Eyes closed and head rested against the leather seat, you hummed against Shoto as his arm draped across you to buckle you in. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?” He murmured under his breath.

His lips pressed together when you giggled. He shook his head and shut the door to his car. Black as it was, it still stood out against the night around him. “Thanks for doing this.” Izuku rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure if I’d have the energy to take all three of them home.”

“Get in the friggin’ car!” Two lots away, Eijiro shoved Mina into the backseat of his Terradyne Gurkha. She seemingly tried to argue her way back out, but Eijiro slammed the door in her face. Shoto imagined the face she was probably making at him.

“No problem.” Shoto smiled, eyes falling back on your form, mouth slightly ajar and some hair spilling across your face.

“We’re off!” Eijro called, waving hand at his two friends.

“We should head out now too, I know she has an interview in the afternoon. Shoto shook his head, his friends had most definitely aged up.But seriously—none of them had arranged a sober driver? What had they been thinking? Something awful could have happened.

You were heroes, but you were shitfaced—and Shoto didn’t curse very often.

When he slid into the driver seat of his BMW, you were snoring lightly. He huffed a sigh and buckled himself in.

The headlights lit up the club’s car lot, where he identified several people entering and exiting their cars. The time on his dash read 22:47. An hour and some until midnight hit. He snuck a glance over at you before pulling out of the lot, passing rows of cars as he did so.

Shoto sucked in a breath when the cold air hit him. He’d cracked the driver side window slightly. He enjoyed the fresh air, it kept him awake on nights he had to spend hours on the highway getting home. Now, he pulled in front of your apartments, a high end building, similar to his own, but on different streets.

One look told him he’d have to carry you. With an unenthusiastic shake of his head, he tugged open your purse and filtered through it. A tube of lipgloss, a weird makeup tool he had seen Fuyumi use on her eyelashes a ton of times when he was younger, your cellphone, an ID, and… That was it. No keys, no note-toself about where they might be—no way in.

Shoto resisted the urge to run a hand down his face and turned to you instead. You looked so innocent lying there against the seat, so fragile. If he didn’t know you, he might have mistaken you for exactly that. But Shoto knew better—he knew you and what you were capable of. 

It almost baffled him that after a few drinks you were reduced to infant-like. A bit ironic too since the nicknames you’d call him back in high school always centered around him being as blunt as a baby. Now look at you. Karma, he allowed himself to smirk at the thought, always found a way of coming back.

His smile faded when he realized he couldn’t leave you here. But it was late and everyone he knew were more than likely already fast asleep.

Shoto started up the engine again, 23:09 read the clock now. He could just have you stay at his. He had a spare bedroom reserved for whenever his mom or one of his siblings stayed over. It wasn’t like the bedroom had Family Only written across the top of the doorframe.

Fine then. That was the new plan. Get you home—well get you to his home. Not much of a difference, was it?

The underground garage to his apartment building was empty save for the security guard in the booth. He smiled when he saw Shoto, tipping his hat with a raised brow when he saw you. Shoto made no effort to explain, the shrugging of his shoulders was enough.

Shoto had known you for the better part of his life. You were energetic and kind, but capable of sitting in comfortable silence for hours when you wanted to. You were one of his first friends at UA, one of his best friends. He would never do anything to harm you or threaten the relationship you had. He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe staring at you while you were drunk alone in his car wasn’t the best idea… And yet, despite these thoughts, his eyes drifted toward where your skirt rode up your thigh. The second he caught himself, he forced his gaze away.

He pulled into a free stall near the elevator and removed the key.

Compared to Shoto, who felt absolutely fine, you visibly shivered when he pried open the passenger door. He turned and crouched, forcing your arms over his shoulders before heaving you up. He caught you under your thighs, careful to keep his touch respectful. The door shut when he nudged himself backward.

A row of recessed lights led to the single glass elevator. Thankfully, it wasn’t being used. His sneakers clipped against the marble floor and the elevator dinged a few moments after he pressed level 4. There were higher floors, but Shoto never had a need for all that room; his two-bedroom, one bath gave him plenty.

The elevator halted and let off on his floor. The light was less dim up here, courtesy of the sensors. 412, that was him.

A single gray couch sat in the center of the living room. In front of that on a table sat a TV. He carried you past all that and moved into the hallway.

The guest room was bare save for the bed near the window and the bedside table Fuyumi had forced him to get. Of course, where else would she keep her glasses? A small oversight on his part.

You slid off his back easily, one eye prying open while a yawn escaped your throat. “Go back to sleep.” He said, removing your heels.

“Water?” You groaned.

He rolled his eyes but stood. He should probably bring the bathroom trashcan in here, just in case. He never looked forward to cleaning puke—did anyone?

By the time he returned, you were once again, fast asleep. Still, he set the water glass on a coaster he’d brought from the kitchen and headed back to his room, praying he wouldn't be scrubbing vomit out of the guest room floorboards in the morning.

You woke up groggy and irritable. “What the hell happened?” You found splayed starfish across a bed that wasn’t yours in a room that also wasn’t yours. You discovered your heels near the small bedside table. You stood as your mind tried to work through the events that had led up to now.

A text from Mina about clubhopping, which did not go down the way you’d expected. Your eyes worked around the empty room. Apparently.

There was no evidence to suggest you had done anything other than sleep, but then why did you feel wetness between your legs?

Holy crap.

You burst from the room and ran down the hall, finding the bathroom immediately. You shoved the door open, halting when you saw a figure behind the stained glass shower. “Sorry!” You shouted, slipping back out into the hall. But you had to freaking pee! Or wipe—hopefully it wasn’t blood. That would be awkward. Better than peeing yourself in someone else's bed? Maybe. Maybe not.

The sound of water ceased. You waited impatiently, your foot padding up and down as you leaned against the wall across from the door with crossed arms.

You looked around. The apartment felt familiar. Maybe one of your friends came to pick you up—but it was so plain, there was only one person you knew to be so… dull…

Your face burned and your heart sped up.

No way. 

There was no way you had just walked in on Shoto taking a shower.

When the door opened, you snuck a glance—though nothing ever did get past him, did it? “Sorry, you can have it now.” Dripping with water all over him, there stood Shoto covered in nothing but a towel. It hung low on his waist, though you tried not to stare. His hair was damp and his eyes were wide. “How are you feeling?”

Leave it to Shoto Todoroki to think having a normal conversation in nothing but a bath towel would be possible. Though he’d always been on the more oblivious side, you’d thought surely he’d have more social awareness by now.

“Do you need to throw up?” He stepped forward, one palm resting against your forehead. “You don’t have work today right?”

“I’m fine,” but now that he’d mentioned it. Maybe you could puke your guts out a little.

“Do you remember last night?” He stepped back, assessing your body language.

You met his gaze, “Do I want to?”

A small smile peeked through his otherwise unbothered expression. “If you want to shower, you can wear some of my clothes.” He paused, eyes drifting down, probably noticing the wet spot. No Shoto! You thought. I did not pee on your bed I swear!

He turned his head away and coughed into a fist. “I brought you here because I couldn’t find your house keys.”

You blinked, “Shoto?”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna puke.”

“How long until you get your new locks?”

“A few days,” you yawned, laying flat across Shoto’s couch, tossing your phone to the side. You had spent the last hour trying to explain to your building manager that you’d lost your keys and urgently needed to replace your locks. 

His lips pressed together. It was the look he got when he was contemplating something he deemed serious—less so to everyone else. “What’s with that look?” You sat up and leaned forward. The white t-shirt he’d let you borrow pooled at your waist, under the sweats he had also let you borrow.

“I’ll be fine,” you said, standing. “In fact, I should probably get over there now. My room is a mess.”

Shoto’s forehead creased and he rubbed the back of his head. “Are you sure? It’s not a problem if you stay.”

You gulped down the fluttering in your chest, looking away. “You shouldn’t go around saying that to girls.”

He frowned and his eyebrows drew together. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Despite your even tone, you knew your face was burning. How could someone be so ignorant? You couldn't hate him for it though. You couldn’t ever hate Shoto. “They’d get the wrong idea, you know?”

Silence filled the proximity between you and him. Awkward for you, probably just confusing for him. Maybe if Shoto was anyone else, he’d have noticed by now. No—you knew for certain that if it were anyone else, they’d most definitely know. But it wasn’t anyone else, it was him, and despite the ache you’d never be able to control, you chose to love him anyway.

You smirked and stood, dusting off your top. “I thought you’d know better by now. Guess not.”

You stepped forward, intending to walk past him. Instead, his hand closed gently around your elbow and you stopped. Shoto was taller than he’d been at U.A., but he wore concern the same way he always had—wide eyes, furrowed brows, head tilted slightly as he tried to understand something that didn’t make sense to him. You thought it looked similar to the expression you imagined him having at night, when he was—

You breathed in through your nose and physically removed yourself from his space. “Shoto, stop.” Your voice came out softer than intended and you pulled your arm free, taking a step back. Shoto was Shoto. Your friend like he had always been. That’s all he saw you as and that was okay. Stop trying to ruin everything. You always did that. 

“What? What did I—

“Nothing.” You smiled up at him, “Nevermind, forget I said anything.” You blinked back possible tears and turned away from him. “Thanks for helping me out last night. You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah,” he allowed his arm to drop back to his side. “But hey,” his long lashes fluttered when he blinked. So sweet. So innocent—God. How selfish could you get? Being this close to him was enough. Being his friend was enough. But it was so hard sometimes. So hard to just leave him alone. So hard to pretend you didn’t think about him beside you at night, inside you.

You stopped yourself. You needed to stop. But how could you when he looked down at you like that? When the expressions he made never strayed too far from each other. There was a craving deep inside you—it had always been there, but as the years passed, it grew stronger. The urge—the need to see him make vastly different expressions in situations Shoto Todoroki should never be mentioned in.

What did he look like when he was aching to be touched? What kind of expression would he make if you wrapped your hands around his throat? If you whispered in his ear all the filthy things you couldn't stop thinking about? What about when you bit his lip? When he inserted himself for the first time?

“Are you alright?” He reached out again, “You look feverish. But the alcohol should be out of your system by now.”

Your bottom lip trembled and your thighs tightened around each other. He couldn’t know what he was doing, but still it sent an ache through your core. It had been growing, which is why you had been trying to distance yourself from him. He was too much. His presence had become too much. The way his breath lingered in places it shouldn’t, the way his cologne sent you into a tizzy each time you caught wind of it.

Too much.

He was too much.

“Shoto,” you breathed, heart racing. “Please just stop.”

“Why?” You swallowed, mind racing for an explanation instead of questions why the tone in his voice seemed to shift. His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he pushed you back onto his couch. “You don’t look so good. You seemed fine just a second ago.” His brows furrowed as he leaned over your chest, resting a hand against your cheek. His face was so close, the ends of his hair spilled onto your forehead.

Your breathing grew unsteady and your thighs began rubbing together. “I’m fine.” You croaked, tears nearly spilling. It hurt. The ache hurt so much more than thoughts of Shoto never returning your feelings. The emptiness was like a hammer to your core every other second.

“You’re not fine.” He murmured, breath hot against your eye.

You shifted under his weight, hands bracing against his chest. “Shoto.”

He froze.

You froze.

His gaze met yours as he seemed to understand what exactly was going on with you for the first time.

Your bottom lip wobbled. You wished you could sink into the stupid gray couch and disappear forever. He knew.

He knew.

There was no mistaking that look in his eyes.

He knew and he—

What was that?

You blinked. Just your imagination, you were sure.

But there that little smirk remained on his face. His eyes relaxed and he looked almost… Like… His hypothesis had just been confirmed.

“Shoto?”

“Yes?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. What had you even planned to say? Swallowing hard, you settled on, “How long have you known?”

He looked up at the ceiling, considering your question. “I’m not sure.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I’m not too sure what you meant. I mean,” he tilted his head to the side, a cheeky grin sliding onto his face, “I didn't know for certain,” he clarified. “I just started noticing things.” His face drew a blank again.

“Things?”

“The way you acted around me was different.”

Heat flooded your face.

“Oh.”

“You'd get nervous sometimes.” His brows furrowed slightly. “Then you'd avoid me for a few days. Then everything would go back to normal.”

You wished the couch would swallow you whole.

“I didn't understand it.”

Of course he didn't.

“But lately...” He paused. “I started thinking there might be a reason.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. “And?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “And I think I was right.”

Silence once again settled between you.

He did know.

He did.

And he looked a little too pleased with himself for figuring it out. You opened your mouth, but he tilted his head down, his forehead meeting yours, eyes open and nearly touching yours. “To be honest. I was thrilled when Izukua called me last night.” His face remained neutral, but his tone reverberated into something you had never witnessed from him. “You’ve been avoiding me. Why?”

The buds of your nipples perked up as he held himself up with one hand braced against your head, the other elbow flat against the back of the couch. Dirty images flashed through your head and Shoto’s obliviousness had never been so clearly absent.

“Oh.” He said and when he ran his fingers up your arm, you shivered. This wasn’t the Shoto you knew. He had the same face, the same body—but it was almost as if someone else possessed it.

You were going to break.

His breath hit your neck and you were so freaking sure he’d done it one purpose. He filtered through three expressions, curious, confident, and amusement. But there were a ton of others you knew you could pull out of him. If he’d let you.

One more chance.

You’d give him one more chance. “Shoto,” his eyes met yours, ears perking up like a puppy’s. “I should get home.”

“But I have… Questions.” He everted his gaze away, but the tips of his ears gave him away. Maybe Shoto wasn’t as lost as you had initially assumed.

“Are you sure you want me to answer them?” Quiet though your voice was, it held an edge to it. A warning that if he continued down this path, you wouldn’t stop. Not for anything. Not even when he begged. Your thighs tightened at the thought of him on his knees.

“I do.” Breathless, but it was nothing compared to what you were about to put him through.

Half a second passed before your arm was wrapped around his neck. You circled your legs around his waist and forced him up. He fell back against the other end of the couch, legs tucked under him with you straddling his waist. Such a slutty waist it was.

His breath caught and his eyes flew shut. You breathed above his ear. “I won’t stop.” You said. “Beg all you want. Cry even, I’d love to see that.”

Shoto looked almost terrified, but somewhere between his eyes and his erection, you could tell he was seeing the you that hid behind the title friend.

Could you make him afraid of you? 

Could you make him crave you? 

You tugged on his strings, watching the way his lips trembled. How dirty could you get before he gave in? How much could he take before begging you to stop?

You pulled him toward you by his throat, “Sho, this is okay right?” Your free hand reached into the waistband of his sweats, palming him above his boxers. You sucked on your bottom lip, whimpering in his ear while he panted, unsure of what to do with himself. “Tell me it’s okay, Sho.”

“It’snghokay.”

You snaked your arm around his neck and attached your mouth to his throat. A gasp fell above you. A smirk flashed across your face. You lowered your body and tugged his pants down, gripping him unclothed when he spilled out of his clothes. You looked up, the ache building between your thighs when you caught him staring at you. Nothing but lust sat in the corners of those eyes. An expression Shoto had most definitely never made before.

Did he even realize he was making such a face? You wondered. You forced his eyes to stay put with your own as you lowered your mouth. His jaw tightened when you tasted his tip. Precum dripped down, the urge to fuck him intensified tenfold.

Screw a condom. Shoto Todoroki will be taking you tonight. Or you would be taking him, either way—he was yours and you would let him go for no one and nothing. 

Something suspiciously close to smugness flickered in his two-toned eyes, and deep down, you knew he'd understood far more than he'd ever admitted.