you. You had to tilt your head back in order to maintain eye contact. After a moment, he turned his attention to Midoriya next to you. “Pardon me, Midoriya, but I need to speak to Y/N in private.”

You and Midoriya gaped at the dual-haired male for a good twenty seconds before you slowly rose from your seat. “O-okay.” You turned to face your green-haired companion. You hoped your eyes were conveying your inner panic as you said, “Midoriya, I’ll be back.”

All he could do was nod as he watched you follow behind Shouto, wondering why you looked so panicked to go with the male. Maybe you were constipated.

As Shouto led you toward the classroom door, Ochako and Mina shot you curious glances. When you met their gazes, they gave you a reassuring smile and a thumbs up, respectfully.

“Good luck, girl!” Mina whisper-shouted.

“You got this, Y/N,” Ochako said. You tried to match her comforting smile with your own, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

You followed behind the dual-haired male, silently wondering what was going on. Once you were outside the classroom, he led you down the hallway to a little corner nook bathed in the golden light of the afternoon.

“Shouto, is everything okay?” you asked, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other. “Is something wrong?” At your inquiry, he finally came to a stop in front of a set of windows and turned to face you.

“Yes, everything is fine.” He reassured you. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

You blinked. “Okay,” you said. “Shoot.”

Shouto likewise paused at your usage of unfamiliar slang but didn’t comment on it. “Um,” he started, but drifted off, not finishing the thought. He opened his mouth only to shut it again after a moment or two without making a sound. You furrowed your brows as you continued to watch him struggle for words.

“Um, Sho?” you prodded. He didn’t respond, however, still thinking over his next words. Shouto never hesitates, you thought with a mixture of wonderment and anxiety. Is something bothering him? you thought with growing concern. You felt your heart come to a skittering stop as another horrifying conclusion came to mind; am I the problem?

“I overheard you and the other girls’ conversation on Movie Night,” he confessed at last, interrupting your spiraling train of thought. He bashfully looked away as if he was ashamed.

“Oh, okay?” you responded, absentmindedly going through the events of the night in question. Your heartbeat began to calm down to a normal rate. “What conversation?” You couldn’t think of anything in particular and were about to ask him to elaborate before the realization hit you like a freight train.

“I like him a little.”

“Okay, I will! I will confess my feelings to him!”

“Yeah, girl, you got this. Besides, he can’t reject you. You’re too hot for that.”

Oooohhhhh.

Fuck.

Maybe he didn’t hear that particular part of the conversation! You tried to reassure yourself as you waited for Shouto to answer your question. Your heart rate picked back up as panic began to settle in. We were there for several hours. There is so much he could’ve—

“You have an admiration going on.” You hate to admit you gawked at him for a couple of seconds before his formal wording translated into modern speech. You have a crush.

FUCK!

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” you rushed out, trying to save face and whatever friendship you had with Shouto. You felt your cheeks burn. “Please, just forget you ever heard that!”

Shouto snapped his head to you as your words registered in his brain. “Why would I do that?” he asked after a moment. “We live in the same building with shared living space, barely anything is not overheard by another.”

Oh God, how much did he overhear?

“Besides,” he continued. “At our age, it is completely natural for one to harbor feelings for another.”

You blinked at him as his words registered, your cheeks now tingling due to the burn. Gosh, he sounds like a grandpa giving the birds and the bees talk.

“It—it’s j-just,” you stammered. “I-I-I—” You let out a harsh breath in frustration when your words continued to fail you. Shouto raised a brow before his eyes narrowed. Your heart sank when you saw that.

Oh great, he’s annoyed!

“Are you all right?” he asked before moving so he was right in front of you. You squeaked at the sudden warmth of his body heat as he placed a hand on your forehead. “Do you feel ill? You feel warm, and your face looks to be flushed with some perspiration gathering on your forehead.” His eyes frantically looked you up and down as he examined you for any further signs of sickness. “I should get you to Recovery Girl.”

“N-no!” you exclaimed when he went to sweep you off your feet. “Sh-Shouto, I—I’m fine, really. I’m n-not s-sick.”

“Oh?” Shouto blinked in confusion and, adorably, subtly tilted his head to the side. “Then why are you so febrile? And you are stuttering?”

“It’s not because I am sick. I’m just em-embarrassed.” You whispered the last part, and you couldn’t help but look away from Shouto in shame.

“Embarrassed? Why are you embarrassed, Y/N?” You shut your mouth, refusing to speak. Shouto sensed your hesitation. The light slowly left his heterochromatic eyes and he bashfully looked away from you. “Is . . . is it because you don’t want to be seen with me?” he asked. “For fear that your crush will see us together and not return your affection?”

You let out a gasp in surprise. “What? No!” You are quick to reassure him—your actual crush—of your intentions. “That’s not it at all!”

Shouto met your gaze again. His eyes lit up with what looked like . . . anticipation? Hope? You weren’t sure, but your heart began to race in trepidation. “Then what is it?”

“I like you,” you blurted out. You shut your eyes and covered your face with your hands, trying to hide from your drowning embarrassment. “Like, not even a little bit, but, like, really, really like you.” You whispered from behind your hands.

There was no immediate response from the dual-haired male. You didn’t dare to remove your hands from your face to check if he was still standing in front of you.

He probably didn’t hear me. You internally slapped yourself upside the head.

Before you could react, Shouto was carefully removing your hands from your face. His touch was gentle, like he was afraid you would crack and break under his fingertips. “Why are you hiding from me?” he whispered. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared wide-eyed at him.

“I—I.” Despite your efforts, words weren’t able to come out of your mouth.

“You should never feel like you need to hide,” he continued. He let out an airy tsk before he reached his hand up and gently tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear. You felt your face heat up even more at the action. “Especially from me.”

What.

“W-what?” you voiced aloud. You blinked a couple times, trying to bring your brain back from the brink of short-circuiting.

Shouto chuckled lowly, moving impossibly closer into your space. “I think you need to get your hearing checked out, love.”

You blinked some more. “What?”

“Have I broken you?” he asked, the corner of his perfect lips turning up at the thought. “First you forget your words, and now you have lost your hearing. . .” he trailed off as he continued to stare intently into your eyes.

What is he playing at. . .? you wondered as you blankly stared at him.

The two of you stood there and took each other in for quite a while. In reality, it mustn’t have been for very long—at most a minute and a half—but to you, it felt like hours. You were so close you could see the light reflecting in his heterochromatic eyes and the small streaks of gray in the turquoise-colored one.

“I . . . like you, too,” Shouto suddenly confessed, violently snapping you out of the daze his proximity causes. “I have harbored feelings for you for some time now.”

WHAT!?

“You . . . do?” you asked, skeptical. You were hesitant to believe his words in fear that this whole thing was some sick prank. But—

No. Shouto isn’t that type of person, you thought. He barely understands humor as it is, so he must be telling the truth.

“I do,” he confirmed.

“Oh, um.” You fumbled again for words, embarrassment flooding your entire system once more. You licked your dry lips, missing the way Shouto’s eyes locked onto the movement. “Cool.”

Shouto blinked at you, one of his perfect eyebrows raising. “Cool?” he repeated with a sly smile overcoming his lips.

“Mhm.” You dumbly nodded. “Cool.” You paused before muttering a small, “Ditto.”

He chuckled again, subtly moving the tiniest bit closer to you. He was just about crowding you into the corner at this point. “Ditto, huh?” He mumbled under his breath with a widening smirk playing at his lips. “I think I have broken you, dear.”

You grinned. “Perhaps.” Shouto chuckled again before falling silent. The two of you stared at the other, lost in each other’s gazes.

“Can I kiss you?” He spoke on an exhale, his deep voice somehow even deeper. Before you could internally flip the fuck out and fully comprehend what was happening, you were already nodding. That was all the confirmation Shouto needed before he brought your lips in for a sensual kiss. Fireworks exploded behind your eyelids as you relaxed into him.

You smiled into the kiss. Thank you, chopsticks.

The next day, you and Shouto walked into the classroom holding hands. Everyone collectively stopped what they were doing to openly gape at the two of you as Shouto, always the gentleman, escorted you to your seat. The shocked silence lasted all but three seconds before Mina and Tooru let out ear-piercing shrieks and practically tackled you.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” Mina was shouting meanwhile Tooru was holding onto you so tight to the point that she was nearly crushing you into her invisible body.

“AHHHH, I knew this was gonna happen!” she exclaimed before somehow pulling you in closer.

“Can’t . . . breathe.” You wheezed out before your boyfriend pulled you away from the two fangirls and protectively held you to his chest.

“I would be grateful if you didn’t crush my girlfriend to death, Tooru.” He intoned in his naturally dry tenor. His statement only made them freak out even more.

“Ah! Look at the two love birds!” Ochako swooned.

“Fuckin’ disgustin’,” grumbled a deep voice from somewhere in the back of the room.

Before you could turn to shoot Bakugou a death glare, Shouto was already clapping back. “What, are you jealous, Bakugou?”

The desks which had surrounded the blond a moment prior were blown to shiverines.

“I’LL END YOU!”

Fin.

→ extras: snapshot 1, snapshot 2, fic tag

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