Todoroki Shoto x Y/n

It was a quiet afternoon, the golden sunlight spilling lazily across the classroom. You were stacking your books after lessons, and Shoto slipped in beside you, quietly, like he had always been there. Nothing had been said about the matcha date, nothing dramatic — and yet, something had shifted.

He placed a small, neatly wrapped package beside your books. “…I saw this and… thought of you,” he said quietly, voice low, careful. He didn’t smile — not exactly — but his eyes were soft, deliberate, and fixed on you.

You blinked, heart fluttering. “…Shoto, you didn’t need to.”

“I… wanted to,” he said simply, voice firm but gentle, almost as if that one line carried all the reasoning he ever needed.

You unwrapped it slowly — a small, delicate notebook with a cat motif, and a tiny packet of strawberry-flavored chocolate tucked inside. Your chest tightened. “You remembered…” you whispered.

He nodded once, quiet, deliberate. “…I remember you,” he said softly, almost as if confirming it to himself. “…Always.”

Your chest ached. “…You didn’t have to, really,” you murmured.

“I want to,” he said again, small and unwavering, a quiet certainty beneath his words.

The next afternoon, he was waiting again — this time outside the training hall. You had mentioned you liked a specific flavor of ice cream for a small errand, and there he was, cup in hand, matching your favorite exactly. “…I thought… you’d like this,” he said, voice low, deliberate, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“…You always do this,” you said, shaking your head softly. “…You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said again, simple. Certain. The kind of certainty that made your chest ache. “…It makes me… glad. You… happy.”

Days passed, small gestures piling quietly atop each other: matching your pace as you walked to class, carrying your books without complaint, letting you choose everything first — snacks, tea, even which path to take. He never said, “I like you” — not in words. But every act, careful and deliberate, screamed that he prioritized you.

One evening, walking home after training, you glanced at him, concerned. “…You always go along with what I want. Don’t you ever want to choose for yourself?”

He looked at you, soft and unwavering. “…You make me happy,” he said quietly. “…So we go with… what you like.”

You felt your chest tighten, warmth spreading, as though he had compressed months of careful attention and quiet devotion into that one simple sentence. “…You always prioritize me,” you said softly. “…We should do what makes you happy too.”

He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable but soft. “…I am. With you,” he murmured, just above a whisper, deliberate, certain. “…I’m… glad. Just like this.”

Todoroki Shoto x Y/n

Shoto never asked for things.

Not praise. Not affection. Not attention.

So when your hand reached out and gently patted his head after he stayed behind to help clean the training room, he didn’t know what to do with it.

He stiffened for exactly two seconds.

Then he went very still, like a cat unsure if it was allowed to enjoy something.

“…What was that?” he asked, tone neutral but eyes flicking toward you.

You smiled, already pulling your hand back. “Nothing. You just did good.”

That was it. No teasing. No explanation.

He nodded once, like he accepted the answer, and walked away as usual—hands in his pockets, expression calm, distance carefully maintained.

But the next day, after he quietly helped Uraraka with her form, he paused near you.

Just… paused.

You noticed the way he stood a little closer than necessary. The way his gaze hovered, pretending to look anywhere else.

So you reached out again. A gentle pat. Fingers barely brushing his hair.

His shoulders relaxed immediately.

He didn’t look at you, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips.

From then on, it became something small. Private.

You never announced it. Never made a big deal of it. Just soft, simple rewards—like you were saying I see you without words.

And Shoto—still distant, still quiet—started to change in the tiniest ways.

He’d finish a task and then glance at you, subtle and careful.

He’d do something kind and then linger nearby, pretending he had nowhere to be.

He never asked. Never stepped closer on his own.

He just waited.

Like he didn’t want to assume he deserved it.

One afternoon, after training went especially well, he walked past you—then stopped. Took one step back. Cleared his throat.

“…Was that okay?” he asked, eyes forward.

“What?”

“The way I handled that,” he said. “I did it right… didn’t I?”

Your heart melted.

You reached up and patted his head, slower this time, fingers warm against his hair. His breath eased out softly, like he’d been holding it in.

“Yes,” you said. “You did really good.”

He nodded, cheeks just a little pink.

“…Okay,” he murmured.

And then he walked away again—still distant, still quiet—but with the smallest, satisfied smile.

From then on, every time he did something good, he didn’t look proud.

He just looked at you.

Waiting.

Todoroki Shoto x Y/n

Part 6( Let's add a tinyyyyyy bit of jealousy, sorry shoto!)

It started the moment the sparring pairings were announced.

You and Bakugo.

Shoto didn’t understand why his chest felt… strange.

Not painful. Not uncomfortable.

Just… tight.

Every time Bakugo’s hand brushed your wrist while correcting your stance, every time he moved behind you to push your elbow into place, every time he barked “Your footwork’s garbage, try again,” and you only laughed, Shoto felt that tightness grow.

You weren’t scared of Bakugo.

You weren’t annoyed at him.

You weren’t even flustered.

You were just… you.

Warm. Calm. Patient.

The same way you were with him.

So… did that mean Bakugo was your friend too?

Shoto didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling, so he didn’t try. He simply stood there, beside Midoriya, watching the spar like it was the most confusing puzzle he’d ever seen.

And every time Bakugo touched you—adjusting your grip, steadying your knee, tapping your shoulder to fix your guard—Shoto’s eyes immediately went to Midoriya with a soft, questioning look.

As if asking:

“Did you see that?”

“Is that normal?”

“Is that allowed?”

Izuku, sweet boy, would nod nervously every time.

“O-oh! Y-yeah! Kacchan’s always like that! I mean—! Uh— He’s just being… helpful!”

Shoto blinked slowly.

Processing.

Thinking.

But something didn’t add up.

Bakugo never lets people touch him.

Never lets people near him.

Never gets close.

Except with you.

You, who he shoved and corrected and guided without hesitation.

You, who never seemed hurt or afraid.

You, who looked over your shoulder and smiled at him every time he said something rude.

You were good with everyone in class.

Even Bakugo.

Even him.

And Shoto didn’t know why that made something inside him… twist.

He watched closely when Bakugo steadied your waist from behind so you wouldn’t lose balance during a pivot.

Shoto didn’t even realize he stepped forward half a step—just instinct—until Izuku gently grabbed his arm.

“T-todoroki, it’s okay,” Midoriya whispered, like calming a startled animal.

“They’re training.”

Shoto blinked again, eyes soft and confused.

“I… know,” he murmured, voice low.

He wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t upset.

He was just… confused.

“So…” he said quietly, eyes on you, tone as gentle as a falling leaf,

“…if Bakugo touches Y/N during training… that makes him… her friend?”

Izuku’s breath hitched.

He wasn’t prepared for that level of softness.

“Well… I-I think—um—maybe?”

Shoto processed that for a long moment.

He glanced back at you—your hair glowing under the sun, your cheeks flushed from sparring, your laughter light as your quirk’s glow.

“Y/N said I’m her friend,” he said quietly.

His voice tightened, not with pain, but with a tiny, trembling fragility.

“So… Bakugo is too?”

He sounded like a child asking if someone else got a gold star.

If he was still special.

If he still mattered.

If he was being… replaced.

Izuku panicked.

“No! No—Todoroki—Kacchan is—uh—he doesn’t really have friends, actually!”

Shoto blinked.

“Then what is he to Y/N?”

Izuku looked like he was being interrogated by a puppy with big, sad eyes.

He stammered, lost.

Bakugo suddenly barked across the gym, YOU LIGHTBULB!! Again! Your block’s pathetic!”

You rolled your eyes affectionately.

“Yeah, yeah, calm down. You know my name is shorter than lightbulb, right?,” you teased.

Shoto stared.

Bakugo didn’t explode.

He didn’t scream.

He didn’t even glare.

He only clicked his tongue and reset the stance.

Shoto swallowed quietly.

The tightness in his chest deepened.

Izuku, sensing the shift, gently nudged him.

“Todoroki… are you… okay?”

Shoto turned his head slightly, the faintest crease between his brows.

“I…”

His voice was soft.

Almost vulnerable.

“I’m happy Y/N has many friends.”

But his hands were curled gently at his sides.

His eyes fixed on you like he didn’t know where else to look.

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Edited for an old postcard look

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