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EASTERN GARTER SNAKE (up close) - Composition Sunday
© Erik McGregor - [email protected]
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Reward me...
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.
Quietly hopeful.
Something more
A/N: Sometimes I don't know what to write here. Then I remind myself that I don't have to write anything. But I want to! mwah -> m.list
It started quietly — the kind of beginning you almost miss if you’re not paying attention.
You noticed it first in the common room, the way Shoto’s gaze lingered on you a second too long. He didn’t mean to stare, you could tell. It was just the way he was, all quiet curiosity and subtle emotions that slipped past the calm tone of his voice. Still, when you caught him looking, he didn’t look away. He just blinked, as if memorizing you, and that was when it happened, the small spark, the one that you tried so hard to ignore.
You told yourself it was nothing. He was just… Shoto. Stoic, awkward, sweet in his own distant way. But it wasn’t nothing.
The friendship began almost naturally. You laughed together, studied together, sparred together. He’d bring you your favorite snacks during dull classes, and you’d mock him (gently) when he got too serious about training. He’d never complain, just give you that tiny, almost invisible smile that you learned to read like a secret code.
Shoto was a good friend — a great one, actually. And maybe that’s why you didn’t see it coming.
One evening, you were sitting in his dorm room, textbooks open but long forgotten. The air smelled faintly of tea and pencil shavings. You were teasing him about something — probably about how he took notes like a robot — when you turned your head and found him already looking at you.
The world went quiet. You didn’t even have time to process it before his lips brushed yours. Just once — soft, uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed. And oh, your heart forgot how to function.
He pulled back immediately, eyes wide, face flushed. “I— sorry,” he stammered, and that was the first time you’d ever heard him sound flustered.
You were supposed to say something clever, something to make it less awkward. But instead, you just stared. And then, maybe because it felt right, or maybe because you were so hopelessly gone, you leaned forward and kissed him back.
From that moment, things changed in ways neither of you could define.
There were quiet, stolen moments: his hand brushing yours when you walked side by side, your head resting against his shoulder after long study nights, his faint smile when your laughter filled the room. The world didn’t need to know what was happening. It was just yours, fragile, unspoken and perfectly messy.
You were back in his dorm again one evening. He was reading, a pencil tucked behind his ear, eyes moving across the page with that calm focus of his. You were pretending to study, but mostly you were staring at him. You didn’t even realize you’d spoken until you heard your own voice.
“Shoto?”
He looked up. “Hm?”
“How do you define us?”
He froze for a second. You could almost see his thoughts stop mid-sentence. Then he blinked and said, “Friends?”
You smiled — small, uncertain. “Yeah, but… friends don’t really act like we do.”
A faint pink crept up his cheeks. “Do you not like what we have?” he asked softly, voice even but eyes searching yours.
Your heart melted on the spot.
“I do,” you admitted. “I really do. I just… I don’t know what it means.”
He was quiet for a moment, looking at you like he was seeing something he hadn’t before. Then he reached out, fingers brushing your cheek so gently it made your breath catch.
“I don’t know what it means either,” he said quietly. “But I want more of you.”
You laughed — a small, breathless laugh that filled the space between you. “The feelings mutual” you whispered, cheeks burning.
And when he looked at you, eyes soft and certain, you couldn’t help it, you giggled. The kind that makes your stomach twist and your feet kick under the blanket because it’s just too much.
Something about Shoto Todoroki, you realized, made everything feel like home.
queen pls i need more of dad shoto🙏
ask, and you shall receive.
✦ don’t eat the baby.
⤷ synopsis : your baby’s cute as fuck. that’s it. that’s the synopsis.
⤷ a/n : my bad this is so late HAHAHA i’ve been trying to think of a scenario for the longest time </3 writer’s block is insane, hence this short-ish little thing. my baby fever will always be worse, though.
⤷ warnings : fluff, cuteness aggression, shoto taking everything literally, dad!shoto, husband!shoto, you have a daughter called rumi (she’s basically gonna be the basis for all of my baby scenarios unless stated otherwise), probably some other stuff i can’t think of right now
A girl with a birthmark and Shoto Todoroki ❤🔥
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LOVERS
- Shoto, Bakugo from 'my hero academia' -part three
English is not my first language
🎧 -> we hug now
There had been sleepless nights when, while tossing and turning in bed, you thought to yourself: "what would happen if..." but every time you answered: if it ever came down to it, you'd always choose Katsuki Bakugo.
It was silly questions, stupid hypothesis, maybe born from boredom? or maybe from the pain? it was just a coincidence these questions came right after your late night chats with Shoto Todoroki. Yes, coincidences.
After all, Bakugo had been, for the longest time, an anchor, a complice, an ally, love.
So, when Katsuki opened the door that night with his sleepy face looking down at you and you licked your lower lip in nervousness but felt Shoto's taste still in your throat, your first instinct was to throw up.
"Hey" he mumbled lowly, "what's up?" his voice husky from sleep.
What were you thinking running straight to Bakugo after being kissed by Shoto? No. What were you thinking, spending all those nights chatting by the window with a man who was in fact not your man?
What did you even expect? What were you hoping to achieve? Forgiveness without punishment? Redemption? Understanding?
"Bakugo" you uttered, torn. Tell or not tell, flee or fight.
"I couldn't sleep" you chose to say cowardly and felt like tearing your chest apart when his tired face morphed into a soft smile and he moved his arms forward hiding you in his embrace.
His chest were warm against your face, he was always warm, and his shirt was wrinkled, his arms strong. You had cried in those arms before, you had whispered and sighed and slept. That's the dirtiest you ever felt.
Bakugo was whispering something in your ear but your mind wasn't processing the words. How could it all lead to this moment? How could you feel so foreign in the arms of the boy you used to love so dearly?
Your fingers hitched in impatience and wrapped around his shirt, you wanted to flee, your words tangled in your throat and with a quick excuse and a fast goodnight you left his doorstep.
That night, when you lied in bed, fingers on your lips, you sobbed in your hand and suddenly, you weren't so certain that: if it ever came down to it, you'd always choose Katsuki Bakugo.
YELO!
This snowy egret struts his stuff while on the hunt for breakfast in the pond at El Rio Preserve in Marana, Arizona.
